#I WAS READING SOMETHING AND PRESSED THE NEXT BUTTON AND THEN BOOM

[emmiesoverthemoon]

that recent clip of jiyong in the suit THE ONE U REPOSTED HERE saying “great heavens” ngh it got me thinking

if u want to can u write a story for jealous kinda possessive in his gdragon personality yk, and in the end its like all fluffy and stuff and then boom jiyong comes out YOU KNOW im sorry if that was hard to understand 😞

oh u read my mind i thought the SAME THING WHEN I SAW THE CLIP… great minds think alike

۶ৎ switch up

Pairing: g-dragon / kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 2,842

Summary: A playful act of teasing while behind the scenes of filming the 'Too Bad' music video spirals into a night of fervent passion, only to be soothed by the quiet intimacy of love—where whispered reassurances mean more than any game ever could.

Tags: too bad mv, teasing, flirting, implied sexual content, jealousy, slight hurt/comfort

cross posted on ao3 here

The studio hummed with life, a symphony of movement and sound, a feverish pulse of artistry in motion. The overhead lights blazed, casting long shadows, illuminating the polished floor where bodies twisted and turned in a carefully orchestrated dance. The bass trembled through your bones, the rhythm a second heartbeat, but none of it—none of it—commanded your attention like he does.

Kwon Jiyong, magnetic, effortless, devastatingly precise. Every movement of his was calculated yet unconstrained, a masterful paradox in silk and shadow. But it was not the choreography or his voice that was the captor of your breath, nor the music that sets your skin alight. It was him. It was the way the grey outfit molded yet also hung loosely to his frame, the sharp elegance yet casual oversized fit of it, the thick red fabric draped over the long column of his throat, a single knot of silk conducting promises of things it has no business promising. And the tie—God, the tie.

Your thoughts spiralled into places they should not go, especially in the workplace. Heat coiled in your stomach, restless, insatiable. You wanted him–needed him, all of him, and preferably still adorned in at least some of that infernal costume.

The director called it a cut, the electricity of the scene dissolving alongside their call. Jiyong murmured something to the nearby crew, his expression composed, but you knew him. You knew the subtle satisfaction in the set of his mouth, the sharp glint of artistic fulfillment in his gaze. He moved toward his dressing room, fingers already loosening the pristine knot at his throat, loosening his collar as a result. Your eyes formed a glint also, but not for the same reason–an opportunity had arisen.

You followed behind him, your footsteps light, measured, inconspicuous in the sea of movement. When you reached his door, you drummed your knuckles against the wood, your voice slipping into honey, playful and teasing.

"It’s me! Hello!!"

A soft, deep chuckle could be heard from inside the door, then, “Come in.”

The door clicks shut behind you, sealing the two of you away from the outside world. He stands with his back to you, already peeling off the first buttons of his shirt, revealing a sliver of bare skin. And there—just above the sharp curve of his shoulder blade—the wings of his angelic neck tattoo emerged from beneath the fabric, ink-dark against pale skin. 

Your breath stuttered in your throat. It was beautiful. It was him. And you want it.

Jiyong spoke, something about the scenes you had just participated in, about the next costume change, but his words were a distant murmur, drowned beneath the rush of your own pulse. You hastily crossed the space between you, slipping your arms around his waist, pressing yourself against the warmth of his back, your forehead coming to rest between his shoulder blades. You inhaled, slow, deep, drinking him in—the faint spice of cologne, the lingering salt of sweat, the familiar scent of him beneath it all, intoxicating in its entirety.

He laughed, gentle and low, the vibration of it thrumming against your cheek. “Clingy today, aren’t we?”

Your answer was wordless. You tilted your head, lips grazing the nape of his neck in the lightest whisper of contact. A shiver rippled through him, almost imperceptible, but you felt it. Feeling encouraged, you continued—delicate kisses trailing upward, then downward, a slow, deliberate exploration. When you reached the ink of his tattoo, something inside of you shifted. Your lips lingered a little longer, the kisses deeper, more reverent, more possessive.

His exhale stuttered embarrassingly. “Baby—”

His hands, which had hung useless at his sides, now found yours, gripping them where they pressed against his stomach. His fingers tightened as you continued your exploration, mouth pressing lustful heat into his skin, your breath a warm ghost of promises. You could feel his pulse quicken beneath your lips, and the muscles of his abdomen tensing beneath your palms. Just as the moment thickened further, just as his grip on your hands turned desperate about to drag them downward toward his belt—

You pulled away. Completely.

He stilled. Slowly, he turned, pupils blown wide, expression unreadable save for the unmistakable heat simmering beneath the surface.

“That,” he murmured, panting, his voice husked with something dark and wanting, “was not fair.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. The thrill of playing with him was too exciting. “Oh? Is that someone calling me I hear? Gotta fly!”

A muscle feathered in Jiyong’s jaw. His fingers twitched at his sides. “If you leave me like this,” he warned, “you won’t like it later.”

You form a smile so syrupy sweet and entirely unrepentant, almost knowing–wanting whatever his implication was. “Try me. See ya!”

The door closed quickly, you were gone as slyly as you had slipped in, slipping through the exit before he could touch you, before he could ensnare you in whatever delicious retribution he’s concocting.

The next scene of the music video did not require you, so you lingered at the sidelines, engaged in casual conversation with one of the male backup dancers. You could barely register the words exchanged; your mind was elsewhere, thrumming with ideas of the aftermath of your own reckless provocation, what Jiyong could possibly have in store for you. But you felt it. That weight. That heat. 

Jiyong was watching you intensely. Between takes, in the in-between moments where no one else seemed to notice, his gaze burned into you, unwavering, silent. No one paid mind to it—how? How did no one see the way he was plotting? The way his fingers curled, the way his jaw tensed, the barely leashed possession tightening his frame like a bowstring drawn taut?

Your lips curled into a smirk, you wanted to push him further. You let out a laugh, just a fraction too bright. A smile, just a smidge too wide. Subtle, but devastating in effect. You could feel the restraint in him thinning, fraying at the edges.

When the recording of the scene concluded the moment the director called it a wrap, Jiyong crossed the space in an instant, sliding into your conversation effortlessly. “Hey, what’s up?” His voice outwardly is casual, composed, but beneath it, there is something else. Something risqué.

The dancer replied excitingly, oblivious to what was brewing within him, but you know. This was no longer just Jiyong standing before you. This was G-Dragon—calculated and possessive, a predator disguising his hunger for his prey beneath a smooth smile.

He manufactured an excuse for the dancer to leave you both alone—something professional, something convincing—and the dancer nodded, bidding you farewell. When he turned away, Jiyong’s expression held no difference, but his eyes—his eyes—seared into you with quiet, lethal intent.

That look. That look he gave you could pin you to the wall.

You were in for it.

The director had called your name amongst several others as the few that were permitted to leave whenever, as the filming of your portion in the music video had come to a close. You could already feel the anticipation coiling in your stomach when you pressed a chaste kiss to Jiyong’s lips in farewell. But just as you were about to pull away, you felt him grasp the back of your neck, his grip somehow simultaneously rough and gentle, and his voice dropped an octave, brushing seductively against the shell of your ear.

“If I see you in ant items of clothing when I get home,” he purred, “it will be ripped apart. I’ll buy replacements.”

Your breath faltered. A slow, ever so consuming heat licked up your spine. 

You were utterly speechless, nodding mildly as he released you. His voice returned to normal, saccharine and adoring, “See you when I get home!”

The wait for Jiyong to be released from filming was antagonising. To look at him, anyone would be none the wiser, but you and your incessant teasing in that dressing room would not budge from his mind, he wanted to get home to you now. By the time he had finally gotten the green light to exit from the set, he was gone in an instant, the sleek hum of his car tearing through the night while probably exceeding the speed limit, each second stretching unbearably.

When he arrived home the air inside was thick with steam, curling from beneath the bathroom door in lazy tendrils, the scent of your body wash saturating the air—warm, floral, excruciatingly familiar. It clung to the walls, his skin, to the very oxygen he breathed, and to him, it was a siren’s call.

His body had moved before his mind could even form a thought, like a hunter drawn to the scent of his prey. The door creaked as he pushed it open, the sound nearly swallowed by the hiss of cascading water. The mist parted just enough to reveal the blurred outline of your form behind the glass, glistening with rivulets of heat, every curve softened by the fog.

You heard no sign of his entry at first. You were enraptured and enveloped by the sanctuary of warmth, head tipped back, water cascading down the arch of your throat, tracing the valleys and peaks of your body in a way that sparked something deeply, primally possessive within him.

The fabric of his shirt slid from his shoulders, pooling forgotten at his feet. His belt clinked as it unfastened, an abandoned artifact of his haste. By the time the glass door swung open, he was already reaching his hands, strong, deliberate, searing against the contrast of your wet skin.

A gasp, barely formed, cut off as he pulled you to him, as the heat of his body collided with yours, as his fingers splay against your back, branding you with the urgency of his need.

"Jiyong—"

But the sound of his name was swallowed between you, lost in the way his lips find the curve of your shoulder, in the way his breath scorches against damp skin. The water does little to cool the fever beneath his touch. If anything, it made the heat worse—the slickness, the slip of skin against skin, the sheer, devastating intimacy of it.

His hands tightened on the backside of your thighs and lifted with no sign of struggle. The world tilted, and suddenly, you were weightless, legs wrapped instinctively around his waist. A strangled laugh escaped you, breathless, unsteady.

"You’re insane," you whispered, but your arms were already winding around his neck, fingers threading through wet strands of hair, clinging like you never intended to let go.

A low hum vibrated against your throat, the sound edging on something dangerous, something darkly amused. "You think this is insane?" he responded, lips ghosting over your pulse, the warmth of his breath sending shivers cascading down your spine.

Unexpectedly, with agonizing precision, he unwound the tie from the costume that had lured you in the first place from around his wrist—you had not even realized that he had brought it home with him. Silky cotton glided over your skin, a whisper of constraint, looping around your wrists before you can react. His grip tightened, the smooth fabric cinching just enough to send fire licking down to your core.

Let’s just say, revenge was sweet.

After the storm had passed, Jiyong was back to Jiyong—softer, reverent, loving. The fire that once raged in his eyes has dimmed to embers, but those embers glow just as fiercely, tempered by something deeper, something achingly tender.

It was safe to say you were full of hazy bliss–you had barely registered the way he carried you from the shared bathroom, you barely felt the press of the towel he wrapped it around your shoulders and down your body to dry you from any remnants of water. His hands were careful, patient, you were something porcelain, delicate, something to be cherished. 

He tucked you against his chest, murmuring endearments, fingers carding through your damp hair. “Are you okay?” his voice was a soothing balm as he kissed your forehead.

You nodded still dazed and fading in and out of sleep. He pressed a kiss there once more. “Good.”

Jiyong smiled, padding off to make you something warm. When he returned, he settled you onto the lounge, pressing a mug into your hands before curling up beside you and turning on a show the both of you were currently binging.

Sensing a shift in atmosphere, both of the cats moved with feline intuition, their small bodies unfurling from the corners of the couch to slink into your laps. Their weight settled cozily against you, their purring was a steady, grounding, and rhythmic hum—like the soft, pulsing undercurrent of a lullaby. One nuzzled against Jiyong’s arm, its whiskers brushed against his black sleeve, but he held no reaction, odd. The other circled your legs, kneading tiny paws into the fabric of the blanket, but your focus was elsewhere.

Something was wrong.

You felt it before you saw it. In the way his chest rose and fell—just slightly uneven, the rhythm betraying the stillness of the moment. In the way his fingers traced the rim of his cup without taking a sip. In the way his gaze lingered—not on the screen, not on the cats, not on his drink, but on you. Then, just as quickly, it flickered away.

It was so subtle, so infinitesimal a shift, but you knew him. You knew him in the marrow of your bones, in the blood that rushed hot beneath your skin.

"Ji?" 

His name was a quiet call, spoken into the hush between the chatter of the television and the purring against your lap. It drifted toward him, catching on the edges of his hesitance, but he remained silent.

Your brows knitted together. Without breaking your gaze, you shifted closer, the blanket rustling as you pressed a hand to his chest—right over his heart. The beat was there, steady, but something about it felt caged. As if his body contained a rumbling too soft to break the surface, but strong enough to shake the foundation beneath.

"Are you okay, baby?"

Another pause. Then, his voice—low, hesitant. “Yeah.”

You absolutely did not believe him.

Your lips pressed together, your fingers spreading slightly over the fabric of his shirt, feeling the quiet thrum of him beneath. “Kwon Jiyong,” you scolded, holding no anger, just certainty, “please don’t lie to me.”

A slow exhale was released. A surrender.

“It’s stupid.”

You tilted your head, unwavering. “Tell me?”

A moment passed—a battle behind his eyes, a flicker of resistance, then resignation. His throat worked around the words, and when they finally came, they were softer than you expected.

“You don’t like that guy, right?”

You blinked, confused. The weight of the question was heavier than it was phrased, settling into the space between you like a stone that was dropped into a still pond.

“What guy do you mean?”

“The dancer. While I was still filming.”

For a moment, you do not speak. Your heart twisted—not in shock, not in indignation, but in something achingly tender, something fragile and utterly human. Because this was him. G-Dragon, global phenomenon, artistic genius, the man adored by millions—yet here he sat, Kwon Jiyong in his rawest, purest form, allowing something as fleeting as a passing conversation to plant a seed of doubt in his mind.

