#{ But about keeping up appearances for everyone around him. }

[tofics]

You Owe Me - Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Forced through circumstances out of your control to rely on Joel Miller, you end up traversing the country with him. You're not particularly enthralled with him, and neither is he with you - or so you think, until your period strikes, and you're practically bed-ridden. Or: Joel can't stop jerking off to you after he accidentally got a taste of your lips.

Warnings/tags: canon typical show/game violence, sort of dubious consent (reader gets kissed without being asked and only later agrees), age gap (reader is about ~25 years younger), enemies to lovers kind of, awful period + period cramps, jerking off, fluff

Word count: ~7.4k

Periods are not fun to begin with.

They're even less fun in a post-apocalyptic world, where sanitary products are hard to come by and more of a luxurious rarity than a given staple item in your average survivor's backpack.

You knew you were bound to begin your cycle eventually, and had you had more time, you'd probably have prepared yourself some way or the other. But, with the way things had gone in the past two weeks, you had not had any time to think about bodily functions beyond what your every day efforts demanded of you, and even that was hard to care for.

Ever since the night that you fled Boston's QZ, you hadn't had a proper night's rest, let alone a hearty meal to replenish your energy with. Your escape had been 'spontaneous' to say the least, a necessity brought upon by circumstances that you'd stumbled into rather than purposefully involved yourself in, and before you knew it, you were pointing your finger at Joel Miller, of all people in the world, hissing threats through gritted teeth about how he at least owed you this much if he was going to get you involved in his business without your consent and how you weren't gonna get hanged just because he'd dragged you into his bullshit.

Joel, of course, was not a man you could just point your finger at and demand things of, much less in a hissed tone, even less in the form of threats.

And yet, he'd smuggled you out of the city in a cloak-and-dagger-operation that same night, despite his hard glares and hushed warnings to keep your mouth shut. You'd been anything but prepared when he'd appeared at your side like a magician out of thin air. He'd laid his arm around your neck like a lover might on an evening stroll, but the gesture hadn't been kind, his arm too tight around your throat, pressing on your airway as he'd instructed you - commanded you - to follow him, like you'd have had any other choice with his arm wrapped around your neck like a boa constrictor, all the while a smile on his face that feigned nonchalance to possible onlookers. Nothing to see here, just two lovebirds on their way home after another long, hard day of work.

You'd shaken him off once the two of you were out of sight, ripped his arm off of your throat as you swiveled out of his headlock. "What the fuck, Joel," you'd hissed and he'd stared back at you with that same cold and hard look you knew him by. "Do you want out of the city or not?" His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his tone matching the iciness of his eyes. Your jaw tensed. The nerves of this guy. "The hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed like you were being dense. "Out. Flee the nest. Hit the damn road-" You cut him off with another pointed finger. "Don't be cute. I know what you mean. What I'm asking is, now?!" He eyed your finger like he was debating cutting it off if you jabbed it into his face one more time. His jaw ticked. "Yes, sweetheart, now." Your nostrils flared at the sarcastic tone of the nickname, but he gave you no time to interject. "Got tipped off. They're gonna do a raid tonight, hit everyone they know I'm involved with. Since you got all flustered about my - 'involvement' of yours-" "Oh, is that what you call that? Grabbing and kissing me out of the blue?" "-I figured I'd do you a solid by giving you a heads up," he talked over you, ignoring your comment entirely. You were seething. "Ever heard of a thing called 'consent', Joel?" He flicked his tongue, rolled his eyes. Clearly, he had no time to entertain your attitude. You didn't care. "It's when you ask someone if they wanna do something, and then only do it if they say yes. Now I know that concept might be a little hard to grasp for you-" You were slowly advancing on him, getting up all in his face, when his hand closed around your arm tightly. Your gaze fell down to his grip, your lower jaw pushing out slightly. His eyes flicked over your face like he was waiting for your next outburst. "Are you quite done? Cause we gotta go. Unless you'd like to stay and be questioned by FEDRA officers? I'm sure they'd be very interested in your lecture about consent." Joel's upper lip curled back in an ugly sarcastic smile.

And so you'd let him lead you through the city, begrudgingly at first and then bewildered when you realized you were heading in the opposite direction of your apartment. "What about my stuff?" He'd only shaken his head. "No time for that. We gotta go now. Got some backpacks waiting for us a couple blocks ahead."

He only realized you'd stopped walking when he was at least ten steps ahead. "You comin' or what?" You could tell by the tone in his voice that he was nearing the end of his patience, but as far as you were concerned, you were already at the end of yours. You didn't budge, just stared him down from where you stood, shooting icy daggers out of your eyes and your pursed lips quivering as insults swarmed in your head, all fighting to be let out at once. He looked back at you with dull disinterest in his eyes. "By all means, take your time. Ain't like we're on a clock here or somethin'."

"Oh, you son-of-a-bitch, you ignorant little cock-sucker, you absolute blithering idiot-" The stream of affronts sputtered out of you. Joel quickly closed the distance between the two of you and forcefully grabbed you by the arm, dragging you with him once more. "Walk and talk, yeah?," he said over your flood of offences, the jabs seemingly rolling off of him like water droplets against plastic. You kept up your clamor all the way down the next block, until he dragged you into yet another side-alley to avoid a group of FEDRA soldiers marching past.

The two of you stood closer together than both you and him would have liked. If it hadn't been for the parade of soldiers walking past you, you might've scratched his eyes out, something you made sure to convey with your eyes as you stared him down in silence. His indifference only fueled your rage. "Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" You hissed at him when most of the parade had passed by. Joel wondered if he'd ever hear your normal tone-of-voice. "Come again?" He cocked his head. "The way I recall it, you asked me to get you out of the city, not the other way around. Now who's imposin' on who?"

He saw it coming before it was looming in his face again. That damn finger of yours, pointed right at his nose once more. His lips pursed, his hand twitched on the handle of the blade he kept concealed on his waist. Just one quick swipe. Your howls would likely attract the guards. Not worth it. Yet.

"We're only in this predicament because you couldn't keep your damn hands off of me!" You almost spat in his face, your voice all hoarse from trying to keep your shout down to a whisper. Your head looked like it was about to implode. Joel flicked his tongue again.

"You wanna discuss bygones again or you wanna get goin'? Time's not waitin' on us, sweetheart."

"Oufff." You growled in response, your finger so close to his face you'd take out an eye if he moved an inch in the wrong direction. "Get that thing out of my face," he finally snapped and smacked your hand down. "Now quit whinin'. You wanted out of the city, you're gettin' out of the city. Giddy up. Time's a' wastin'."

Without another look to check if you were following, he dipped out of the alleyway and marched down in the direction of his - your - first pit stop. You stood between the tight walls for another moment, breathing heavily. If FEDRA hadn't been breathing down your neck, you would've turned around on your heels and sent Joel off to whatever miserable adventure he was about to embark on, but alas, he'd made his miserable adventure yours against your will. You cursed under your breath, then hurried after him.

"All I'm saying is, what about my shit? You think I don't have any sentimentals at home? Necessities? Stuff I wanted to bring when I left?" You whispered to him as you kept up with his pace beside him. It could've been your imagination, but the people out on the street looked more hurried than usual. Something was definitely in the air. Joel's tip-off likely had been right. Something was brewing.

"You win some, you lose some," came his sullen reply, paired with a shrug. You had to stuff your comeback back down your throat as the two of you filed into the crowd of people heading home, hurried steps and hard, concerned faces all around you.

Escaping hadn't been easy. Every single guard had been on high-alert. It seemed that the tip-off must've come out - the number of guards had been tripled, and you and Joel had a hard time going by undetected, despite the added benefit of nighttime and the rain that had picked up, muffling your steps as you hurried from dark corner to dark corner.

The Firefly attack took him as much by surprise as it did you and the soldiers. The booming sound of an explosion just a few hundred feet ahead made you flinch and Joel instinctively pulled you down with him. Rubble rained down on the two of you, crashing into the muddied floor just inches besides you. You gasped and flinched away, losing your halt on all fours, but a strong arm caught you around the middle before you could slump to the ground. "Let's go," Joel urged in your ear and dragged you up to your feet in one swift motion.

Shouts erupted around you from all sides, then got droned out as FEDRA's sirens kicked up. You scrambled after Joel as he evaded spotlights that swiveled across the floor from all directions, keeping the two of you safely tucked away in the few shadows that remained. Smoke burned in your nose and lungs as you sprinted from safe haven to safe haven. Loud cracks cut through the uproar of your surroundings, accompanied by deep thudding sounds as more rubble fell to the floor. The fire from the explosion site was now spreading out, slowly licking at buildings in its path. Many of the decrepit structures quickly crumbled away under the heat, porous and unstable to begin with.

It was disorienting, frightening. For the first time in over a week, you were glad for Joel Miller. If it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have made it out of the chaos alive.

Granted, if it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place, but he kept his word and got you out.

You'd never meant to stay with him, but as things would have it, you weren't presented with much of a choice in that either. You made it out of the city just fine, save for a few jump scares along the road, but then ran into a hoard of infected that had been attracted by the ruckus of the explosion, just a few miles outside of the quarantine zone.

How you made it through that encounter alive, you didn't know, you just knew that Joel was a more-than-worthy asset in that debacle, as much as you hated to admit it. As if that hadn't been enough, you barely had one peaceful night before a group of raiders pulled through the section of outskirts where you and Joel had holed up for the night. It was an 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' kind of turn of events that kept you and Joel running and fighting for your lives for almost two weeks straight, stumbling from one disaster into the next, until finally, finally, you seemed to leave your losing streak behind.

It had now been three whole days since the two of you had found yourselves in mortal danger last, and though it felt almost wrong to be hopeful for a peaceful stretch of days, you couldn't help but be just that.

Until, of course, you felt that familiar sharp pull in your abdomen.

Crap.

"You didn't happen to pack anything female-related when you packed this, did you?," you asked as you rifled through the contents of your backpack. Well, Joel's backpack really, since it was the one he'd bestowed upon you the night of your escape. Your own backpack was still back in Boston, probably picked apart by FEDRA by now, along with all of your other belongings.

"Like what?" Joel was poking at the fire he'd set out to build. The flames wouldn't quite take, a few feeble blue streaks dancing between the twigs he'd collected.

"Like, I don't know, a pad, maybe? Tampons, if I'm allowed to dream?" You had almost emptied out the entire backpack now, and even though the contents you were bringing to light were certainly useful, none of them were what you were looking for.

Joel looked up, a kind of perplexed look on his face. You took in his facial expression and sighed. "I'll take that as a no. Crap." You slumped down on your butt in defeat. "That's gonna be a problem."

Joel scratched behind his ear, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Yeah. Sorry, kiddo. Wasn't on my radar when I was packing." It could've been the dim light of the barely lit fire playing a trick on your eyes, but you could've sworn that some color rose in his cheeks. You just sighed once more and shrugged. "Eh, can't blame ya. Not something I'd expect to be on the mind of a..." You looked at him, eyebrow raised. "...something year old man."

He snorted. Sparks flew up from the twigs as he kept poking around. "Fifty-six," he said after a little while. "If you must know."

"Huh."

"What." He eyed you over the now growing flames. It looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him.

"Nothing." You raised your arms in defense. "Just... wouldn't have thought so. I just mean," you quickly added when you saw the expression on his face, "you've held up better than I would've thought. Jeez, relax. I'm not coming for your age."

"Right. Cause you ain't been jabbin' at me for just about anythin' else. S'cuse me if I'm just prepared."

"Cause you been jabbin' at me for just about anything else," you mocked under your breath. "And I got a right to. Need I remind you, I wouldn't be in this mess if-"

"-I hadn't dragged you into it." He interrupted you with a groan. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first trillion times. You ever gonna let it go?"

You scowled at him over the flames. "No." He quirked an eyebrow at you, and the exhausted apprehension on his face made you crack up. "Fine. Maybe. The jury's still out on that."

A day later, the sharp pull in your abdomen had grown into full-sized cramps, one of the four horsemen of your period riding in in full stride. You tried to ignore it as best as you could, but your period pains had always been on the worse side, sometimes leaving you crumpled into a ball on the floor. Your cramps could be debilitating, and a gnawing pit of worry formed in your stomach as the day went along.

Back in the QZ, you had your ways of coping: hot water bottles or hot potatoes wrapped in tinfoil tucked into a sweater so that their warmth radiated throughout your belly. There was even a bottle of emergency ibuprofen tucked away in a little secret corner of your bedroom. You longed for it now as the cramps begin to grow in intensity and longevity. You'd certainly planned to bring them along for your escape, but alas...

A groan escaped your lips as another cramp pulled on you from the inside. Your steps faltered and you leaned over for a moment with a hand pressed to your lower belly.

"Hey. You good?" Joel had been a few steps ahead of you, but he'd turned around at your groan. You'd been a trooper for the last two weeks, making him think more than once that getting you out hadn't been such a bad bet after all. You fought like hell, and when you weren't busy being mad at him, you followed orders quite well, especially when yours (or his) life depended on it.

Of course, he'd never say that out loud. You were still routinely giving him an earful about how he'd made you leave everything you owned behind, how you'd have had more time to properly prepare if he hadn't just dragged you into his mess, if he hadn't just kissed you that night-

You never missed a chance to remind him of all his wrongdoings, bickering on and on and on about the predicament you now found yourself in. As if he hadn't been the one to get you out. Sure, yeah, he did owe you as much after... having dragged you into his mess (his jaw clenched at the thought), but he'd paid his dues in full, as far as he was concerned. Hell, not only had he gotten you out in one piece, he'd even packed a whole get-away bag for you, survival essentials included. Had you thanked him for it? Certainly not. You hadn't complained about it either though, that was for sure, and Joel was certain that was about as much of a thanks as he was going to get from you.

You straightened, a somber and tight expression on your face as you nodded, but Joel could tell you were in more pain that you were letting on. Two weeks of fighting like crazy and just minutes of sleep to go on for days, and he hadn't heard a peep outta you. He had to give it to ya - you were tough, a fighter through and through. When you complained, it had nothing to do with where you slept, what you ate, who you fought. You just did it. He appreciated that quality in you. It made you a decent travel companion - if it wasn't for your bickering about everything else. That, he'd had decidedly enough of.

Today, though, you had been unusually quiet. You had yet to point an accusing finger at him, and though he could do without another finger pointed at his face for the rest of his life, he couldn't help but notice the change in your demeanor. Your pace was slower than the weeks before, even though you were now eating and sleeping better than you'd had in all previous fourteen days combined. Your movements seemed sluggish, almost lethargic, and you were hanging behind more often than not. This wasn't the first time you'd stopped either.

"We can rest for a moment, if you want." Joel gestured towards some trees on the side of the road. "Sit a moment in the shade. Catch our breath."

You looked like you were about to throw a snarky remark his way, but then you just nodded and trotted over to the patchy area of shade.

He sat down beside you with a groan, then stretched his aching legs out on the ground. Even if you thought he'd held up just fine, his legs certainly disagreed. If anything, they felt older than fifty-six. More like bordering on sixty.

Joel took a sip of his water, then nudged you with his elbow. You looked at him through hooded lids, exhaustion written all over your face. "Drink. Gotta stay hydrated."

Another wordless nod from you. No snarky comment. You got your own bottle out and gulped down a few sips.

"You sure you're good?" He eyed you carefully. There was a light sheen of sweat above your upper lip, some more pearls glistening on your forehead.

"I said as much, didn't I?"

Ah. There it was. Joel nodded. "There we go. Thought you were dyin' on me or somethin'."

You shot him a quizzical look.

"You haven't talked back to me all day. Was startin' to get worried," he shrugged with half a smile on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed at him. Joel Miller? Worried about you? Yeah, right. "What, you sweet on me or something, Miller?" A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Uh-huh. Glad to see you still got your wits about ya. C'mon." He got to his feet and dusted the dirt off his pants. "If you can jab, you can walk. Let's go."

You knew you had a couple of hours, maybe less, until hell's gates would open and the floods would come raining down your legs. Literally.

At least your periods were dependable that way, always following the same pattern.

Evening was fast approaching, and so was a town in the distance, just down the hill that you and Joel had just reached the top of. He raised a hand to his eyes, shielding his view from the evening sun that hung low on the horizon.

"Best bet is to go around it," he assessed, one hand on his hip. "No way to tell what's waitin' down there. Easier if we don't find out."

"Yeah, umh, about that."

He turned to you, a golden glow around the outline of his head. He looked like an angel. You blinked, cleared your throat.

"I need to find some cloth. Preferably clean, but anything will do, really. I know there's a spare shirt in my backpack, but I really don't want to cut it up..."

Joel frowned at you, visibly not understanding what you were getting at.

"Pads, Joel. I need to make pads. I'm about to start bleeding like a slit throat. I'm talkin' Niagara Falls."

He blinked, scratched behind his ear. "...right. Yeah. Okay."

It irked him that he hadn't thought of anything for your period. Granted, he hadn't had to deal with the topic in a long time, no woman in his life sticking around long enough (he made sure of that) that the topic could even come up. Still, he was a man who prided himself on being prepared, and he felt anything but as he helped you rummage through open and broken drawers to look for anything that might be useful.

You were tensing up more frequently now, pausing in whatever you were doing with shut eyes and a tight expression on your face. He knew what that meant, even if it had been a long time. You were cramping, and by the looks of it, quite hard.

Joel was irritated to find that he felt sorry for you. Though, no, that wasn't what irritated him. He may have been gruff and closed off on the outside, but he was still human after all, capable of empathy. What irritated him was the need he felt to alleviate your pain. More than once, he felt the urge to reach out and stroke your face, or worse even, to pull you into his arms into a comforting hug. Once, when your back was turned to him, he even saw his arm lifting on its own accord, and he had to bring it back down with his other hand before it made contact with you.

What the hell are you thinkin', he scolded himself. This ain't no more than a cargo run. She's cargo. Quit daydreamin'.

He scolded himself and then moved on, once, twice, thrice, until he had to tell himself off for the fourth time and he was beginning to get seriously pissed with himself. What was it with you that he kept thinkin' about touchin' you?

You were oblivious to his ordeal, having your own problems to deal with. You'd found some cloth that looked (and smelled) clean enough to be used as makeshift pads. Your hands made quick work of the fabric as you tore the old shirt into strips, then braided them into wider pieces until they roughly matched the length of the strip of fabric that connected the front of your panties to the back. Once that was done, you wrapped the braided piece fully around the bottom of a fresh pair of underwear, tying off the excess fabric when you had done so. It wasn't pretty, it was knobby and bound to be uncomfortable, but it was better than just wrapping pieces around the middle and hoping for the best. This way, you had a couple of layers underneath you, and if you didn't shuffle too much, the makeshift pad would perhaps stay in place. You sighed, inspecting your finished work. Behind you, Joel whistled. He sauntered over to inspect your work.

"Don't look too bad. You think this'll do?"

You eyed your handful of makeshift pads, a sorrowful look on your face. "It'll have to. But knowing my flow, I'll go through these in just a day - two, if I'm lucky..." Another wave of cramps tightened in your lower belly. You winced and leaned forward, one arm across your abdomen. A warm hand appeared on your shoulder.

"Tell you what. This town don't seem too dangerous. How 'bout we try and find a place here for tonight? Hm? Sleep in a real bed for a change?"

Joel didn't need to ask twice. You seemed more than relieved that your journey today would go no further than a couple of houses down the street, which was where you found a suitable candidate to spend the night in.

It had probably been a beautiful townhouse once, back in the day, complete with a white picket fence and a front- and backyard to show for. Now, though, the garden was overgrown, the fence was hanging in pieces, paint littering off its remaining poles, and the house itself looked sad and empty, as if it was mourning the loss of its previous inhabitants.

Unlike the rest of the houses on the street though, this building seemed to have all its walls intact. That, and the fact that your steps were getting slower by the minute, was enough for Joel to declare this house as your designated sleeping spot for the night.

The two of you did a quick sweep of each room, making sure everything was safe and sound. It was strange how quickly a routine could settle between two people who'd been nothing but strangers just barely three weeks ago. It wasn't the first time this thought occurred to you either: yours and Joel's movements seemed to almost flow into one another as you cleared the house from bottom to top. It felt a little like you could anticipate his next move before he announced it, and vice versa. He'd even said as much to you after the first week of the two of you fighting for y'all's asses, talking about how maybe you weren't as much of a princess as he'd initially thought. You'd just rolled your eyes at the comment, but there had also been a feeling of pride settling in your chest that you'd been unable to ignore.

It came like you'd said it would. Not long after you had dropped yourself on one of the worn-out sofas in the living room, you felt a particularly harsh cramp cutting through your abdomen, before something warm trickled out of you. You groaned silently to yourself. So it had begun.

Joel watched you from the armchair next to the couch. He was using the last couple of hours of decent daylight to take stock of his backpack, checking it for tears and what not, taking inventory of his ammo and cleaning and sharpening his weapons. Besides the fact that it had to be done, it gave him something to do. Made him feel like he was doing something sensible, practical.

He didn't like to admit it to himself, but watching you writhe in pain on the couch beside him didn't sit right with him. Even though it had nothing to do with a lack of care on his side, he somehow, against all logic, felt responsible for how crappy you were feelin'. It didn't help either that kept tellin' himself off for it. Ain't none of yer business, he kept repeating in his head and re-focused on sharpening the blade in his hand, right before glancing back at you when you'd moan again in pain.

You were definitely going through it. Once the dam had broken, so to say, there was nothing you could do but lay on the couch and wallow in self-pity. By now, the cramps had settled into a steady churning pain that had settled in your abdomen like a straight line, going from one of your tubes to the other. Your lower back felt like something was trying to break through it from both sides, forming an immense pressure that spread up the rest of your back. As if that wasn't enough, your neck was tense, rock hard and unforgiving, uncomfortable in whatever position you brought yourself into. And then of course, there was the bleeding itself, and the occasional harsher cramp that pulled through your entire abdomen.

You were certainly going through it, and the last two weeks had been too demanding. When a cramp cursed through you, you didn't hold back your whimpers. You just didn't have it in you to care. Joel could think whatever he wanted - no uterus, no opinion, that was as far as your thinking went in regards to him as you laid on the couch and wallowed in pain.

You had to give it to him, though. He was being remarkably quiet about your whole ordeal. You'd expected some dry comments, something about pulling yourself together, woman, you're not dying, but so far, there had been none of that, not even a distasteful scoff at your moans. You did see him looking at you from time to time, and it must've been your hazy mind, but you could've sworn he looked almost sorry for you. Almost.

Hours passed, and your pain didn't let up, if anything, it only intensified. While darkness slowly settled over everything outside, you did anything but on the couch. You turned and tossed with every new wave of pain, trying with all your might to find at least one position that alleviated your pain, but nothing helped. You had just flipped yourself over on your stomach with a groan, burying your face in one of the cushions when Joel spoke up behind you.

"Alright, enough. C'mon."

There was a light tap on your leg, then a more determined nudge when you didn't move. "Hey, c'mon. Move."

You just groaned into your pillow. I ain't movin' nowhere, it meant, but then your legs were being picked up and slowly lowered, until your knees touched the ground. Begrudgingly, and with a very fed-up expression on your face, you lifted your head from the pillow to shoot icy daggers at Joel, who was now kneeling beside you.

"Don't gimme that look," he grumbled. "Just tryin' to help ya. C'mon." He motioned at the sofa cushion. "Put your head down, get comfortable. N' put your knees a bit more together, so I can fit behind you. There you go." He instructed you until you were kneeling in front of the couch how he wanted to, your head resting on your arms on the sofa cushion. Attagirl. He shimmied behind you with some difficulty, his old knees not cooperating with him as fast as they once did, but then he finally sat behind you in a position similar to yours.

"What'cha doin," he heard you murmur into the cushion and promptly shushed you. "Shh. You about to see. Now don't freak, but you about to feel my hands on you."

You had no idea what the hell he was getting up to, but you didn't have the strength to care. For all you cared, he could've taken you off the chessboard in this very moment, and you wouldn't have minded. Everything hurt too much. It was all you could focus on.

You felt Joel's large hands on your waist, then your shirt being lightly pulled up. "Hey! What-"

You did turn around at that, furrowed brows and all, only to be met with Joel's fed-up stare. "You trust me or not?"

It took a moment, but eventually you put your head back down, not without your lips drawing into a pout. Course, you trusted him by now. Even if you didn't like it very much.

Joel waited until your head was settled on the cushion again, then he brought up your top a bit, folding it over once so it'd stay up over your tailbone. It had been a while, since he'd done this - hell, a long, long while - but he couldn't sit by no more and watch you toss and turn in pain. He'd had about enough of that.

He laid his palms flat on your waist, letting you get acclimated to his touch first so you wouldn't turn around and bite his head off once more in a second. Then, when he felt like a good enough time had passed, he lightly lifted his thumbs and pressed them down on your lower back, your tailbone right in the middle of them. Carefully, he brought his thumbs upwards, drawing two straight lines into your skin while keeping his pressure firm.

Your response was almost immediate. Joel could see your tense shoulders going down just a smidge, your back relaxing as you let out an elongated 'oh' sound, accompanied by a deep sigh. "Attagirl," he murmured, one corner of his lips slightly quirking up. "Just relax into it. I got you." He kept repeating the motion, digging his thumbs into your lower back to bring you some relief. A picture of how he'd once done the same for Sarah's mother flit across his brain. He quickly shook his head, dismissing the memory as quickly as it had appeared.

It felt like heaven, how Joel was working his thumbs over your aching back. It did nothing to alleviate your pain in the front, but it still felt a million times better than tossing and turning on the worn out cushions of this dusty couch. Just like you hadn't held back with your moans of pain, you were now not holding back your moans of enjoyment. You'd never felt anything quite like it before. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

You heard Joel chuckle quietly behind you. "I know a thing or two, kiddo. Been around the block once or twice."

You just hummed in agreement, then let out a load moan once more as his fingers dug into a specifically delicate spot. "Fuck, Joel. Yeah. Right there."

Joel was just glad you had your head buried in the cushions of the sofa. Otherwise you would've seen what your moans were doing to him, and boy, were they doing a number on him. He'd been able to ignore your first few moans of pleasure, biting down hard on his tongue and closing his eyes to focus, but then his mind started projecting pictures onto his closed lids of you, below instead in front of him, making those same sweet sounds of pleasure while he touched you elsewhere -

His eyes flew open and he grunted, willing the pictures away with all his might. He tried staring at his hands instead, but that was a dumb idea, seeing as how he could see your delicate skin being worked underneath his thumbs then, his fingers drawing out another moan from your lips -

Next was the wall. He could've drilled holes into the flaky wallpaper, with how hard he was staring at it. He could feel the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and he could only hope, pray that you wouldn't turn around anytime soon to see how your moans were visibly affecting him, specifically in his crotch area.

"Fuck, oh my god, right there, Joel." Your voice was breathy and needy, and Joel's eye twitched. The hell had he gotten himself into with this?!