You shifted again, this time cupping his face between your hands, guiding him to you. The edges of his cheekbones fitted perfectly beneath your caring thumbs, the warmth of his skin seeping into your palms. He made no move to pull away. If anything, he leant into your touch, lashes lowering just slightly, as if bracing for impact.

“Ji,” you whispered, voice thick with care and assurance, “I am yours.” Your thumbs trace slow shapes over his skin, anchoring him to your voice. “No one else. No one could ever be as perfect for me as you are. As if I would ever let them try.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came. Instead, his eyes searched yours, as if sifting through the syllables for any fracture, any hesitation. He found not a single one.

And then a breath, a shift. Something in him released, like the quiet collapse of tension, like a knot unspooling. His lips curved—small, a little sheepish, but real. “I love you.”

Soft kisses followed—affectionate, passionate, sweet. He pressed them over your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your hands, like he was pouring every single ounce of love he could possibly hold in his soul for you into each one. When the night ended, neither of you had made it to your bedroom, instead you drifted to a deep slumber still intertwined on that lounge, the warmth of your love wrapping you both in something safer than any blanket ever could.

thanks for reading!! :)

taglist: @petersasteria @floofeh-purpi

[wtfsteveharrington]

take the upper hand | carmen berzatto x reader

push the reset button we're becomin' something new

description: carmen berzatto is stubborn and anxious and doesn't always know how to express himself. your best friend drags you to a party that carmen knows you'll be at and he shows up to make amends and thank god he does because he saves you from dealing with some drunk asshole.

content warnings: angsty!! drinking/party scene, shitty drunk guy w/ a shitty guy mentality!!, reader gets hit on with one night stand suggestion tones, carmen's ready to swing, mentions of anxiety and jealousy. mentions of reader drinking. kissing, mentions of intimacy related scratches, some light smut references.

author notes: my first time posting something that isn't just smut!! also something that no one but me has read!! normally i always get a proof read, not today. but this idea has been rattling around in my ole noggin' for a minute now so here we are. reminder!! you are responsible for your own media consumption!! if this won't be your jam then there's tons of other fics in the sea (: ily thank you!

even if it's handcuffed i'm leavin' here with you

•• ━━━━━ ••●•• ━━━━━ ••

The last place you wanted to be tonight was some house party in Wicker Park. With Pitbull, of all artists, playing so loud in the basement that the floor upstairs was still vibrating. Everything was sticky and stinky and you did not wanna be here.

But your best friend was hooked on this guy from her gym. 

It didn’t help that Carmy recognized his name from high school and mumbled out some remark about, “Oh yeah, no Dave’s a pretty solid guy.” She was convinced it was a sign that they were meant to be. Not to mention she found his mom’s Facebook and a post from two years ago that included his birth time. The whole train ride over you listened to how compatible the two of them were and how much she loved that he was a Scorpio rising. 

She had begged you to come to this God forsaken party and help put in a good word for her. Something had her convinced that if you mentioned just how well you were getting to know Carmen to this Dave guy that he would hold your opinion of her in higher regards.

And sure, maybe there was a part of you that hoped Carmen would be here even while the two of you were feuding. He knew it was coming up but couldn’t promise he’d be off in time - Something you got quite used to. It normally didn’t bother you that he had so many late nights at the resturant but when it rains, it pours and now you’re stuck sitting next to the sink littered cups filled with what can only be best described as some sort of horrific finance bro jungle juice. A mix of 1942 and fresh pressed juice. 

Your nose wrinkles up at the smell but you’re quickly refocused at the booming sounds of Ethan Callaghan stumbling through the back door. Another man Carmy knew from high school but didn’t like as much. Something about always being too in-your-face. Though you were pretty sure he was close with the guy your best friend was currently hooking up with in some random bedroom down the hall. 

The second his eyes land on you there’s a lopsided smile being thrown your way as he tries to fluff his hair and stand up as straight as possible. He’s stumbling into the kitchen with a full drink in hand, droning on and on about how he was ‘just so jealous’ that your friend went into that bedroom earlier. How nice it must be to not end the night alone. No pleasantries at all, just right into the whole lonely and horny act that was grossing you out. 

No one particularly knew you and Carmy were together yet - He wasn’t the type who wanted to label right away and potentially mess things up and you weren’t the type to out your dating status to random drunken men either. Besides, you weren’t so sure that ‘I have a boyfriend’ would put an end to this pitiful man’s sob story. 

As if, on queue and manifested right out of thin air, Carmen rounds the corner and takes a second to soak in the sight in front of him. You’re sitting there with your eyes trained on the water bottle in your hands. Ethan’s yapping away about how pretty you are and how big his apartment is. An excellent view in Streeterville that you’d love to see with the best brunch place in town two blocks away blah, blah, blah. Your shoulders are hunched over, body leaning away from Ethan as he stands at the window watching his reflecting in the window above the sink. 

“Hey - Been looking for you.”

Carmen.

Your head whips around to the sight of his voice instantly. There’s a pang in your chest at the sight of him standing in front of you after you two had been apart for these last few days. He looked tired. Wearing a sweater he knows you love because he wants to look nice for you. God you wanted to run over and crash yourself against his chest. Screw the petty fight. Instead you’re stuck giving him a very pointed look, hoping he takes the hint to save you. 

He’d be lying if there wasn’t a split second where Carmen feared you were actually going to go home with this loser until he saw the panic and annoyance written across your face. Ethan’s laughing at the sight of him. “Hey, Dude. Think we’re all good here, yeah?” Oh he hates this dick. 

There’s a thick level of tension in the room as Carmen squares up his shoulders and steps further into the room. His eyes are trained on Ethan who clearly wasn’t expecting much of a fight out of Carmy. He stops when he’s standing between your knees, putting himself between the two of you. Something about the way he instantly turned possessive turned up a feeling deep in your stomach no matter how annoyed you still were. 

“Pretty sure someone out back was looking for you, Dude. It doesn’t seem like anyone in here wants you around. Now either you’re too fucking dense to realize it or you don’t care that you’re not wanted, but I’m here to let you know. So I suggest running out back and getting the fuck out of our hair.” 

Ethan’s clearly entertained while looking between the two of you, a playful glint in his eye. You’re silently begging him to walk away and find yourself bringing a hand up to put on the small of Carmen’s back. While you’ve never seen him actually fight, you’ve seen many scraps between him and Richie. Heard stories of him growing up and heard the Bachelor party story. 

You’re fine not having your own fight stories to tell. 

T-Pain is now blasting in the background and the contrast of people laughing and singing downstairs versus the situation you’ve found yourself in is making your head spin. The whole time your best friend is clueless and wrapped up in Mr. Scorpio Rising. She owes you big time. Like you’ve secured friend of the year already and she needs to throw a parade in your honor after going through this.

Ethan’s finally putting his hands up in the air, that shit eating grin still plastered across his features. “My bad, my bad. Didn’t know you were already claimed.” Claimed. Gross. Your fingers press into Carmy’s back, a silent plea to beg him not to escalate this even more. He’s laughing at the sight of the two of you before snagging a half finished bottle of vodka off the counter and backing up towards the back door. 

Carmen steps out from between your legs and follows Ethan to ensure he leaves. Shoulders pushed back, chest puffed out. You’d find the sight entertaining if you still weren’t so on edge. Carmen Berzatto, your protector. 

And sure, he’s probably just making this asshole someone else’s problem for the night but he doesn’t care. The main priority is getting you away from him and getting you safe. 

You catch the sight of his curls out of the corner of your eye when Carmen returns and instantly steel your spine. The shift in the air now that Ethan is gone was thick. He was a distraction from the distance between you two but now you’re preparing yourself for another argument when really you had no energy left to give it. There was a small worry that he’d think you gave Ethan any inclination that you were interested. Even though you two had been tense, there was never anyone else but you but him. Even if you’re too stubborn to drop that information just yet.

Carmen’s quiet. His heavy boots against the floor make your heart beat faster. Everyone had scattered out of the kitchen when he walked Ethan out of there but not before giving you two a nervous glance as they went. Some probably disappointed there wasn’t a fight if we’re being honest.

“Hey.” 

You don’t dignify him with a response. Crossing your arms over your chest and taking a sudden interest in the magnets that littered this guy’s fridge. Toying with the idea of putting the ‘Area 51 is for Lovers!’ magnet in your pocket. You figured you deserved something for going through this hell of a night. 

He stops himself once he’s reached your side, the silence awkward and thick in the air. Carmy’s hand is on your knee now, his touch not as firm as you’re used to. The whiplash of emotions once again not helping either of you know just quite where you stand. 

“M’still mad at you.” 

He winces but he knew it was coming. 

The two of you wallow in silence. Carmy’s just about to finally speak but someone stumbles in on the hunt for vodka, takes one look at the annoyance on your boyfriend’s face, before quickly muttering they’ll find it somewhere else. 

And you still won’t look at him. 

He’s grabbing at your waist now, pulling you from the counter and against his chest. You wanna protest but there’s still a buzz going through your body that makes it hard to think quick enough to push back. Plus God does he feel warm and smell so good.

Carmy’s walking backwards towards the fridge, waiting until his back is flush against it to slide down. Bringing down those magnets you wouldn’t stop staring at, family photos, whatever was in his way came with the two of you. He’s tugging you until you’re straddling his waist while he brings his knees up to support you. Grabbing a hold of your face, finally making you look at him and fuck he looks like shit close up. Dark circles, hair a little messier than he’d normally allow, a bit of fear deep in his eyes. 

“You gotta tell me how to fix this.” It’s all unfamiliar territory for him. There wasn’t exactly a good example set for him growing up to say the least. 

Four days ago Carmen watched as the barista at some coffee shop you wanted to go to flirted with you. That shit already annoyed him, but he tried to bite his tongue. Then your latte came out with a heart in the foam and you kept explaining that’s just how they all come out but he was jealous and possessive and didn’t know how to communicate that so instead the two of you fought in the car for an hour. It was so stupid and he’s been kicking himself in the ass ever since. 

The past four days you refused to talk to him and had done a good job at dodging the situation. Normally you two fight, you fuck, and then you pretend everything’s okay. The cycle was getting old and wearing you down.

Until now. 

You give a heavy sigh, reaching out to toy with the bottom hem of his shirt. Carmy really did look like it had been going through it so you’re throwing him a small bone. “Maybe not making me sit on a sticky floor would be a good start.” He’s muttering out this small laugh, thankful to hear anything coming out of your mouth let alone a joke, the sound vibrating against your fingertips and you hate how much it fills your heart. 

He waits for the rest. The other shoe to fall. Every ounce of laughter is gone when you finally collect yourself enough for - “Do you think we’re good together, Carmen?” You can feel him stiffen under you, his hands gripping at your waist because he needs something to give him some stability. 

A beat goes by. “I think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” Another beat, this time it’s Carmy who refuses to look at you. Eyes downcast and trained on your lap. “But I’m not sure I’m good for you.” You weren’t expecting that. 

Once again silence falls between the two of you, still toying with the hem of his shirt before you lean in to bury your face in the crook of his neck. Taking a deep breath that’s filled with his cologne, faint smoke, and just Carmen that you’ve grown to crave. “You just gotta learn to trust me, Carmen. Outta everyone in this world, I’m the main one who never wants to hurt you. Especially for some barista with a fuckin’ comb over.” 

You hoped he would laugh again, but the sound never comes. Instead you feel his arms go tight around your body, his knees coming up a bit more which makes you fully lean into his chest. He’s clinging to you, wishing so badly he knew what to say (or could let himself) say what he knows he needs to. Instead he’s just pressing a kiss ​​to your head, sighing into your hair. 

“I wanna be better for you. Just don’t know how.” 

The two of you cling to each other and fight to get as close as possible. The distance apart these past four days has left the both of you physically aching for one another. It’s been hours, days of a tense heart and checking phones for texts neither of you knew how to send. You press a kiss against his neck, leaning back just enough to grab his face in your hands and stroke your thumbs over his cheeks. 

“It’s scary for me too, y’know? This, us. You’re not alone in being scared but lashing out at me isn’t gonna solve anything. I’m not going anywhere, Carmy.” You take the first step in mending the relationship by leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. There’s a hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, holding you in place as if he’s still scared you’re going to change your mind and run off before he can realize it’s happening. 

He’s letting you take the lead and only deepening the kiss once he feels your hands slide under his shirt. Fingers trailing along the toned skin while Carmey licks your bottom lip. Your hands glide around his back where you’re able to trace over healing scratches left on the skin from your last night together. 

Your lips part and you take the lead once again, letting your tongue slide along his and giving a low moan into his mouth as you taste him. There’s the lingering taste of cigarettes mixed with black coffee and Carmen. Once again indescribable and simply him. His grip on you tightens up in response and you know if you’re not careful then you’ll end up disheveled and tangled up in the backseat of his car or bent over one of the sinks in a disgusting bathroom. Both options you refuse to pick over getting home and letting him properly make this up to you. 

Dragging your nails along the healing marks, Carmen starts to lose track of his kissing. His grip on your neck tightening a bit more, hips rocking up towards you against his better judgement. The motion’s getting needy and sloppy and you have to pull away much to both of your disappointment. 

Shaking your head and bringing your hands up to rest flush against his warm chest. “You’re not gonna fuck me on this nasty floor. I deserve better than this.” Which, of course you do. He just gets carried up when he’s wrapped up in you. He’s nodding in agreement but can’t stop himself from licking his own lips to chase the sensation of you.

He’s looking over your features, his heart picking up pace even more than he thought was possible anymore. “Think you’re meant to be my forever, y’know? Sometimes I look at you and it scares the shit out of me because I look ahead and-... It’s you. Kids sitting at a table in the restaurants doing homework. A honeymoon overseas where I get to drag you around different pasty shops and restaurants and we’ll find random art in flea markets to hang when we get home. Take photos that end up framed. It’s you. Always.” 

Now how are you supposed to be mad when he’s this open and honest. Unpacking a future you had thought only you considered so far. You hope this behavior sticks. It’s not easy for either of you, but it’s worth fighting through the learning curve. “Kids, huh? Multiple? They’ll be your harshest critics, Carmy. I dunno if you can handle their reviews quite yet.” He’s chuckling, shaking his head with a lazy smile. “No, not yet. But one day.” The promise of more between you finally putting an end to this discussion for now. You make a mental note to remember this moment when the two of you bicker in the future - No matter what there’s always more on the road ahead of you. 

Which makes you smile too. Wrapping your arms around his neck. “One day.” You reward him with one more kiss, knowing that’s all the two of you can risk before you end up sprawled out on this floor. 

Carmy’s desperate to keep the lightened mood. He’s giving it a moment for both of you to calm back down from kissing before playfully scrunching up his face. “God you taste like shitty tequila.” It works. You’re laughing and swatting your hand against his chest, feeling a bit lighter than you did when you walked into this place. “Carmen Berzatto be nice to me!” 

He’s beaming at you now. Bright, happy. 

It’s a stark difference from the funk you’d both been stuck in since this fight started. The sight makes your heart swell and you bring a hand up to push some curls back off of his forehead. Leaning in to press a kiss against the tip of his nose. 

“Lemme take you home, yeah? Get you some food on the way? Gotta make sure someone so pretty doesn’t wake up with a hangover.” He loves taking care of you in anyway you'll let him.

You nod and carefully start to shuffle off of his lap. Getting yourself to your feet before reaching down to help tug Carmen up to his feet. You catch as he adjusts himself in his pants, a flush blooming along his cheeks and down his neck. Stepping back in until you’re chest to chest with him, you press a line of kisses along his jaw. Rough stubble going away once you find his lips yet again. You hum against his mouth, bringing your hand up to cup his cheek. “You gotta shave in the morning, Carmy.” He’s nodding instantly, reaching his hand down into his pocket to fish out the car keys. 

There’s a notification lighting up your phone - Perfect timing. A simple “Gonna spend the night ;)” text from your best friend. You can’t help but to grin and roll your eyes, turning the phone around so Carmen can see the notification too. He’s laughing while sliding a hand into your back pocket and starting to lead the two of you out of the kitchen. 

“Yeah, remind me to tell Dave that his friend fuckin’ sucks.” 

[healmyhrt]

ANGST MATT. Matt gets jealous. BOOM. THATS ALL I HAVE JELOUD MATT AND ANGST. YUHHHH !!!! DO WHATEVER YOU WILL WITH YHE STORY WE JUSR NEED ANGST😍😍😍😍

⌗ jealous, m. sturniolo

matt x fem!reader

summary: you get lost at a party, and another guy gets the wrong idea. your anxiety getting the best of you, you quickly leave the room to find matt, only for him to get jealous at what just happened.

disclaimers!: angst, kissing, use of y/n

a/n: this sucks

i had lost matt in crowds of people, and i was pretty tempted to just find a random ride home, but i wasn’t in the mood to possibly get killed tonight.

my phone chimes, and i squint at the screen, in hopes to get a better look at it. there was a text from matt that read, “where’d you go? im dying to get out of here, not rlly that fun anymore.”

that makes two of us.

i click the call button on his contact, and hear the phone begin to ring, and then stop. i quickly look at my screen, only to see a low battery symbol. “fuck!” i yell, making people near me give a confused look.

i run into a random room, and see a bunch of people getting high. i begin moving back towards the door, when a hand grabs my wrist. “stay a little, baby. what do you have to lose?”

i look back at the boy. he looked about my age, he had tan skin, brown eyes, and long, messy, brown hair that went to his shoulders. he manspreads in front of me, and i nervously sit on his lap.

no one really pays me a bit of mind, and just goes back to getting high. the boy hands me a gummy, and gives me a smile. i take it into my palm, slowly.

“how much?” i ask. he laughs in response, and hands me the bag. i read the text, and my eyes widen. “2000?!”

he places a hand on my shoulder, and shares a sweet smile. “don’t worry, you’re in good hands.” i nervously look back at the table, and everyone’s staring at me.

the boy under me, slowly moves his hand closer and closer to my inner thigh. im practically sweating my face off, as my anxiety gets the better of me.

i jump up off of the boys lap, and run out of the door. i hit someone’s chest, and look up to see matt. “oh, thank god!” i squeeze him tightly, and he hugs me back uncomfortably.

“hey, come back, baby.” the boy in the room says, laughing. matt raises an eyebrow at him, and i grasp his wrists, making him follow behind me.

“y/n, what the fuck was that? who is he?”

i keep pushing through crowds of people, until we make it outside. we’re almost to the car, when matt lets his wrists become free of me. “y/n, stop.”

i stand still for a moment, and turn around, staring at the pavement. “what was that? are you okay?”

matt walks closer to me, and slowly places his hand in mine. i grasp his hand tighter, interlocking our fingers. i look up, and softly press my lips against his.

matt pulls away quickly, and looks down at me. he gently grips my jaw, and makes me look directly at him.

“who was he?” he asks, enunciating every word.

i grab his wrist, and slowly remove his hand from my jaw, smiling. “jealous?” i turn around, and continue walking to the car. matt follows behind me, and i can almost hear the anger in his voice as he tries to remain calm.

“no…” he starts, “i mean, i shouldn’t be jealous, you aren’t even mine.” he tugs on his bottom lip.

i stop at the car, and begin to walk over to my side.

i lean against the car door, and matt stands in front of me, towering over me. “what’s that you said at the party last week?” i tease, “i own you?” i smile, mimicking his voice.

he places one arm against the car, next to my shoulder. matt leans in closer to me, eyes staring at my lips.

“fine.”

he stands up straight again, sighing. i move out of the way, and he opens the door for me.

the drive back is quiet, but had been broken many times by matt dramatically sighing.

“what?” i finally say, as we stop at a red light. he gives me an angry sigh, and clenches his jaw.

“no, say what you’ve been wanting to say for these last 40 something minutes. please, matt.” i spat out in a snarky tone.

he quickly turns to me. “i don’t know what you and that guy had going on up in that room, but it ends now.”

i look at him, my smile fading. “okay, matt.”

“im so fucking serious, y/n. you don’t know how much of what you do has an impact on me. all i’ve wanted was to be with you, and then i see you go and pull some stupid shit like that.” he looks back at the road.

“im sorry.” i shrink in my seat. matt stares at the road, as the light turns green. i slowly inch my hand closer and closer to his, and interlock our fingers again.

the rest of the ride is silent, until he pulls up outside of his house.

“still jealous?”

[noellerain]

Antithetical ♡ [suguru x afab!reader]

noe: this man is living rent-free in my mind for days now so you can consider this fic a brainrot/love letter to this gorgeous son of a bitch.

Warnings: [ DEAD DOVE! ] dark smut, noncon/rape (reader to Suguru), somnophilia (reader to Suguru), femdom, babytrapping (reader to Suguru), profanities (vulgar words), intoxication, spitting, implied that Suguru is drugged but not by the reader, obsessive behavior (reader to Suguru), proofread once, Gojo has a cameo lol, just over all madness. [LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED SOMETHING! THANK YOU!]

+ BLOCK, DON'T REPORT!

[If you read the warnings then proceed to click/press the cut button, you consent on reading the dark material below.]

Suguru Geto is midnight personified. His jet-black hair reminds you of the night sky when it's void of the moon and the stars. His eyes are blackholes that can consume your entirety if you look hard and long enough. His scent smells like the Earth after rain: a unique, addicting scent that makes your stomach flip yet still brings you a sense of warm melancholia.

Suguru Geto is way out of your league. You know that. But while everyone is fawning over his annoying best friend, Satoru, your love-struck eyes are fixated on that enigma of a man. Just one look, whether it's intentional or in passing, can shake and blow you away like the flimsy petals of dandelions.

Tonight, as you stand in the dark corner of Satoru's living room while everyone else drinks and dances to the rhythm of the song booming from the speakers, the walls seem to close in on you. 

There he is, sitting on the couch with his arm around a girl. His hair is up in its usual bun; tresses hanging on the side of his face. He's wearing a simple white shirt and black cargo pants. The simplicity amplifies his good looks.

They say that he and Satoru are two different sides of the same coin. Satoru's boisterous personality is on the face; one look at him and your alarm immediately goes off. Meanwhile, Suguru's serenity is the reason why he catches people off-guard when his true colors show.

He is a fucking mastermind. He plays the good guy role; carefully making the bed and patiently inviting his victim to lay down on it. Perhaps that's their difference: Satoru's always in a rush, his thirst never quenches. Suguru, on the other hand, takes his time. You conclude that it makes the game more enjoyable to him. That sweet, sweet reward of fucking someone dumb after all the efforts you exert may be Suguru's personal brand of drugs.

He leans closer to the girl, whispering something in her ear. She laughs and the bubbling jealousy in your chest tastes more bitter than the liquor you're currently drinking in a red cup.

It's a vicious cycle of his. For two years now, you've been nothing but a bystander. Always in the corners, watching. You've seen him lay out an elaborate plan, working his way down to different women's panties. When he finally gets what he wants, he puts his pants up and throws them away like ragdolls. Then he puts his façade— back to square one again and again and again.

Your face contorts into a frown when he smoothly puts his hand on the girl's knee. From your perspective, it looks unintentional; like his hand just happens to be there. She smirks at him, obviously enjoying the situation she's in. Your eyes narrow on his long, slender fingers, now gently rubbing her skin. It's fucking funny how life slaps you in the face over and over; there he is, the object of your obsession, sitting next to someone else, to anyone else, to everyone else but you.

His fingers slide up her thigh and give them a squeeze; the hem of her miniskirt bunches up on her lap. Your mind is beginning to go into overdrive. It's so unfair. So fucking unfair. What do others have that you don't? You take a big gulp on your drink.

"Oh? What a pleasant surprise!" Satoru's loud voice snaps your mind to sanity; your soul back to the dark corner where you're standing.

You look up at him as he strides lazily over to you, a red cup in his hand as well. He's wearing a tight black shirt and jeans that hang loosely around his waist. "I don't usually see you at my parties. What's a pretty girl doin' here in the dark?"

He leans against the wall and takes a big gulp on his drink. You don't humor his attempt for a chat. You can still feel your simmering envy as you look down on the brownish liquid in your cup.

"Not gonna entertain me, huh?" He laughs; an annoying sound that grinds your ears. "I understand, though. After all, I have a better vision than my best friend over there."

You whip your head to him, confusion all over your face. Heart beating loudly in your chest at the mention of Suguru, his one and only friend. Your lips are pursed and your brows are deeply furrowed. "What do you mean?"

He drinks again, his electric blue eyes glimmering with malice. When he puts down his cup on his side, he gives you an impish smirk. "Heh. Watch."

He pushes himself off of the wall and begins to walk away. But before he's beyond your earshot, he yells: "Second floor, last room on the West wing!"

You roll your eyes. As usual, Satoru is a menace. A baffling menace. You do not get a single word he says and you have no plans on trying. After all, guys like him are meant to be heard, not to be listened to.

Your eyes go back to Suguru. He's still on the couch but fortunately, his hands are now off the girls' body. Instead, he's pressing his forehead with his thumb while his eyes are shut tight as the girl next to him continues to babble away. The sight strikes some chords in your heart. You notice the creased skin between his forehead. It only goes away temporarily when Satoru appears and hands him a red cup.

You gnaw on your bottom lip as he taps on his forehead again with the pad of his thumb. You glare at the girl whose red lips continue to move. What is she even saying to him?

Your mind begins to wander. If it's you who's next to him right now, you're fairly certain that you won't be talking at all. You'll stare at him and listen to everything he says; hang on to every word. But Suguru is not selfish like Satoru. You know that it will be a conversation between the two of you; not just him yapping away like Satoru does.

Your heart skips a beat just by imagining how he'll look at you while you talk. He will nod, smile... Laugh. Gives you pennies for your thoughts. You pray to a higher power for the chance though you're certain that you won't be able to mutter anything coherent.

A few minutes pass by and the girl leaves. Suguru also leaves and a part of you dies inside again and again every time you see him with another girl. Where are they going? Is he going to sleep with her? Kiss her, touch her, claim her in places your mind does not dare to imagine? You finish your drink in one gulp before storming to the kitchen to grab more.

Your childishness tells you that your anger and envy are valid. After all, you've been pining over Suguru for two years now. Every time you try to move on, there is a pang of guilt in your heart. You never had him but he lives in the trenches of your heart, his name emblazoned in your mind.