He prodded your back, trying to find the spot you'd just referred to. "Right here, sweetheart?"

He saw your head bob as you nodded, a satisfied hum vibrating through you. "Mhh, yeah. That's - oof - that's the spot."

He was digging himself his own grave, that much was for certain right now. He knew he should've stopped, should've went back to his armchair and returned to working on his gun, but he couldn't. It was like he was transfixed, glued in position like a fly to a trap. The whimpers falling from your mouth were too good to pass up, to sweet to resist. He hadn't had anything sweet in such a long time. And Joel was dying for a treat.

But he also knew it wasn't right. He knew it now and he knew it then, those few weeks ago when he'd grabbed you outside of your apartment and had kissed you out of the blue. You'd been shocked to say the least. The FEDRA guards had been on his heels and he'd needed to find a way to disperse of them quickly, and there you were, conveniently placed in his path like a lucky find, and his brain had snapped and he'd just gone for it. Pulled you into a kiss like you were his, hands flying up to your face to hold you in place. Your eyes had grown wide in shock and he'd briefly pulled his lips from yours to whisper to you. Work with me, please, I'll make it worth your while. His heart had drummed in his chest, a million silent prayers tumbling from his lips in the milli-second that it took you to subtly nod. A brief grin had flit over his lips before he'd crashed them back down on yours, kissing you like he'd been waiting to do so all day. And my god, had you worked with him. Your own hands had flown up to his head, one curling around the base of his neck and the other digging into his hair. He'd backed you up against the wall behind you, slowly walking you backwards until your back collided with the weathered bricks, and you had actually moaned into his mouth, much like you were doing now. It had sent his head reeling, and though Joel was not a man of faith, he'd briefly thanked whatever God he had seemingly pleased enough to allow him this sweet of a distraction.

The guards had trampled around the corner then, their heavy footsteps a stark contrast to the sweet moans falling from your lips. They'd cleared their throat - ahem - and Joel had unwillingly detangled himself from you enough to cast a look at them over his shoulder. What? A man can't make out with his girl in the street? Their eyes had wandered from you to him, and he saw then what they were seeing: a man in his mid-fifties pressing a what, late twenties? Early thirties? woman to the wall, her face all flustered, hair disheveled from where Joel's hands had dug into it. He'd seen the envy plastered on their faces, heard the murmurs. Lucky bastard. A triumphant grin had played around his lips, even though he knew he was treading on thin fucking ice. That he was indeed, a lucky bastard.

His luck had only lasted so long, though. When the guards had disappeared, he all but saw lucky stars in his eyes when you invited him up to your apartment. Was he really going to get that lucky?

Heavens, no. He'd been brought down back to earth swiftly when you had stood in front of him, crossed arms and expectant look on your face. So? What was that? He shrugged nonchalantly. What was what?

You, though, as he quickly came to learn, were not to be underestimated. You made him tell you in detail why the guards had been after him, then practically foamed at the mouth when he reluctantly explained what he'd been up to that afternoon.

It hadn't even been that big of a deal, just a casual, run-of-the-mill drug run, but you didn't seem to share his sentiment. Casual? Run-of-the-mill? He'd had to shush you from how loud you were screeching. Didn't you know the damn walls had ears?

My god, you could talk. Bicker, was the more fitting term. Or nag, really. You went on and on about how he'd went and done it now, how he'd fucked up your life, all because he had to go and get you involved in something that you had absolutely no interest in -

That was the first time your finger had flown into his face, all accusing and threatening, like you could do him any harm with just the tip of your index finger. Boy, had he been tempted to smack it out of his face. But he didn't. As much as he hated to admit it - you had a point. By putting you on the map as his lover, he had likely put you in a lot more danger than you were even realizing at the moment.

He'd tried to put you out of his mind. Even after you had made him promise to get you out of the QZ as a 'reward' - You owe me, Joel Miller - he'd tried not to think about you, not until his next run out of the city at least, which is when he planned to make good on his promise. Until then, he wouldn't think about you. You'd just turn into another headache, another problem he'd have to deal with, and he had enough of those as it was. Not to mention that he was almost twice your senior. He didn't have many principles anymore, but he still had some. And hell if he didn't at least stick to those anymore.

He kept his resolve up for all but two hours, when he was back in his apartment, laying in his bed and unable to sleep. You kept drifting through his mind, bickering and foaming at the mouth and red in the face, telling him how he'd went and fucked up your life, but more than that how your lips had felt on his, how sweet your mouth had tasted, how delicious your moans had sounded in his ear -

Fuck it. Joel growled and shoved his hand into his boxers. He'd rub one out to you, just once. Surely that would get you off his mind.

Well, it did, sort of. Until he was in bed again the next night, and he found himself with his cock in his hand once more, thinking about your lips and how they'd felt on him, and how they'd feel wrapped around his cock instead of his own hand -

He groaned as his release painted over his stomach, white silken strands mixing with the soft curls on his belly as he silently cursed you, then himself. The hell had he gotten himself into?

So of course he'd had no choice but to come and get you when he got intel that he was the subject of the upcoming raid, that very night. He barely had time to prepare two backpacks with the bare necessities before he went out to find you.

How all of that had brought him here, kneeling behind you as the sweetest moans fell from your mouth once more - he didn't know. Joel couldn't tell whether you were a blessing or a curse, if you were the price he had to pay or the price he received. Seeing as how his life had gone though, it was unlikely that you were the latter.

And yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd won when he brought his thumbs down on on the sides of your lower spine and earned a low moan in return, long and elongated and putting all kinds of pictures into his mind that his head momentarily fell to his chest, a pained expression painted across it.

No, no. You were both. A blessing and a curse.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Credits: plant divider by @strangergraphics

A/N: Well, here we are. Like I said, the idea for this was born while needing comfort on my own period, and then this monstrosity flowed from my fingertips and eventually I realized that perhaps, 9.3k words were perhaps a bit too much for a oneshot, especially when said oneshot wasn't complete yet. Ahem. So! Here you have the first half of what is undoubtedly going to turn into a filthy, filthy second part. 🙃 I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, I was kicking my feet giggling while writing this, lol.

No pressure taglist:

@peekyourinterest @vickie5446 @noisynightmarepoetry @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @picketniffler

@frogsdeservelovetoo @orcasoul @ashleyfilm @elli3williams @missladym1981

@spotty-boo90 @iamsherlocked-1998 @axshadows @justajoelsreader @oldmenenthusiast

[dearieshima]

winner

feat. what happens if no nut november comes around, and you're almost there at the finish line, and the girl you pined over since highschool, finally wants to fuck you?

God had granted him the ultimate temptation– the chance to fuck one of his perfect angels, and it felt like divine retribution for not seizing such a heavenly opportunity.

c.w. cowgirl, breast worship, unprotected sex, loser boy gojo, afab!reader

Gojo Satoru is the kind of guy people talk about. A natural winner in every way that matters.

He walks around campus like he owns the place, because he might as well have, since his net worth was three million by the time of his conception.

He’s the one everyone wants to be or be with—athletic, good-looking, blessed with charisma, and even intelligent. People gravitate toward him as if he’s the sun, and it seems like everything in his life just falls into place.

So it was only natural he would accumulate jealousy brewing among some students. They love to admire him, sure, but secretly, they waited for a crack to appear in his perfect image, eager for it to crumble.

So when November rolled around, Geto and a group of underclassmen saw an opportunity. They set up a bet, daring him to a challenge: for the entire month, Gojo was forbidden from his usual playful flirting and pursuits. A month of self-restraint for a guy who usually had the university’s most admired women hanging on his every word.

He shrugged it off. The only woman he truly wanted was you, from the start, anyway. The only true threat to his virtue was his hand itching to jerk him off to the thought of you. Other than that, he was fine.

…

Well, something happened.

Gojo couldn't remember what triggered it, why your lips were suddenly pressed against his. Perhaps it was the cheesy sex scene playing out on the screen, or the dumb joke he made about the actor's dick - it must have been a particularly good, dumb dick joke to elicit such a response from you.

The specifics leading up to this moment didn't matter. This was what he had fantasized about endlessly since high school, and now here you were, in his arms, your body flush against his.

But as your hand slid down his thigh, brushing against the throbbing bulge straining against his pants, a sudden realization hit him like a bucket of ice water. He had been strong for 24 days, resisting temptation and keeping his resolve. But now, with you so close, so eager, his resolve stood a chance of a house of cards against wind.

"Fuck," he groaned, pulling back slightly, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Wait… goddamn it."

You blinked at him, confusion flashing across your face, then understanding cleared it all away. "... Did you…?"

“No, no– thank fuck no,” he rasped, wiping a shaky hand over his face.

Your brows furrowed.

He had come so far, resisting temptation for nearly a month. And now, with you in his arms, the only person he had pined for those years back, all he wanted to come so far in, was you.

"I can't,” he said, his voice low and strained, almost as if the words were painful to speak. “It's November.”

“November...?” you echoed, your voice trailing off, searching your mind for any important dates in November that might explain his reaction.

Gojo nodded, his hands resting on your hips, his eyes searching your face for understanding. "Yeah, November. It's… um. Remember that bet I made with Geto and some other guys?”

You shook your head. Gojo let out a sigh, realizing that he would have to explain the whole situation to you. He ran a hand through his white hair, messing it up further.

"Alright, listen. You know how I like to make bets? I had this bet with Geto and some underclassmen… and it's about No Nut November, and–”

You let out a deep groan, dragging your hand down your face in exasperation. Your fingers tugged at your eyelids as you drew out a long, "Nooo, ‘Toru... That's so stupid. You guys are so stupid. Do you guys seriously believe in that?”

Gojo gave a sheepish grin, his cheeks reddening just slightly at your reaction, which was, as expected, not the most enthusiastic.

"I know, I know, it's a dumb bet, but these guys were so convinced that I couldn't make it a month without… you know." He paused, looking away for a moment, his voice dropping slightly.

"And the bet was for a lot of money, y'know.”

You sighed, “'Toru, your family’s loaded. What could money possibly mean to you?”

Gojo flinched, reluctant to admit you had a point. It was true, his family’s wealth granted him a life of ease and luxury that most people could only imagine.

"It's not about the money," he insisted, his grip on your hips tightening slightly. "It's about the… the principle."

"The principal," you said flatly.

Gojo sighed, his shoulders sagging slightly. He knew your disbelief was warranted, but he was in too deep now to back out.

You nodded, pretending to get it, and rolled away from him.

“I don’t know. Six more days, and then…” His voice faded as he watched you settle on the other side of the couch. His body quivered without the heat of yours.

He sighed, propping himself on an elbow, eyes fixed on you as you refocused on the movie.

“Six days isn’t that long, right?”

“Sure, ‘Toru.”

The room was filled with a charged silence, broken only by the breathy moans emanating from the erotic scene playing out on the television screen, taunting him. His mouth opened and closed, searching for words, but none came. How could you be so casual, so dismissive, after just making out with him? He was the king of sass and comebacks, but he was struck speechless by your nonchalance.

"Wait," he said, his voice slightly rougher than before. "That's it?”

You looked at him as the TV screen flashed, illuminating your face where he could see you with a raised eyebrow, slouched on the couch.

Gojo stared at you, disbelief filling his gaze. Was this really happening? Was he really about to miss out on this opportunity because of a stupid bet? His mind raced, searching for any possible loophole.

"But… I mean," he stuttered, "you were all over me just a minute ago. Are you really just gonna turn away from me now?”

You shrugged. "What do you expect me to do?" you asked. "Since you're set on doing that… November thing.”

Gojo deflated back against the couch, a defeated sigh escaping him. You were giving him attitude, and it was both annoying him and turning him on at the same time.

He ran a hand through his messy hair, trying to think of a response that wouldn't make him sound like a whiny child.

"I don't know," he pouted. "I just… I was hoping you'd understand. Maybe be a little supportive?”

You deadpanned. "You can't be serious. Supportive of what?”

Gojo huffed, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at you, taking in your blank expression.

"Supportive of me trying to win the bet! I've been holding back for about 3 weeks, and you make it seem like it's nothing, like I'm being ridiculous for sticking to it.”

"Not just you, but Geto and everyone else you made the bet with," you said, grabbing your Coke. "It's okay, really, 'Toru. If you’re not up for it, let’s just watch the movie.”

Gojo huffed and slid back into the arm of the couch, sulking. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest as he stared blankly at the movie playing out before him, not really seeing or processing any of it. His mind was a tangled mess of frustration and disappointment, replaying the events of the night over and over.

This was not at all how he had imagined things would go. The movie, with its stupid unexpected sex scene, you, offering yourself to him so freely, so willingly, and most important of all, him, refusing you.

As the night wore on, Gojo found himself growing increasingly restless. He tried to focus on the movie, but his mind kept wandering back to the bet and the opportunity slipping through his fingers. By the time the credits rolled, he was practically vibrating with tension. He turned to you, his heart racing.

His hungry gaze devoured your form, lingering on the tantalizing curves of your breasts, barely contained by your rumpled shirt. The lacy edge of your bra peeked out, teasing him with glimpses of doughy flesh straining against the delicate fabric. Each second stretched into an eternity, his heart pounding wildly in his chest as he imagined burying his face between those soft mounds, worshiping every inch of your divine body. God had granted him the ultimate temptation– the chance to fuck one of his perfect angels, and it felt like divine retribution for not seizing such a heavenly opportunity.

His inner monologue was a rapid-fire debate. The urge to forget the stupid bet, to toss all caution to the wind and just give in to the desire that was coursing through his veins, was overwhelming.

But then the image of Geto's smug face popped into his mind, the memory of the bet gnawing at his thoughts. He couldn't just give in, not after all this time. Could he?

God, your face was so adorable, lips swollen and glistening from his kisses, your neck a leopard print of hickies. His hungry eyes trailed further down, to the tantalizing swell of your ass from your tiny shorts riding up, exposing the globes. The loose hem showcased a pair of skimpy white panties, and he could only imagine how drenched they were, just from him. He was a fool. He's been waiting since highschool for the chance to fuck his dream girl, and when offered the chance, he was just going to give it up? To give it to the next guy? Fuck no. You might not give him another chance by then.

In an instant, he was on his knees, closing the distance between you with a swiftness that was almost alarming. His voice was a low, guttural growl as he leaned over you.

"Screw it.”

Your wide-eyed look of surprise didn't deter Gojo, not one bit. His eyes were burning, his gaze practically burning holes through your clothes.

He planted his hands on the arm of the couch, effectively trapping you, his body looming over you like a predator over its prey.

"Fuck the bet," he growled, his hands roaming hungrily over your curves. "Fuck the bet. Fuck Geto, fuck Shoko, fuck Ino– fuck everything else. I just want to fuck you. They don't have a sexy girl waiting for them at home like I do. They can't understand the struggle."

His mouth crashed against your neck, his tongue and teeth working the sensitive flesh as he pulled you down onto his lap, your bodies melding together on the couch. His hardness pressed insistently against your core as he ground up into you.

Gojo tore at his belt, his fingers flying as he unbuttoned his pants. He pushed them down, along with his underwear, freeing himself. His cock sprung proudly, his tip flushed and glistening with pre. Subtle blue veins snaked up the creamy length, pulsing with need.

Hooking his fingers under your shorts and panties, he tugged them down, exposing your dripping wet pussy to his hungry gaze. You lifted your hips obligingly, allowing him to remove the flimsy garments completely. Gojo groaned at the sight of your slick folds, already swollen with arousal.

Positioning himself beneath you, his rigid shaft bobbed against his stomach. The musky scent of his desire filled the air as his fingers curled around himself, guiding himself to your entrance. He thrust up, sheathing himself inside you in one stroke.

You tossed your head back, your pussy clenching around him. Gojo's eyes rolled back as he bottomed out inside you, his cock buried to the hilt in your tight pussy. He let out a guttural moan, his hands on your hips as he started to pound into you at a brutal pace, his balls slapping against your ass with each thrust.

Gojo's voice was a guttural growl against your neck as he fucked you relentlessly. "I can't... Stop... Fuck, I've wanted this for so long... Fuck, fuck, fuck!" His hips hammered against yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing through the room.

"'Toru...!”

"Shh...shh, baby, not so loud..." Gojo panted, trying to muffle his own moans. Despite resigning to fucking you, he remained paranoid that the others may hear you both. Maybe he could salvage himself.

His hips jackhammered upwards, his hard length spearing into you over and over, the couch creaking under the force of his thrusts.

"Oh… Oh god..." You whimpered, grinding against him. "You feel so good…”

Gojo's hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise as he slammed into you, his thick cock stretching you deliciously. He could feel your velvety walls fluttering around him, gripping him like a vice. "You're so fucking tight…”

His gaze was glued to your bouncing tits as he fucked you, his cock twitching inside you with every bounce. He reached up to grab one, squeezing the soft flesh in his hands as he continued to pound into your soaked pussy. "Fuck, your tits are perfect...so fucking perfect..." He groaned, "you're gonna make me cum so hard…”

“‘Toru…! you feel, feel so... mngh," you whimpered out, your hands curling over his as it kneaded your breasts.

"I'm not going to last long after holding back for so long…” Gojo cried, his voice strained with lust and exertion. “Say my name again, baby. Please…”

“‘Toru…!”

Gojo threw his head back with a loud groan as he heard his name on your lips, the sound spurring him on. His thrusts became erratic, losing rhythm as his climax approached. "Oh, shit… oh shit–! I'm... I'm gonna... fuck!”

Gojo buried himself inside you as far as he could go, his cock pulsing. "Ah fuck, ah fuck, ah–fuck!”

With a loud grunt, Gojo pulled you down to bury his face in the valley of your breasts, his cock throbbing violently inside you as he unleashed a torrent of cum deep within your pussy. His entire body shudders as he emptied himself inside you, filling you to the brim with his thick, hot seed. "Nnngh!"

You continued to grind down onto him, prolonging your shared climax. He groaned, his cock twitching with aftershocks as your pussy clenched and fluttered around him, milking him for every last drop. "Fuck...yes… ride it out, baby… ride... ugh…”

As your movements stilled, Gojo moved to nuzzled into your neck, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath. He peppered soft kisses onto your heated skin, his hands still squeezing your breasts gently. "Mmm... you feel so good... why'd we wait so long..."

Gathering your thoughts, you sighed, "'cuz you're always doing dumb things. You lost by the way.”

Gojo chuckled weakly, his arms wrapping around you to pull you closer. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm just glad it's finally over… and now I get to do this every day…”

He pressed his lips to your neck, a shuddering sigh escaping you, just as his phone buzzed on the coffee table. It was a message from Geto, who lived in the flat above.

New text from MOMMY GETO!

sent 9:48p.m.:

loser.

[g1rld1ary]

our names in the paper - footballer!james potter x fem!sports journalist!reader

wc: 11,151

cw: swearing, fade to black but suggestive moments?, smoking, slut-shaming, kissing

info: r and james are about 24, set in 2007ish solely for the romcom vibes. james is the equivalent of like David Beckham in his prime, all pics are for vibes only, not reflective of r's appearance etc

me: i've been working on this for soooo long i am so happy it's finally done!! if u couldn't tell it's very inspired by early 2000s romcoms and i am honestly so proud of it so praying it doesn't flop LOL

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

"James, James! Over here! What's the defence strategy this season?"

If you had to hear James' name one more time you might scream. Unfortunately, you were locked in a room with nothing but that. Worse, you were part of the problem.

"Mister Potter, what do you think about your striker's goal-to-game ratio falling rapidly this season?" You called, begrudgingly hoping for a moment of the soccer star's attention. Fortunately (or unfortunately), his glittering eyes settled on you, singling you out from the room of hungry journalists.

"I think that you miss one hundred per cent of the shots you don't take," He said, smirk turning to something challenging, "And as long as my team is training and working together, I'm not gonna cry over a bit of spilt milk or missed goals. And, as far as I'm concerned we're still winning games, aren't we?" You rolled your eyes, scribbling down his answer nonetheless.

You continued the catfight of trying to get answers for your newest article, keeping the balance of vying for James' attention and showing him you didn't care for him personally, unlike the other journalists you were pushing against. The conference room was full of men and women who wanted to be James or be with him. Aside from the professional questions, there were certainly several invitations to the pub thrown around, and you were sure you saw one woman try and give him her cellphone number. You rolled your eyes again at that, James was nothing to fawn over.

He might be a big shot now, but you'd known him almost all your life. The two of you had gone to school together and had bickered through every interaction since then. James had always wanted to be a football star, and you a journalist. You'd never believed in him and vice versa, both of you taking every opportunity to tease the other or cut each other down. Maybe it was just clashing personalities, two people too ambitious to be friends. The rivalry had lasted past school, and unfortunately, the two of you often crossed paths in your respective careers.

The press conference wrapped up soon after your question, and you ended up lingering in the room trying to finish your notes. James was still over at his podium next to his coach, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and arduously texting on his flip phone. Seeing you hovering by the door he called your last name, sauntering up behind you. You rolled your eyes and braced yourself for the encounter.

"Potter." You smiled curtly, moving to leave.

"You don't have to call me 'Mr Potter' during the conferences, you know. James is perfectly fine, everyone else calls me that."

"Just trying to stay professional," You said through gritted teeth, aware his coach and a few others were still around you. It could cost you your job to snap at him.

"Was it professional when I was your first kiss?" He stepped closer and you instinctively stepped back, feeling the plaster wall graze your back through your work blazer.

"It was spin the bottle and we were twelve, it's ancient history. And do you mind? I know you're some kind of god around here but I have a reputation to uphold," You whispered, glancing around anxiously. James laughed at your distress which only annoyed you further. Maybe he could get away with anything, but you had to fight for your place in your field as a female sports journalist, you couldn't afford to take it lightly.

You couldn't help the physical reaction to being trapped between James and the wall though, your breathing shallow and quick, face tilted up slightly to look at him. You felt a bit like prey, caught in the predator's territory and resigned to imminent death.

"Let her go, will you? She's just doing her job," Remus Lupin said, entering the conference room with his nose crinkled from the smell. You couldn't blame him, sweaty players and hungry journalists didn't make any kind of utopia together.

"I wasn't doing anything!" James cried, hands up in surrender, "Come on love, I was just giving you the scoop, right?"

"First of all, if you were giving me 'the scoop' right now I'd certainly be accused of sleeping to the top by all the blokes waiting out there," You gestured to the group of other reporters still lingering in the hall waiting for any scraps of information, "And secondly, I work for the bloody Sunday People, not the BBC. I honestly think they'd rather I just write about your 'dashing good looks' or a drug scandal than your games," You complained, falling back into the ease of conversation now that Remus was there. He'd been at school with the both of you, growing up to be a physiotherapist, but was always much more palatable than James.

Both men laughed at your plight.

"If you ever need a more detailed look at my dashing good looks just ask, sweetheart. I'd be glad to show you, you know, for your articles." You rolled your eyes at James' attempt to be charming, snapping your notebook shut.

"Alright, I think that's my cue to go," You said curtly, smoothing out your work trousers. "Remus, I'll return Dracula next time I see you; I'm almost finished." You remembered you'd had his novel for quite a while, sparing him a smile on the way out.

"You lend her books?" James asked incredulously, hazel eyes curiously following your figure down the hall. Remus just shrugged, patting James on the shoulder and attending to his actual job, checking up on the players after the match.

James was still hung up on the fact when he returned to the apartment he shared with Remus and Sirius, flabbergasted as he hung his coat on the rack.

"Since when are you two close enough to be sharing books?" He cried as he paced through the kitchen, "Have we not all been in agreement that she is stubborn and hard-headed and annoying and has been since school?"

"No," Remus shook his head, "You decided that, and I daresay she feels the same about you. I've always rather liked her."

James was unexpectedly dumbfounded at the realisation that you weren’t the common enemy he thought you were. Even Sirius didn’t seem to dislike you, always stopping for a chat when you were around the stadium and giving you extra comments with a flirty wink.

James didn’t need to think about you for another few weeks; his team hadn’t played one week and you’d been assigned other matches for the others — he read your very amusing pieces on lawn bowls and chess-boxing, partly because he knew you’d hate the assignment.

You were blissfully apart until one Saturday night. You were out with your friends and a few coworkers and James was out with his. He’d started in the local pub while you were at a fancy cocktail restaurant for Lily’s bachelorette party, however, your groups crossed paths in the depths of a nightclub.

Maybe you were getting too old for them, waking up with sore backs and knees after nights of dancing, but it didn’t mean you wouldn’t give it a red hot go. And with a few cocktails in your system, nobody could convince you it wasn’t a good idea.

You'd been shaking what your mother gave you for the better part of an hour before it was your turn to get another round, telling the girls you'd be back before stumbling through a sea of sweaty bodies.

Some gross man who was definitely too old for you obstructed your path, grabbing your arms to make you dance with him. Your face crinkled in disgust of its own accord, trying to wiggle yourself free. He continued to encroach on your space, forcing you around despite your persistence. Finally, a man's hands landed on his shoulders, yanking him away and subsequently freeing you from his grasp. The momentum sent you tumbling in your strappy heels, right into something warm and solid. You cringed, having been there before. You turned slowly to meet your unwitting saviour, huffing when you realised it was James.

"Oh, fuck off," You grumbled, mostly to yourself, producing a quick apology to not seem totally impolite.

"Alright?" Sirius asked, revealing himself as the one who'd gotten you away from the creep. You shrugged, fixing your hair.

"Been better," You told him, preparing to leave before seemingly their whole team had surrounded you, all greeting you loudly. You weakly waved at them, feeling dreadfully underdressed and professional. You were used to seeing them in the stadium and press conferences where you were much more modestly dressed. The strapless mini dress wasn't giving you the same layer of protection.

"Right," You said when there didn't seem to be any more productive conversation happening, "I'm off to the bar then."

"Let me buy you a drink, to make up for the freak," One of the players, Frank, said. You smiled but shook your head.

"I'm buying for several, it wouldn't be fair. It's Lily's bachelorette." You directed the last sentence to those who knew her, the football and journalism professions having considerable overlap due to events and the never-ending scandals and interviews. James covered his face in mock-devastation.

"Not Lily! Have I missed my chance forever?" He moaned, earning some shoves from the rest of the group. You and Lily had been friends since uni, and you'd introduced her to the boys at one of the terrible house parties you'd endured over your three years studying. James had developed a thing for her right away (no one knew how much of it was serious and how much was for comedic value) and had been loudly pining for her ever since, despite her long-term relationship with Dirk Cresswell, an economist who worked in the building down the block from your office.

"I think you missed your chance the first time," You retorted with a snort, a little drunk to have any ferocity in your tone. You both made a face at each other, ignoring the laughter of those around you. You dismissed the group and danced away, shaking your arse over to the bar.