But the rational part that's left of your intoxicated brain tells you that it's wrong. That you have no right to feel this way. Suguru doesn't even know you. How can you let him put a chain in your limbs and control you this way?

You wipe the liquor that dribbles down your chin. You look up and see through your hazy eyes that there are less people in the living room now. What time is it? You look down on the bottle of alcohol that you're cradling in your arms. Hiccuping, you realize that you drank half of its contents.

You stand up and the world around you begins to spin rapidly. Your knees feel like boiled noodles, unable to keep themselves upright. But still, you persevered. You leave the living room, determined to see Suguru. You decide that the madness has to stop once and for all. You can't live your life—

"Second floor, last room on the West wing!"

"Fuck you." you mutter beneath your breath as you hit your head with your fist repeatedly. For some reason, Satoru's voice decides to pop up out of nowhere.

You hiccup and begin your search to find Suguru. You look for him outside, trying to spot him in smaller crowds. At the pool area, staring at the people fucking on the water, the bathrooms… he's nowhere to be found.

You crawl your way upstairs, opening the rooms but either they're locked, empty or some people are fucking like rabbits inside.

You squint your eyes as you peek through the crevice of another door you opened. Another couple is fuck— wait. The jeans pooling on his ankles, the tight black shirt and the messy mop of white hair...

"Satoru," you drawl, inserting your head through the space between the door and the doorframe.

He whips his head, bullets of sweat dripping down his face as he smirks. "Hey. Anything I can do for ya?"

His breath is labored as he speaks; his hips continuously drilling against the girl's cunt. You can't see her from the angle but knowing Satoru, he's into beautiful girls. Beautiful, whiny girls. Her moans sound pretty, too.

"Where's Suguru?" You ask, blinking slowly.

"Told ya," he laughs. "Second floor, last room on the west wing."

"K," you sigh. You close the door and pray for the poor girl. You've never seen Satoru in action before but gods, are the rumors right. He is merciless and bursting with vigour.

You drag yourself to the last room on the West wing. Frankly, you don't even know what you're going to say to him. Does he even know you? Is he going to even hear you out?

Dread fills you to the brim when you stop in front of the door. What if he's not even here and Satoru is just messing with you? Worse, what if you see him fucking someone else inside? Gods.

You slap your cheeks to try and get a hold of what's left of yourself. It's a good thing that you're still somewhat sober despite drinking half of that bottle. You thought the liquor will make you forget but here you are, about to make the most stupid choice you've possibly ever done in your life.

Staring hard at the door, you take a sharp breath in. Your shaking fingers close around the cold knob before slowly turning it. The door finally opens and you feel your heart throb in your chest.

You peek inside then gasp in surprise.

"Su... Guru?" You whisper, pupils blown wide from the sight sprawled in front of you.

He's laying down on the mattress with his luscious long black hair spilling on the pillows. His eyes are closed and his chest is heaving erratically. Bullets of sweat drip down his forehead and there is a deep frown on his face. He seems asleep but he looks far from being peaceful.

You enter the room; your eyes languidly take in the curves of his shoulders, the muscles on his arms and his chiseled torso that are illuminated by the shaft ray of moonlight pouring through the window. Suguru always opts for loose clothing; his naked image that you've sculpted in your mind is a drastic comparison to the real thing. You thought he's going to be built like the gods but... He isn't. There is still softness; a mix of godhood and humanity in his features and your fingers twitch with the desire to touch and hold him.

Your eyes travel down his black sweatpants. The poor garment is hanging on for its dear life on his prominent v-line. His lower abdomen has a pathway of light black bush that leads to his...

You swallow thickly. There is an indentation of his dick against the fabric. You know it's wrong but your body begins to feel that familiar warmth. Here he is, the source of your mirth. The destination of your late night adventures when deep-seated desires stir. The subject of your dreams, of your fantasies, the muse of your high as thick hot cum dribbles down your inner thighs while you gasp for air; reality settles and you feel pathetic with your fingers knuckle-deep inside your cunt.

You should leave. But then what? Remain on the sidelines, longing for him, envying other girls and touching yourself to the idea of him? Here he is, served with his walls down. If you can have him once, just once…

You close the door. The sharp sound of the lock's bolt sends tingles all over your body. Slowly, you approach him. Shame burns your gut and makes your cheeks flushed. But you're here. You're here now. What matters is right now.

Slowly, you kneel in the space between his spread legs. The mattress shifts and you eye him nervously. But Suguru is still in deep sleep even when you pull down the waistband of his sweatpants and his cock springs free.

"Ah..." You breathe out, calming your heart. It's beating in your ears now as you stare at his length that's resting on his lower stomach.

The picture of his dick that you've crafted in your head is similar to the real deal and that makes you uncharacteristically giddy. It's on the longer side and its bulbous crown is pinkish in color.

With shaking fingers, you reach for it. He stays still even as your hand closes in around the base and gives him a few pumps.

"Suguru…" you whisper. The normalcy of you whispering his name like a prayer is true only in your bedroom as you touch yourself. But right now…

You continue your ministries as you stare at him anxiously. Is he going to wake up? A part of you wishes he does. Hoping that you will get to experience the stories you've heard from the women he fucked before. For him to watch you as you serve him, the memory ingraining in his mind. Your chest burns with envy again but you get a grip of yourself.

Who cares? The pad of your thumb caresses his tip. Your experience will be different. Exclusive.

You lean your entire torso down, your ass hanging in the air. You purse your lips and gather a blob of saliva before spitting it out on his dick. You use your own fluid as lube, pumping him a little bit faster now.

"So pretty, Suguru," you giggle when he breathes deeply. His cock is smooth and it's now starting to take a rigid stance. "I'm sure you taste pretty, too."

You descend your lips and pepper his length with feathery kisses. Lolling your tongue, you give him a few kitten licks, particularly the tip that you find endearingly charming.

He smells so good, too. Sweet like warm vanilla. You open your mouth and shove his length in. He's a bit longer than what you can take so your hands wrap around what's left of his dick, pumping it simultaneously as you bob your head.

He moans in his sleep, tossing a bit. Tears prick your eyes when his length hits the back of your throat. Your hands instinctively squeeze his hips, putting him in one place. You hollow your cheeks and pick up your pace, tongue swirling and licking the tip that's now leaking with precum.

"Haaa…" he gasps and you freeze.

You look at him; your eyes widen when you meet his dilating pupils. "W-what…"

He seems at loss but he doesn't push you away. Suguru blinks a few times at you as he heaves. You can almost see the cogs in his brain turn as he takes it all in.

You quickly release his dick with a loud pop before straddling him by the waist. "Shhh… It's okay."

You cup his face as panic settles in your nerves. You stare deeply into his eyes but notice that they're… absent. It's as if they are somewhere else even though they're looking at you.

"It's fine," you whisper. "It's fine. You're good. Trust me."

His head falls back on the pillows and he winces. You take the chance to finally kiss him, your legs pressing against his sides. He lays motionless, his eyes now closed. Panic dissipates from your nerves… now replaced by the thrill of it all.

You cup his cheeks and forcefully slither your tongue in. You shut your eyes and moan into his lips; he tastes like peppermint. Hollowing your cheeks again, you suck on his tongue.

When you pull away, a string of saliva keeps your lips connected. He opens his eyes, whispering something along the lines of "Who are you?"

You don't answer. Instead, you kiss and lick his skin. Worship every nook and cranny of his flesh, marking him. Your hands are all over the place too, touching him, staining his body with your shameless, scorching affection that you can no longer contain.

Your mouth envelops around his nipple as your other hand kneads on the other. You look up at him while you suck like a starved baby. He groans, his weak body trembling a bit.

"You like it?" You ask, swirling your tongue on his perked nipple. "You like being sucked like this, Suguru?"

He mumbles something that you didn't catch and do not honestly care about. Your lips go south, reaching his happy trail and his cock again.

"S-sto…p," he sighs when you press your face against his dick. "Stop… it…"

"But it makes you feel good, though…" you reply. "See? You like it. You're hard."

You shove it in your mouth again. Suguru groans like an angel as his hips buck upwards; his dick reaching the back of your throat again. He says he wants you to stop but his entire body's reaction does not match his words.

"Stop!" He screams, trying to pull away. But you keep your head in place, gripping his hips. Greedily, you suck him off until his cock trembles and spurts hot ropes of milky cum in your throat.

You pull away and swallow hard— he tastes salty. You smirk at him. He's frowning while gasping for breath.

"Wh…"

"Shhh," you shush him, leaning down and kissing his cheek. "It's alright. You taste so good, Suguru."

The words spilling out of your mouth, as well as the desire that is overtaking your body are beyond the heavens now. Your mind is in a haze and your pussy pulsates with need. You want him. You want him so bad it hurts.

"You seem weak," you whisper. "What happened to you?"

"I…" he mumbles.

You coo and kiss him again. "Shhh. It's okay. You're safe with me. I love you so much, Suguru. I love you so, so much."

You sit up on his stomach and take off your top. Your breasts spill out of the garment and Suguru can only watch with droopy eyes.

"I've always wanted you…" you mutter as you lift your hips. You take his hand and bring his fingers to your mouth to suck them.

When they're wet enough, you guide them to your aching cunt. You hold onto his index finger and use it to rub your warm clit. You keep your eyes on him as he remains still, letting you do whatever you want. He looks confused and it makes your heart ache. What's going on with him?

"Gonna put 'em in…" you whisper and slowly ease in two of his fingers inside you. 

A moan rips out of your lips when his slender fingers fit snug inside your walls. You move your hips— up and down, up and down until his entire fingers are coated with your cum.

You take them off, licking the middle finger before you align the index in his mouth. He whips his head to the side— a stubborn act of defiance that makes you annoyed.

"What the fuck? You did this with other girls, I bet. Other girls that don't fucking care about you," you angrily snap, cupping his jaw. "And you can't do it for the one who loves you? How dare you?!"

You squeeze his cheeks until his lips form a small opening. You shove his index finger in, coated with your cum. With a maniacal smile on your lips, you watch as he struggles.

"I taste good, right?"  You laugh and kiss him on the lips, tasting your own essence on his tongue. "I taste so good."

"S…sto—"

"Sh," you hush him. "Don't say anything. I don't want to hear you talk. I only want to hear you whine and moan. Understood? Such a good boy, Suguru."

You get off of him. Hastily taking off your jeans and underwear, Suguru's eyes widen in panic. Before he can move away, you position yourself on his waist, straddling him again into place.

"I was so fucking envious of the girls you fucked," you laugh. "They say you're good in bed. I'm a bit sad that you're too weak to show me but don't worry, okay? I love you. I love you so much, I'm going to make you feel good."

Suguru shakes his head when he sees you lift your hips. He winces when he feels you drag his dick along your clit, using your cum as lube. You spit on the crown before finally shoving him in.

You hiss in pain as his bulbous tip bullies its way inside you. Suguru thrashes for a bit before you finally take him all in. Eyes rolling to the back of your head, you quickly move to ease the pain; bouncing your hips on his cock.

You look down and see him completely helpless. He's too intoxicated to even think straight, moreso move. It delights you to see him like this; beneath you as you use him like your personal toy.

"Suguru," you gasp for breath, leaning closer to him. "Does it feel good? I feel so good."

He whips his head to the side again but you don't care this time. You're too lost in the feeling of his dick sliding in and out of you; caressing your gummy walls perfectly.

You anchor your hands on his chest and pick up the pace of your hips. It's starting to strain your legs and thighs but you're determined to reach the highest of highs. Strings of whimpers and groans escape his lips. You laugh upon realizing that he doesn't have a condom on and you're not taking any pills.

"Hey, Suguru—" your breath hitches in your throat when he hits that particularly sweet spot inside you. "You're gonna be so mad at me when you wake up tomorrow. Might as well get my fill, huh?"

It's all getting in your head. You arch your back as you put your hands on his knees to anchor yourself. You throw your head back, sliding in and out of him with ease. The squelching sounds of your skins are music to your ears.

Your mind wanders as your legs begin to tremble. God. What happens if you get pregnant? Just the thought of carrying Suguru's baby makes your entire body tingle and the knot in your lower belly tighten. You look down at him and smirk.

If by chance, you get the privilege of carrying his child, will he stay in your life? That's uncertain. But one thing's for sure and that is you will have a piece of him with you forever. A laughter slips out of your lips as the knot in your belly loosens and turns into a mess— hot cum gushes out of you and sprinkles his lower abdomen.

But you continue to move despite your shaking body. You need him to reach that high. You need him to cum deep inside you and fill your womb. Suguru's hips stutter as he lets out a guttural growl. You laugh once again when you pull out and see his sticky cum drip down your inner thighs. Quickly, you gather the fluid and shove your fingers inside you, not letting a drop go to waste.

The reality sets in, akin to the times you spent alone in your bed. But this time, it's different. You don't feel pathetic. Matter-of-fact, you feel happy. Your dream is now fulfilled. This experience is yours and yours alone. And even if Suguru fucks other girls, it doesn't matter anymore. You have a piece of him in you now. You're certain that no girls had their ways with him until you. You were in charge and that made you feel powerful.