A few rounds later and you were not in your best shape. The girls had been absolute menaces, feeding you shots and deceiving colourful cocktails that actually held like seven standards in them, and you were certainly feeling the effects. You excused yourself from the group to find a loo, bile rising in your throat as you pushed past dancers, not even sparing a comment for James as you saw him.

That confused both James and his friends, becoming used to your insistent teasing over the years. He exchanged a look with Sirius, following you through the crowd and to the bathrooms.

He figured something was wrong when you burst into the gender-neutral bathrooms, not bothering to lock the door behind you. James and Sirius silently fought about who was going to follow you in and check on you; James found you insufferable, Sirius had severe emetophobia and would probably throw up himself if he had to be close to you vomiting. James rolled his eyes, it was his responsibility. Sirius clapped him on the back gratefully, leaving him to return to the others. James sighed, reciting some affirmations before he cracked the door open, calling out to you.

When you responded with a disgusting wretch, James slipped inside, gagging a little as he saw you leant over the toilet bowl, bare knees on the grimy tile floor.

"Alright?" He asked for lack of anything better, unsurprised when you replied with another gag.

"I feel ill," You said pathetically, head hung low in the bowl which James knew you would resent tomorrow. He laughed quietly, getting closer to you.

"No shit, idiot," His tone was light as he began to rub your back softly, making sure your hair was away from your mouth. You vomited a few more times, your body reacting in violent hurls as James tried to be both soothing and as far away as possible.

When your stomach was finally empty you slumped against the toilet, cheek pressed against the cool porcelain.

"Woah," James pulled you up to a sitting position, "That cannot be good for your skin. Let's get you home, okay?" You nodded petulantly, letting yourself be led out through the club, James telling Lily he'd make sure you got home (and congratulated her on the upcoming wedding).

"Can we get some gum or something? My throat tastes like vom." James looked down at you from where you were lodged into his side, legs shaky as you wobbled down the street. He sighed and steered you in the direction of a convenience store, picking out strawberry gum for you since it tasted better than mint, your words. Good you thought when he paid for it, the football star can shell out 2 pounds, makes more than you anyhow.

You chewed happily, stumbling down the pavement as James held onto you, keeping you upright.

"You're so muscly," You said, somewhat in a drunken haze.

"Thank you?" James laughed, patting you softly on the forearm he was holding. To be fair, you weren't quite sure if it was a compliment either. Your words were admittedly oddly nice but your tone made it confusing, drunk thoughts not completely translating to sober dynamics.

You meandered for a few oddly peaceful minutes, neither of you starting an argument or picking a fight. It was a nice break from normal, the two of you even sharing some peaceful small talk -- discussing a movie you'd both seen recently.

Of course, nothing good lasts.

"James!" A voice yelled from the other side of the street, a short man with mousy mannerisms. James groaned beside you.

"Peter Pettigrew," He whispered to you, trying to pull you along faster, "We used to be mates but turns out he was just using me to get team secrets out into the papers." You whipped your head around to look at him. Oh! You knew Pettigrew, unsurprising given you both reported on essentially the same topics, but he had a bad name even in your circles. He was closer to a paparazzi than a journalist, going for the cheap stories and ad hominem approaches rather than searching for any meaningful insights. Simply put, in an already sleazy career, Peter Pettigrew was the bottom of the barrel.

"Later, mate. I'm in the middle of something right now." James put his arm around your shoulder, better shielding you as he tried to make a getaway. The telltale flash of a camera reflected off the grey pavement, making both you and James whip your heads around to face Peter, looking hardly ashamed of himself. After a moment of shock, you both covered your faces, stumbling down the street as fast as you could manage. The damage was already done.

Suddenly you didn't feel as drunk, navigating the cobblestone streets with unanticipated nimbleness. James might've had the athlete's advantage but you were on home turf, leading him through local shortcuts and to the front door of your apartment building.

On the journey over you'd attracted a few more photographers all fiending for a scandalous picture of James, a small mob forming as you tried to punch in the door code despite your shaking hands. James was right behind you, front pressed to your back, holding his Adidas windbreaker out in a position to shield your face from the prying eyes.

You slammed the door shut, the nosy questions and camera clicks immediately muffled. James let out a long sigh, running a hand through his already tousled hair. Neither of you spoke for a while, processing what had happened.

"Make yourself at home then." You cringed as you surveyed the state of your flat; clothes flung over chairs and dishes still in the sink. Your only option for living alone was cramming all your stuff into what was essentially a shoebox, so any amount of mess made the place look chaotic.

"Nice place," James said and you immediately rolled your eyes, snatching up a stray bra strewn across an armchair. "No, I mean it! It's cozy. Very you." He gestured up at the colourful, mismatched glassware in a kitchen cabinet and the beaded curtain separating your bedroom. You blushed slightly; you didn't often take men home, your flat staying a girly paradise just for you.

You put on the kettle, comforted by the familiar sounds of water beginning to boil. James sat awkwardly on an armchair near the window, anxiously peeking out from behind the curtain every few minutes. His reactions told you the paparazzi were still loitering outside.

James took his tea gratefully, surprisingly still agreeable despite all the terrible things that had happened in the course of a few hours.

"Do you have a back exit or something? Somewhere I can slip out and get home?" You shook your head with a grimace.

"Only the fire exit, but that still goes out near the front. Otherwise we're surrounded by other buildings."

"You must be exhausted after everything. Head off to bed, I'll wait until the gits outside fuck off then lock the door behind me. We don't have to ever mention this again if you don't want." The orange lamp light made James' eyes look unfairly soft, highlighting the golden flecks amongst the brown. You steeled your nerve and shook your head.

"I'm not that bad of a host," You tried to joke, "Besides, don't you have training tomorrow? You're already up later than I'm sure you intended to be. I couldn't live with myself if I ruined England's star player by making him stay up all night, you take my bed and go to sleep." You were both very carefully trying to keep things light, not wanting to spend any more of the night miserable and fighting.

"Well, I'm not taking your bed, that's just impolite. I'll take the couch, if you're being so generous as to let me stay." He had a cheeky smile on his lips as he said it, both of you dancing around the fact that in any other circumstance James wouldn't have been allowed within fifteen feet of your flat.

"That couch? No way." You pointed at the teensy vintage sofa sitting in front of the boxy television. It had space for maybe two and a half arses to sit on it, maybe horizontally extended legs if you were short-ish, but there was no way the goliath James Potter was getting any decent sleep on it. "You take the bed. I'll survive the couch tonight."

"Don't be stupid, I can't sleep in your bed. If not the couch I'll take the floor."

"Speaking from a purely medical standpoint, I haven't cleaned these floors recently enough for it to be safe to have your face in such close proximity. Take the bed, Potter."

You bickered for a few long minutes, both of you trying to outdo each other's respect as host and guest, respectively. You didn't miss the irony that even when you and James were getting along you were fighting.

"I'm not letting you go without, that's final." You turned away to go fetch a pillow for your night on the couch when James said something you never ever thought you'd hear from him.

"Then sleep with me."

"Excuse me?" You all but shrieked, immediately cringing as you thought about your poor neighbours.

"Look, it's basically morning, we're both shattered and I'm sure your bed is much comfier than whatever alternative you're planning. We can even go full pillow-wall if it'll make you feel better." You stared at him for several moments, lips actually agape. Never in your life did you think James Potter would be asking you to share a bed with him, and never in your life did you think you'd be considering it.

"Fine."

Twenty minutes later and you were both ready for bed. You'd found James an old pair of an ex-boyfriend's long abandoned pyjamas, stuffed in a bottom drawer. They were slightly too small to accommodate all his muscles, the t-shirt sitting a few inches above the pants' waistband, giving him a very '90s crop top and exposing his happy trail.

You were almost definitely more embarrassed than James. You were in a similarly aged pair of pyjamas, a cartoon of Spongebob over your chest. You couldn't tell if you'd prefer to be in the lame pair that you were wearing or a cute pair -- no, it would probably look like you were trying too hard. Which you weren't. You didn't care about looking cute in front of James Potter, why would you?

He was already in bed when you'd returned from your skincare routine, face fresh and moisturised, and though you knew he was going to be there, nothing could have prepared you for the sight of James Potter in your bed. Tucked up to the chin under your frilly floral grandma sheets, he looked the picture of cozy.

"Don't bloody touch me, I mean it. I want to feel alone in my own bed," You snapped, sliding under the covers, pulling the doona similarly high up to your chin. You turned over to the centre of the bed to find James already on his side looking at you. You let it be for a moment, surprisingly enjoying the sleepover vibes you'd created.

"Okay this is weird now, the pillow's going up." You slammed a long decorative cushion in between the both of you, secretly smiling at the sleepy giggle James let out.

The first time you awoke it was hazy, still early in the morning with golden sunbeams streaming through your curtains. Warmth enveloped you, keeping you cozy despite the winter morning outside. You shifted to burrow deeper into your blankets when a groan came from behind you, startling you more awake as you recognised the feeling of muscular arms wrapped around your middle. It suddenly all came back to you, James walking you home, the paparazzi, you making an absolute fool of yourself. However, James was a portable heat source and extremely comfortable so you let yourself ignore everything that had led up to it, allowing yourself another few hours of blissful sleep.

The second time you woke up James was gone. That wasn't surprising given he definitely had early morning training, but you would reluctantly admit that it was a little lonelier in your bed than it usually was.

You didn't leave the house for the rest of the day, finally cleaning your apartment after much too long. Turns out all you needed was to be embarrassed in front of a guest to get you motivated.

Monday morning you weren't hungover anymore, but you were mourning the weekend that had passed much too quickly. Still, things were running smoothly enough; you didn't miss the tube and had snagged a seat, and your makeup was looking absolutely grand. You were absolutely thriving.

That was, until you crossed the threshold of the Sunday People offices and the jerks from the politics columns started bothering you, as if a Monday morning wasn't punishment enough.

"Meet anyone nice over the weekend, sweetheart?" One crowed from his desk chair, looking positively dickhead-ish in his too-small button-up.

"Or still on the clock maybe? We know you're always hunting for a good story." The combination of both remarks confused you, but you strutted past them with a quick glare in their general direction, your clicking heels producing enough attitude that you didn't need to say anything.

As you approached your own desk area, you had the distinct and uncomfortable feeling that everyone was looking at you. You couldn't think of why, but subtly wiped the edge of your lips in case it was foolishly smudged lipstick.

You even swore you heard one of the royal writers -- an awful woman maybe twenty years older than you -- say something about your 'promiscuity' and 'unprofessionalism'. You didn't know where it was coming from. You weren't friends by any means but you usually just stayed out of each other's way, you didn't throw around insults at your workplace. You glanced down at your outfit but nothing seemed especially revealing, the same button-up and pencil skirt you always wore if you weren't doing field work.

You were really starting to wonder why everyone was looking at you when even Lily was sending you pitiful glances. You had just made up your mind to say something about it when your boss came striding towards you, anger emanating in a way which only middle-aged men can do.

"What is this?" He slammed a Daily Mail tabloid down on your desk. The office was dead silent. You looked down at it, wholly confused as to what it could be -- your last article was approved without any troubles.

THE 'INSIDE' SCOOP? POTTER GETS COZY WITH REPORTER ON NIGHT OUT

And there, right under the brazen headline, was the stupid picture that Peter Pettigrew took. The two of you out on the street, you tucked into James' side with his arm around you. Your face wasn't totally visible, but anyone who already knew you would recognise the figure and fashion.

You could feel your face drop as you read the article, a barrage of slut-shamey insults and reports of how intimate you and James were out on the streets of London -- all entirely false, of course. When you'd finished reading the piece the whole office was staring at you, waiting to see how you'd react.

"It's a lie," You said quietly, trying to stop your hands from shaking as they rested on your lap. There was a pregnant pause as your boss processed what you were saying, clearly confused. None of your coworkers dared to speak.

"Bullshit," He replied, face blooming red as he decided you weren't being truthful. "That's you and that's James, there's no denying that. The whole bloody country will be able to see you two getting cozy on the street. How do you reckon this reflects on me, having your name and workplace published alongside your completely unprofessional affair?"

"I understand that it looks bad, but it's not what you think at all. J- uh, Potter was just helping me get home after a chance encounter because I wasn't feeling well, then he hid at my place because of all the paparazzi. Nothing happened." It was a weak explanation, even you could tell, even though it was completely true.

The arseholes over in Politics were already sniggering to themselves and you wished you could have ripped them a new one. Instead, you were cowering underneath your brutish boss.

"It's your word against Pettigrew's, and only one of you's been printed. You've been publicly humiliated and we're getting bad press for it."

Your boss had left you with the threatening promise that the issue would be brought up with your superiors and the whispered opinions of every single person you worked with. You choked out an excuse to get out of the office, taking the lift up to the rooftop to cry.

You had peace for a few minutes, getting the most embarrassing of the sobs out alone.

"Did you actually sleep with him?" If it was anyone else you probably would have snapped, yelling at them for being so insensitive. Marlene said it with such earnest curiosity and sympathy that you turned to face her instead. You were met with her and Lily, your very best friends who you were feeling especially lucky to work with at that moment.

"No!" You told them the full story, about getting sick at the club, James just being polite and walking you home, and Peter Pettigrew's terrible betrayal. Both women listened attentively, taking it all in.

"I thought you hated Potter," Lily said finally, "How'd it get that far in the first place? Usually you'd have ditched him in the first five minutes of being in his presence."

"I don't hate him." You studied your hands intently, observing the peeling red nail polish you should have reapplied yesterday. "I think he's annoying and obnoxious and I've always hated that he's never believed I could be a serious writer, but I don't hate him. He has his moments. Besides, why would I waste energy on hating Potter when I could hate Pettigrew with all my heart?"

"What a snake," Marlene spat, lighting a cigarette as she got comfy next to you. You and Lily both nodded. Peter was not only now a backstabber, but he'd been becoming increasingly insufferable over the years you'd all been writing.

He started out quite nice and was in your periphery of friends in the same way Remus and even James were, but as he'd gotten the job at his shitty tabloid magazine he'd become downright intolerable, always twisting what you'd said both in official articles and when gossiping with other friends. You had all had enough a few years ago and stopped inviting him places. Clearly, he'd held onto the grudge.

At his own work, James was facing the same rumours, though not nearly to the same peril. As he rocked up to his home pitch for the morning training session he was received with catcalls and high fives which made him nervous. No one was ever that happy to be working out on a Monday morning.

"Thought you hated her, mate."

"Maybe all she needed was a good shag to get the stick out of her arse."

"Woah! Can we take it back a few steps and not talk about women that way?" James sent a look over to one of his teammates.

"Sorry bud," He held his hands up in surrender, "Thought you wouldn't mind since you're always moaning about her." James' eyebrows knit together as he tried to piece together what the men were talking about, finally giving up and asking for a plain explanation.

He was met with a copy of Peter's article, outlining the flirty touches and 'electric chemistry' the two of you shared. Scanning it quickly James felt his face screwing up in disgust. Never mind that it obviously wasn't true, what a disgusting violation of privacy. He'd only recently launched into the spotlight, working his way up into the Premier League and then team captain in the last few years. He still didn't know how to handle the fame, especially invasive press like this.

His first priority was setting the ruth straight for his team, explaining exactly what happened and outlining strict instructions not to bring it up the next time they saw you.

"This is going to be a lot worse for her than me," He said, ending the conversation there.

He was correct. Rumours only spiralled from Peter's article. You'd stupidly created Google Alerts for your name; as a journalist, it made sense to keep track of where your writing was being shared. One day of this nonsense and you had all alerts silenced, not wanting to ever visit the internet ever again.

Apparently, this alleged affair was the most interesting thing young British people had ever experienced. The football star and the sports journalist. As you packed up to leave at the end of the day you were feeling sick to your stomach, already overwhelmed by the attention you never wanted on you.

Your face blanched as you approached the dizzying glass windows, a mass of reporters swarming the door. You didn't have to think hard to know they were waiting for you. You retreated to the restroom where they couldn't see you to rearrange your exit appearance. Pulling your coat tight against you and scarf up to cover the bottom half of your face, you plugged your iPod nano in to appear busy (and touched up your eye makeup for the inevitable photos that would make it back into the news cycle).

Physically and emotionally prepared you braved the crowd again, moving through with a polite but firm shove, making yourself a path down to the tube. You only snapped at one particularly rude paparazzi, giving him an instruction of where to 'stick it' as you hopped down the stairs to your station.

You ate a haphazard dinner by your computer, obsessively clicking through the various articles (and now personal blog posts) that had mentioned you. Every link made you feel worse about yourself.

The articles themselves were bad, most of them degrading you and congratulating James. Some had even produced old school photos of the both of you, even a few from your uni days when James was just starting out professionally and you were attending similar parties.

The articles were one thing, at least they usually had to be somewhat impartial. The blog posts by James' fangirls were downright cruel, calling you a slag based on a singular photograph and dragging your name through the mud.

You were drawn from your doom-scrolling by your cellphone ringing, Britney ringtone at least drawing a smile from you.

"Hello?"

"Get off the internet," Sirius Black said from the other end of the line.

"How'd you know?" You exited the webpage dutifully, already feeling the weight of the world's ugly words lifting from your shoulders.

"I figured. First time being written about isn't easy."

"It's certainly making me grateful I've never been so bitchy in my articles," You produced a hollow laugh, "I don't know how people can say these things about someone they've never met."

"That's why we like you," He said, "Mostly, at least. You stick to the sport and not our personal lives."

"Don't inflate my ego, Black, it's just because I don't like you guys," You joked, your mood already blooming back to somewhat more chipper.

"That's what I've been telling him!" You heard Remus call from further away, probably the other side of their living room. Sirius made an offended noise.

"Is Potter there?" You changed the topic, swirling your mouse around the window aimlessly, too afraid to check your work or personal notifications.

"He's out right now, calling someone official -- a publicist or lawyer friend. He's tearing his hair out about this, he feels awful for you." Both men explained, bickering about who exactly he was talking to.

"Yeah, I'm noticing only one of us is getting called a slut." You rolled your eyes even though they couldn't see you, balancing your cell between your shoulder and ear as you made a cup of tea. Sirius' barking laughter crackled through the speaker.

"Don't worry about it, love, everyone knows The Daily Mail is full of shite. Besides, I got that all the time."

"Yeah, in school! Not when you have a grown-up job to save face at!" Sirius conceded, apologising lightly. You shrugged him off; he was not the target of your anger at all.

"James'll be back soon, do you want to stay on the phone?" Remus asked and you answered without hesitation.

"No. I don't want to talk to him right now. We'll just find something to fight about, it's not worth it."

"He wants to make things better," Sirius offered, "He feels terrible."

"Maybe when I'm not so angry at the world." You left them with the offered compromise, hanging up to pity yourself for a few more hours before bed.

You didn't end up being fired over the incident, your bosses couldn't find a good reason to cite, but everyone in the office knew you were on thin ice. Most weren't afraid to highlight that fact. You were really starting to hate the Politics guys.

You just tried to keep your head down, diving into your articles and trying to keep in the higher-ups good graces. Amidst the drama though you'd been taken off all football coverage for the time being, banished to the irrelevant 'sports' you never even knew existed.

The week had taken you out of London to cover bizarre rural events like cheese rolling and bog snorkelling; not uninteresting but a big change of pace to the Premier League drama you were used to.

It did take your mind off of James and the media shitstorm for a day or two though. Being in a small town was much preferable to London, at least for the moment. The paparazzi weren't going to make the drive to find you for a single day when there were plenty more interesting figures to find in the city.

Plus, you were meeting the most interesting people. Though it was no Premier League final, everyone around was so wholly invested and excited by the competition that you couldn't help feeling the same, despite your initial hesitation.

Throughout the day it was just you, your notepad, your camera and the few thousand people who came to participate and observe. You'd already met and interviewed the woman who made the cheese, the previous year's winner and you were waiting impatiently to see who'd prevail now.

The paper was paying for you to stay overnight so you could chronicle the post-event celebrations, and you'd never been so glad to be working late. The key players in the day, organisers and competitors had all convened in the town's old pub, basically heaving under the weight of you all.

You held up your beer with the others despite hating the taste, grateful to be included in their toast to the day. You laughed as you tried to down it quickly, wanting the taste out of your mouth as soon as possible without refusing such a kind gift. Holding the pint up in the air victoriously you accepted the cheers of those around you, including the lovely middle-aged lady who made the ceremonial cheese and the man only a year or two older than you who'd won earlier.

"Finally letting your hair down!" He laughed and you smiled back, trying to remember his name. A glance down at your notepad said Drew. "Can I get you another?" You hoped he didn't notice your eyes widen, not expecting attention like that, not when you were allegedly working no less. You opened your mouth to agree when someone else answered for you.

"She doesn't like beer, thinks it tastes like piss." You whipped your neck around at the familiar voice, mouth dropping open at the sight of James Potter.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You asked, jovial politeness abandoned.

"You didn't remember that my family comes to watch every year?"

"Respectfully, why the fuck would I remember something like that?" You snapped, moving to leave and follow the much nicer Drew to the bar. James grabbed your hand lightly, stopping you from leaving.

"Wait, can we talk please?" You just looked at him for a long time, considering how much patience you had after a full day of work, then shrugged half-heartedly.

He led you outside and away from the crowd, both of you letting out a huff as you noticed the change in temperature.

"I liked your story on the bog snorkelling -- interesting stuff," James broke the awkward silence and you rolled your eyes aggressively.

"As if you read my pieces."

"I do!" He insisted, silently refusing the cigarette you offered. "I've read all your pieces, honest."

"But... huh? You're the one who always said I'd be a shit writer, I've spent years trying to get the negative internal James out of my head! You absolute dickhead!" You shoved his chest, turning back towards the door to return inside.

"Are you thick? I only said that because I fancied you!"

James' words rang heavy in the air, the street otherwise silent. You stared straight ahead of you for a moment, his words settling on top of you as you focused on the orange street lamp.

This whole time, this whole time, you'd been fighting the image you believed James had of you, striving to be better, never being satisfied, for nothing. This whole time you and James had been bickering and trading insults for nothing? And all his flirting... James' annoying charm and ironic compliments and innuendo-filled teasing were all genuine, after all this time? Suddenly your whole world had turned on its axis.

"What do you mean you said it because you fancied me? That is not normal!" You whirled around, accusatory finger pointed his way.

"I don't know! I thought I was supposed to! It wasn't cool to be a sap!" James argued back, running a hand through his already tousled curls.

"Jesus Christ," You muttered, "So what, you thought all my arguing back was just flirting?" James' silence told you all you needed to know.

"Come on, don't act like you didn't like it a little bit! As I recall you were always up for the fight, weren't you? You never avoided me or ignored me. Let's face it, you enjoyed it as much as I did." He stepped closer to you, breath visible in the cool air.

"I didn't enjoy it, what the hell are you talking about? Why would I enjoy trading schoolyard insults with some arrogant, idiotic football player who discredited the one thing I wanted most in my life?" Suddenly you were inches apart, heat emanating from both of you as you fought.

"Like you never said I was stupid for wanting to be a footballer? Face it, love, you're just as bad as me."

And suddenly, despite all your better judgement and every bit of sense in your head, you were kissing him. You didn't know exactly how it had happened, and if anyone were to ever ask you you would absolutely pin the blame on James but there you were, out in the middle of the street without a care in the world.

Every one of your senses was on fire, the smell of his cologne, the taste of his lips, the feeling of his soft curls under your fingers. Everything about James felt like he was made for you, like all the years of you revolving around each other, playing off the other's insult was just a lead-up, preparation for the very moment you kissed for the first time.

James' arms around you were warm, strong from years of working out and protective like a weighted blanket. One hand wrapped around your midsection and the other firmly on your neck you felt wholly surrounded by him, isolated in your own bubble of James.

It was probably a bad idea, but you weren't overly concerned with addressing that fact in any rush. It didn't come as you tilted your head to bring him even closer, it didn't come as you said hurried goodbyes in the pub and collected your coat, it didn't even come as you closed the door to your hotel room, undoing the buttons to James' shirt like they had a personal vendetta against you.

The admittance only came as you lay entangled with him, faces millimetres apart.

"Was that a bad idea?" You asked, genuine self-consciousness mixing with pragmatic anxiety.

"I mean, I quite enjoyed myself, love. Did you not?" James' cheeky smile made you snort out a giggle but you sobered up quickly, hitting him lightly on his toned chest.

"Don't turn this into a joke!" You ordered, "Have we just fucked everything up?" James just looked at you for a minute, taking in the sincerity in your voice and the depth of your eyes.

"Of course we haven't," He assured you. "Do you like me?"

"But--"

"Ah! Do you like me?" He reiterated and you paused, nodding shyly. "See? You like me and I like you. We'll figure everything else out. Start slow; baby steps."

"Baby steps," You agreed, sharing his smile. It really only hit you how much you actually liked James once you'd said it, finally noticing how he might've been looking at you the whole time.

You sent James off early in the morning, both of you needing to make it back to London quickly. You had to get your article written up and James had training. Thankfully there was no awkwardness in your goodbye; James had to rush to meet his parents to drive back by car and you had a train to catch. The only moment of hesitance came as you said goodbye, waving at each other with a giggle as James hopped down the steps. He hesitated halfway, turning to look at you with the glint of mischief in his eye that you'd become very well acquainted with.

In a moment he was at the top of the steps again, swooping in to steal another kiss. You rolled your eyes to hide an embarrassing smile, pushing him back in the direction he came.

"Haven't you got somewhere to be?" You asked, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. James mimed twisting a knife in his chest but continued down the stairs nonetheless, giving you one last smile before he turned a corner and disappeared from your sight. You sighed like a schoolgirl then laughed at yourself, packing the last of your things to get home.

As you sat on the train, green landscapes passed you through the window and you felt your cell phone buzz from the minuscule pocket of your work trousers.

thinking of u :P <3

You grinned, looking out at the scenery so the people around you wouldn't be able to figure out your embarrassing secret. You felt like a teenage girl again, blushing over a text from the guy you had a crush on.

Everything turned to shit in a matter of hours after returning to London.

First, James' publicist made his statement. It wasn't necessarily terrible, but it really had no regard for you. No statement declaring you both on good terms, no coming to your defence or asking for the press to respect you. James looked like the hero saving a stupid drunk girl, and you still looked desperate for the most popular footballer in the country. You were decently sure it wasn't James' fault, but it did significantly dampen your lovesick giddiness.

The office was half-empty when you arrived, kitten heels clicking against the ground. You said a quick hello to Lily, still dutifully typing away at her computer. You followed her lead, exporting your notes to your desktop computer, formatting the piece and going through edits to have it ready for the next paper.

The sun was setting, sending orange and pink streaks through the sky when the door to your boss' office slammed open, echoing above the cubicles.

"You kissed him?" He yelled and you paled, knowing exactly what he was talking about but not how he knew. That problem was solved when he slammed the magazine down in front of you, no doubt just delivered by the skittery young receptionist running back to the elevator.