Suguru's eyes flutter until they finally close. Sweat drips down his forehead as his chest begins to heave deeply. His face does not look like he's in pain anymore and that makes you smile.

You lean towards him and kiss him for the last time on the lips before you get dressed. You pull up his sweatpants, his cock now flaccid. You don't bother wiping him clean. Even just for tonight, you want him all over you.

You leave the house with your head above the clouds; your throbbing cunt misses him already.

[vernblr]

Birthday Blues

Summary: Raise your hand if you've ever felt terrible on or near your birthday before. Well, I sure hope I'm not the only one. You were doing pretty well this year, until now. But as your birthday nears and you glimpse at something on Chan's phone you probably shouldn't have, guilt and paranoia begin to consume you until you can't bear it anymore. But luckily for you, you have a loving boyfriend who's got more than birthday plans up his sleeve.

WC: 1.5k

Established relationship, depictions of anxiety, light hurt and comfort.

A/N: This is the second part of a birthday gift for @bitchlessdino!!! NANA BELOVED I'M SORRY FOR MAKING THIS SAD I HOPE THE ENDING WAS CUTE ENOUGH TO MAKE UP FOR IT </3333 You can find the first half of her gift here!

Buzz. 

You groaned, turning over in bed and pulling the blanket over your head to stay as comfortable as you can. You don’t know what time it was, but it was too early to be awake and you didn’t want to be. You just hoped that whatever was causing the noise would stop soon. 

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz. 

You realize after a while that someone’s phone kept going off next to you, and if it was yours you were going to fling it at a wall. Or, more realistically, put it on Do Not Disturb mode so you can get more precious sleep. But as the phone kept buzzing with notifications, you finally gave up the battle against wakefulness and pulled the blanket off your head.

It wasn’t a bad sight to wake up to, the soft sunlight filtering in through the curtains as Chan snored next to you. You blearily looked over at the phone that was still buzzing at you, annoyed to see that it was Chan’s phone that was buzzing and not yours. Oh well, you guess you can’t throw it at a wall today, but you could still silence it. Leave it to him to be able to sleep through all the noise, even as his phone sat charging next to him. It should’ve been a quick thing to do, to turn on the phone and press a few buttons before leaving it again. But you made the mistake of allowing yourself to glance at the messages as they flew by, Chan’s very large friend group chat enjoying (or suffering from) a boom in activity. You could barely read what the messages said with how fast they moved, but all you could glimpse at was your name being mentioned a few times and something about a birthday. Even in your sleep deprived state, you could connect the dots. Chan and his friends were planning something for your birthday, which was very soon according to your calendar, and now you were curious about their plans. 

But just as you were about to unlock Chan’s phone for a sneak peek, he started shifting in bed, a sure sign that he would be waking up soon. So you quickly turned on the toggle for Do Not Disturb and snuggled against Chan’s arm right as he started yawning and stretching. But you couldn’t stop the pounding of your heart at almost being caught looking at something private, and you could feel it starting to gnaw at you before you decided to push the feeling away. 

“G’mornin’.” He mumbled sleepily, pulling you into his embrace and half laying on you.

“Good morning to you too.” You grunt at the sudden weight on you. “Your friend’s group chat is blowing up your phone again, and I had to silence it because it was bothering me.” 

“Aw, I’m sorry it was bothering you.” Chan consoled, kissing you lightly on the forehead. “Maybe keeping my sound notifications on at night wasn’t a good idea.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Who even keeps sound notifications on for their phone anyways?” You teased. 

“I’m a heavy sleeper, it doesn’t bother me so it’s never been a problem for me before.” He whined at you, burying his face in your neck.

“Yeah, but you’re not living by yourself anymore, I’m here too now. So you can’t charm your way out of this one, now move I need to get up.”

“You’re so mean to me, I'm not making you breakfast then!”

“Then I’ll make my own.” You stuck out your tongue at Chan as you successfully shove him off to get ready for the day. “It’s not my fault my boyfriend is weird and has sound notifications on.”

“Hey! You’re being mean to your boyfriend! I think you should apologize to him with a kiss.”

“Only after he brushes his teeth.” You laugh at him over your shoulder as you go. 

Chan still makes breakfast for you both even as he continues pouting at you. But you give him all the kisses he asks for in return, so you think you’re even. But even as you both go about your days, you still can’t take what you saw off your mind. Part of you was excited to see what Chan and his friends had planned for you, but you still felt a little guilty for trying to look at his phone without him knowing. So you mentally agreed with yourself that you would leave it alone, let them plan in peace.

It was easier said than done though, the days passing by at a sluggish pace even if it was the same in every other aspect. And the guilt of seeing something you probably shouldn’t have was beginning to eat away at you even more now, despite your continued efforts to try and brush it off. The more you pushed the feeling away, the more ingrained it became in your consciousness, to the point where it constantly plagued your mind now. 

Chan noticed you getting antsy about it, you were impatient and nervous about something even if he couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was. He mulled over the possible sources of your anxiety, he wouldn’t just leave you to suffer in your own feelings if he could help it. Work seemed okay for you, he wasn’t having any problems with you as far as he knew… But maybe it was time to ask you, just in case.

The night before your birthday, he sat down with you on the couch in your living room, thumb smoothing over the back of your hand in an attempt to reassure you. He knew that this might not have been the best time to ask you about this, but he wanted you to have a good birthday and if he could alleviate any of your stress then he would gladly try to do so.

“Hey, I noticed you’ve been acting really anxious lately, is everything okay?” Chan asked gently, trying to meet your gaze. 

You kept your eyes averted from his though, unable to bring yourself to look at him properly. You hated the fact that you couldn’t let go of your feelings, and now you feel like you’re making Chan worry about you for no reason. “I…” You trailed off, gripping his hand tightly in yours as you tried to compose your thoughts. “I’m sorry. You know how I told you that I was trying to shut off your phone’s sound notifications when they were bothering me a while ago? Well, I think I might’ve- no, I definitely saw something I didn’t mean to in the process. And I know it’s something really small, but I also feel bad because I got so curious that I almost wanted to look at the messages on your phone properly to figure out what your friends were going to do about my birthday. I know I shouldn’t have, and I didn’t know how to tell you this.”

Chan sighed softly before pulling you into a tight hug, rubbing your back. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s as you said, it’s not that bad. I’m not upset about it. And I appreciate you telling me this now. If you don’t mind me asking, how much did you see?”

“Not very much, just passing mentions of my name and something about my birthday. I… realize now that this really wasn’t a lot to get worked up over, was it?”

“Even if it was, your feelings about this still matter. I really wanted to keep this a surprise for you, but if it’s affecting you this much, then I don’t mind telling you.” 

“No! It’s okay.” You quickly reassure him, pulling back to properly meet his gaze now. “You and all your friends probably spent so much time working on this, whatever it is, and I won’t ruin it now just because I was getting paranoid over something small. I trust you, and I always will. I’m feeling a lot better now that I got to talk to you, so now I know I can celebrate my birthday tomorrow with a lighter heart. Thank you so much for being here for me, even when I’m being silly.”

Chan shook his head firmly at your last remark. “You weren’t being silly at all. But I will always be here for you too. And I will put the same amount of trust in you as you do in me. Now come on, we have a big day tomorrow so let’s get plenty of rest.”

You laughed lightly as Chan gently pulled you up from the couch, taking your hand to lead you to your shared bathroom so you could start your nightly routines. The domesticity of your actions didn’t escape your notice, especially the way Chan would make silly faces at you in the mirror while brushing his teeth. No matter what your birthday held in store for you the next day, you knew that you had everything you could ever want with you right now. And despite all the worry that plagued you for the past few days, you knew now that you could sleep with a smile. At least until Chan wakes you up at midnight to obnoxiously sing ‘happy birthday’ into your ear. But it’s the kind of rude awakening you would gladly embrace. 

[omniblades-and-stars]

The Last Time (A Game of Cat and Mouse)

Read on AO3

"Bancroft Exports and Logistics Headquarters" read the sign carved from impeccably polished wood, no doubt from Earth. It was mounted on the wall next to a door made of frosted glass and featuring antique bronze hinges and a matching bronze doorknob, shaped humorously like one of Earth's large felines, a lion, if he remembered correctly. He always did. As he reached for the door knob with a green-scaled hand, Thane Krios noted it as something to ask Mr. Bancroft about. It was obviously meant as a statement, the expense of retrofitting a Nos Astra office building for an ancient human door alone meant that it was not simply a design choice.

He straightened the front panel of his expensive suit jacket as he strolled into the lobby. There was a reception desk with a high counter wrapped around the front, topped in the same dark polished wood that the sign at the door was. There was another office door directly to the right of the reception desk, and a cart against the wall with porcelain tea cups hanging from metal hooks. One was missing.

The receptionist was not at their post, it seemed. There was, however, a small sign that read "Press Button for Assistance". He was surprised when there was no audible tone when his carefully filed talon depressed the cool metallic button.

After several seconds of empty silence, a booming, "I don't pay you to stand around and look pretty! Go see who it is, damn it," reverberated from the office behind the door. A feminine voice answered back, the words of her quiet reply were lost to the barrier provided by thick walls. Thane clasped his hands behind his back and waited patiently to be greeted by someone. He was going to enjoy killing Mr. Bancroft later. 

The door cracked open and the first thing out of it was a slender, human, woman's foot. It was clad in a precarious, ruby red high-heeled shoe, a thin strap buckled around a delicately arched ankle. Her legs, shapely and well-toned, were covered by sheer black stockings. A pronounced seam ran up the length of her calf, disappearing behind her knee and beneath the hem of a charcoal gray skirt so tight, it could have been a second skin. 

His eyes traveled up her body, taking in the receptionist as she pushed sideways out of the door. She held a silver tea tray in her delicate, gloved hands, and despite her unreasonably high heels, she moved with well-practiced grace and fluidity. 

A pristine cream colored blouse covered a supple chest, the promising curve of soft flesh hidden beneath whisper thin fabric. A collar buttoned high on her slender throat with dainty, round pearls, covered a scar he knew was there. He was surprised to see her here. She was supposed to be dead.

He killed her.

Bare skin burns hot, pressed and writhing beneath him. A soft moan turns to a surprised gasp and her fingers dig sharp into the muscles of his arms. Silken lips parted against his in a silent plea. Breaths ragged from exertion and the effects of the venom still coursing in her veins. Crimson rivulets wash down the cold metal of his blade. Tears bead at the edges of her clouded, disbelieving eyes, pupils wide, surprised by the betrayal she knew would inevitably come. "Why?" She mouths, unable to speak.

"We can't keep doing this. This is the last time," he whispers, and tenderly brushes wisps of dark hair from her sweat-dewed cheek. Tears that are not hers fall, mingling with the ones sliding over her skin and into the hair tangled on the pillow below her. Her grip on his arms falters as she grows weak. He leaves her alone to die in a Presidium hotel room, disquieted and regretful.

It had been too difficult to stay. He should have known she would pull through. She was stubborn, tenacious.

Beautiful, precious.

And above all, a devious, deadly viper.

But why was it relief that he felt to see her again?

Familiar honey-colored eyes glared at him as she turned to greet him. She drew the plush flesh of her burgundy lip in between her teeth, seductive and no doubt a sign of the anger she felt at the sight of him.

The anger burning in her wide, clear eyes disappeared in a flash, as though it had never existed. A wide smile took its place, creasing the corners of her eyes, and she broke her silence by proclaiming, "Oh, you must be the security consultant here to meet with the board. I am so sorry, how do you pronounce your name, Mister…" Her voice was soft, dripping with syrupy cheer. Her head cocked slightly to the side quizzically, a convincing charade played out for no one but the two of them. 

"Tuek. Rumi Tuek. It is a pleasure to meet you. Though, I am afraid that I do not know your name," he said in reply. In this, he told no lie. No living person knew her true name. Her names shifted like the crashing tides of the sea.

"Julia Tophana," she answered cheerfully and bravely turned her back on him to set the tray on top of the cart. "When I first saw your name on the appointment list this week, I assumed it must have been a salarian name," she lied easily, putting on a breathy, airy voice that he knew very well was an act. She continued putting the pieces of the tea service away with gloved hands as she filled the silence with trite chatter. "I thought, 'Surely it couldn't be a drell name, there are so few to be seen away from Kahje.' But what do I know? Mr. Bancroft always says, 'I didn't hire you for your brains, Jules.'"

How long had she been working as the man’s secretary just to murder him?

She loved the long game.

Julia turned and flashed a charming smile at him, holding a stained tea cup in her left hand. "He underestimates me. They always pay for underestimating me. Don't they?" Thane's hand ghosted over his abdomen, where the memory of her blade made itself known. She started this destructive little game of theirs.

She cries out for help as his target tries to pull her into a filthy alley, one of so many on this part of Omega. He runs to help this stranger, a young, human woman out for a jog. A gunshot echoes out of the alley, and the woman's screams stop.

Too late, he fears. But as he turns around the abandoned building at the entrance to the alley, he sees her standing hunched over a body, hands gripping the pistol like iron. She holds it like it is both her only lifeline and the most terrifying thing in the galaxy. Like she has never fired it before.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to! I … I … was so scared! I didn't … oh God, what did I do?" Her cries are shrill, panicked, she is nearly hyperventilating. Her hands shake and tears streak over the gentle curve of her cheeks. She looks up at him with large, pleading, amber eyes, and drops the pistol on the ground right before she heaves and vomits all over her lavender running shoes.