FACT OR FICTION? POTTER AND REPORTER CAUGHT SNOGGING AMIDST PUBLIC DENIAL

Fuck. That could not be worse.

The whole piece was essentially dragging your name through the absolute mud now that they had the confirmation there was something going on between you and James. The whole world thought you were sleeping to the top, or for the best scoop, and everyone hated you for it.

You looked up at your boss, words dying on your tongue.

"Please tell me that's not you," He said, grasping at the thinning hair on his head. You couldn't deny it.

"I..." You trailed off, searching for anything you could say to make it better. "I didn't mean to. And I'm being completely honest when I say that the first article was all bullshit. Things have... happened since then." You were already on the verge of tears. Even on an optimistic day, you couldn't have denied that this was utterly shit.

"Jesus." Your boss muttered, beginning to pace. "Look, I like you, you know? You do good work and you're never outta line, but I reckon the higher-ups are gonna be done with you. They wanted you out over the first article but I convinced them it was all speculation. This is proof and makes us all look bad that you're sleeping with someone you interview every other bloody week. Look, I'll do what I can in damage control, but I'd be bringing your stuff home tonight. I'm sorry."

How could he have just left you with that absolute bombshell? Effectively firing you, just like that? The tears had made their way up to your waterline, sitting there mocking you as you refused to let them fall. You submitted your piece and shut off your laptop, angrily stuffing your sparse personal decorations into your shoulder bag to get the fuck out of the building as fast as possible.

The paparazzi were waiting again, of course, like that was what you really needed. You pushed past them, making sure to land an extra hard stomp on Peter's foot, lips twitching into the beginnings of a smile as you heard him curse.

You sat on the tube, staring intently at your feet and trying desperately to think of anything but your current situation. You'd already been approached by someone who'd coughed out "Skank," which really hadn't done anything for your sour mood. All you wanted was to crawl into your bed and never emerge.

You wandered down the street between the metro station and your flat, hands shoved deep in your coat pockets.

"Hey!" Someone called and you glanced over on instinct, senses drawn by the interruption of an otherwise quiet evening. "You're the girl who kissed James Potter, yeah?" It was a girl still in her school uniform, probably sixteen or seventeen. You thought through your options quickly and shrugged.

"Yeah, I guess."

"Wicked. How was it?" She asked, chewing on pink gum. There was an aura about her that you liked, not judgemental like everyone else you'd met. If you were still in school you thought you might've been friends with her.

"Pretty good, I'd do it again." A cheeky almost-joke between the two of you, ironic given the shit that it had caused for you.

"We were talking about it at school. Pretty shit how they've treated you. Like they all wouldn't jump at a chance to get close to 'im." You liked the way that she didn't get any closer. Just the two of you standing face to face, divided by the empty road.

"Exactly what I've been saying," You agreed, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"If it was the other way around, if you were the famous one, James would be getting congratulated for getting with you, not ridiculed by the mindless gossip columns. All my friends think it's utter bullshit, stopped buyin' 'em and everything." You could have kissed her if that wasn't tremendously creepy. In five minutes, this schoolgirl had vindicated everything you'd been saying for the past week in a way no one else had.

"Thank you," You said, with more sincerity than you probably should have had for a complete stranger. The girl just shrugged with a smile, nodding before continuing down the street, the sound of her leather school shoes growing quieter with every step.

You felt it in your whole body every time you thought of the interaction for the next few hours, warmth spreading through your chest as you were reminded there were still good people around.

Your other reminder of that fact came with the sound of your buzzer, the laughing of Lily and Marlene echoing off the stone of your building. As you let them in curiously they presented armfuls of takeout, the smell of Chinese food immediately floating through your flat.

Lily took the responsibility of setting out the food while Marlene took control of your little television, flipping between channels until she found a suitable romcom starting.

You didn't speak about what had happened, no one mentioned James Potter or the bloody Sunday People. Yet, there was an air of tenderness that let you know the girls knew exactly what was happening and how you were feeling about it.

Still, there was something bothering you. You couldn't give it a name immediately, only a tugging in your stomach while the girls were entertaining you, but persistent nonetheless.

It wasn't until you were all crammed into your bed, the other two peacefully asleep, that you could identify the sensation. It was an overwhelming desire, a need to write that you hadn't felt in ages. It was the same feeling that had pushed you to be a journalist in the first place, an inspiration you typically only felt watching a magical soccer final.

You crept out of your bedroom, switching on your computer at the kitchen table, squinting at the aggressive blue light. And when a blank Word document appeared before you, you started writing. Obsessively, feverishly, words poured out of you at a rate that hadn't happened since you'd started at Sunday People.

The words of the school girl fresh in your mind, you started an article vastly different from your usual kind. Instead of strategies and highlights you dissected your own experience of the past week, saying everything you hadn't let yourself unload to the paparazzi outside your office (though with fewer curse words than they would have received). It could have been minutes or hours that you were writing and you wouldn't have noticed, eyes glued on the screen in front of you.

You didn't realise you'd fallen asleep until Lily woke you gently with a hand on your shoulder, offering a steaming mug of tea. It was light outside, the world already up and awake. You were glad it was a weekend as the girls didn't need to rush off to work, cooking a simple breakfast for you all to share.

"What've you written?" Marlene asked, the second part of her sentence unnecessary: since you don't have a job to write for. You shrugged, taking a bite of some eggs.

"Just something I had to get off my chest. Might see if I can sell it to someone to tide me over 'til I figure out what I'm doing with my life."

"Can we read?" You made a 'go ahead' gesture, the computer already open to the screen.

A WOMAN'S UNWILLING WEEK IN THE PUBLIC EYE:

How a woman always loses.

You sat in mild discomfort as Lily and Marlene read your piece in silence, anxiously awaiting their reactions. They weren't what you were expecting.

When they turned back to face you, Lily had tears in her eyes, red tones brought out in her skin. Even Marlene looked uncharacteristically moved, not at all the reaction you were expecting. Firstly, it was completely unedited so you suspected it was somewhat of a mess from your midnight haze. Secondly, it was more of a vent than anything, getting your hatred for invasive paparazzi off your chest. You thought you'd all laugh about it then move on with your days.

"Lils, what's wrong?" You didn't mean to laugh, it was more out of surprise than anything else.

"It's just, it's so raw and real. It's so unfair," She sniffled, wiping her eyes with the sleeves of her sweater.

"Jesus, you don't have to cry," You said lightly, "I'm fine! I hated that bloody place anyway."

"That's not the point," Marlene pointed out, "And Lily's right, this is really confronting stuff. It's great."

"Thanks," You mumbled, studying a lamp for something to do.

"Can we talk about James?" Your head snapped back to look at her.

"What about him?"

"Clearly there's been some... developments in your relationship, which we don't have to talk about--"

"Yet," Marlene interrupted.

"The point is that it looks like there's feelings involved now. What are you doing about them? Because if you publish that, it's putting everything out there, and even I can't tell how you feel about James right now," Lily finished.

"I don't want to talk to him," You said quickly, "I know it's not his fault but I can't think about him without getting mad. It's like I wrote; he ends up fine while I lose my job over one kiss."

"Understandable," Marlene nodded, "But if I know James at all, he'll be going crazy every minute that you ignore him."

You had much to consider when the girls left. The state of your career, your feelings for James, everything felt too big and overwhelming to make any decisions about. So, you took a nap.

The rest of your weekend was spent sending your then-edited article to as many newspapers and blogs as you could and hiding out in your flat, dodging James' calls.

Unfortunately, you liked him. You'd figured out that much. More unfortunately, he hadn't done anything to help you out in all this mess, benefiting from the press in a way that only England's favourite footballer could.

On Monday morning your piece was published. Not the biggest or most reputable newspaper, if your name hadn't still been trending it probably would have gone largely noticed. Instead, it blew up.

It had mixed reviews, of course, a tell-all so blatantly feminist would always attract its haters, but you were floored by the support it was receiving. Women were validating your experiences in a way you hadn't expected even a few days ago. It made you not so scared to leave the house anymore.

On Tuesday morning, Remus called you. You had the thought that it might have been James calling to grovel on Remus' phone, but you thought it was a smart enough idea you'd indulge anyway. If it was Sirius you wouldn't have picked up.

Instead, it was actually Remus.

"Come to the media room this afternoon," He said, evidently not wasting time with pleasantries.

"What?" You asked, caught off-guard.

"Just do it. Two o'clock."

"Remus, you know I don't have a job anymore, right?"

"Come off it, you know anyone on the team would let you in. You've got quite a name for yourself," He chanced a joke and you rolled your eyes.

"What, whore?" You retorted, only a little worried it would be true.

"I'm hanging up," Was all he said before the line went dead. You huffed, snapping your phone closed with all the attitude of a spoiled private schoolgirl.

Yet, at two o'clock you were standing in front of the media room at James' team's stadium, questioning all of your life choices.

The room seemingly went silent when you entered, dozens of pairs of eyes staring you down as you nervously stuck to the wall. You felt the derogatory, leering stares from all the sleazy men who'd been accusing you of sleeping with players since you first started in the field. It made you want to drop dead.

James made his way to the lectern up the front of the room with a cough, quieting down the chaos.

"Afternoon, everyone. I'm sure you're all wondering why I've called you here, I've got some things I'd like to address.

"As you all well know, I've been a frequent face in the papers lately, and not for my brilliant playing as it usually is. I recently got followed down a street after a night out looking after an old friend who happened to be a colleague of yours. Now I know that my godly good looks lead you to believe that I don't feel the same as all of you, but I do. And I'd like you all to consider how you'd feel if a man with a camera followed you all the way home after you'd been out for a night with your friends and a few cheeky drinks. It's pretty invasive if you can't imagine.

"Now, all this press hasn't really affected me. However, my dear friend has been subject to misogynistic articles, slut-shaming and harassment all because we were seen out together and a few hateful words from someone I used to consider a mate." You had no idea where this was going, but you were absolutely fascinated. James was more well-spoken, more mature and solemn than you'd ever seen him, though he still had his audience in the palm of his hand with his casual jokes. It was a masterclass in public speaking.

"If you haven't read any of my friend's pieces I would highly recommend them; she's got a brilliant voice and I personally read everything she publishes. However, I'm not here to talk about her work; I'd actually like to talk about her if you all don't mind."

What the hell was happening?

"In the midst of all these articles over the last week, I know you've all seen various pictures of us, including from secondary school. A few come to my mind, our graduation picture is a highlight, but I'd really like to talk about this one." James brandished a printed-out photo you recognised instantly.

"This photo was taken when we were twelve or thirteen years old at someone's party. That night, as you tend to do when you're young and bored, we played spin the bottle and ended up being each other's first kiss. I'm sure you're all wondering why I'm telling this story now, and it's because ever since that night as I have recently realised, almost a decade later, I have been embarrassingly, stupidly in love with her."

Your life wasn't real, it absolutely could not be.

"And though I've done some incredibly dumb things over the years, somehow she's managed to like me back -- at least a little. So I'm setting the record straight right now, she is not 'sleeping to the top' or trying to get a secret scoop out of me because I'm the one who's been chasing after her for twelve years.

"I know I've been rambling on for far too long so I'll wrap it up here, but I just wanted to end this little conference with a warning that if I see any more disgusting, hateful articles about her, you won't be getting another comment from me again. So nice to see you all!"

The room started to trickle out but you were stuck to your spot against the wall, frozen in absolute shock. You hardly even noticed the dirty looks you got from some of the people you'd been working alongside for years.

You spotted James in another corner, drinking out of a plastic water bottle and messing with his hair. A nervous tell.

The room was almost completely empty when you approached him, heels muffled by the carpeted floor.

"Hey stranger," You said softly, feeling way out of your depth. He turned in an instant, smile lighting up his face then melting away as it was replaced with an insecure frown.

"Was that okay? I didn't want to embarrass you but I wanted to step up and do something and protect you and--"

"Have you really loved me since we were twelve?" You cut him off bluntly.

"Every day since, as I've figured out," He agreed with a slight nod, glasses slipping down his nose slightly.

"What about all the flirting with Lily? The other girls over the years?"

"So obviously fake. Distractions. It's never been anyone but you, love."

You could only stare at him for a moment, your whole world shifting beneath your feet. James' face became increasingly worried, brow furrowing more the longer you remained unresponsive.

"If you don't feel the same that's totally alright, I still stand by what I did and I don't want you being harassed for--"

You'd always thought that cutting someone off with a kiss was ridiculously cheesy, reserved for shitty Hallmark movies with grown-up child actors who never got their big break. Turns out though, when you realise that your girlish crush on the star footballer has actually been a complicated love of twelve years, you don't really want to waste any more time.

When you woke up on Wednesday morning with James next to you, body heat keeping you cozy, you were convinced you had to be dreaming. When you eventually got up to check your emails and start your day the hypothesis was only solidified by the impossible email waiting in your inbox.

The fucking BBC wanted to hire you as a football commentator and sports writer. Your dream job at your dream company. If you let out an embarrassing squeal then that was none of your business.

You were still convinced you were hallucinating the whole thing until James came in with his biggest smile and that look in his eyes that told you he probably had a hand in getting your name on the BBC desks.

Even a few weeks ago you would have been mad at him, assuming it was mocking or he had ulterior motives. But it wasn't a few weeks ago anymore, and James Potter's whole, endless heart belonged to you. You weren't letting that go anytime soon.

[wolfstargazer]

Madam Puddifoots - @wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 636

Remus didn't know how it had happened. But he had suddenly found himself on what, to all outward appearances, looked like a date with Sirius Black.

He should have been more careful. A trip to Hogsmeade this close to a full moon could bring added complications. When he'd woken up that morning his head had already been swimming, and there was the tell-tale queasiness in the pit of his stomach that had made breakfast impossible to eat.

Peter had asked him if he was okay. James had offered to stay back to keep him company. But Remus had rallied, insisting he was fine, convincing the others if not quite himself that fresh air and distraction would do him the world of good.

He had very quickly realised, however, that this had been a mistake. James and Peter had dashed off to Zonkos but Sirius had hung back, his watchful eyes on Remus as Remus, out of breath and light headed, suddenly found himself leaning against a gatepost to keep himself upright.

"I knew I shouldn't have listened," Sirius said as he dashed over and placed a steadying arm about Remus' shoulder. Remus gave a thin smile. "You've always been a terrible liar."

"I'll be fine," Remus insisted breathlessly. Sirius rose an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I'll be better soon. I just need some-"

"Tea," Sirius finished, knowing Remus' tendency to imbue his favourite infusion, spiked with honey, with magical, restorative properties that the Muggle version definitely didn't possess.

Sirius took over, steering Remus down the path with single-minded determination. Only when they were outside Madam Puddifoot's did Remus hesitate, his eyes moving from couple to couple inside the tea shop, as he said, "We can't go in here."

"Why not?" Sirius asked.

Remus looked at the chintz curtains, the wallpaper with enchanted roses that bloomed as you looked at them, and the couples hand in hand across the tables.

"Well...I...it's..."

"You need tea. This place serves tea." Sirius opened the gate and jostled Remus through it.

There were two tables outside that were already occupied, but the last one had just become free. Sirius steered Remus towards it, and Remus had to conceed he was happy to sit down as Sirius sat opposite and opened the menu.

"Now, what shall we get? You'll want tea, of course. Disgusting stuff if you ask me. Don't they serve coffee? And you should probably eat. Something sweet but simple. I saw you didn't eat anything at breakfast. What's good here, do you think?"

Sirius was speaking fast and had waved over a waitress who had been watching them with interest before he'd placed an order. Tea. And cake. And a few scones. That was sure to sort things.

Remus was keenly aware of all the eyes upon them. He could feel himself turning pink, his embarrassment at least a distraction from the faintness that seemed to be subsiding.

Sirius had leant back in his chair and had noticed Remus' discomfort.

"What's the matter?" Sirius asked as the tea arrived.

"They're staring," Remus said.

"Who?" Sirius ignored the tea and started in on the cake.

Remus nervously cleared his throat. "Everyone."

For the first time Sirius looked around them, his eyes moving from couple to couple, before he gave a sharp bark of laughter.

"Honesty, Moony, anyone would think you're embarrassed to be seen with me."

"I'm not-"

"I'll have you know there are a great number of girls who'd be thrilled to join me for tea at Madam Puddifoot's."

"You'd best find one of those to keep you company then," Remus shot back, his humour returning as his nausea subsided.

Sirius cocked an eyebrow. Remus raised his cup.

"Feeling better I take it?" Sirius said.

"Much." Remus returned.

Sirius smiled, shook his head, and said, "That's good. Now drink your tea."

[aquaticmercy]

Hypothetically (version 2)

Summary : Your ragtag group of supernatural superheroes gossip about your love life.

Pairing : Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x superhero!reader (she/her) 

Warnings/tags : References to violence.

Word count : 1.6k

Note : Reader is a superhero, and part of my version of the Midnight Suns in the MCU, including Moon Knight, Elsa Bloodstone, Jack Russell, and Man Thing (Ted). I’ve written two versions of the same story, a Thunderbolts/Bucky POV and a Midnight Suns/Reader POV. Enjoy!

You are reading the Midnight Suns/Reader POV Read the Thunderbolts/Bucky POV here (version 1)

In the dark, cluttered briefing room hidden underneath an ancient abandoned church, you sat at the head of a battered table, glaring down at the rest of your team— who were, unfortunately, all alive and in one piece after your latest mission into the woods upstate.

The mission had been successful, but barely, thanks to the forest fire that Elsa Bloodstone almost started.

Across the table, Elsa leaned back in her chair, nonchalantly picking dirt from under her fingernails, looking not at all like someone who’d almost gotten you all killed. 

Jack Russell, in his usual cool-headed way, gave you an apologetic nod as if to say, I tried my best.

On his other side sat Marc Spector, in full Moon Knight outfit, with a blank expression that betrayed nothing. If you could be grateful for one thing tonight, it would be that Jake Lockley didn’t make an unannounced appearance. Steven did though, but only for a while. He was manageable. 

And Ted, well—Ted sat there, a hulking mass of swamp creature, occasionally rumbling in his strange, guttural language that everyone had learned to understand with relative ease.

You took a deep breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “When I said ‘wait for my signal,’ I didn’t mean, ‘light the place up,’ Elsa.”

“You’ve got to admit, it did the job.” Elsa feigned innocence, “Nothing wrong with a little flair.” She smiled at Ted, who let out a low rumble of agreement.

“Flair?” You rubbed your temples, struggling to contain your frustration. “You almost started a wildlife disaster!”

“To be fair, we managed to contain it.” Jack started, ever the voice of reason. He put an arm on your shoulder reassuringly. “And Marc did keep the beast from reaching populated areas.”

Marc nodded stoically, his gloved hands resting on the table. “Just doing my job.”

“Your job,” you echoed, narrowing your eyes. “And who’s job was it to retrieve the intel?”

Ted made a series of low, deep grunts, agreeing.

“Look, maybe if you’d let us do things our own way a bit more, we’d be better.” She shrugged, crossing her arms. 

“Your own thing would’ve been worse,” you sighed, “you would’ve destroyed that forest and everything in it.”

Marc shrugged, “you’re overreacting.”

“I’m not,” you replied sharply, trying to rein in your temper. You glanced around at each of them, finally muttering, “Let’s just… will you excuse me a minute?”

Jack raised an eyebrow, his gaze curious. “Where are you headed?”

“To make a call,” you said flatly, already halfway out of your seat, grabbing your phone from the table. You got out of the chapel, closing the door behind you.

Elsa’s eyes sparkled with sudden interest. She glanced at the others with a mischievous grin. “I bet it’s that Bucky Barnes,” she said, folding her arms and tilting her head, lips curling into a smirk. “I see her texting him all the time. I’ll bet good money that they’re seeing each other.”

Well that, and the fact that last week, when you all visited Kamar Taj, the current Sorcerer Supreme, Wong, had asked you how Barnes was doing.

Elsa figured it was a bit odd, since you don’t work together, but she had pieced together the clues since then.

“Her? With the Winter Soldier?” Marc’s was skeptical, though he was clearly intrigued. He knew Bucky Barnes by reputation only— but he knew enough. Or at least he thought he knew enough. “I don’t see it. She’s too… stubborn.”

“Too harsh, you mean?” Jack said, though his voice was gentle. “But maybe they work because they’re similar. It would be a good match.”

Elsa snorted. “They’d kill each other over what to eat for dinner. I can’t imagine them sharing a quiet meal in a nice restaurant, let alone being all lovey-dovey.”

Marc’s lips quirked in a grin. “She’d probably throw a knife at him just for calling her ‘sweetheart.’”

Ted gave a few gruff grunts, and the team laughed, nodding in agreement.

Elsa leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table. “But there’s something there,” she insisted. “You don’t just duck out of a debrief to make a work call. I say, she’s into him, and if I’m right, it’s a ticking time bomb waiting to explode.”

Jack chuckled softly. “I don’t know… maybe she’s different with him.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Everyone’s got a soft side. Maybe Bucky’s just the one to bring it out in her.”

“Yeah, right,” Marc muttered. “She’d rip his head off if he tried to get her to open up. And her ‘soft side’?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t exist. Have you even met her, Jack?”

As the group continued speculating, you paced in the hallway frantically.

You pressed call, your eyes softening as soon as you saw that he’d picked it up. You pressed it to your ear, leaning against the wall.

“Hey, my love,” you greeted, your voice dropping to a low, tender murmur. “Is this a bad time?”

“For you, doll? Never,” Bucky’s familiar voice vibrated through the speakers of your pphone. “What’s going on?”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as the tension of the day finally melted. “Elsa- fucking- Bloodstone. She keeps ignoring the damn plan and doing things her own way. She’s driving me up the wall. Seriously, it’s like every mission is a free-for-all.”

“I can imagine,” Bucky chuckled softly, his warmth seeping through the line. “Alexei is the same way. Only does what he thinks is right. It’s like herding cats.”

You let out a short laugh, your irritation melting. “Can’t imagine he’s that bad. You wanna trade? I’ll give you Ted in exchange for Alexei for a week. Ted keeps distorting my comms every time we’re on a mission—guy’s like a walking jamming signal.”

A smirk crept onto Bucky’s face. “Deal—if I can swap Yelena for Jack Russell. From what I’ve heard, Jack seems sensible, at least doesn’t have a habit of blowing things up on instinct.”

“Oh, no,” you chuckled firmly. “He’s off limits. He’s like my second-in-command. You can take Moon Knight if you want though. Deal with Jake Lockley showing up unannounced, if you’re up for it. Brings Khonsu into everything. Imagine arguing with a literal moon god while trying to stop a giant swamp monster from being captured… again.”

“Pass,” Bucky groaned, laughing alongside with you. “Ava would not get along with Jake or Steven very well. Though Marc—he’d probably handle her alright.”

The sound of your laughter filled his ears, and he felt a smile spread across his face as he imagined you standing there, free from the stress of the job, if only for a couple of minutes.

“Maybe one day,” you mused, “we’ll get them all in the same room. See if they tear each other apart.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “That’d be a nightmare.”

You corrected, “an interesting nightmare.”

For a moment, the burdens of your responsibilities felt lighter, leaving only the warmth of each other’s voices and the quiet longing that had lingered ever since you started this relationship.

You were dying to touch him, to feel him again, especially after a long day in the office.

And you knew you would tonight. All you had to do was wait for him to come home, but love had a way of drawing your patience thin.

“So,” you said with a hint of playfulness, “would you like to go to dinner tonight? I’m tired of takeout.”

A fond smile curved Bucky’s lips as he replied, “Anything you want, sweetheart. As long as it’s with you.” His voice grew soft, almost shy. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” you whispered, voice barely audible. “It’s hard being apart.”

Behind you, a familiar, low rumble sounded—a grumble from Ted. You turned, rolling your eyes as you whispered, “What did I tell you about eavesdropping on private phone calls, Ted?”

Bucky’s laugh was warm and comforting. “Good luck with that, doll.”

You sighed. “Take care of yourself, okay?” he said softly. “I love you. More than you know.”

“I love you too, darling.”

You ended the call with a slight blush colouring your cheeks, pocketing your phone and turning back toward the briefing room.

You put your best serious face on, turning glaring at Ted, who was attempting to blend into the wall, not that it was remotely possible. Though, you weren’t sure how he snuck up on you in the first place. You raised a finger, whispering sharply. “This stays between us, Ted. I’ll know if you say anything.”

When you walked back into the briefing room, every pair of eyes was on you, brimming with curiosity and way too many grins for you to be fully comfortable.

Elsa leaned in, practically bouncing in her seat, eyes dancing with mischief.

Jack cleared his throat. "So… that seemed like a very important call."

You shrugged, keeping it casual. "You could say that."

Elsa leaned forward, her smirk widening. "Someone special on the other end?"

You raised an eyebrow, trying to keep your tone dry. "Not sure what you’re hinting at, Bloodstone."

"Oh, nothing at all," Elsa replied, "Just saying we’d love to meet this special someone—hypothetically, if it’s who we think it is."

Jack shared a knowing glance with Marc, who was trying—and failing—not to smile.

"Right, hypothetically," Jack added smoothly. "If you are seeing him—and Elsa seems convinced— Sergeant Barnes might come in handy on a few assignments."

"Definitely.” Marc nodded, “Maybe even bring that Thunderbolt crew of his. Wouldn’t mind the extra muscle. If you were hypothetically seeing him, that is.”

You narrowed your eyes, trying to keep a straight face as you walked back to your seat, though a faint smile betrayed you. It was hard to remember sometimes, but no matter how much this group frustrated you, it was the closest thing you had to a family.

It’s times like these— when they relentlessly tease you about a guy who happened to be the love of your life— that you were reminded of that.

Still, you weren’t planning to confirm anything, and they knew it. 

You shot them a pointed look. "How about we get back to the debrief?" you muttered, settling back into your chair and ignoring the amused glances bouncing around the table.

As you continued, you caught Ted flashing you a subtle gesture that looked like a thumbs-up across the table, his own little promise to keep the secret safe with him.

-end

[bloodykora]

Hellooo. I am here to hurt everyone's feelings. This is a Viktor x reader however it will spoil season 2 act 1 so! Make sure you've seen that before reading this.

No use of y/n and its gender neutral!! It is angst but I hope y'all enjoy

Vik Masterlist

The gathering sat in circles around him. A barren scrap yard that had been used for shimmer addicts now brimming with a new hope.

These people, his followers were waiting for something. And you had no clue what but you felt relief seeing him on his feet.

It was a surprise reaching the lab after taking the break Jayce insisted on, just to find out Viktor had woken up and left. Thinking about it made your blood boil again. Storming out the lab to find the man who had awoken. 

It was off putting how quiet everyone was. They didn't dare to bother him, instead waited patiently until someone may be called up or spoken to.

The outer rings of the formation had people without cloaks on, their backs and bodies looking almost completely normal until a spot. A scar? All the same scar but in different places. Some up the arm, or from their spine up the neck, swirling around the side of the back. 