"Please, let me help you get cleaned up," he offers quietly as he approaches. She clutches his hands with her own trembling fingers and allows him to lead her away. She tells him her name is Artemis, tells him about how she ended up on Omega, and how lonely it is living on that horrible station.

It's hours later and they are still together, she's pressed against him, hot and needy. Her kisses taste like peppermint toothpaste. "It was so easy. This is the last time you'll see me, see anything," she whispers against his lips. Cold metal bites into his skin, just below his lung and it twists as she pushes him harder against the wall. Her strength is surprising. Too late he realizes that she is not just an innocent woman out for an evening run. The pain forces a groan coursing up his throat. He can feel the blade scraping through his ribs, feel it pierce through the other side. "I don't do competition," she explains and strokes his cheek with a soft hand, now coated in emerald blood. She simply walks away after, leaving her blade, and him, pinned to the wall. It is the kind of folding blade engineered by and for killers, expensive and easily hidden.

The truth of the matter was that she was a small, beautiful woman blessed with large, doe eyes, and perfect, bow shaped lips. Traits that she carefully wielded to her advantage at every available opportunity. Including here, in this moment, where he was her only audience. She was like the sirens of Earth’s ancient mythology, and he too often found himself ensnared by her song.

Arashu protect me, Amonkira guide me, and Kalahira, please take this damnable woman to the darkest, coldest depths of your oceans.

She brought the cup down onto the hard surface of the desk, shattering it with purpose. "Oops! How clumsy of me!" She brushed the shards into the trash can, and in a smooth motion removed the gloves from her hands and deposited them into the receptacle after, careful not to touch the outside material with her bare fingers.

The gloves must have cost a fortune. They appeared to be made of real animal skin, unlike the synthetic leather worn by most. Even in their line of work. 

She'd always been one for flair, even if only for her own sake.

His eyes followed the dexterous lines of slender fingers, recalling the feeling of them tracing tender lines over the ridges of his scales, the feel as they dug into his flesh as she tried to tear his grip from her throat. With a raised brow, he started to ask, “Mr. Bancroft, is he-”

“Dead? He is, but he doesn’t know it yet,” The Shepherd responded while she checked the watch set into a dainty silver band around her wrist. “He will have a “sudden” stroke in approximately four hours.”

Of course, poison. 

One of her favorite methods. She had always been one for a more personal approach. She liked to get in close, get to know the target. She loved to play games, like a cat toying with a mouse that didn't know her claws were already piercing its skin. Until it was much, much too late.

She always played games. 

Thane's lips curled into a disapproving grimace. He despised that she got to Bancroft first.

He despised that she waited until she knew he would be here to do it. This entire charade, this whole show was for his benefit alone. 

It was payback. It was his turn to be the mouse, it seemed. It was probably no less than he deserved.

Deserved or not, he would not let her win.

Her clean up finished, The Shepherd picked up a datapad and waved for him to follow her into the curving hallway. “This way, Mr. Tuek. The board meets on the next floor up, accessible only by the interior elevator.” She strode in front of him, the long curve of her legs accented by the pointed heel of her shoe. Absently, she brushed a long dark lock of hair that had fallen loose from her bun, held together by shining metal sticks, behind her ear. It was much longer than their last meeting.

“I like what you’ve done with your hair, Ms. Tophana. It is a shame that I will kill you before I get to enjoy it,” he whispered in her ear as they walked past the office workers diligently working at their desks in the open office space nested behind the reception lobby.

“I like the piercings you have there on the ridge above your frill, those are new. I will take great pleasure in tearing them from your smug face right before I end you,” she retorted while looking straight ahead. Her mouth curled up, confidence hidden in the upturned corner of her lips. "This is the last time, Krios," she whispered hotly.

"You are sure of this? You have yet to kill me, Shepherd," he reminded her and placed a gentle, threatening hand at the small of her back. The silken fabric of her blouse slid pleasantly over his scales. 

Their walk through the office came to a halt at the elevator, tucked into a hall filled with more office spaces. The Shepherd turned to face him as she pressed the call button for the lift. "It will either be me or you this time. To the death, once and for all. I'm not leaving this building without your life."

The elevator arrived with a chime, and the door slid open. "Then you will not leave this building," he answered emphatically and stepped into the elevator.

The Shepherd pressed her arm across the opening to prevent the door from sliding closed. She leaned in, passing the datapad to him, her lips ghosted dangerously close to his cheek, her breath hot on his skin, stirring heat deep within him. Her hair smelled like honeysuckle. It always smelled like honeysuckle. "You make mistakes when you underestimate me. Don't make it easy for me," she whispered. Suddenly, she pulled back, "You'll understand why I won't be joining you in the elevator. The boardroom is directly to your right, through the preposterous double doors. You can't miss it." 

She had the audacity to wiggle her fingers at him as though she were waving goodbye to a friend as the door slid shut. 

He looked down at the datapad and turned the screen on. Thane didn't know whether to be greatly amused or greatly irritated by the image that greeted him:

"A Game of Cat and Mouse" written out in the flowing script he knew to be hers, followed by a humorous drawing of a cat with human hair styled just like hers. And pinned beneath her feline paws, a mouse with green and black scales.

Hiding in an office suite after his meeting, now entirely pointless due to Bancroft's impending death, had concluded was a simple matter. It was easy enough to duck into the office of some executive who was almost certainly on vacation, and simply wait until everyone who was not The Shepherd left. By the time the work day drew to a close, he found himself pondering the pendulous motion of the Newton’s Cradle decorating the large wooden desk in his hiding office.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Clack.

Click.

Cla-

“We’re alone now, Krios. You can come out of hiding,” she shouted down the hall from her roost in the lobby.

As he walked silently down the hall, he removed his suit jacket, slinging it over his shoulder and cuffing his shirt sleeves at his forearms. When he rounded the hall into the lobby, she was standing with her back to him. Her arms were raised, the mass of her hair held tightly in her fist as she began to wrap it around her hand and tie it more suitably to the base of her skull. The two decorative sticks were laid on the counter, perfectly symmetrical to one another.

“That’s close enough, Thane. Rules first,” she said firmly without turning to him. She grabbed one of the sticks and popped the bottom tip off of it, revealing a very fine sharp point. She leaned to the side and pulled the hem of her skirt taut in her fingers. The Shepherd drove the point into the stretched fabric and then pulled it. The organic fibers parted noisily up the side of her leg, up to the leather belt fastened around her thigh, just above where her stockings came to an end, teasing him.

Thane drew his gaze back to her hair. Her hair was safe, it was drawn up messily in a simple elastic band, and was quite possibly the only part of this that wasn't a performance. “I am listening, Shepherd,” he confirmed. She paused, and almost imperceptibly shivered before leaning to tear the other side of her skirt.

Muscle and bone shifts beneath the tan skin of her back as she undulates. Her back is a star-chart, made up of tiny constellations of freckles and scars. Bruises blooming purple and blue prove the background of the galaxy mapped out between her shoulder blades and beyond. He props himself up on one hand before gently running a short talon over a long jagged scar just below her shoulder blade.

"This one?" He asks, breaking the silence. Her skin pebbles beneath his touch, goosebumps, she calls them. She shivers as his finger trails across her back.

"From the time I killed an elcor diplomat," she says through heavy, panting breaths. "Didn't think he'd be sneaky enough to hide a knife." She is lying, a preposterous lie at that. He has asked her about it before. The last time, it was from a krogan battlemaster's pet varren. He is fairly certain it is a scar from a turian's unfiled talon.

He moves again to sit up completely, and her back arches to accommodate him. His left hand circles around her body, tracing gentle lines over her skin, admiring the bumps that form in its wake, but only for a moment. He presses his other hand around the base of her throat, he can feel the tendons shift as she swallows and moves, and the beat of her heart, fast and strong. He can feel another line, just under her breast. "And what of this one?" He asks with his lips pressed against her neck, he can taste the salt of her sweat.

He knows the answer. He put it there. 

They are moving in tandem, languid, and unhurried, savoring this beautiful charade, awash in blinding pleasures. This time, they started as enemies and ended as lovers. He much prefers it this way than the other. Tonight, she is sweet … by the gods is she sweet. Her hair smells of honeysuckle, and the softest sounds drip like nectar from her lips. And he is an addict for them. He can almost imagine that she isn't like a poison to him, or him a sharpened knife to her.

"I tripped and fell into that one. It was an accident, really," she says with a smile in her voice. "Dropped my guard, for the last time," she explains and lies and tells the truth all in the same sentence, through the same panting breaths. He can't explain why he finds these little, unnecessary lies so charming, so enrapturing, but he does.

He is caught in her web, and he climbs further in of his own volition.

"No guns, no poison, no omni-tools, and no warp fields. Agreed?" The Shepherd rolled her shoulders back and stretched her neck, the elongated curve of it far too tempting. The very edge of the silvering scar peaked over the edge of her collar.

"Agreed."

She stood on one leg and pulled her foot up behind her, stretching her leg and rolling her ankle. She was still wearing those impractical, ridiculous, attractive shoes. "Good, any additions you'd like to make?" She continued her stretching as though she were preparing to go on a run,  and he was not a professional assassin ready to attack.

"I would appreciate it if you did not use your biotics to pull my central nervous system apart this time," he requested with a smile. One encounter with her biotics had left him twitching and blinking sporadically for weeks. "I believe that is a fair exchange in return for not using mine to rip you apart from the outside."

"Oh, I hate when you make a good point. Fine. Questions?" She asked as she turned to face him. He had expected to see her cocky smile, or a demure smirk. Maybe even a deep, hateful scowl. 

But her lips were pressed in a hard line, and her eyes were bloodshot, and lined harshly red at the edges. Had she been crying? Was she frightened?

Or was this a part of her game? He could never tell with her. It could have been another of her little lies. Even still, it gave him pause, tightened a knot in his gut. 

Thane shook his head and tried to push off his reservations. He was in her snare, he knew. He tossed his jacket to one of the small chairs in the lobby and clasped his hands behind his back. "Who hired you to kill Bancroft?" 

He was merely curious, very few people earned having more than one assassination plot against them.

"His wife. You?"

"His son," he answered with a smile. Even fewer people were so hated by their families that they would independently hire someone to kill them. "Do you have any questions for me?"

The Shepherd cocked her head and furrowed her brow. Her question fell from her lips quietly and without preamble, and it detonated like a hydrogen bomb, "If I die tonight, will you mourn me? There isn’t anyone else." She fumbled her words and hastened to add, "Who would even notice, much less care if I die, I mean."

The aftershock rolled into him and sent blood thundering through his chest. "Yes, I mourn you every time, " he answered sincerely and before he could grasp the magnitude of his own words. "Shepherd, if Kalahira calls me to the sea tonight, will you mourn for me?"

"Yes. Every time."

They had killed each other, or tried to anyways, far too many times.

The seconds that passed before either of them moved crackled with electricity. The only warning he had before The Shepherd leapt at him was the flaring of her nostrils. She held the slender stick in her hand like a blade as she pushed off the ground without a sound. He threw his left arm up and pushed the blade away with his forearm, and curled his right fist up towards her ribs.

Her body bowed out of the way of his strike, and stepped in towards him. She hooked her foot around his ankle and pulled him off-balance. Her elbow connected with his collarbone sending a sharp pain shooting through his neck and shoulder. Just as the tiny little blade made its way to his chest, he thrust the flat his hand up. The air around his body ignited cerulean blue, and the blade struck the barrier and snapped. 

The Shepherd stumbled backwards, dropping the now useless implement to the ground. "Shit, I hate it when you do that," she grumbled and adjusted her stance again. 

He pressed his hand into his shoulder and rolled it, stretching out the muscle. "You know, you possess the same skill? It might be useful for keeping much more of your blood inside of your body."

Her small nose crinkled up before she smirked, "That your professional opinion, since you're so good at freeing me of mine?"

"Deserved, although the same could be said for you of mine," he retorted right before advancing on her. They fought. Fists, hands, feet, all moving with blinding speed and precision. He pressed hard against her, and she took steps back, all the while blocking quick strikes and narrowly avoiding getting caught in his grasp.

She came to a stop with her back pressed against the reception counter. The Shepherd reached behind her without looking away from him, and snatched the other hair pin up, releasing the pointed tip hidden under a small metallic cap. She was quick, and aimed the small weapon for his neck.

Thane wrapped one hand around her wrist, and pulled the implement free with the other. He didn’t hesitate and drove it into her side, earning a snarling hiss from the woman.

He’d always been faster than her.

The Shepherd struck him hard in the chest with her outstretched palm, and a concentrated blast of energy followed it a fraction of a second later. Indigo light flared from beneath her hand and he was pushed back across the room, knocking the air from his lungs, and his body to the floor. She pulled the weapon from her side with a grunt, vermillion spreading across the thin fabric of her punctured shirt.

She closed the gap between them with a short run. She raised her foot to bring it down hard on his chest. Thane shifted and rolled away just as she brought her foot down, throwing her off balance. He struck her other foot with a blunt kick, bringing her down to his level.

“Fuck!” she shouted as she crashed to her hands and knees. Immediately, she began to crawl away, working her way back up to crouching, trying to stand again.