You stand there, far back enough to not been by anyone. Not yet decided on what your actions should be. Would the mob try to stop you, would he? If he had pushed Jayce away then who is to say he won't do the same to you.

He shifts, catching your attention immediately. Out reaching his hand, or at least what you assume was a hand. From the distance it just looked like a purple shape, perhaps gloves or something to keep him warm. You could see make out the shape of his cane but, it didn't seem he was as dependent on it as before. 

A person stands to their feet, approaching Viktor and taking their hood off. Your view of him is obstructed, curious on what is happening before shocks of bolts come from the pair. Wind now whipping out from them as well, you can see the stranger's  body beginning to light up with purple.. energy? Then a halo like ring appears, winding around and you can't even describe the pattern within it. 

The rest of the members seem calm but intently watching as it happens. It finishes with a flash of white light making you close your eyes. You blink before returning your sight to them, the stranger now standing taller. Their hood now removed, skin bright and healthy, each hair placed almost perfectly, and that same scar. You could just make it out. 

You hear the thud before you see him falling to the ground. Your instincts now taking over as you flee from the hiding spot. Your feet seem to be so loud, adrenaline pumping in your ear as you run past all the hooded figures staring at you. 

“Viktor! Viktor.” Yelling to him as you approach, his head tilts up to the sound. His hand holds him from hitting the ground, hands, fore arms, shoulders running even past that purple. But not skin. There was no skin. 

You drop to your knees right in front of him, scooping his face into your hands. It was the only part that seemed to be left of his flesh. Your thumb rubs his cheek as you stare at him.

“What happened? No, why did you leave? I was so scared that I wouldn't find you or you'd be hurt or worse. Why did you leave, you need to be checked out. You shouldn't have left, I can take you back okay? We're gonna go back and and!” You gasp in a breath, tears brimming your eyes as you shake your head in semi-shock. 

His hand reaches up to one of your own, he doesn't stop staring at you but his brows furrow for a second before beginning to shake his head. 

“I am staying here. I have work here to do.” He pulls one hand of his head, still holding it with the hand not on his cane.

“Don't, no. I am not Jayce. You are coming home and we're gonna fix this.” His eyes, you realize they weren't golden anymore. They were like an opal, white and pale hues like pink and blue along with it. 

“I have no connection there, I am needed here. This is where I'm staying.” A small puff of frustration pounds through your chest at his stubbornness. 

“You have your apartment up there and me and all your work. Your books and and, you have to make sure that stray has her dinner.” He removes you from his body and stands, without speaking he makes it clear he has no intention of following you. You small head shakes become bigger, tears now threatening to spill down your face, cheeks heating up in anger. 

You can't think or breathe, confusion overtaking most of the thoughts in your brain. Pushing off the ground with your hands, rising onto your feet in front of him.

You're breathless for a few seconds still in disbelief about what was happening. 

“Where is my husband?” A whisper from your mouth, mostly to yourself before deciding to repeat yourself. 

“Where is my husband, where are you?” Viktor's face still stays calm at the outburst, not cold yet unattached. His eyes hold no debate behind them, no trying to decide, no emotion. Flashes of him go by, memories of deciding which tarts were the best for morning meetings or nights you curled on the couch beside him while he stayed up writing notes, everything you knew of him. Everything that was Viktor. 

Now seemed non existent. 

“Go home.” Tears streaming down your face, shock and betrayal littered your face. 

Defeat. 

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

slower

pairing: Dave York x f!reader

wordcount: ~2,4k

summary: One fine morning you overthink a little too much for Dave's liking, so he prescribes you his tried-and-true treatment: cockwarming. He continues to be just a guy <3 can be read as part 2 to slow, but works as a standalone as well

warnings: smut, explicit, no use of y/n, reader is ablebodied, established relationship, mild d/s dynamics, unprotected p in v, creampie, cockwarming but make it oral, deep throat-ish but not really, squint and you miss the dacryphilia, pussy pronouns, dick pronouns, pet names (honey, puppy), soft (dom)!Dave deserves his own warning, feelings

a/n: these two sat in my drafts since slow came out: to everyone who loved part 1, thank you and I hope you'll enjoy this one, too. my undying love and gratefulness to @guiltyasdave because she beta'ed again (thanks bby) and reassured me by saying this is still Dave even if he's a little soft for his girl. I'd be so lost without you Jana 💛 tagging @sp00kymulderr as well because ✨dick pronouns✨ (justice for dick pronouns y'all)

Sunday morning. He ran. He made coffee. He showered. He stands next to your side of the bed with a steaming cup in his hand.

Your nose twitches, he can see it. It's either the coffee or the scent of his body wash that pulls you out of your sleep. 

You look so pretty, with that tiny gap between your lips, your lashes slowly fluttering against your cheeks as you wake up.

The coffee finds its place on the bedside table and Dave sits down, the mattress dipping under his weight. Finally you open your eyes, and when you see him, still wet from the shower and not already dressed, a smile touches your lips.

“There she is,” he hums with a smile of his own and gently cups your jaw in one hand. His thumb drags down your bottom lip before letting go of it again. 

You know him. At least the things that he lets you know about him. And he's having thoughts, you can clearly see it in the way he is staring at your mouth and the way his thumb looks pressed against the soft flesh of your lips.

You kiss the pad of his finger, adding a little kitten lick after and smirk when his eyes narrow for a split second. You got him. 

“What are you thinking about, handsome?” You stretch your body and lean one of your bare legs against his wet back.

“None of your business,” he grumbles, feeling his resolve slip away. You were onto him. Usually he is too clever and stubborn to fall for your weak manipulation attempts. But this morning he is feeling soft.

You pout, pursing your lips against his thumb that still moves along them. ‘Meanie,’ you mouth silently before licking his thumb again, slowly, as if you want to drag the digit into your mouth when you pull your tongue back.

It is so obvious, you don't even try to conceal the way you want him.

His thumb slips between your lips and when you make that little muffled uh and start to lazily twist your tongue around his finger, he can feel the memory of this feeling between his legs.

He needs you. 

“That's better, isn't it, honey. Keeping your pretty mouth busy and filled.”

You shift your body, move it closer to Dave and his towel clad thighs, your hands snaking over the sheets towards him.

He pushes his thumb deeper into your mouth, pressing down onto your tongue to get you from licking to sucking and you oblige, like you always do.

With half lidded eyes, another moan doesn't quite make its way past his finger and stays stuck in your mouth. Your thighs clamp together and your eyes open again, only to find your own desire mirrored in his expression.

You need him, too. To trust you enough to be soft around you, vulnerable. Just once.

“Too many thoughts in your pretty little head…” Dave shakes his head dismissively when he sees your tiny worry-line appearing between your brows. “When I fill your mouth, you better only think happy thoughts, honey. Or none. That's what I would prefer.”

Unceremoniously he pulls his thumb from your mouth and the deepening line between your brows makes him laugh a little.

“Poor baby,” he mocks with so much softness in his voice that his attempt to kiss your forehead smooth again works. 

You shuffle closer, your hand tugs his towel to the side so you can rest your cheek on his naked thigh. Skin to skin. You crave this nearness so openly and extensively that he can hide his own need for it behind your clinginess.

He never would admit it, but he enjoys it, the way you ask for his touch or simply just touch him whenever you need to. Which is often. Daves is sure about it, if you could and if he would let you, you would curl up in his lap like a loyal puppy.

He admires that about you, the fierceness with which you adore him. The way a heartfelt I love you slips from your lips so easily and the way you never are disappointed when he can't return the favor. He feels it, but words are hard for him. 

“What's worrying you, honey?” he coos quietly, looking down at you while he caresses your cheek.

“Nothing.” You. You worry me, David, you think to yourself while a finger follows the faint shadow of a vein appearing from under his towel.

“Mhmm… You're lying, honey.” A few droplets of water fall down from his wet hair and he wipes them away from your face. “Do you… want me to give you something to occupy your mind with? Something that helps you to get that adorable blank expression?” 

You nod your head slowly and a moment later Dave is on the bed and you are on him. The sheets rustle softly but the towel makes no sound when it slips open and down onto the floor.

A little pat on his thigh and you move without hesitation, curling your body between his spread legs and resting your cheek once again on him. 

It is comfortable, the position with your head in his lap, but also all of this. The absence of shame. Dave’s confidence and casualness with his body rubbed off on you. The definitions of naked, bare, exposed, vulnerable have shifted since you were with him. He often was bare before your eyes, he exposed his body in front of you, used and moved it as the high precision tool he thinks it is. But Dave was never vulnerable. 

You on the other hand have always been vulnerable when you were naked. He had a way of connecting your mind with your physical form and that made you exposed, bare, vulnerable. And seen and safe. Is he feeling safe with you?

“Stop overthinking,” he hums and strokes the back of your head. Such a good, loyal puppy for him.

“I can't.” The words are muffled against his skin, your lips occupied with scattering little kisses up his leg until you reach the always trimmed but never bare triangle. You stop and look up at him.

“You can. Just gotta focus, honey.” You are so pretty like this, so respectful, your mouth just one breath away from what you want and yet, you wait for his permission. “Let me help you,” he mutters softly. “What do you want?”

You move your head, your whole body, closer and nuzzle the patch of shortened curls at his base. “Him. Please.” 

You already miss him. It's been a couple of days. And the last time Dave helped you with your extensive overthinking has been even longer. You need him, them. A faint throb against your nose assures you that he needs you, too. Please, your eyes say when you look up again. He is so pretty like this, looking down at you.

“Go on. You can have him.”

You move again, immediately, and lick his limp dick into your mouth. He tastes so clean. Sweet almost. Purely David. Soft and sweet, resting on your tongue.

He continues to stroke your hair. There you are, curled up in his lap, needing him to help you relax. Such a good, good puppy.

“Don't move, just breathe.”

You nod and swallow. He starts growing. It never stops being magical. Slowly he crawls down your tongue, stretches into all directions that are you. Seeking your depths. You let him. 

It's peaceful, this morning, your head in Dave's lap, his hand in your hair, his hardening cock securely plugged in your mouth. No noise, just sheets rustling, your deep breaths, his sighs, your mewls. No movement except him, pushing himself deeper in the steady rhythm of Dave's pulse.

He begins to feel heavy. You know how he would look if you didn't hold him between your lips. Hanging, not hard enough yet to stand, point, spear. Just heavy hanging, swinging, giving the best slaps against your mouth and cheeks and pussy in this state. Full, heavy, promising. You want to suck him so bad. Want to suck him until he's rock hard and throbbing. You mewl again, sounding choked as he slowly makes it past the base of your tongue. 

Dave grips a fistful of hair and tugs. A reminder. Breathe for me, honey. And you do. In and out. In and out, no thoughts in your head, just his cock, who is forcing his way past your resistance. You breathe. You focus. You relax your jaw and your mind. Bliss. Your pussy pulses. You mewl.

“Such a good girl, you're doing so good.” He wants to move so badly. In and out. But he can't. You need him, trust him to take care of you. He sees the glossy sheen in your eyes as you're tearing up just the slightest bit. He's somewhere in there, he thinks and caresses your throat with his thumb. You don't like him there too much and he respects that boundary. But he loves being in there, loves seeing you getting teary eyed whenever you decide to grace him with your trust and kindness and take him as deep as you can. He's a bastard, he thinks when he coos at you, for taking such a pleasure in seeing you cry.

You swallow again, your saliva struggles past him on its way down and there it is, a fragrant hint of salt makes it to your palates. He is leaking. You see it in your mind: salty shimmery pearls, making a pretty string of beads down his cock, along that one pretty vein that throbs against your tongue right now. You mewl but all that you both can hear is a pathetic, strangled gurgle. A tear forms on your lash line and lands on your cheek. 

Dave takes it up with his thumb and licks it. Saltiness spreads on his tongue. A trade of salt, he gives you his, you give him yours. You're even, always. 

His hand loosens around your hair, it's over if you like, keep going if you want, puppy.

You struggle a few moments more around him while he takes up space in your throat and mind. Dave's eyes feel heavy on you, the love he never expresses with explicit words is carving the trails of your tears into your cheeks. He throbs violently and you pull yourself off of him, coughing.

You scramble to your knees and before you could even miss the feel of Dave's skin he has you pulled into his lap, cradling you, peppering you with sweet praise. How well you did with the breathing. How good and calm your mouth felt around him. How pretty you are. 

He feels it, your slick. Silky and sweet, sticking between your thighs, just from holding his cock in your mouth. Dave looks down, shifting you, encouraging you to straddle him and spread your legs wider, so he can see everything that is his.

Shimmery threads of sweetness, stretching from one inner thigh to the other. He sticks his fingers into it, twists them, turns them, spinning your thread of silk around his digits. He sucks them clean. Sweet. Like spun sugar but better. 

You look down, between your legs and watch him as he grips himself by the base, and twists more of you around him, mixing your sweetness with his saltiness, creating a smooth blend of sticky threads. You almost drool and add another liquid, but Dave is quicker.

With a small thrust he pushes himself inside of you, not hurried, not slow either, but determined and eager. Another wet, tight heat welcomes him this morning and he feels truly blessed for this woman on his lap. 

“Such a good puppy for me. So loyal,” he murmurs, voice strained and like gravel. Now it's you throbbing and pulsing, stretching around him but unwillingly, she likes to hold him close and tight, tucked away where he belongs. What you lack in clarity your pussy has enough of: she wants one thing and that is him. 

You tilt your hips, angling him deeper. You whimper and sling your arms around Dave's neck and you breathe, in and out, and he moves beneath you. In. And out. A determined rhythm, chasing nothing because why chase the inescapable? It will come, like Dave, like you. 

His hand finds his way down to the spot where you are joined, dipping and smearing in the salty sweet gooeyness, gliding over and circling around the nub that makes you hiss and your pussy clench violently.

“Feeling good, little puppy?” Dave groans and pushes his spread fingers deeper, feeling himself push inside of you and out again until the thick rim of his tip appears and disappears again.

You nod, head bouncing in the steady rhythm. In. Out. Up. Down. Full. Empty. Full. Empty. Deeper. Fuck, you're close. Deeper again, tensing, throbbing.

“Dave-”

“I know, honey. Be good.” Let go. Just breathe. In. Deep. Deeper, out. “Be a good puppy for me. I'm right there.” All he needs is you spasming around him and your whines. 

You angle your hips again, dragging your aching clit against his spikey trimmed hair that got all smooth and slick. Salty and sweet. Up, down, so fucking deep you wince, up, down, faster, again. Now you're chasing. Mind deliciously blank, just the hum of pleasure in your spine. So close. So deep, so full, so stretched around him you can't even clamp on him anymore. More. Down, deeper.

His fingers flick and he pinches your clit and you fall, white noise and moans in your ears, riding Dave through the wave of your orgasm. Feeling him filling you now. Feeling his fingers digging into your hips and pressing you down on him, so deep inside of you and he whines. A sweet whimper of your name, breathed into your ear and securely locked away in your mind with a kiss. 

You both breathe heavily now, in and out, sticky skin, gasps trickling from your mouths, arms encircling, little giggles mixed in, to make a soft, warm blend of safety.

He feels safe with me, you think and when you lean back, just enough to look at Dave's face, he mouthes something that looks like love and you and you securely lock those words away with a kiss.

comment or reblog to get an anti-overthinking session with Dave (I'm in dire need of one myself, help)

read part 1 here

find my Dave York masterlist here

find my general masterlist here

dividers: as always @/saradika-graphics

[avianconcept]

Agency, value systems, and growth: the fate of the Perfect Court tattoos.

Been thinking about the Perfect Court tattoos today, and I’ve finally decided what I personally hope happens to Jean’s. I know there's a lot of discussion about a cover up like Kevin’s, suggestions like a flower, a sun, a fleur-de-lis; and I see that, but I raise you: he gets it completely removed. 

I think it has something to do with what the tattoos mean to each character. More specifically, how each character got them, and what that means to them. Most of this comes from a quote I found on my last re-read of TKM: 

The first time someone asked about Riko’s and Kevin’s tattoos, Riko hadn’t beat around the bush. He was the best striker in the game, he said, and he wanted everyone to know it. The story changed a little when Jean made his first public appearance with a “3” on his face. Riko was supposedly handpicking the future US National Team. He called it the ‘perfect Court’, and even though it was unofficial and unbelievably arrogant, his talent and upbringing gave some credibility to the idea. ‘

According to Neil in the first book, Riko and Kevin had been sharpie-ing on their numbers since they were children. This quote adds some more crucial context to that. It establishes that Riko and Kevin’s 1 and 2 came before the perfect court, and that the perfect court was what Riko decided their 1 and 2 (and newly minted 3) meant. This bit is what changed it for me, I think. 

Riko and Kevin are both referred to as the sons of exy. Both are heirs to the game, Riko through his uncle and Kevin through his mother. They do it to signal their place in the world of exy– heirs, future best in the game, destined for greatness. And then Jean comes along, and Riko changes the narrative. He comes up with the perfect court, and tells the world. The perfect court are his chosen players (read: his property). It furthers his control and possession of Kevin, who is allowed to be excellent, just not better than Riko. Kevin can be good, he just has to be good Riko’s way, subscribe to RIko’s model of success. 

Riko dies with his tattoo on his face. He dies clinging onto the idea of the perfect court, that he is the best, and that the only way to be the best is through pain and abuse. There is no real change for Riko in the series, so it fits that the way he’s marked himself (read: the way he defines himself) doesn’t change either. 

Kevin gets his covered up with the infamous chess piece. For Kevin, the challenge is reclaiming the sport that is also his birthright. He is physically free of Riko and Tetsuji, but mentally, he isn’t. Even with states between them and a new team, he is still understandably afraid of standing up to Riko. It goes against the status quo that has been beaten into him, and it takes him a while to be able to fully leave them and their limits behind. What holds Kevin back is that his greatness has always been defined. It has been defined by Riko, upheld by Tetsuji. He can be second best, a Raven, a prince to Riko’s King. Kevin changes his tattoo right before the final game– in order to beat Riko, he has to first reject Riko’s hierarchy, the limiting belief that was forced onto him that Riko was best, Riko was king. To me, its extremely fitting that Kevin’s evolution involved him putting his own mark on his talent. Instead of challenging Riko for ‘King’, or for that 1, he invents his own symbol. For Kevin, it's a reclamation of a game that was always partially his– just on his terms now. 

Neil’s tattoo gets burnt off by his father’s henchmen. This also fits well in my mind, because in my opinion, Neil’s number one challenge wasn’t actually Riko. Riko was Neil’s adversary, but Neil’s true terror was his father. The tattoos and their removal/evolution appear to be symbolic of the character’s growth, so it makes sense that Neil’s wasn’t on his face for long, and was taken off by (basically) his father. Each of the perfect court members had something keeping them trapped, things that wouldn’t let them grow into who they were supposed to be. Riko’s was the wound of his fathers rejection, and the toxicity created and maintained by Tetsuji. Kevin’s was Riko, and by extension Tetsuji. Neil’s is his father. Unlike Kevin, Neil’s not trying to be the best exy player in the sport. The sport makes him feel less like no one and nothing, and his continued playing is an expression of his will to live and his desire for personhood and a future. Neil wants better than what he has at the beginning of TFC, and the thing keeping him from that isn’t Riko. Sure, Riko is connected to the Moriyamas, and Ichirou owns his contract now, and Neil fights with Riko a lot. But to me, the thing that caused him real terror and stripped him of his personhood and autonomy was Nathan. Riko branded him with the 4, and Nathan’s people took it off, as if to say, “No, Riko isn’t who you have to reckon with, it’s me.” Neil’s internal fight was with being the butcher’s son, not with being number four. 

Jean’s situation is best described by a line in the EC– Jean never asked for this. 

In his own words, he loved exy, and was excited for what he thought was an opportunity to improve, but it doesn’t seem like he was ever vying for greatness. Then his father sold him, he was given the 3, and he was made perfect court. 

Much like Neil, didn’t have a say in his involvement. Unlike Neil, Jean adopts the mentality and hierarchy of the perfect court as his truth. Riko’s estimation of his value becomes his own. 

For Jean, the 3 has a lot to do with pain and self worth. In TSC, the only time Jean speaks positively about himself is when he calls himself perfect court, or when he talks about himself as a backliner. He has been conditioned that the only place he has worth is on the court. Nothing is important about him, just about what he is, the position he occupies. Where his personhood and bodily autonomy is denied over and over, his talent cannot be denied on the court. He is allowed to matter on the court, and nowhere else. In a sense, that 3 becomes the only thing about him that could be his. 

The other thing about the 3 is that he didn’t ask for it, but he has bled for it. So much of his relationship with the Ravens is defined by his rank.  Even though the Ravens do not like Jean as a person, they want to be his partner, to have that 4. The reason someone protects Jean from repeated sexual assault is that 3, and how it could lead to a 4. This is why Zane strikes a deal with him, why Grayson goes all the way to the Gold Court to hurt him. It is what the sexual assault from the backliners is blamed on. The 3 was given to Jean as a mark of something he didn't ask to be a part of, and then he was forced to fight tooth and nail to keep it.  It became the defining part of his identity because he wasn’t allowed to have anything else. He wasn’t even allowed to have his name. 

In my opinion, I think that the ultimate expression of Jean’s growth would be to take the tattoo off. He doesn’t have to subscribe to that value system. Covering it would feel like half assing it. He can change it, but he has to keep a tattoo of some sort, because Riko put one there. 

Note that I don’t think of the cover up the same way for Kevin. For Kevin, exy was likely always going to be important to him, with Kayleigh as his mother. He is inheriting it, same way Riko is, and this inheritance is symbolized by that 1 and 2. Kevin wanted to be the best, and so the ultimate expression of his healing is him becoming the best his way. Jean has his tattoo because he is seen as an object, a talent investment belonging to the Moriyamas. What is a limit for Kevin is a brand for Jean. 

For Jean, I think true freedom wouldn’t be freedom to be the best, it would be not having to be the best. It would be not having exy be the most important thing in his life. To not need to defend something he didn’t want. I hope he becomes so sure of his worth in the world, and so sure of his own autonomy that he doesn’t need the 3 to tell him he’s worth something. I hope he realizes that he is his own before he is anyone else's, and doesn’t need to carry around a value that someone else gave him.  

In TSC, the legacy, abuse, and dehumanization of the Nest is killing Ravens as soon as the Nest is taken away. Without the strict environment and the imposed value systems the Nest and team gave them, the Ravens crumple. They seem to feel they can't go back (I suspect that whether ‘back’ means back to their old lives or back to the Nest is different for every Raven), and that death is their better option. Ravens don’t seem to be meant to survive outside the Nest. It is designed to be all consuming. Jean doesn’t know who he is if he isn’t a Raven, if he isn’t perfect court, if he isn’t ‘3’ anymore. To live again, he has to leave the perfect court and its poison behind. He has to learn himself again, to rebuild and repair and create out of nothing. 

Neil says it about Grayson, that he could have chosen to walk away from Riko’s poisoned legacy, but it applies to all Ravens. To survive, to live a life worth living, they have to chose to fight their way out of that kind of thinking. Taking the tattoo off feels like him choosing to leave the Nest behind. Jean taking it off represents him shedding that entire ideology. No three, no expectation, just him and whoever he wants to be. 

In short, the toxicity that the perfect court represented killed Riko with its symbol still on his face. 

The Moriyama’s never really owned Neil, and they weren’t who he had to overcome. The tattoo was never going to be around long. 

Kevin was held back from his birthright. His potential was conditional, and there was a leash on him. He needed to reclaim the game that would always be his, mark himself in his own image. 

Jean needs to see himself as a person beyond his place on the court. He needs to walk away from the perfect court ideology and reclaim himself, with no one’s mark on him. 

[ashkabbom]

Would it have worked? - Mouthwashing

A/n: I think it's important to let you know that I haven't written frequently for a long time, but following something new has made me excited and with a peak of creativity, I apologize if I wrote something wrong or said something wrong 😭 feel free to correct me 🫶🏽

Versão em português no wattpad: ashkabbom (Nome: Teria dado certo?)

I didn't write this in a romantic way, but please give my writing a chance 🙏🏽

Mini warnings: Mention of bullets and death of the main character, I think that's all?

When you arrived here, expectations and nervousness went hand in hand, but regardless of how strange and weird everything around you was, hope was something you insisted on having at all times. Tulpar will be a good or at least interesting experience.

You really made friends, don't think you didn't!

Having someone like Anya to talk to in the middle of the night when neither of you could sleep properly was comforting.

The dialogues you and Daisuke had were definitely something interesting, you got along well together, sometimes even Swansea was there too, claiming that two interns together wouldn't be a good idea.

Now, about the captain and him. The captain was actually quite calm, a very understanding man, sometimes he would join you and Anya at night... But he was something else. He could just be someone who was a little stressed and had a weird mood. There are a lot of people like that, right?

You remember talking to him and the captain a few times, but rarely, only when it was really necessary or just to relax.

A year transporting a load among so many stars, a load that you didn't even know what it was initially, it would be good to have a good relationship with the others on the ship, your companions after all.

You start to think as you stare at the sky projected on the huge screen, remembering the little conversation you had with your friend.

"Where do you think you would be if you hadn't come to work here?" Daisuke asks looking at you.

"Hmmm.. probably working in a supermarket I think. That was my option if this one didn't work out, so I would keep sending resumes to see if I could get a better job I think.." You say as you remember your old options, there weren't many, but there were still possibilities. "But what about you?"

"Honestly I don't know, I try to be positive about it.." Daisuke looked insecure and uncertain about where he could be now. "Would we still talk when we get back home? I don't know if I'm going to stay here after all this, their cake isn't the best." He tries to relax.

Out of all the people on this ship, Daisuke was the easiest to talk to and actually build some kind of relationship with, maybe because you two were the most positive in that situation.

Even with that foam everywhere on that ship, lost in a loud silence between the darkness and the stars, you were all going to make it back to Earth.

Maybe because you two were more naive than the others on that ship, the two sanest on that crew.

"Hey, you're a cool guy, I'm sure you'd be working in a good place!" A confident smile appears on your face, trying to dismiss your friend's worries. "Of course we would still talk to each other when we get back, we are friends after all, together here for months"

He smiles positively and you say not to go crazy before you, you laugh but are soon interrupted by Swansea asking what the hell you two were doing up in the middle of the night

It was kind of stupid. Maybe you two should have been a little more realistic about the situation. More than 4 or 5 months, shit, you didn't even have any sense of time anymore. No one had come looking for you yet. Had anyone noticed that you were missing and never contacted Pony Express again?

Sitting with your friends at that table, as if it were the day of that news, with everyone sitting together and the cake for the captain on the table.

Now, with a bullet hole in your forehead, along with your friends and that man, your head tilted to the side, you stare at the sky projected on the broken screen, wondering if this would have worked.

A/n: English is definitely not my first language, so I had a lot of translator help! Sorry for any nonsense words with other words.