Until he grabbed her around the ankle and began to pull her back towards him. “No you don’t,” he grunted as he dragged her thrashing body, preventing her escape. “Why do you wear these shoes, Shepherd? They are quite impractical for walking, much less a fight.”

The Shepherd stopped thrashing and allowed him to pull her nearer while answering, “Have you seen what they do for my legs and my ass?” He had, he could see it right now. “Besides, they serve a function.” She pushed her hands up under her body and flipped herself onto her back. She drove the hard, narrow point of her heel hard into the musculature just below his left shoulder.

He growled and nearly bit his tongue. 

Evil, demon of a woman. 

The stiletto ground against sinew and bone, the pain sending a flash of white static through his vision. He dropped his grip on her leg, and groaned as she pulled her foot free from his shoulder, centimeter by visceral centimeter.

The woman scurried away, standing and disappearing around the corner in the hall at dead run. 

He stood and tested his shoulder, it seemed that she managed not to tear any ligaments or tendons. He could move through the pain. Thane darted off after her, “Running away? That is very unlike you.”

“No … ugh … just looking for a change of scenery,” he heard her breathless and grunting reply from down the hall heading towards the elevator. As he neared the hall, he saw her forcing the doors open and pulling herself up and into the empty elevator shaft. He followed after, fully expecting her to be waiting at the next floor to push him to his death down the shaft.

But she was not there.

Instead, a small ceramic saucer came flying at him, a projectile sent from inside of the truly ridiculous, large double doors leading into the boardroom. He ducked below it, but didn't see the next saucer, until it struck him right in the side of the head. The ceramic shattered against his scales, and he could feel the stinging heat of blood gathering on small cuts.

The Shepherd was standing on the board room table, an enormous expanse of wood cut from a singular tree, stained and sealed with resin. She pulled her foot back and kicked a holo-conference terminal, sending it sailing towards him. Thane leaned to the side, easily dodging the awkward projectile.

He balled up his fist and pulled it back, gathering biotic energy before releasing it. It sailed into her and sent her sprawling to the surface of the table. Paper, more saucers, and a datapad or two went scattering out from under her fall. He jumped onto the table, rapidly closing the distance. 

She crossed her ankles around one of his legs, pulling him to the surface of the table. Their fight turned into something more akin to a schoolyard brawl. They traded sloppy, awkward blows, rolling back and forth on the broad meeting room table.

Suddenly, she had him pinned, pressing hard into the wound on his shoulder while she reached for the belt secured around her leg.

Thane wrapped his right hand over her face and pushed her head back hard, and grabbed her wrist with his other hand as she attempted to stab him with the knife that had been hidden on the inside of her thigh. He pushed up while she pushed down. She shifted her head and snapped her teeth around the base of his thumb hard enough to draw blood.

He bared his teeth at her and growled. Thane shifted his weight and wrapped his leg over her hip, with her knife-wielding hand still held firmly in his grip, he pulled her down close just before rolling over her. He sat fully on her abdomen, preventing her from rolling and thrashing.

She clawed at his throat with her free hand, curses quickly turned to animalistic cries as she struggled to keep her grip on her precious little knife. Much of her hair had come loose, splayed out in messy tangles around her head and cheeks. Blood seeped from a bite mark on her lip and her eyes burned with fury, and perhaps, fear.

Thane wrenched the knife from her hand and threw it off to the side. It hit the tiled floor with a sharp, metallic crack, but was immediately forgotten as the woman returned to clawing, scratching and hitting him with every ounce of energy she could muster. And it did hurt. He wrapped his hands around her slender wrists with crushing strength. She let out a guttural cry and twisted at the abdomen, trying to free herself. Her legs scrambled to find purchase on the table and push him up from on top of her, but all she accomplished was scraping deep ruts into the resin coating on the wood.

He gathered her wrists in one hand and brought them down hard and awkwardly just above her head. He brought his other hand to her throat, the buttons of her collar long since pulled free during their struggle, and he paused.

Beneath his fingers, the smooth, but too long line of the scar taunted him. It was thin, almost surgical in its precision, but cruel. His cruelty, not hers. 

His heart skipped while hers thundered beneath his ghosting touch. Her chest rose and fell so rapidly, she was on the verge of hyperventilating. Genuinely.

The Shepherd looked up at him with those wide, terrified eyes of hers. She let her head fall back to the tabletop, exhaled, and squeezed her eyes shut. “Just do it, Thane. You win. Better this way, wouldn't want it to be anyone else.”  Silent tears rolled from the corners of her eyes. “The last time, right?” she asked with a choked, pitiful laugh.

"No," he said, frozen in place with just the barest contact with her skin.

Her breath hitched and her eyes flew open. Impossibly, her heart began to beat faster, breaths came out in short, fast bursts from her nose. "What? Fuck, don't drag this out!” She cried out. “Just snap my neck, or shit, strangle me. Plea-"

Her confused protestations were silenced when his lips covered hers in a bruising, searing kiss. She gasped and he released her hands. Just as he was pulling back to ask her if that was alright, she grabbed fistfuls of his shirt and brought him back to her lips.

In seconds they were consumed by each other, psychological games, anger and violence all but forgotten in the blinding heat of raw, pent up desire. The way she moved and how they were suddenly undressed was dizzying. His memories of the softness of her skin and sweet melody of her voice could never compare to the satin plush of her thighs gripping his waist, or the sounds that tumbled from her mouth.

By the gods, the sounds she made. They were healing waters from the wellspring of her lips. They were quiet, keening mewls, breathy gasps, and those hushed moans pressed against his lips like mumbled prayers. And oh, the way she whined when his teeth scraped against the delicate curve of her throat. He was drunk on the way she breathed his name with muted fervor.

His world turned upside down, and the cool surface of the table met his back. Loose tendrils of her hair brushed his scales as she moved over him. Her head tipped back and her lips parted, forming the perfect silhouette of ecstasy. The muscles in her stomach slithered and writhed with the hypnotic rhythm beneath his hands.  

He was lost in the intoxicating, feverish warmth of her. 

It crested, they existed on the edge of a corona, just before falling over the edge into the crushing gravity, and all-consuming, plasmic bliss. It surged through him like an electric shock and stole his breath, made his fingers tingle like her skin held a static charge.

She collapsed on top of him, the full weight of her small body pushing what little air was held in his lungs out with a groan. The Shepherd laughed, breathless but musical. “It happened again,” she muttered against his chest.

Thane wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight to him and carding his hand into her hair, and drawing gentle circles between her shoulders with the other. She shivered, goosebumps rising beneath carefully filed talons. Her fingers traced lines over the soft ridges of his neck. He stared up at the ceiling above them, struggling to control the surge of confused emotion mounting inside of him. “It did,” he agreed quietly. “Will you tell me your name?”

He could feel her muscles tense, and her shoulder blades drew close together before she released the tension with a sad sigh. “No,” she started and then hesitated. “My real name belongs to someone I’m not anymore. Call me Sophie, always liked that one.”

“Sophie,” he repeated into her flower scented hair.

“There isn’t anyone else. To love or to hate me,” she said suddenly, somehow disarming him again.

“You have me,” it rolled off of his lips too easily. She did that to him, pulled his guard away and rendered him loose with his affections and tongue.

She’d probably try to kill him right now. Tear him apart with biotics, or reveal that she’d poisoned some innocuous part of the office that he touched. Maybe that absurd lion’s head door knob at the entrance to the office. Maybe even the heel of her ridiculous shoe. That’s how this usually went.

Instead, she raised her head and looked at him with tired, quizzical eyes, “To love, or to hate me?”

“Perhaps, it is both,” he responded honestly. Maybe the gods knew, because he certainly did not.

“We can figure it out the next last time,” she said with a small smirk playing at the corner of her bruised, cut and perfect lips. “Assuming we don’t kill each other first.”

He returned her smile with one of his own. “I would not want it to be anyone else.”

[nicolewoo]

Super Earth Part 5: Debris Field

Pairing: Roman Reigns X Reader

Warning: none

Super Earth Chapter 5: Debris field

I’m guessing Kaiser regretted asking me to join the chess tournament right about the first time I had his king in check. “Baaaahhh!” He grumbled as he laid his King down. “You should have told me you’re a master.”

“I’m not a master. I was just better than you.” I kidded him as Dr. Davinci and Dr. Guntar laughed from the table next to us, where they had been watching the game for a while.

Guntar’s booming voice and Austrian accent rose above the room, interrupting the other 2 ongoing games. “Regret inviting her now, huh? You invite her, and she kicks you out in the first round!” He laughed again.

When I beat Dr. Guntar in the second round, he didn’t laugh, but Kaiser and Davinci did.

I checked the clock. “Ok everyone, it’s 2200, and I’ve got an early alarm. Round 3 tomorrow night?”

Everyone agreed, and the room began to slowly empty. We’d all been talking about the matches; going over strategy and teasing the losers.

“I’m going to go shower and then check on the plants.” Roman said with a smirk when nobody was watching.

I knew what he meant, so I bid him and everyone else a good night and went back to my quarters. I was still in a towel drying my hair when I heard the secret door from the maintenance hall open. I ran over quickly and unlocked the door.

He smiled big when he saw me. “Easy access!” He joked as he playfully tugged the top edge of the towel trying to pull it off me.

“Get in here.” I laughed, and wrapped my arms around him.

“Captain, we’ve got a problem.” It was my co-pilot Jamie on my communications pad.

I sighed. Roman and I were right in the middle of making love. I reluctantly got up, went to the communications pad and pressed the button to answer. “What’s going on Jamie?”

“Debris! A lot of it! Scans are showing some organic content. I’m thinking it’s probably the remains of an old sun or planet, and we’re headed right toward it.”

Fuck! “How long until we intercept?”

“10 minutes Sir.” Jamie answered.

I was already getting dressed by the time she was done talking. “I’m on my way! Start steering away from the field if you haven’t already.” I answered. Roman took my lead and started frantically throwing clothes on.

I hit the intercom as I was zipping up my shirt. “Mr. Cassidy to the cockpit ASAP!”

I was walking out when I heard the panel chirp, “Yes Captain.”

I started rushing to the cockpit when I realized Roman was going with me. Oh shit! No! “Roman, I can’t take you with me.” I didn’t stop walking and he didn’t stop either.

“I want to help. I can keep an eye on the systems while you fly or something.” I’d given Roman 2 flying lessons, but he wasn’t ready to be in a situation like this.

Now I stopped for a second. “Ro, we’re going to be in communication with base. They’re going to be helping, and it’s going to look suspicious if you’re in there.” He stopped, quickly kissing my forehead.

“Ok. Go!” he said, and I did.

Orange was already in the cockpit checking readings when I got there. Jamie looked so tense I wouldn’t have been surprised if she hyperventilated. I tapped her shoulder, and she happily turned the controls over to me. “Intercom.” I said as soon as I sat down. I heard the beep. “Good afternoon crew and passengers.” I tried to sound calm as I looked over the data we’d collected on the debris field. “I’m afraid our ride might get bumpy soon. We are going to go through the edge of a debris field from what we believe was an exploded star or planet. We are trying to turn the ship out of the path, but we’ll still get some debris. It’s a pretty rare thing, and we’re going to pass some neat pieces, so I encourage you all to watch it from your seats.”

I clicked the intercom off. “Jamie,” before I even asked, she sent new data to my station. I hit the coms button again, “All right everyone. I have a lot of experience flying through debris, and I’ve got some excellent crew here to help me. Fortunately, we are still in coms range of base, so they’ll be helping too. I’ll steer us between the big pieces, but we may still hit some small pieces, and they’ll sound loud. Don’t get scared.” I paused for a second. “Crew, please make sure our passengers are safely seated and and have something to hold onto.”

I clicked off the com, and Orange clicked it on, “Engineering, to your stations. Be prepared to give me a status update every few minutes.”

“Explorer, this is base. Are you ready?” The radio chirped.

I clicked the proper button, “We are ready, base. How long until we reach the edge of the field?”

  Cassidy, Jamie and base all answered: “Three minutes and 43 seconds.”

I chuckled at them all answering, and realized I was tense too. “Alright. We’re all on the same page.”

I clicked the ship’s intercom, “Ok everyone, we have 3 minutes 40 seconds until we reach the field. Take a seat, buckle yourself in, and find something to hold onto.”

The next 3 minutes seemed to be in slow motion as data was sent back and forth, and everyone prepared. “Here we go.”

Orange, having been through similar situations a couple of times, was quick to turn on some classical music, knowing it helped me focus.

The next 20 minutes were sheer hell. Despite avoiding the large pieces, we managed to hit a lot of small pieces. Each one capable of doing damage to the ship. Orange and Jamie flinched a couple of times. I was completely focused, and when we exited the field, I felt like I’d been in a fight.

“BOOYA!” Orange called out. “That was some amazing flying, Cap!”

I could feel the tension around me dissipating, but I wasn’t done yet. “Give me a couple minutes to get us farther from the debris field and back on course.” I said over my shoulder. I stayed at the helm another 10 minutes. Checking the scanners, I saw that we were far enough from the field that I was certain we were clear.

Standing up, I took a deep breath. “Jamie, take the helm.” I said as I stretched the tension out of my body. “Orange? Damage report.”