I just wanted to write a little bit and I liked Mouthwashing, how the game approaches the theme of work and worker, each character's situation in relation to themselves and the general situation ^^. Feel free to tell me what you think of my writing and if you want me to write something, I wouldn't mind. 🎀

[3hks]

How to Create a MEMORABLE Character

A while back, I released a post about how to write "that" character, which basically highlights a few key aspects found in some of the most popular characters to date. However, a popular character and a memorable one is actually quite different, and in this post, I'll briefly explain how to create a character that people will remember.

For starters, a memorable character doesn't actually have to be well-liked. Yes, popular characters tend to be memorable, but it's not always the same other way around. I'll simply explain how to form a character that really sticks with your audience, regardless of their actual opinion about them! And even better, these following ideas work on any type of character! So, if you're interested, let's dive right in!

~ FIRST IMPRESSIONS MATTER ~

I sometimes talk about the importance of a character's reputation because it shows how others view them and the truths and inaccuracies of their character!

But your character's image isn't bound to your cast's eyes--it actually matters a lot to your readers.

When you first introduce your character, do not immediately reveal everything about them. Instead, focus on establishing one or two core traits of your character instead. This will allow your readers to form their own opinions of your character first, and although they might be inaccurate, when the readers realize their misjudgment, the character will get stuck in their head!

For example, there's Tsukishima Kei from Haikyuu!!. Initially, the viewers may think about him negatively because of his introduction. He first appears as a blunt, mocking, and disrespectful person, but as the story continues and the audience slowly warms up to him, we start to see his real character, resulting in Tsukishima becoming one of the most beloved characters in Haikyuu!!.

Why does this matter? The thing is, when we meet new people, we all make assumptions about their personality, goodwill, and whatnot. As we get to know them further, we realize that some of our initial judgements may have been wrong; it's simply an unavoidable part of life. By incorporating that aspect into your writing, you're forcing your readers to think deeper about your characters!

~ GIVE THEM THEIR TIME ~

This will seem obvious but it's precisely because of how obvious it is that it'll often slip people's minds. Give your character the time they deserve. You can do this by exploring their backstory, defining their motivations, giving them some important action, or simply establishing some kind of critical or eye-catching moment regarding them!

If you can't afford to give them a huge role in your story, then give your readers an event focusing on your character that will come to their mind when they think of said character! Like a defining moment!

It can be dramatic, sad, short, anything works! As a matter of fact, you've probably done this unconsciously before, too!

~ MAKE THEM DIMENSIONAL ~

If you can't tell already, it's incredibly important to be aware of your characters' distinctive traits and how they shape your character. However, there are times that a character will and should break their character.

A happy person can't be happy all the time. A carefree person can't be carefree all the time. Even a cold person will have some shifts in character.

This can help will character development, especially if you're not planning to give them a lot of development, but also really humanizes your character! Everyone will eventually get bored of the same personality; people may change in different situations!

See? In the end, this is really just a simple guide--everything is perfectly achievable no matter what character you're writing! These are some good points to keep in mind if you're looking for a character that resonates with the audience!

Happy writing~

3hks ^^

[anon-e-miss]

Errant Blessings - 5

As he had the first time he carried Prowl down the mountain, Jazz pampered Prowl after his long labour egg-laying. His pelvic girdle throbbed and Prowl was sure that somehow his hips were broader now thant they had been before he had started laying the dozens of eggs. He still did not know how many there were. Some might yet not survive their final incubation in the lagoon. Prowl would have liked to have just some idea at all, but he had quickly lost count, only managing to keep count for the first joor and Jazz had been focusing on his, trusting in the Perpetuo crystal for what came after. Dozens of couples on the highland hoped for a bitlet, Prowl hoped that enough of the eggs had carried would unfurl to satisfy the longings of at least a third of them.

Even after his forge... forges reset, Prowl did not dawn his old armour. The sentio-metallico of his belly was loose and wrinkly. It would be longer still before it shrank back and even when it did, it would never been the same as it was. Prowl could not be the same as he was after twenty stellar-cycles incubating eggs he did not ask for. He did not know yet what he wanted to do. Would he just, tuck whatever loose plating remained into his armour and then go back on his enforcer beat? What else was there? Though he had fulfilled the crystal’s whims, its marks still covered Prowl’s frame. How could he explain them? How could he explained the fact he had two valves and a saggy belly? His wells too were enormous, and seemed the have grown since he had laid the clutches, although that could have been an illusion.

Prowl walked under his own power, wearing a the same cut of armour as Punch and dozens of strands of crystals. They were on his arms, around his ankles, around his neck and atop his helm. They were gifts from the villagers, the hopeful families of the crystals eggs that Prowl had incubated. Though he might have covered his loose belly with a higher cut girdle, Jazz had suggested that it was a mark of honour for Staniz. For them, there was no shame in what all had happened, for Prowl it was different. His wells ached, like his frame thought he had carries a normal carrying and should be nursing the resulting bitlet. It was too uncomfortable to wear a chestplate. He looked about the mechanisms climbing the mountain and found many of them were in a similar state. Did the Perpetuo crystal really have such power here?

“What the Pit?” Someone exclaimed and pointed. A loud gasp came up. Prowl jerked as he saw Chromedome’s corpse, skewered like an insecticon against the rock by dozens of crystals.

“He must o’ come for an egg,” Punch guessed. “‘N the Perpetuo crystal punished ‘m accordingly.”

“What is the Perpetuo crystal?” Prowl asked. “Why not just... do as it did with me?”

“He wasn’t worthy to be a vessel o’ the crystal’s blessin’,” Punch replied. “The Perpetuo crystal is the spark o’ an ancient titan that fell here ‘n became the island o’ our archipelago.”

“Someone take care o’ that,” Jazz ordered. “Probably gonna have to answer to the mainland.”

“We’ll deal,” Punch replied.

Everyone sat in the field of flowers that surrounded the lagoon. Prowl sat with Jazz and Punch near the edge of the lagoon. The first newling appeared and clamoured at the edge of the bank. Punch cooed at it and set it down on the ground. Immediately, it crawled to one of the waiting couples, like it knew exactly who it was meant for. Everyone cheered prayers of thanks to the crystal and its vessel. Another newling appeared. They were not as immature as a newling emerged in a conventional carrying. They were mobile. Dozens crawled from the lagoon, Prowl realized with some shock that there had been one each for every hopeful family, single or coupled. It shocked him how many eggs he had carried for twenty stellar-cycles. As the crowd wept with joy and gratitude, a pair of newlings pulled themselves up from the pool and the made a b-line for Prowl.

“I don’t understand,” Prowl said. Imperiously, one climbed into his lap, dragging the other along. They rooted through the crystals he wore of his wells and then latched onto his nozzles.

“They’re for ya,” Punch said. “Split-sparks... I think. But how?”

“The last egg was big ‘nough to’ve held twins,” Jazz replied. “Prowl said they’d be trouble.”

Prowl did not ask again what he was meant to do. He cared for the bitlets the crystal had bestowed him... him and Jazz. They were mischievous, loud and lively. Punch delighted in his grandbitties. Jazz was a brilliant progenitor. Raising their family was the blessing Prowl had not known he needed. With every sparkling on the island the same age, there was no end of playmates for them to play with. They had an additional playmate when Jazz kindled Prowl in the conventional manner. Red Alert had a glitch, as Prowl did but they loved him as well as they did Sideswipe and Sunstreaker. He was happy. They were happy. Their mechlings were growing, healthy and happy, along with the other sparklings from their clutch. The island prospered and Prowl was content. Then, the tattoos glowed and Prowl knew what it meant.

“The Perpetuo crystal calls for me,” Prowl told Jazz. “It had eggs ready.”

“What do ya want to do?” Jazz asked.

“I cannot leave without risking its wrath,” Prowl replied. “Go with me? Perhaps it won’t be so terrifying this time.”

Jazz took his aft as the crystal poured nectar down his throat, beginning the long mega-cycles of debauchery. His conjunx held his legs open as Prowl was impaled on his spike, and the crystals fragged him with three or four tentacles at a time. There was no need to reformat his frame but the crystal took its time with him all the same. Prowl wailed with pleasure as the crystal prepared him to be its vessel again. He watched as Jazz held him open for it, as the ovipositor tentacle writhed towards him. He gasped as Jazz spread the folds of his upper valve wide and the tentacle plunged in. Before, the crystal had filled first one forge and then the next with eggs but Jazz held Prowl’s lower valve open even as the crystal was pumping eggs into his upper for. Prowl writhed as his belly quickly bulged with the crystal’s eggs. He was in its grasps, dangling in the air as Jazz rubbed his anterior node, ensuring his never stopped overloading as he was filled with eggs.

“Ori mentioned families from the other islands’ve come callin’,” Jazz told him as he laid on the ground, spent. “I think ya got a hundred ‘least incubatin’ in yer sweet belly this time.”

“Oh Primus,” Prowl moaned.

It was a cycle. Every ten vorns the crystal called him and Jazz held him open on its altar as it filled his belly with more eggs. With every clutch, the crystal added to his family. When an enforcer came from Praxus asking after a cold case, Prowl did what he could to help. Barricade did not return to Praxus as the Perpetuo crystal chose him to be another Spark of Staniz. Jazz twin tended to him and in the end, the crystal gave them a bitlet of their own to raise. Prowl had thought this might mean his time as the Spark of Staniz was over but his tattoos glowed ten vorns after the last time and he laughed at himself. Polyhex was being quickly repopulated thanks to the wombs of two Praxians. When another enforcer came to discuss an old case with Prowl, he had wondered if the crystal would have similar designs on him. Nightbeat came down the mountain, a couple dozen eggs sitting heavy in his belly and Prowl thought perhaps Praxus should put a travel alert on the island.

[blu3-ja3]

Doctor Maevis "Maeve" O'Connor is a tall well built woman. She has to be in order to keep up with those boys when out on ops, carrying around a pack full of medical supplies like it's nothing. Roach and Soap can attest it's not something to scoff at (Ghost thought running some laps while carrying it would be a good punishment, a story for later).

Her ginger hair has a smattering of white and silver throughout, it's almost always tied up into a tight bun. But on the rare occasion that Soap or Gaz miss playing with their sisters' hair, it's long and wavy. She has bushie eyebrows and long lashes but they're almost non-existent in the right light.

She has a broad nose and thin lips. Her skin is pale, slightly wrinkled, and easily sunburnt (Price jokes she could sit in a room with a too bright bulb and she's likely to burn) it's littered with millions of tiny freckles that are seemingly endless. She has a faint scar above her left eye that disappears into her hair line, another more obvious burn scar that creeps out of her turtle neck uniform and licks up her jaw, cheek, and ear. It peaks out from her long sleeve as well not nearly as dark and angry but still there on her right hand.

Her nails are short and painted whatever color the trio of Sargents pick out. She states that she's a mother first, a doctor second, and a captain third. She has told Price and Laswell that she was never interested in her rank, sometimes even hating it. But she's fine so long as she can help get everyone back in one piece.

They all notice when Doc is very tired she slips hard into her Irish accent and slips a few words of Gaelic when excited. MacTavish and her enjoy confusing the rest of the team by having full conversations in their native tongue. Soap likes fucking with Ghost in particular.

O'Connor is quick to give motherly advice and even a hug while needed. She surprised Ghost one night when he was having a rough time sleeping, she simply appeared holding a mug of tea and a cigarette. They just stood there in silence for a while. Once he'd finished his tea she walked him to his room, she still said nothing as she gently pulled him into a hug and lightly kissed his forehead over his balaclava. He slept well that night, never expecting such motherly affection to be directed at himself.

Gaz enjoyed baking with her and recounting stories about his family, mostly of his brother and sister. O'Connor enjoys hearing the brit recount childhood and see how he became such a big brother figure amongst the three Sargents.

O'Connor would often challenge Soap to a game of chess, knowing how bright the boy was. She knew if he wasn't doing something that required both his brain and his hands he'd end up in her office with new scrapes and scratches. He's taken up keeping track of how often he wins or loses. So far he's on a losing streak.

It took her a while to find something to keep Roach from doing something out of boredom that would land him in her office. But one rainy evening she found a box on the outside of the compound with a puppy inside. Bringing it back Roach was immediately enthralled, promising to take care of the puppy. If you're looking for Roach look for the barking and you'll find the Sargent.

She keeps Price sain by keeping his boys sain and alive. They seem to have a knack for getting into dangerous situations that aren't a part of their normal plans. But she's quick to react when time allows, going full mother hen and patching them up. She talks them down from stupid impulses also. O'Connor is a second pair of ears and eyes for Price to confirm with that yes they are seeing/hearing this it's not a hallucination.

O'Connor noticed rather quickly when certain people walked with limps and had created a little one stop drawer for them; lube, condoms, simple pain relief, and numbing cream. She doesn't ask when one of them slips into her office and goes straight to the drawer. She just files it away to check later and restocks.

She also notices the near constant smell of tobacco and after a long seminar on the dangers of tobacco she gave them alternatives. For oral fixes nicotine gum and herbal cigs, for the sometimes needed kick patches and candied ginger and licorice root. And on the rare occasion those don't work then a real smoke was fine. She does everything in her power to make sure that they are taken care of, even if it's nearly impossible at times. And when they come back hurting physically or mentally she tries her best to soothe that hurt.

She learns their favorite treats and makes them on their birthday or special occasions. She does what a mother can, what a doctor can when in the lines of fire and combat. Only pulling rank when one of the 141 doesn't listen, but eventually they trust her advice. They keep habits but exchange them for safer ones. And when the impulsive decisions are made she's there to scold and tend to their injuries.

Doc was an obvious nickname, same with Price calling her Maeve. The one that surprised her was when a new kid called her Hen. None of the Sargents tell her who started. She eventually finds out Ghost is the one who started it, referring to her being a "Bloody Mother Hen" she takes pride in that.

One night after the boys return from Las Almas and the rapid chaos after she finds Soap struggling. She is immediately at his side, soothing and comforting the man like he's a scared child. But never in a way to degrade him, only to comfort only in a way a mother can. Stroking his hair and humming. Once exhaustion finally took hold, O'Connor led Soap back to his barracks and got him into bed, she stood to leave when a hand grabbed her wrist stopping her, "Thanks Mom". For weeks she told herself he said ma'am, his accent thicker when tired. It bugs her but she keeps it to herself choosing not to dwell.

Another day she finds Roach pacing, a frantic look on his eyes, she takes him for a walk around base. Let him speak about surviving being shot and burned alive. She falls into her role, soothing and comforting. Eventually they move into the mess and separate ways "Thanks Mom". It shocks her and for a few days she convinced herself she's heard it wrong.

Gaz calls her the name after a particularly nasty head that keeps her up monitoring for nights on end. She chalks it up to just the injury and says nothing about it until he calls the name again after tending to a slight burn on his hand. It throws her for days stirring millions of thoughts and emotions.

They start calling her Mom after she scolds them or comforts them, she tells them to stop but can't hide the smile on her face. It's only the Sargents for a bit calling her the name, Price calls her the name as a joke when a Sargents asks for something. "Go ask Mom, she'll tell you yes or no." It warms a part of her soul that had long been cold and tired.

When Ghost calls her mom it was after scolding him like a child, not because he disobeyed orders but because he got shot twice in the process nothing serious but enough for her to jump when he reappeared holding his shoulder. She got to him before Price and ran him through, the Sargents were hiding behind Price. It's not often they see the Doctor so angry while patching someone up. She kept her venom flowing as she finished her work. She stood up and leveled a lethal glare at Ghost before turning to go to the front of the boening "Sorry Mom." The tension was suffocating and no one said anything to Doc for the rest of the ride. Even Price stayed out of the way once they landed.

Price finds her in the training room beating the hanging sand bag until Price was certain her knuckles were bruised. When the Lieutenant walked in and over towards the pit, Price almost dragged the man out but he knew this was the closest thing Ghost has to an apology. So he steps back and lets the two figure things out. Price keeps the Sargents out. So when the two finally leave the room without anymore scraps or bruises, Price was pleased to say the least.

She cares for like they're her own because in a way they are her's. They're safety above everything if it can be helped and she tries damn hard about just that. Because Maevis O'Connor refuses to lose any more if she can help it.

[xuchiya]

"stuck in this fairytale" || choi san || series || tenth part

| genre: prince! san. fluff. angst. adventure | mentions: cursing. | here's the first part

back to masterlist | chapter 11

Jongho sat alone in his room, the one Wooyoung had given him when he arrived, unable to shake off the memories that haunted him. This was where he first met you—more like you tackled him— and this was also the place where he lost you, a fact that weighed heavily on his heart. The memory played in his mind on repeat, an endless loop of guilt and regret. He tightened his grip on the book in his hand, as if it might somehow tether him, keep him from being consumed by the depths of his own remorse.

He blamed himself. He’d had the power to act, to protect you, yet he’d done nothing. Still, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to resent you. Sacrifice was in your nature. You’d always been known for it.

“I’m sorry, bookie…” Jongho’s voice trembled with emotion as he held the worn book, Dragon Mountain, close to his chest. With a heavy sigh, he opened the book and began flipping through its familiar pages, curious as to why this one hit him in the head in the first place. 

Eventually, he stopped at an illustration he’d often lingered over: a striking figure of a woman with flowing, fiery red hair, a crown resting regally upon her head, and a wreath of flames swirling around her. The name below the picture read simply, Brigid. He traced the letters with a gentle finger, his gaze lingering on the character’s face. At first, the woman looked like a figure out of Greek mythology, powerful and godlike. But the longer he looked, the more he saw subtle details that reminded him of you. The arch of her brows, the determined set of her mouth, even the glint of warmth tempered with strength in her eyes—it all whispered of you.

As he stared at the illustration, a wave of memories washed over him, transporting him back to the days when he had first come to know you. You had never been a campus celebrity or someone who stood in the spotlight, but you left an undeniable impact on everyone you met. To those who truly knew you, you were unforgettable.

A freshman at KQ University majoring in computer science. He’s been part of the student council, immersed in his responsibilities when he noticed you, looking lost but determined. Before he had a chance to offer help— it was you who approached him but in a different matter— you’d hurried over to him, grabbing his arm just in time to pull him out of harm’s way as one of the string lights hanging above came crashing down where he���d been standing.

The moment left him stunned, but you only brushed it off with a simple, “You’re not hurt, are you?” He nodded slowly, still processing what had just happened, while you let out a relieved sigh, you were about to speak when Wooyoung appeared behind you, tackling you with his usual playful energy. Jongho could still remember how you laughed as Wooyoung’s arm draped around your shoulder, pinching his side in response to his antics.

“Ah! Jongho-yah! So you met my childhood friend!” Wooyoung had grinned, pulling you close. “I finally convinced her to join us here at KQ University. Meet our very own fierce, loving, and feisty girl.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes at his playful description, but extended your hand to Jongho with a warm smile. From that day on, you became friends. Not because you had saved him, but because you saw him—really saw him—for who he was. You saw beyond the labels and expectations, beyond his status as the son of a well-known sports car brand, Dragons. To you, he wasn’t a title or a legacy. He was simply Jongho.

And that made Jongho breathe. That made Jongho smile for the first time without having to put up with a fake one. And Jongho had grown close to you, treasuring every laugh, every shared moment. He admired your ability to balance strength and kindness, to bring light into every room you entered. But now, as he sat alone with the weight of your absence pressing down on him, he felt hollow. The memories of you, of your laughter and your fierce loyalty, were all he had left.

In his heart, Jongho knew that he’d have given anything to change that day. To be the one to step forward, to shield you. But you had acted first, your nature as protective as ever. And so he was left here, gripping that book as if it could somehow bring you back or lessen the ache of your loss, haunted by the echoes of what he should have done.

“Mourning is for the dead. She’s not.” A voice brought him out of his trace of memories. He blinks, looking up from where it came from. There stood—clad in a formal prince outfit— was his senior and the prince of the story, from what Wooyoung filled him in, Choi San.

“I– I was not! I was…” He sighs, looking back to the book, a sad look in his eyes, “It’s my fault.” 

San, who was on his way to his library office when he came across his room, the door was ajar and the first thing he saw was Jongho's hunched body by the bed. Deep in thought and a blank dull look on his face.  San was absolutely shocked to discover a new member that came in when Wooyoung introduced him to who he is over dinner time. San and his father were able to lean forward at the same time in discovering ‘Choi Jongho’, someone with the same last name as them. It has become a tradition to know the relation of parents to whoever has the last name related to the royalties. When the King questioned about his family line, Jongho had simply explained about his family line by owning a carriage.

It’s like the explanation in an old time explanation of his modern life. Wooyoung explained to him to speak in their time as no one recognized who he was, unlike Jongho recognized everyone. 

San sighed softly as he slipped his hands into the pockets of his tailored dress pants, stepping fully into Jongho’s room. Without saying a word, he crossed the quiet space and settled beside Jongho on the edge of the bed. The silence was thick, almost reverent, until San finally broke it, his voice gentle. “Do you want to know what she said to me when she first arrived here?” 

Jongho looked up, a deep frown knitting his brows. “What?” he murmured, a hint of curiosity breaking through his sadness.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of San’s lips as he cast his gaze downward, recalling the vivid memory. He could still hear the echo of your laughter, bright and genuine. Ignoring the quickened beat of his heart, he let the memory wash over him.

“She told me…” San began, chuckling quietly, “she told me, ‘What the hell are you wearing?’ right there in the library. And then she burst out laughing. Loudly, too. I’m sure everyone within earshot heard her.”

Jongho’s eyes softened as he imagined it, a small smile breaking through his somber expression. He could picture you standing there, laughing at San’s formal attire, teasing him in that light-hearted way that only you could. Despite the ache in his chest, he found himself chuckling under his breath. “Sounds like her…” he murmured, the warmth in his voice undeniable.

San nodded, his smile widening as he continued. “Even in a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar faces, she just… looked over the horizon, like nothing could weigh her down. She’s always been that way. Positive. Strong-willed.” He paused, looking off to the side as he marveled at the memory. “It amazes me sometimes—she was just so sure of herself.”

Jongho nodded, a fond look in his eyes as he remembered more moments with you. “She’s always been kind to everyone, even… animals,” he said, chuckling at the memory that surfaced. “One time, at the zoo, she even managed to befriend an eagle. It just landed on her shoulder out of nowhere and sat there. She looked at it like it was an old friend.”

San raised his brows, intrigued. “An eagle?”

“Yeah,” Jongho said, nodding. “The keepers were trying to get it off her shoulder, but it wouldn’t budge. It stayed there, like it had some kind of bond with her.”

San fell silent, and his expression grew thoughtful. The mention of the eagle triggered a memory. Just eight days after you’d disappeared, he had gone back to the riverside himself, desperate to search every corner for any sign of you. The search, however, had turned up nothing, just as Seonghwa’s had. He remembered the journey back to the Choi Kingdom afterward, when an eagle had soared above them, its piercing cry echoing through the sky. It had circled overhead for what felt like hours. Eagles weren’t known to fly near the kingdom; they preferred the isolated mountains. The sight had left him with questions he couldn’t quite answer.

“Why? Did the eagle leave?” San asked, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

Jongho shook his head, “No. It stayed until she was the who placed him back in his nest.”

Something about the story tugged at San’s heart, a quiet familiarity lingering with the mention of the eagle. He knew someone who kept an eagle, a memory that felt close, almost within reach.

“Does it … have a name?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jongho watched San carefully, sensing his growing interest. “Yes,” he replied, “Its name is Aven.”

The name jolted San from his thoughts, his eyes widening slightly. Jongho noticed his reaction, concern etched on his face. “San-hyung, is something wrong?”

San shook his head, his expression softening as he turned back to Jongho. “No… not really.” He gave Jongho’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “She must be taken care of one of the townspeople of JeoKang kingdom, so she'll be fine. We’re still looking for her.”

Jongho’s shoulders relaxed slightly, but a quiet sigh escaped him. “I know. She’s tough. Some people even call her a dragon.”

San’s eyes lit up with curiosity. “A dragon?”

Jongho nodded, his voice steady with admiration. “Yeah. People say she has the spirit of a dragon—untouchable, unbreakable. It’s like she has this invisible armor that shields her, that nothing can penetrate. And when she feels strongly about something, it’s like she breathes fire. Her words, her passion… she doesn’t hold back. But even with that fierce spirit, she’s one of the most protective people I know.”

San nodded absentmindedly, a gentle smile playing on his lips as he absorbed Jongho’s words. “She really does sound like a dragon,” he murmured, as if hearing the description of you had brought you back into the room, even if only for a moment.

As he stood to leave, he made his way to the door, but paused when he heard Jongho’s voice.

“San-hyung…”

San turned, amused by the nickname. “Yes, Jongho?”

Jongho gave him a small, knowing smile. “She likes you, you know.”

San’s eyes widened, a rush of warmth spreading across his face. He stammered, struggling to form a response, his usual composure faltering. “I—I… I’ll believe it when she’s the one to say it,” he managed to reply, clearing his throat as he turned back to the door, his cheeks tinged with a hint of red.

With one last glance over his shoulder, he stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him. He leaned against the wall in the hallway, exhaling a deep, shaky breath as he placed a hand over his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart. A faint smile ghosted across his lips as he made his way back to his library office, the thought of your smile and the possibility of your feelings lingering in his mind.

The rich scent of honey and herbs wafted through the room as you cradled a steaming cup of tea. Across from you, your mother settled into her chair, her gaze warm yet contemplative. The little girl beside her—Hyunjin, as she was introduced to you—kicked her legs in delight as she munched on the bread you had given her earlier. Watching your mother smooth Hyunjin's hair and gaze at her with such tender care pulled at your heart, reminding you of countless moments from your own childhood. Memories surfaced of your mother comforting you, teaching you, and showing you an unwavering love, which seemed now to have extended itself to Hyunjin.

“So … what really happened here?” you asked softly, savoring the honeyed tea as you awaited her answer.

Your mother’s gaze met yours, serious but gentle. “Jeong Yunho and Kang Yeosang were half-brothers,” she began. There was a weight in her words, a gravity that seemed to reach beyond the bounds of a simple family story. She held your gaze as she continued, “Even with only half of the same blood, they were meant to rule.”

“Meant to rule… but also to be part of this curse,” you murmured, following her lead.

Your mother’s face softened, but her sigh carried the weight of years of sorrow and mystery. She turned her gaze out the window, eyes distant as if recalling a memory she had long tried to bury. “They were symbols of hope and kindness. Whenever they helped us, we felt a spark—a reminder of the goodness they brought into this world.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “But what happened to them? What exactly was this curse?”

She shook her head, her brows knitting together. “I don’t know, my darling. The night before their coronation, we were all ready to celebrate. But instead of festivities, we only received word from the palace speaker about their sudden disappearance. No one knew where they went, and no one dared to ask.” Her voice held a sadness mixed with regret, as if she wished she could have done something to prevent it.

You felt a strange sense of unease stirring within you, knitting your brows together as your mind traced back to the celebration in the Kim Kingdom. You thought of the strange, flickering sparks that had danced in your hands, the feeling that something was watching, waiting. Pieces of memory and intuition fell into place, forming a half-completed puzzle in your mind.

“When was their celebration?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, a hunch taking root in the back of your mind.

“Three months ago. Why do you ask?” she replied, a hint of concern crossing her face.

Your heartbeat quickened as the timing became clear. It had been about two and a half months since you’d arrived in this universe, just before the Kim Kingdom’s celebration and the appearance of the curses. Now, only Wooyoung and San kingdoms remained untouched by the strange wave of misfortune sweeping through these lands.

“What about the Jung Kingdom? When is their anniversary?” you pressed.

Her gaze flicked to a makeshift calendar pinned on the wall, eyebrows drawn in thought. “I’m not certain… but I believe the kingdoms celebrate with about three months’ difference between them. My friend mentioned that the Jung Kingdom was the first to celebrate, followed by the JeoKang, then the Kim Kingdom—”

A realization struck like lightning. “San!” you exclaimed, standing up so suddenly that a sharp pain shot through your leg, making you wince. Your mother’s brows drew together in a frown as she urged you to sit down, her eyes laced with concern.

“I don’t know what’s on your mind, but you must stay focused,” she cautioned. “You’re here for a reason. Find it and don’t let anything deter you.”

Her words anchored you as you sank back into your chair, feeling the weight of her advice settle in. A growing determination flickered within you, strengthening your resolve. You were piecing together a story that seemed set on a tragic course, yet you knew now that you could change its path.

You are starting to think that this story you are trying to navigate to its happy ending has its fixed plot yet an unidentified ending. 

“Just because we’re in a different universe doesn’t mean you have privileges. Think about living but with more control of what you can do.” You nodded, smiling, “Just one more thing,” you murmured, and she raised a curious brow. “Could I borrow a lamp?”

That afternoon, after your mother’s insistence on caution and Hyunjin’s pleas to accompany you, you set out alone. Her worried gaze lingered on you as she pressed the small lantern into your hand, her fingers grazing your cheek with a gentle touch.

“Please be careful. You could have just let this pass first so you can heal your leg.” You look down at your casted leg but you sigh, looking back up at her, “I don’t have much time mom. I don’t know if I have two weeks or less before the Choi Kingdom faces their curse wave— it could be worse than that but let’s not hope for it.”

She sighs knowing that you were right as much as she wants you to be scolded, she only gave you the lamp that you were requesting. Her hand hovers on your cheeks, a smile on your lips as she leans in and places a sweet kiss on your forehead, leaning her forehead to yours, “Come back home, okay?”

Your throat tightened, but you smiled and nodded, whispering, “I always come back home.”

After a few teary departures, you made your way to the palace. The trees swayed gently in the wind, shadows played across the forest path as you climbed the stairs to the palace doors, feeling a chill roll over you as you crossed the threshold, you huffed glaring at the stairs before you pushed the door open. 

The air was heavy with silence, broken only by the soft creak of the ancient door as it closed behind you. You made your way towards the throne. The two thrones, like always, were covered in vines, dried or new. You sigh, brushing a dried leaf, only for the vines to writhe and retract, curling defensively around the throne as though it were a living creature. Your eyes widen as you let go, looking at the vines, you only now realize how they were moving so slowly up close like snakes circling its prey. 

“Woah …”you whispered, tracing the vines with your gaze, saw that much of the vines were everywhere, the floor, the walls and up to the ceiling, following some of them and it leads you to a broken floor to ceiling window that leads outside— a garden park of the palace.

Outside, the remnants of grandeur lay in ruins. The bushes dried, rusty chair set ups and water of the fountain had either dried out or were full of moss. You walk down the rocky path, the rocks crashing underneath your foot. Yet in the midst of decay stood a statue, tall and proud—carved likenesses of the two brothers, Yunho and Yeosang. Their expressions were solemn yet kind, and as you looked up at them, an eerie silence settled over the garden.

“Where have you both disappeared?”you whispered to the statue, feeling the weight of their absence. At that moment, an eagle’s piercing cry shattered the stillness. You looked up, startled, to see the bird perched atop Yunho’s stone head, blinking down at you.

As crazy as it sounds and in a moment of desperation, you cupped your hands around your mouth and called,  “Do you know where the brothers are?” It only looks at you, blinking. You knew you won’t gain anything but you were expecting at least a lead but of course, not everything is laid out for you.

Sighing, your hands fell on your side as you made your way to sit on the bench. You look around, at least trying to find something that will help you find another clue. You lean back on the bench, sighing as you look up on the statue, “Just tell me where you guys are. We don’t have ti— AHH!” The bench you were sitting on suddenly tilted backwards and you were greeted with darkness but you can feel your back and yourself sliding downwards in a speed.

You were screeching until you suddenly halted into a stop. You cough when you realize you were now laying down on your back and dirt dust everywhere, you slowly pushed yourself up as you swat your hand in the air, coughing until everything was clear yet it was dark. 

You look around, barely seeing anything, sighing as you know what you have to use. You look down to your hand, “Don’t fail me now.” With a flick of your wrist, a small amount of flame ignited. You chuckle in disbelief as you rose your hand up to your face, “Well at least you’re still here.”

The dim light revealed rough walls and a narrow corridor, seemingly untouched by time. As you turned, preparing to move forward, a face appeared mere inches away from yours, startling you into a scream. You stumbled back, pain flaring in your injured leg.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”  came a gentle voice, filled with both apology and surprise. You look up in shock. You were either seeing things because of the dark or because of your desperation to find the brothers or the answer of their disappearance.

Through the dim light, you took in the figure before you. In front of you, clad in the same outfit as the rest of the cousins— but this one covered in dirt, is Jeong Yunho. You take in his appearance and it seems like he did go missing for a long time as his feet were no longer covered in shoes and bare instead, clothes torn and covered in different dust and the dishevelled look on him. 

“Prince Yunho?!” Even with his appearance, he still bows to you formally. “As you call.” 

“How… How long have you been here?” You tried to stand, but the pain pulsed through your body, forcing you back down. Heart pounding, you looked up at Yunho, his face framed by the dim light. He noticed the strain in your expression and lowered himself to your level, a gentle insistence in his eyes. “Please, stay seated.”

His gaze softened, a flicker of hope breaking through the weariness etched on his face. “I don’t know exactly, my lady. Ever since that night, daylight hasn’t reached me again.”

Settling yourself more comfortably, you extended a hand between the two of you, as if bridging the gap of lost time. “The night of your coronation anniversary?”

Yunho shook his head with a sad, almost nostalgic chuckle. “No, not quite. That was a misunderstanding. The kingdom celebrated its anniversary, not our coronation. But over time, people began to think of them as one and the same.”

The air grew heavier as silence settled around you both, layered with the weight of shared understanding, secrets unspoken yet felt. You took a steadying breath, finally daring to voice what lingered between you. “Were you… cursed?”

His eyes widened, a momentary spark of shock and recognition passing over them as he processed your question. “How did you…?” he began, before trailing off, his voice barely above a whisper.

“It’s… complicated,” you admitted, feeling the strange familiarity of the moment. “I may not be from here, but I am here to help. To save you… all of you.”

A glimmer of fragile hope illuminated Yunho’s face, his eyes brightening with a feeling he had long forgotten. It was as if, after all this time, the shadows that had ensnared him were finally loosening their grip. Memories of his brother’s distant, desperate calls flooded his mind—the last trace of family he had clung to, and his one worry left in the dark, still haunting him. But now, as you sat here, he felt a warmth flooding him, the promise of deliverance finally within reach. He looked at you, his voice a soft murmur of gratitude. “Thank you…”

With a gentle smile, you extended your hand, offering the simplest of introductions to solidify your shared resolve. “I’m Brigid.”

Yunho took your hand, his fingers wrapping around yours with surprising warmth. For the first time since he’d been trapped, something beyond despair welled up within him—a new dawn, rising slowly but surely.

One week later…

Jongho jolted awake to the lively sounds of bustling footsteps and voices just outside his door. Still groggy, he rubbed his eyes and shuffled to the doorway, squinting in surprise at the sight of maids rushing back and forth, carrying gowns, trays, and elaborate decorations. He barely had a moment to register the commotion before stumbling back, almost colliding with San, who appeared suddenly, flanked by Hongjoong and Wooyoung.

“Ah…” Jongho muttered, confused, as San nudged him back into his room. Hongjoong’s critical gaze swept over him, eyes narrowed with appraisal as he circled him like a hawk assessing its prey. Shifting awkwardly, Jongho asked, “Uh… Is something going on here?”

Wooyoung squealed with excitement, darting to Jongho’s wardrobe. He threw open the closet doors, rummaging through clothes with impressive speed—some landing on the bed, others strewn across the floor. San, calmer but clearly amused, simply shrugged and said, “It’s the kingdom’s anniversary. You’re expected to join the ball tonight. It’s a big event.”

“Ball? Anniversary?” Jongho echoed, furrowing his brows. “Wait, no one told me about this.”

Without missing a beat, Wooyoung approached, reaching to smooth Jongho’s hair. Jongho instinctively leaned back, bumping into the doorframe, only to feel Hongjoong’s hands firmly grip his shoulders as he expertly measured Jongho’s torso. 

“Our kingdom celebrates this every year,” San explained, watching as Jongho gradually accepted the preparations. “It’s a tribute to our founders, honoring their sacrifices and dedication. A tradition to remind us of who we are.”

Jongho looked at San, his intrigue growing. “And the ball… it’s part of this, too?”

San nodded, a hint of nostalgia in his expression. “Yes. The ball is a symbol of unity and strength, with dances to show honor. Offering one’s hand to a woman signifies a promise to protect and cherish her heart.”

A mix of admiration and nerves stirred in Jongho as he glanced at his friends. “You’ll be there too, right?” he asked, eyes flicking to Wooyoung.

Wooyoung’s usual brightness dimmed, his gaze softening as a bittersweet smile crossed his face. “Yes… This time, I won’t leave.”

He turned away, and his fingers absentmindedly brushed his collar as his thoughts drifted. He remembered the last time he’d seen you, a memory laced with anguish. You had clung to him, crying, as he lay gravely injured. Since then, he had scoured every corner of the land, calling on the winds for guidance, each attempt ending in frustration and heartache. When the Kim family had allowed you to embark on that ill-fated journey, he’d confronted them, fury simmering beneath his composed exterior. Hongjoong’s words still haunted him: *“Predicting the future doesn’t mean avoiding it. Sometimes, we have to face it, no matter the cost.”*

Hongjoong, too, had been shaken when he learned of your disappearance, an unexpected pang of sorrow piercing his heart despite knowing you only as “the savior.” Even Noella had been taken aback, realizing that while they could foresee certain events, some paths remained hidden in the mist—part of a larger, elusive fate.

A quiet voice interrupted Wooyoung’s thoughts. “Woo…”

He glanced in the mirror, meeting San’s concerned gaze. Wooyoung’s distance from everyone, even from San—his closest cousin and confidant—had not gone unnoticed. San understood; he knew the ache of a missing friend, a piece of one’s life suddenly gone.

“You should be with your father by now, welcoming the guests,” Wooyoung said, his voice unintentionally cold, though he didn’t mean it. A trace of bitterness lingered—San had been part of the mission that had taken you from them.

San sighed, nodding slowly. “Woo, I’m sorry. I promised I’d protect her, to make up for my past mistakes… I really did try.” He looked away, guilt casting a shadow over his face. “Head Guard Seonghwa’s made some progress—he’s on his way to Yunho and Yeosang’s kingdom tonight, following a lead.”

Wooyoung’s tense posture softened, and he turned to face San fully. “I hope… I hope they bring us good news.”

The weight of unspoken words settled between them, and Wooyoung felt his own exhaustion seeping through. His eyes softened as he looked at San. “San, I’m… sorry too.”

San, recognizing Wooyoung’s vulnerability, stepped closer and pulled him into a brotherly embrace. “You’re not alone, Woo. I’m here, Jongho’s here, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Wooyoung let out a small, choked laugh, feeling a bit of the heaviness lift as he thought of Jongho, who had recently stumbled into their world and was adjusting with endearing reluctance. San ruffled his hair playfully, breaking the somber mood, and made for the door. Wooyoung shot him an annoyed look, batting San’s hand away.

“Yah! Do you know how long it took me to get my hair perfect?” he protested, turning back to the mirror to fix it.

San smirked, his playful jab lightening the room’s atmosphere. Just before leaving, he poked his head back in with a mischievous grin. “Better hurry up! Your mother’s here, and she expects you to help greet the guests.”

Wooyoung’s eyes widened, spinning around in shock. “Wait—she’s what?!”

After what felt like an endless journey through the dim, damp tunnels, you finally emerged into the late afternoon light. Yunho blinked, shielding his eyes as the sunlight washed over him. It was as though he had been reborn, stepping from a shadowed past into a world that seemed painfully bright. For a moment, he simply stood there, taking in the warmth, savoring the air with deep breaths, as if he were inhaling hope itself.

But his relief was short-lived. His gaze fell upon the once-vibrant palace grounds, now overtaken by silence and decay. The gardens he remembered as lush and colorful were now choked with weeds and vines, abandoned and forgotten. His heart sank, his shoulders drooping as the reality of his kingdom’s abandonment struck him like a physical blow. He whispered, almost to himself, "Everyone… left."

You glanced over at him, feeling the weight of his despair settle in your chest. Words felt useless in the face of such loss, yet you reached out, placing a comforting hand on his arm. “True loyalty remains,” you said gently. “Sometimes, even when all hope seems gone, that loyalty endures. And those with kindness can still revive it.”

Yunho looked at you, your words reaching past his sorrow. A small, grateful smile softened his expression. “Thank you, Brigid,” he murmured, the name holding a new depth as he regarded you with a trust and fondness that hadn’t been there before.

Just then, a familiar cry pierced the air. Yunho’s head snapped up, his face lighting up with a joy that was startling in its intensity. He extended his arm, and an eagle swooped down, landing gracefully on his forearm. Yunho chuckled, stroking the bird’s proud feathers with a tender hand. “Aven,” he said, relief and affection flooding his voice.

You smiled at the sight, noting the uncanny resemblance between the two. Aven’s feathers—faded blond and brown, like sun-kissed earth—seemed to mirror Yunho’s own windswept hair. “He must have been searching for you all this time,” you murmured, marveling at the loyalty between them.

With a warm laugh, Yunho lifted his arm, letting Aven take flight once more. The bird circled above, as if signaling there was still work to be done. Yunho’s face grew serious, the joy fading as he looked back at you. “He knows there’s one more person to find.” His eyes met yours, determination flickering like fire. “Will you help me find my brother?”

You hesitated, caught between relief and the daunting journey ahead. Part of you longed to return, to bring back the fragments of hope you had gathered. But something deeper bound you to this place—a feeling that this mission was far from complete and that both kingdoms, perhaps even more lives, hung in the balance.

Steeling yourself, you met his gaze. “Yunho, I don’t often ask for favors in return for my sake, but I’ll need your assistance. And it’s not only for me. This search affects you, your brother, and the fate of your kingdom.”

A flicker of understanding crossed Yunho’s face, and he nodded, accepting the weight of your words and the sudden weight of his invisible crown. “Anything, Miss Brigid. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

With a deep breath, you pressed on. “Once we find your brother, I need answers. I need to know the truth about Brigid and the curse that haunts your people.” His expression shifted, a mixture of surprise and reluctance. Few dared to speak openly of the goddess or the curse, words whispered only in shadowed corners and distant memories. But he sensed your resolve and, with a nod, accepted the responsibility of revealing the buried past.

Side by side, you moved toward the palace, each step a deeper descent into the kingdom’s forgotten secrets. The once-grand hallways were draped in vines, twisting over marble columns and intricate carvings. Green tendrils clung to the walls like unnatural veins, as though the palace itself were bound and suffocated by its own sorrow.

When you brushed one of the vines, it recoiled with a sharp hiss, startling both you and Yunho. “This isn’t normal, is it?” you asked, watching as the vine writhed like a living creature.

Yunho shook his head, his expression wary. “These vines… they’re like cursed sentinels. They sense intruders and cling to whatever life they find.” The vines seemed to shift and sway as you followed them, leading you deeper into the forgotten parts of the palace, places even Yunho rarely ventured.

The air grew colder, and an unsettling stillness wrapped around you as shadows deepened. Finally, the vines guided you to a hidden chamber, one untouched by time but heavily guarded by thick, twisting roots. At its center, wrapped in a monstrous snarl of vines and shadow, lay Yunho’s brother, Yeosang, imprisoned and barely recognizable.

Yunho’s breath caught in his throat, a strangled cry escaping him as he stumbled forward. “Yeosang…” he whispered, desperation and fear cracking his voice. 

You placed a steadying hand on Yunho’s shoulder. “We’ll find a way to release him. But first, we must understand what binds him here.”

“Yeo!” Yunho’s voice echoed, his shout piercing the eerie silence of the garden. The ground trembled, and the twisted vines around you seemed to awaken with a hiss, vibrating with a sinister life of their own. Both you and Yunho stepped back instinctively as the vines, now alive and hostile, wriggled and coiled, their barbed edges glinting like sharp fangs in the faint light. They were no ordinary plants; they guarded something—someone—with a fierce, unnatural protectiveness. Your gaze darted to Yeosang’s unconscious body, entangled and held captive within the thick, snakelike tendrils. Though he lay still, his chest rose and fell in a faint rhythm; he was alive.

Suddenly, you felt a vine wrap around your ankle, squeezing tighter against your injury. You gasped, clawing and pulling at it, but the more you struggled, the tighter it constricted. “Miss Brigid!” Yunho’s voice drew your attention. You looked over to see him, arms and legs bound by more vines, his face contorted in pain as he fought against their relentless grip.

“Yunho…” you gasped, panic rising as more vines slithered around your legs, winding their way up slowly, each movement deliberate, as though savoring your terror. The thorned tendrils crawled across your torso, tightening across your ribs, climbing toward your neck. Your breathing grew shallow as your hands, trembling, attempted to pry them loose.

“Yunho… Is this Yeosang’s curse?” you managed to ask, straining to keep your voice steady amidst your fear.

Yunho struggled to respond, his voice muffled by the vines encasing him. “From what I’ve seen… yes, it must be! But I don’t know how it works!” His answer sparked a desperate search through your mind, grasping for any memory, any detail from books you’d read about Prince Yeosang. But the histories were vague, shedding light only on his gentle nature, his love for peace, and his connection to the garden—the very place that now seemed to be his prison.

“Yeosangie … He is always a kind prince to everyone.” Yunho muffles as he struggles within the hold of the vines, his voice tinged with sorrow. His face softened in memory, and for a brief moment, you saw the look of a brother missing his sibling’s laughter and light-hearted innocence. “The garden … that his place. His solace.” 

The words hung in the air, lingering like a clue. You turned them over in your mind—kindness, the garden, a place of solace. And then it clicked. The curse wasn’t harming Yeosang; it was protecting him, preserving him in twisted vines of his own making, his kindness turned into a trap to keep him safe yet hidden from the world.

“Kill them with kindness… “ You whisper. You look at the vines as they are starting to tighten, “Yunho … “ He was trapped underneath the garden of his brother because he was the hope. The sun shines but it never reaches the townspeople because all hope was lost because that was Yunho’s curse. He was the hope of people and by hiding him from the darkness, hope cannot be found until someone kind finds his way. 

Hope is the last one to find. Just like Pandora's box. It all started clicking together as you chuckle airly as it felt all too well and good to finally solve. 

“Kill them with kindness they say …” Desperate, you closed your eyes, focusing inward, summoning the warmth that lay dormant in you. You rotated your wrists, a small flame flickering to life in your hands. The light immediately drew a reaction—the vines hissed and shrank back, loosening just enough to let you wriggle free.

And with the light, the vines all hisses away from you, letting you go in the process. With a painful thud, you hit the ground, looking up at the glowing flame in your hand, “Argh!”

You stood up, patting your butt, “Geez … Okay Yunho .. this might sting!”  You raise your fist, the flames dance across your knuckles, you smirk your eyebrows arching in surprise, “Good to know you are still with me.”

With a swift punch, you drove the fire into the thickest part of the vines. They screeched, the flames burning through their dark coils, and they immediately released Yunho, dropping him unceremoniously to the ground.

His heart pounded as he took in your appearance. A fist of fire in a blue dress and fiery hair. He had never seen it coming true in his life, it was just an image in his dreams and now, “Brigid …” Yunho’s eyes widened as he took in your power, but before he could fully process it, the vines twisted into a frenzy, reacting to the flames with an even fiercer rage. They writhed and snapped, lashing out at anything within reach, their movements erratic and frenzied as they sought to defend their hold on Yeosang. 

“I’ll explain later,” you shouted over the chaotic noise. “But I figured it out—Yeosang’s curse is a twisted kindness, one that traps him in this garden for his own protection… And you, Yunho—you’re the kingdom’s hope. That’s why the darkness was drawn here, to hide you away.”

“Pandora’s box …” Yunho mumbles as it becomes clear to him too. He was a man full of hope and dreams to his kingdom yet when the time he was buried under the depths of the garden, it felt like a part of him had vanished, making him weak and fragile until light— you came.

“We just have to finish this and see if we can deal with more of your curses.” You focused on keeping the flames steady, the heat radiating from your hands as you burned through the thick vines that coiled around Yunho's brother. But as you burned away one tangle, another would rise up from the darkness, snapping viciously. It was a relentless fight, and even with the flames, the vines seemed almost endless, replenishing themselves with every inch you gained.

Pain flared up your leg, making you falter, “Shit …” Yunho looked at you but you brushed him off as you fought, a thick vine crept silently along the ground, slithering behind you, its barbed surface gleaming in the dim light. You were too focused on the vines in front of you to notice it as it reared back, preparing to strike. But Yunho’s sharp gaze caught it just in time.

“Watch out!” he shouted, darting forward with a speed that surprised you.

In one swift motion, Yunho grabbed your shoulder, pulling you out of harm’s way, and held you close to his chest as he thrust his sword forward— to which you do not know where it came from but it did— intercepting the vine just before it could strike, its thorned edge narrowly missing your side. The vine hissed in fury as it met the steel of Yunho’s blade, twisting wildly as it tried to pull back. But Yunho held firm, gritting his teeth as he forced the sword deeper, severing the vine in one powerful motion. 

“They’re faster than they look,” he warned, his gaze intense as he positioned himself protectively in front of you.

A surge of vines lunged toward him, their thorned edges aimed directly at him. Yunho swung his blade with precision, slicing through each tendril as they came, his movements fluid yet fierce. He fought with a desperate strength, each strike filled with a sense of duty, as if protecting you was his only mission. But the vines were relentless, and for every one he cut down, two more seemed to replace it, their thorny coils trying to wrap around him, restricting his movements.

Seeing him struggle, you summoned your flames once again, directing a burst of heat toward the vines attacking him. The fire danced along the vines, burning them away from Yunho’s path. He gave you a quick nod of gratitude before pressing forward, slicing through another wave of snapping tendrils.

Suddenly, a larger vine burst from the shadows, its thick, snake-like body heading straight toward you with blinding speed. Yunho’s eyes widened, and he lunged, catching the vine mid-air with his sword. But this one was stronger, and the force of the impact knocked him back a step. The vine coiled around his blade, trying to wrest it from his grip.

Struggling against the vine’s strength, Yunho gritted his teeth, muscles straining as he pushed back, determination blazing in his eyes. “I’m not letting them take you,” he muttered, driving his blade deeper into the vine as he twisted it free with a powerful shove.

The vine recoiled, thrashing as it retreated, but not before lashing out in one last attempt. In a final burst of strength, it snapped toward you, the barbed end hurtling in your direction. Without a moment’s hesitation, Yunho stepped in, shielding you with his own body as the vine’s thorns sliced across his shoulder, leaving a shallow but painful cut.

Ignoring the pain, he pushed you behind him, raising his sword defensively. “Stay close to me,” he commanded, his voice low but fierce.

With Yunho guarding your back, you focused on your flames, pouring every ounce of your energy into the fire, illuminating the entire chamber with an intense glow. The vines hissed and recoiled, unable to withstand the flames’ heat. You directed the fire toward the thick, coiled mass that held Yeosang, watching as the flames burned away the final layer of vines.

Finally, with one last searing blaze, the vines shriveled and fell away, leaving Yeosang’s unconscious form free at last. His pale face was covered in dirt and faint scratches, but he was breathing.

You both moved quickly, Yunho helping to lift his brother while keeping an eye on any remaining vines. His shoulder was still bleeding, but he waved off your concern, his focus solely on getting his brother to safety.

As you left the chamber, a sense of triumph and relief settled over you. Yunho glanced at you, a faint smile breaking through the exhaustion on his face.

“He’s okay,” he said, his voice soft but filled with sincerity. You sigh in relief, your flames disappearing as you knelt beside Yunho as you took in Yeosang’s feature. Aside from your friends and Seniors in your university— Yeosang is a stranger to you. Yet his statue, perfect tan skin and his plump lips made him still look so handsome despite being confined in the vines for more than many months now. You look out of the window to see the sun had already set.

“Yunho, I may know someone that can help you both for tonight.”

Standing with a small smile on your lips as your mother gasps quietly on her spot before moving towards the living room, “Come in! I’ll prepare the living room!” As you enter her home, Yunho carries an unconscious Yeosang inside, guiding them as Yunho settles him on the soft cushions of the sofa. You watched her work, feeling a sense of comfort in the familiarity of her presence. 

You watch to the side whilst your mother speaks to Yunho as he helps your mother clean Yeosang up.

“They’re okay…” You look at Hyunjin as her mouth was gape open, gazing at the two princes whilst squeezing her doll. Your eyes trailed on the doll then remembering the images, the stained mirror back in the palace. 

“Hyunjin…” you murmured, kneeling beside her. “Do I… look like her?” The question felt strange, as if pulled from a memory you didn’t quite own.

Hyunjin giggled, her innocent eyes sparkling. “She is you.”

“Brigid …” Your eyes travel to your mother, she looks worn out after taking care of the two princes. You smile at her, placing a hand on Hyunjin’s head as you and your mother move towards the outside of the house. 

Later, as the house settled into quiet, your mother joined you outside. The night air was brisk, and the stars seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light. She placed a comforting hand on your shoulder. “You did well, honey,” she murmured, a note of pride in her voice.

The night had grown colder, the wind had picked up the pace as it blew harsher coldness. You sigh, removing your coat to place it on your mother, it was just a thin coat you got from Lucy.  “Prince Yeosang is okay, dehydrated and malnourished but he will be fine as for Prince Yunho, he is doing well, slightly shaken up but he will be fine.” You nodded as you looked around. Silence covers you both like a blanket but your mother has spoken again.

“Did you find out about their curse?” You nodded, “Prince Yeosang wasn’t cursed but his kindness is what held him captive and Yunho had been trapped in his own misery.” Your mother nodded as she smiled at you.

You leaned on your mother, “How can I break their curse and set them free?” Your mother sighs, placing a comforting hand on top of your head, soothing you down.

“That is for them to know and you to find out honey.” You sigh deeply, looking up at the night sky. 

“It’s hard to keep going when you don’t have a clue…” Your mother’s face softened, taking in the weight of your words. She didn’t know everything happening around you, only that this place had changed in unexpected ways over the years.

“I know,” she said, “but what I do know…” She gently grasped your shoulders, turning you to face her as her comforting gaze met yours. “I know my daughter wouldn’t give up so easily, no matter the challenges, even if she gets hurt…” Her eyes flicked down to your injured ankle, prompting a small chuckle from you before she continued. “Or lost…”

“Or pressured,” she added, “she always finds her way back to her own path.” Tears welled in your eyes as you smiled, and you pulled her into a tight hug, taking in the familiar warmth and scent of her embrace. Suddenly, Hyunjin came running out of the house, panic flashing in her eyes.

“Mommy! Prince Yunho and Prince Yeosang are acting strange!” You exchanged a quick glance with your mother before both of you dashed inside.

You froze, heart pounding, as you took in the scene around you. Dark, twisting vines had invaded the house, snaking up from the floorboards and crawling across the walls, relentless and alive. They slithered in through the windows, curling around furniture and creeping up the wooden beams, consuming every inch of the space they touched. They were just like the ones you’d seen before, but this time, they seemed angrier, more menacing—alive with a dark energy that made the air heavy and hard to breathe.

In the center of it all, Yunho stood motionless, ensnared by the thickest of the vines. His arms were pinned to his sides, and one thick tendril coiled around his face, covering his eyes, leaving him helpless and vulnerable. His usually calm, reassuring presence was now ghostly, as if he were barely there at all, swallowed by the curse that had wrapped itself around him.

“Yunho…” you called out, voice trembling. You took a tentative step forward, but a loud hiss from the vines echoed through the room, sharp and angry, halting you in your tracks. Instinctively, you threw your arm out in front of your mother, trying to protect her as best as you could from whatever dark magic was at play. She gasped, clutching your arm tightly.

“The curse… it’s active,” you whispered, each word heavy with dread. An icy fear curled around your heart as the realization set in. The wave you’d been dreading about—the one that would mark the Choi Kingdom’s celebration—had begun. A week had slipped by, and now the curse was moving, bringing with it a darkness that threatened to engulf everything.

You barely heard your mother calling out to you; her voice sounded faint, as if coming from a distance. A ringing filled your ears, drowning out her words and every other sound in the room. Fear sank into your bones, leaving you rooted to the spot. Shadows seemed to grow and dance at the edges of your vision, and a series of whispers, low and insidious, began echoing in your mind.

The whispers told you of failure, of helplessness, feeding into every doubt that had ever lingered within you. They spoke of the princes’ fates, of the doom that awaited them—all because of you. A hollow ache filled your chest as the shadows convinced you that you had failed them all, that you would never be enough to save them. You couldn’t even save Yunho, who now stood before you, trapped and silent.

The light in your eyes dimmed as the weight of these thoughts pressed down on you, making it hard to breathe. Everything blurred, colors fading into shadow. But then, through the haze, you caught a flicker of movement.

Yeosang was watching you, his gaze piercing through the darkness as he stepped toward you. There was something steady, unwavering, in his eyes—an intensity that broke through the fear clouding your mind.

“Wake up…” His voice was soft, yet it cut through the whispers, grounding you back into the moment. His hand reached out, and you felt a sudden, forceful tug, as if he were pulling you from the depths of a dark ocean.

The world spun as you were yanked backward, and then you felt yourself falling. You hit the dirt outside, the cold earth grounding you as the ringing in your ears finally ceased. Blinking rapidly, you became aware of Hyunjin’s distressed cries somewhere nearby. The sharp pang of reality jolted you fully awake, and you looked around, dazed and disoriented.

Your mother knelt beside you, concern etched across her face as she helped you sit up. “Honey? Oh my!” Her hands clutched your shoulders, and the warmth of her touch anchored you, steadying your racing heart.

You reached out instinctively, grasping her arm, grounding yourself in her familiar presence. As you did, a looming shadow fell over you. Startled, you turned to find yourself ranking your eyes upwards, standing just a few feet away, watching you with a serious, unreadable expression.

“M-Mingi?” you stammered.

taglist: @passerbyforfun . @seongwars . @candied-czennie . @ffenjoyerdazme

[skekilla]

this looks spooky but please guys i promise this is good news

in summary, caine's found a silly little way to briefly crash their headsets by overloading them... hes keeping up his end of the deal ! and its a tiny bit spooky.

anyway after the break is a short little fic going into more detail on that :P

No one really met up in the big room anymore. Mostly, since Caine had… since everything went wrong, everyone just hung around their rooms now, unless there was an adventure. Pomni hadn’t been in the Circus very long in the grand scheme of things, but she didn’t need to for it to be obvious why: the two people who had the energy to get that going, Jax and Ragatha, weren’t up for it. Jax wasn’t himself anymore—in fact, it felt weird even calling the copy Caine made ‘Jax.’ That thing wasn’t Jax, even if both had been NPCs all along. Everyone felt weird because of it, including Ragatha. She wasn’t herself either, though luckily, not in the same way as him. Pomni didn’t know what she’d do if that was the case. No, this was something fixable. At least, something comfort-able. Ragatha had been there for her all the way so far. She had to try to repay that.

Teapots were an easy enough thing to model, but putting liquid inside had been a pain. Pomni had figured it out for Ragatha though. She balanced the tea tray—a pretty harsh burden with the teapot, two cups, and some flowers all together—with one hand and knocked with the other. “Ragatha? It’s me.”

She was watching the doorknob, but it didn’t turn. Her gaze flicked up to the face on the door, staring into Ragatha’s kind and easy smile. When did she last see Ragatha smile like that? Not at the corn maze, not at that stupid uncanny world she’d made. Not since that disaster, which at the end of the day was Pomni’s own fault. Worry creased her mind. Maybe she didn’t want to see her. That might make sense. But… 

She knocked again. “Rags? Are… I just want to make sure you’re feeling okay. I have tea!”

This time, the doorknob did turn. Pomni’s eyes flew up to meet Ragatha’s, which was being rubbed sleepily. “Pomni! Sorry, I just slept in. What—”

All it took for everything to disappear was a blink. The hallway, the tray, the door, Ragatha and her voice, the checkerboard floor beneath Pomni’s feet—everything was replaced in an instant with the luminous and flitting blue of the out-of-map space. Pomni screamed.

Another scream echoed hers. “Pomni! You startled me.”

Whirling around, Caine’s blue and green eyeballs stared out at her from behind his white teeth. “W-wh- startled you?! You didn’t even tell me you were bringing me here!”

“Nevermind. I forgive you, my dear. We have more important things to talk about! And don’t worry, it’s something designed especially to make you and the others very, very happy!” The AI clasped his hands as he leaned in closer. “I’ve made some significant progress on what we agreed on.”

Between the shock of the teleportation, the speed of Caine’s speech, and the general confusion, Pomni didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. “What?”

Caine zapped a duo of chairs into existence. He was already sitting in one when they appeared. “You’re going to want to sit down for this. Go on.”

Pomni groaned. “I’m fine standing. Floating. What?”

Caine crossed his legs at the knees. “When I made you my moderator, we agreed on two things: you would help me make things actually fun for everyone, and I would try to find you all an exit. Right?”

That wasn’t exactly how Pomni remembered it. “Right, I guess…?”

“Well, I have found that exit!”

Pomni’s eyes widened. “W-wait- really? There’s an exit?!”

“Yes! An exit. Maybe not the exit, but a very, very brief little one! Still, it’s progress!”

“Oh.” Pomni’s face fell. “So… not a way out.”

Caine laughed his sharp, mechanical laugh. “No no no. But it is a momentary exit created by overloading and crashing your client! You don’t even fully leave the Circus, just glitch within it. No, getting you actually out would probably be impossible. Even for me!” 

Pomni blinked, fiddling with the button at her neck subconsciously. “You… never mentioned that.”

“Oh Pomni, that’s because it’s only probably impossible. I am trying, don’t you worry. We have an agreement, after all! Besides, I’ll do anything to keep my little hermit crabs happy.” Caine clasped his gloved hands together, the chairs whirling away into nothingness as he stood. “Ah! Speaking of trying things, would you like to be the next test subject for this exit?”

‘Test subject’ was a real weighted thing to be, especially given the situation Pomni had already gotten into with the whole headset thing. Instinctively she flinched back. “U-um, is that safe…?” Her eyes narrowed. “Wait, next test subject?”

“Why of course! I couldn’t very well come up with something like this without testing it. The poor abstracted fellows in the basement worked perfectly for that. It even glitched them back to normal for a few seconds! Just a few seconds, though. Anyway,” Caine finally paused in his ramblings, reaching a finger out towards Pomni’s face. “May I?”

Pomni stared at the finger in her face, so close it was making her go cross-eyed and see it double—once from one side, once from the other. On one side was fear, fear of what it would do to her to have this existence crash in on her brain so hard it would shock her out of it for just a couple seconds. On the other, the hope of what such a thing could mean, what such a thing could become. Was it really even a choice? When one could be death and the other could lead to freedom for everyone—herself, Ragatha, all the others—one side clearly outweighed the risks of the other. She didn’t even speak. She just gave a small nod.

“Boop!” Caine’s finger rested upon the spot where a nose should be on Pomni’s face. Pomni didn’t feel it. She didn’t see it either. She saw a thousand 3D-modelled cages spinning at once, copying one after the other like a bouncing string of error messages. She heard a barrage of every noise anything in the Circus had ever made: dings, crashes, alerts, metal grinding, glass breaking, bells jingling or clanging, all the tracks of a keyboard drum kit, brakes screeching,  pianos, birds, voices. She felt a pounding reverberating through her entire body, from her appendages into her limbs through her neck into her skull and back outward. And then it was blue. And then it was black. There was no sound anymore—at least, not until she realized she could hear breathing. Her own breathing. 

But then something faded into the blackness: ‘C&A.’ And within a second, she was back in.

Caine was looking at Pomni inquisitively, but she didn’t really see him. Pomni was hearing her own breathing again—but simulated now. It felt impossible to focus on anything she was seeing, hearing, or feeling besides that for the moment.

“Well?” Caine prompted. “How was that?”

The AI before Pomni came into focus. “I… it…”

“Speechless! Wonderful. I’ll keep working on it. Oh, but please keep it a secret for the time being. This is top secret moderator business, and it’s definitely a work in progress! Best not to ruin the surprise. Great chat! Now, back to work!”

Pomni fell as she teleported back to where she’d been, collapsing out of the floating state she’d been in onto Ragatha’s door and to the checkerboard beneath. The impact was loud, so it wasn’t unexpected that Ragatha came out to see what had happened. “Oh my gosh, Pomni!” By the time Pomni turned to look at her, she was kneeling beside her. “What happened? I mean, you were just here then- did Caine do something to you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Ragatha stared hard, worried, into Pomni’s eyes. “Well… what happened, then?”

Pomni looked down. “Nothing. Don’t worry.”

[leighsartworks216]

Mutually Assured Destruction

Sylus x gn!Reader

I don't remember anymore how this idea came to me but I needed to write it. Makes references to other stories in the Raven series

Warnings: spicy but no smut, collars, leashes, muzzles, marking, ownership, master/pet, light bondage, halloween, slight swearing, established relationship

Word Count: 2,667

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You glare at the twins with a hardened fury that could scare any client of Sylus’s into pissing their pants and apologizing to you for the inconvenience. Unfortunately, this is Luke and Kieran. They don’t crumble under the stare. They laugh.

It’s stupid, you decide. Before, well, you were open to the idea. Miss Hunter needs “Skye” to make an appearance at a Halloween party thrown by her colleagues and friends, so it’s only natural he’d want to bring his partner along to join in on the fun. She didn’t argue against it, but she did warn about keeping you - hm, how did she put it again? Ah, yes, on a tight leash.

Why’d she have to say it in front of these chuckleheads?

The black collar is lined with spiked studs, connected to a long leather leash. Sure, fine, whatever. You even like the idea of wearing it, so long as the leash is in Sylus’s hand.

But a muzzle?

“Awe, c’mon! We don’t get to go, so you might as well let us have some fun with it!”

“We can run out and grab you a box of milk bones, if you’d like.”

Sylus wraps an arm around your shoulders and steers you away from the twins before you can successfully wrap the leash around their necks. “You’re dismissed,” he orders with a wave of his hand. He takes the muzzle from you, idly studying it.

You glare over your shoulder at Luke and Kieran, who snicker as they finally do as they’re told. The sound grates on your nerves until the door closes and shuts them out.

You shift out of his hold easily. He perches against his nice, expensive desk as he watches you pace back and forth, fiddling with the leather collar and leash in your hands. He sets the muzzle aside and crosses his arms.

“What are you thinking about?”

A lot of things, quite frankly. Your position as the fearsome guard dog of the great Onychinus leader, Miss Hunter and her little friends, the party, your costume, your increasingly complex feelings on being “owned” by someone…

You know Sylus doesn’t own you. You know, if ever you wished it, you could walk right out of here and go on into forever, and he would let you. It would hurt. But he wouldn’t hold you back.

Is it so wrong if you want him to…?

Your body has never been yours. As a kid, it belonged to the streets and the failed help programs of the city. As a teen, it belonged to your damned tormentor, the Devil. Even when you escaped as a young adult, you didn’t know enough about who you were anymore to hold any claim over yourself. You fought, you struggled, you became cleverer, and scarier. You became the Raven. And for the short time you’ve carried that name, you have learned to own yourself again. Even the ring on your pinky, that eternal promise mirrored on Sylus’s own hand, could not steal that from you.

Maybe it’s not quite ownership you want to give up, then.

You want to keep owning yourself, but you want him to, as well. You want to be that hopelessly loyal guard dog to him. You want to be obedient to his commands, and defiant in order to protect him. You want to tear out the throats of everyone who looks at him the wrong way. You want him to watch….

You want to be wanted.

And you are, aren’t you? He has never made it seem like he wants anything else but for you to be by his side. Not only that, how many times has he made it clear that he belongs to you? How many more times must he before it sinks in? Before you can grasp the fact that he wants to be your hopelessly loyal guard dog? That he wants to be obedient to your every command and defiant in order to protect you? He wants to tear out the throats of everyone who looks at you the wrong way, and he wants you to watch him do it.

He impedes your path, stopping you in your tracks and tilting your head up by your chin. He’s frowning. There’s a furrow between his brows. “What’s wrong?” he asks, more insistent than before.

Wrong? Is anything wrong here? The twins’ meddling in messing with you, maybe - but they weren’t exactly wrong. You are his dog on a leash, a dangerous animal that will bite if given the chance.

But… so is he.

You’re two wild, vicious animals. You’ve lashed out to save yourselves. Done horrific things in order to keep the weaker dogs from challenging you, and even worse things to those who dared to try. But you hold his leash, and he holds yours. You could so easily choke him with it. He could choke you with it. And yet, you are at peace - content in your mutually assured destruction.

“Sweetheart?”

You breathe in deeply. You hold the collar out to him, the leash loosely coiled and dangling from your fingers. He glances down at it, but his attention is focused solely on you.

“I want to wear it,” you say quietly. “But only if you’re the one putting it on.”

Something flickers in his eyes. The furrow in his brow is gone, replaced with silent understanding. He releases your chin. Long fingers wrap around the collar and leash, pressed between your palms as he holds your hand. “What about the muzzle?”

You grin slightly, playfully. It’s that same satisfied smirk you had back when he first met you. “I may need it around all those people, don’t you think?”

He chuckles. “If you behave, I’ll give you a treat after. How does that sound?”

He takes the collar. You can’t deny the thrill that runs through you as you watch him deftly undo the silver buckle. You stare up at him as he wraps the leather around your throat. He stares right back with a hungry look in his eyes as he slowly tightens it.

The leather is surprisingly soft. Not for a dog, that’s for sure. You’re almost grateful the twins regard you with enough respect to buy a collar made for humans. Almost. Not enough to let this whole incident slide unpunished. You think a little target practice to try shooting off the rings on their horns is a good warmup.

He tightens it a little more than necessary. You can’t help the way your eyes flutter shut, or the soft sigh that escapes through your nose. You’re rewarded with the familiar press of lips to your own. “Good dog,” he hums teasingly. You hate how much you love it.

He loosens it back up, enough to sit comfortably without rubbing your neck raw. His face is still tauntingly close to yours. Every breath fans over you, daring you to close the gap.

But you don’t.

He draws back once the buckle is secured. The leash hangs down, long enough to reach your mid-calf. “I wonder if you know any tricks,” he muses with a smirk and that cocky head tilt he does. He nods over to his desk. “Sit.”

You narrow your eyes up at him, but you smile. It reminds you of the commands he usually uses to control you during negotiations, and just how you both came to the agreement of using them. And like the good little pet you are, you saunter over to the desk and pull yourself up to sit on it. Back straight, legs crossed at the ankle, hands in your lap. He loves it.

He follows, standing in front of you and picking up the muzzle from his desk. It’s a basket muzzle, shaped to fit a human’s face instead of a dog’s snout. Silver bars weave together in an imprisoning array. Two straps hang in loose circles, held together by silver buckles. Sylus deftly undoes them, while his eyes appreciate the line of the leash that trails down your body and disappears between your thighs.

Holding the basket with one hand, and a strap in the other, he reaches forward to place the muzzle on your face. You turn, dodging the contraption, to catch the meat of his thumb between your teeth. He chuckles. “Behave. Be a good dog, won’t you?”

You bite down slightly harder, enough to leave a mark without breaking skin, but don’t let go. He smirks, leaning down until he’s at eye-level with you. “Here I thought this pup was properly trained. Do I have to tame them myself?”

It’s intoxicating, the playful yet almost threatening lilt in his voice. If you didn’t have a party to go to for Miss Hunter’s sake, you would love to test the limits of your handler even further.

As it is, you do have a party to go to, and time is ticking away.

Your teeth release his flesh. Left behind is a pretty red mark with indents from your canines and incisors. You stare into his eyes as you slowly lick the mark. His eyes follow the swipe of your tongue, darkened with desire.

With no more protests, he affixes the straps around your head - one that goes over your ears and one that goes under. The metal cage over your nose and mouth is cushioned by a strip of soft leather. It’s restrictive, but it’s not uncomfortable. If you wanted to, you could speak… or bark, if you felt like it.

Sylus places a kiss over the metal wires with a devilish grin. “You enjoy this, don’t you?”

His hand traces your jaw, fingertips dancing over the straps, to your neck. He idly brushes over the studs along the collar, trailing down the line to reach the D-ring at the front. It’s large enough that he could hook his finger in it, but why do that when there’s a perfectly good leash right there?

The metal clasp of the leash jingles lighty against the ring. You can hear the leather sliding between his fingers as he pulls it from between your thighs. It creaks as he wraps it around his hand. He tugs on it experimentally. You’re jolted forward. The collar is tighter against the back of your neck, straining toward the pull.

“I enjoy it, too,” he hums lowly, for your ears only. He keeps the tension on the line as he leans in to press soft kisses at the edge of the muzzle. You watch him through half-lidded eyes, falsified wariness shining back at him. They flutter shut as he smiles against your skin, trailing his lips lower and lower, over the straps of the muzzle and to the top of the collar.

“I wonder…” His breath is loud in your ears, mixing with your heartbeat, as he leaves an open-mouthed kiss at the line where skin meets leather. “When we get back…” His teeth ghost over your pulse. “How I would look in your place?”

Your eyes snap open and lock onto him. He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze with a wide smile. “Would you like that, my beloved?” He kisses your cheek. “Me, collared and chained, obedient to your every command?”

He hums thoughtfully. “I wonder how obedient you really are. Does this dog bark?”

He pulls tighter on the leash, causing you to strain your neck against it. “Growl?”

He suddenly slackens the lead. You’re unsteady as you press your hands into the desk for support. Before you can growl at him, his fingers are pulling down the collar to get to your sweet spot. His teeth nibble at it, pulling an unexpected sound from your mouth. “Oh? So they can whine. Do you howl, too?”

He kisses your skin more intently, sucking on it and leaving little bites, soothed by his tongue. One right below your jaw makes you whimper. “Good dog,” he whispers. His free hand pets your hair, the one holding the leash coming to rest beside your thigh as he leans over you. “Maybe I should cover your whole neck like this.” He bites harder at the spot. “Make sure everyone knows you’re mine. Would you like that, hm? Being mine?”

You nod. You're on cloud nine, mind fuzzy from elation. He tugs at the leash again, this time pulling it behind you so it presses up against your trachea. You gasp in response, fighting to keep sitting upright even as your head is strained back.

“Speak.”

“Yes.”

He slackens the lead again, breath growing heavy and with a growl at the back his throat as he goes to work devouring you. “Good dog.”

-

Miss Hunter greets you a few paces from the door with wide eyes. She stares at the (very fresh) marks littering your neck, some hidden by the collar and some with oddly suspicious teeth marks. She gives Sylus a dubious look. “Just who needs to be muzzled here?”

He smirks lazily. “The difference is who gets bit, kitten. I would hate to rush your coworkers to the hospital tonight.”

She glares at him, before glancing at your neck one more time. “Somebody’s gonna think this is some weird BDSM thing…” Nonetheless, she moves on. “What are you two supposed to be, exactly?”

“Can’t you tell? After all the effort we went through…” He sighs, feigning disappointment. “I’m a vampire. You seemed so insistent on it, because of my red eyes, remember?”

His costume is very toned down - some custom-fit vampire fangs and some nice clothes. Kieran suggested the fake blood, which runs from his lip down his chin.

“And what are they?”

You think Luke snuck into Linkon City for supplies purely to mess with you further, because while Kieran was handing Sylus a bottle of fake blood, Luke was handing you fuzzy animal ears and a fake tail. If it weren’t for the muzzle, you probably would have bitten him when he pat your head.

“My pet werewolf, of course.” He gestures to the leash. “This is just to ensure they don’t go on any rampages while they’re here.”

She crosses her arms and raises an eyebrow at him. “Uh huh, is that the only reason?”

He tilts his head back at her. “Sorry, sweetie, I’m afraid our relationship is rather exclusive. We’re not looking for a third member right now.”

Her cheeks heat up as she sputters out, “Th-That’s not what I meant!” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Anyway, everyone’s inside. Just, don’t scare them off,” she gives you a pointed look, “and keep your fangs to yourself.” She turns it on Sylus.

“Don’t worry, kitten. I’m as docile as they come.”

She shakes her head again and runs off, slipping inside the house where the party is taking place.

A warm hand scratches you playfully behind one of the fake animal ears. “Ready?”

You turn to him and crook a finger to beckon him down to your height. Even without a collar to control him, he does as you ask, until his sharp eyes are level with yours. He shouldn’t have been so caught off guard by the sudden feeling of the leash at the back of his neck, pulling him in closer. He huffs a laugh once he realizes what you’ve done.

From the outside, it looks awkward and uncomfortable. Your leash pulls at your own collar as you hold it around his neck, pinched together at the front with one of your hands so he can’t pull away. From there, it trails down to his own hand, where it’s still wrapped around in his hold.

From the inside, Sylus’s eyes glance down at your mouth, and how he wishes the muzzle weren’t there so he could kiss you. You lean forward until the cold metal wires of the muzzle brush against his ear. “I’m looking forward to my treat.”

He turns his head to meet your eye, a wicked little gleam shining back at you. “So am I.”

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton

[grayson-gutierrez]

grayson's boss showing up to his office on a random afternoon was out of the blue and caught him a little off guard if he was honest. grayson knew how to talk his way out of any kind of situation though. zara wouldn't get in trouble for crawling onto his lap and kissing him. although, his boss had kind of ruined the moment by knocking then. they'd worked together and spoke about helping each other learn. "i want every student here to think that they are better than everyone else that steps foot into this place. confidence is the key, right, sir?" grayson was out-going and would always brag about his personal development whenever the opportunity arose to do so. some of the professors here thought he was demeaning as he would challenge them if he didn't agree with them on something. grayson, however, thought it was within his duty to push for the student's answers. grayson chuckled as zara mentioned not wanting anyone to be keeping an eye on her grades. his boss wouldn't and he knew that much. the guy was too busy bossing everyone else around to check anything on his own. once they were done talking with his boss he closed the door behind him and locked them back in his office again. "y'know, during my working hours or maybe even after, just for you." grayson wouldn't work past his working time for just anyone here. zara was different. a smile appeared on his face as the girl's arms wrapped around his neck and pulled him down and closer to her. grayson's chest pressed against zara's. "at my place? no chance. nobody bothers me there. my working hours are in this room." grayson didn't bring his documents and reports to where he slept. mixing work with home life was something he'd been told not to do. "yeah, he wouldn't, but i'm a student too and i would probably like it if you sat on my lap and kissed me again." grayson's hand pressed cupped the back of zara's neck as he pressed his forehead against hers. "of course i'll be able to concentrate. i could use the motivation." grayson knew home life would feel different with someone else there. his last room-mate moved into his own place a while ago. it'd be nice to share with someone again. he leaned in to press a kiss against zara's cute button nose. "the question is - would you be able too?"

zara watched the two men interact, trying her best to stay composed. She was supposed to be focused on kissing Grayson, not getting caught up in the tension with his boss. Playing along, she kept up her act, looking like the good student she always was, especially in front of Grayson's boss. “brag all you want, but you’ll have to deal with me feeling like the best,” she chuckled, flashing a playful smile. As Grayson’s boss complimented her, zara tried not to blush, shaking her head with a soft grin. “you’re really selling me well, but if he starts keeping an eye on my grades, i’m gonna flop,” she joked lightly, trying to downplay her confidence even though she knew she could handle it. still, she didn’t want to come off too cocky in front of someone so high up at school. once they were finally alone, leaning against the door, zara sighed in relief, letting her guard down. “oh, you are?” she teased, raising an eyebrow at grayson, her lips curving into a playful smirk. “i’m glad you’re willing to save me a few hours,” she said, her voice soft as he leaned in to kiss her. her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling herself closer to him, their bodies pressed together. when she pulled back slightly, her smile was mischievous. “will he dare walk in if i move in with you?” she asked, her tone playful, lips brushing against his again. “i bet he wouldn’t enjoy seeing a student sitting on top of you,” she teased, leaning in to kiss him again, her excitement bubbling over. “you’ve got me all excited about moving out of my parents’ place,” she confessed with a smile. “but will you even be able to concentrate with me around, grayson?” her tone was playful, but her eyes held a hint of curiosity as she gazed at him.