Orange reviewed his status reports from Engineering. “Looks like we’ve got a few blown conduits, two circuit overloads. All easy fixes.” He turned to me now, giving me a big high five. “If you’re done with me, I’ll head down to Engineering to get repairs started.” I nodded yes.

I radioed base. “Base, we’re free of the debris field. Thank you for your assistance.”

The static on the radio showed just how far we were. We’d be out of communications range by tomorrow. “Well done, Captain. That was some fancy flying.”

“Jamie” I turned to her “You ok?”

She nodded before she answered. “Yeah. Thank you Captain.”

“Thanks for your help everyone.” As I started leaving, I heard Jamie announce to the ship that the danger was over. She added that I’d done some amazing flying. I could hear the faint cheering from people on the ship. “Where are our passengers?” I asked the computer as I walked to the mess.

“Most are in the mess hall. Some went to their labs.” That made sense. They had to keep their samples safe. As I entered the mess, the room erupted in cheering, whistling and congratulations everywhere.

Looking around the room, I saw that the ship’s chef, Carmello, was leading the cheering. “Can I get a stiff drink?” I yelled over the din to him. Everyone laughed. A second later, someone handed me a bottle of Jack Daniels, and I took a heavy gulp to calm my nerves.

Exhaling more of my stress, I plopped unceremoniously in one of the chairs. One by one, the scientists came by to thank or congratulate me. Truthfully, the only person I wanted to see was Roman. I spotted him across the room stealing glances at me as he talked to Dr. Lee. He smiled warmly at me. I wanted nothing more than to collapse in his arms.

A few minutes later, I tried to quiet the room. When I wasn’t able, Dr. Owens whistled loud. That worked. “Ok, we have some repairs to make, but I wanted you all to know the danger has passed.” The room erupted in cheers again, but they quieted quickly. “Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I’m going to relax a bit.”

There were a few more pats on the back as I left. I shot Roman a look, and he nodded at me.

Roman slipped in through the secret door. I was laying sprawled out on the bed, trying to relax. He didn’t say a word, just closed the door behind him and came to hold me. It was what I wanted… what I needed. We laid side by side in peace for a while.

“That was some impressive flying.” He finally whispered.

“Thanks,” I said into his chest. “It was nerve wracking.” I said, and he kissed my forehead.

“I can imagine.” He pulled back a bit, his sexy ass smirk hinting at another way to relieve stress.

It was so unexpected, I laughed before nodding to him.

@mindofasagitarius @lclb13 @serenityfiretrash @lustyromantic @reigns-5sos @bigpsychicbagelauthor @omg-im-such-a-masochist @marlananicole @wickedsunfire @starwithaheart @spookys-girl @pitlissa22 @snowpanda18 @thesamoanqueen

@sassginaswanmills

[blogberthday]

Chapter 7 - Sense of Humor

Click here to read the previous chapter! -> Chapter 6 - Frostbite and Flames

To read this chapter, click or tap the 'Keep reading' button. You can also find this chapter on AO3!

"Even with a couple of healing potions and a visit from a priest of Mara, it took me a few weeks to get back on my feet," Lorelai said, running her hand along her left shin. "My nose never really healed right and I still have some pain in my foot, but I got to keep my leg. Thank Kynareth for that."

She was careful to leave the amulet out of her story. It was tucked safely under her armour, but she would have to find somewhere safe to keep it while they travelled together.

Lorelai looked out towards Lake Ilinalta. The rain had slowed, and the clouds were beginning to clear.

"Nobody in Dawnstar recognized the name of the ship, and, not having any coin, I wasn't able to afford passage back to High Rock. I've been working as a courier since then, trying to save up the fare.

"You don't remember anything else? Your name, your family? Any memories of who you were?"

"No. Just the bit before the ship went down and a few glimpses here and there. There's a big gap between getting hit by the boom and waking up at Thardan and Hargi's hut a couple days later, too - not that I really want to remember the rest of that night, even if I could."

Taliesin smiled sadly, letting out a chuckle. Clearly the gods enjoyed a little irony. He wished that they would focus more on being merciful.

Hearing his laughter, Lorelai scowled at him. "What? Is that so funny to you? A little bit of concussion humor?"

"Oh! No, I didn't mean it that way. It's just… Ironic. You can't remember who you are, your family, or where you come from, and wish that you could. Whereas I…" He looked away, as though he had said something he shouldn't have.

She wanted to press further, but Taliesin stood up and put a hand out from under the overhang.

"The rain has stopped. We'd best be headed to Falkreath if we want to make it there before nightfall." He moved to the other Justiciar's body and, sitting it up, began to peel off the agent's robes.

"What are you doing?!" Lorelai looked away, scandalized.

"Agent Sanyon died of a blow to the head. My robes are ruined, but his are only a little bloodied. We might have use for them in the future. Him," Taliesin looked down at Sanyon's corpse, "Not so much."

He finished his work and stuffed the rain-soaked and bloodied robes into the now-empty knapsack Lorelai had found. "We left our horses down near the main path. You can take Sanyon's."

. . .

"She's beautiful." Lorelai stroked the horse's nose. "What's her name?" "Sanyon called her 'Peaches', after the fruit. They grow in Cyrodiil, mostly, and in the southern parts of High Rock."

"Peaches…" Lorelai repeated. "It suits you," She said to the horse. "Sweet and fuzzy."

Peaches whinnied, pushing her nose towards Lorelai. Lorelai continued to stroke the horse, gently scratching the top of her head. "And your horse?" She looked to Taliesin, who was standing next to a beautiful stark white mare.

"This lovely creature," Taliesin put his hand on his horse's saddle, "Is called Naomi." He looked over to Lorelai, watching for her reaction.

Lorelai snorted, then covered her mouth with her hands, laughing. "I'm so sorry," she wheezed, "it's just. Naomi?" She giggled again. "I didn't expect a Thalmor Justiciar to have a sense of humor like that."

"I'm one of a kind." He smiled. He had been waiting for someone to appreciate that pun for years - since he'd arrived in Skyrim.

Perhaps being presumed dead wouldn't be so bad after all.

[st4rlight-kayz]

Kisses Of Death

Synopsis: Briar was not just a party girl. She was also a fucking serial killer. Meanwhile Ashlynn's the victim of her dark, twisted actions. She's just following her around like the puppy she is.

A/N: This might be my last eah fic, or not. Because, I wanna write about other fandoms and experience with them ofc. dw I'm not quitting eah fics! I just need a break from writing about them. (This fic is OOC,, please.. no complaining in my comments or reblogs. Go yap about this to ya mama and not me😭.) Cupid's the first to die, sorry CA Cupid lovers.

Genre: Horror (romance and angst if you squint)

Fandom: Ever After High

cw: slashing (mentioned) various weapons, character deaths, inappropriate language, victims pleading for their lives/future, Briar showing no mercy/remorse, homicidal tendencies, bruises, obsessed feelings about Ashlynn, stalker. dark themes, manipulation and drugging. (if I missed any lmk)

WRITTEN - 11.16.24

FINISHED - 11.18.14

Taglist * @smileyfacemojisworld @eahravenmh @rebellore @athena-xox @fashion-foxy @oldmarriedwife @eternalerror @epicfairyfail @ellarain @forsakenostalgia @birdbombs714 @beezonia @applewhitehorse @aniovandoblog @sparklyfarmfreakpaper @storylinefanfic @kittycheshired @aestheticsaddicted @dremiruu @dayo-seign @nmixieee @kae-eee @dayo-seign @gayestwizardlord @dremiruu @evry1luvzbrae

Blondie's MirrorCast Show:

Yeah. This was terrible. 8 unalive teenagers was truly sickening, not to mention that they were friends with Briar Beauty.. they pleaded for their lives then boom. Dropped dead. And Briar was having a thrill w/ this killing spree. Or that could be a stupid rumor going around. The students at Ever After High don't know their lives could be next on Briar's body count list.

"Well.. that's all for Blondie's MirrorCast show! Be sure to tune in next week for the update on the slasher~" Blondie blew a kiss at the screen, meanwhile Dexter was holding it he pressed the 'UPLOAD' button and a voice was heard from her tablet. Blondie smiled in satisfaction.

"Hopefully the students love this episode! Blood, sweat and tears." Blondie exaggerated. Dexter chuckled, giving her tablet back and walking to Chemythstry class. They'd have a project due on Wednesday and had to finish it asap.

While Ashlynn was on her way to Advanced Ballet, she left something in her locker. She'd twist the combinations until a weird feeling came out of nowhere.. the feeling like she was being watched and she was.. all of a sudden a tall girl was tapping her shoulder, she slowly turned around and jumped.

"Briar? What class should you be in right now." Ashlynn asked with a bit of nervousness in her voice. Briar really didn't feel like going to class today.. But since she was on the Honor Roll and had to stay on top of that, she sighed.

"Arts and Crafts." She mumbled, Ashlynn raised a eyebrow in confusion.

"Wait what? Speak up.."

"I said Arts and Crafts." The other girl nodded, biting her lip. She turned around back to face her locker, again. Twisting the combination and grabbing her book. "What class are you heading to?" Briar said in a curious tone. Ashlynn turned around face-to-face with Briar.

"Advanced Ballet, which I should be goin-" Briar's eyes widened and she grabbed Ashlynn's hand, kind of holding her back. "..My bad, attachment issues." Briar rolled her eyes, letting her hand go. She walked away after that. Ashlynn looked very dumbfounded.. but she shrugged it off and walked to Advanced Ballet now.

3:23 In the afternoon, Lizzie was in the library and she was reading a Romantic Novel, it was her favorite place to relax when classes were over, or stressing her out. She heard three familiar voices and raised a eyebrow in confusion.

"Why do we have to have to put all the books in alphabetical order?! Oh my Godmother this is gonna take ages.." Madeline leaned against the bookshelf, trying to catch her breath. Apple gave her a frown, crossing her arms.

"At least the Step-Sisters assigned us three to do this, and we're willing to finish it by anything means." Apple patted Madeline's shoulder, smiling. Raven was listening to Tailor Quick in her headphones, she took them out and gave an agreement nod. "Yeah, Mads! It's not that bad."

Lizzie closed her book and walked to the girls, still with that confusion written on her face. "What did you guys do?"

"Okay, so.. Me, Raven and Mads here accidentally- like I said, accidentally threw a hextbook at Faybelle because she was being mean to Madeline and we.. ended up here. But Raven and Madeline insisted on helping me put these books in alphabetical order." She smiled sheepishly. Lizzie sighed disappointingly.

"Oh my Grimm, Apple.. well, since I'm here? I'll help you out. On the other hand, at least 4 is better than 3, right?"

"That's Hat-tastic! Thank you so much Liz!" Madeline smiling, hugging her. Lizzie smiled and squeezed her back. Few minutes later they were exhausted. "Let's get a drink or snack.. I'm tired." Raven stood up and walked out, the other girls followed behind her.

---

7:12, evening.. The night of Briar's party. Music was blasting, alcoholics were getting drunk out their minds. Ashlynn was sitting on the nearby couch, she was evidently forced to be here, she could be in her dorm, sleeping. But nope, stuck here with underaged, drunk teenagers. Farrah came up to her, she wasn't the least sober.

"Lemme guess, forced to attend?"

"Obviously." Ashlynn held the red cup of Rum, she didn't dare to drink it because Briar might've spiked it or tried to drug her. She sat it on the nearby table, crossing her arms. "What's wrong?" Farrah asked her, she shook her head, walking to the bathroom.

Briar and Cupid were talking by the kitchen counter. It was a friendly conversation between them until it got not-so friendly.. few minutes later Briar noticed Cupid talking to Ashlynn on the couch, just coming back from the bathroom. She spotted them and Briar's eyes had fire behind them. She silently raged in her head, eye twitching and all. Clenching and unclenching her fists, she calmed down and called Cupid over again.

Handing her a special drink. (The drink was spiked, she got drugged..) Few seconds after drinking Cupid felt lightheaded, her body temperature felt very hot. Her mind was felt with dizziness & fuzziness..

"Is my vision going black? Briar? What'd you do-" before she could speak again, she was drugged out her mind. She collapsed on the cold, freezing ground. Briar smugly smiled at her unconscious body, stepping over her and walking to Ashlynn.

"Ashh! I missed you so much!" Briar squeezed her a little bit too hard, her ribcage felt it was gonna break. Ashlynn panicked, trying to wiggle herself out. Finally letting her to get a grasp of air. She looked over at her untouched cup, Briar crossed her arms and shook her head.

"You didn't drink it.." Ashlynn scrunched up her face. "First of all, you might've tried to drug me? I don't even drink Rum to begin with." Briar rolled her eyes, locking eyes with Ashlynn. "Buzzkill, let loose for once! You only live once upon a time." Briar shrugged. Ashlynn nodded in a 'no' gesture and the other girl frowned.

"Fine." Cedar, who attended the party saw Cupid. Hand over her mouth so she doesn't end up throwing up, she wobbled backwards and ran to Briar.

"Briar! I- I saw Cupid, she's just laying there! Do you know what happened?!" Cedar was so.. easy to manipulate. Does she realized that Briar Beauty is the one who drugged Cupid? Ashlynn raised a eyebrow, hand on Briar's shoulder. Cedar and Briar were now face-to-face.

"No, sorry Cedar.. when I was talking to her she just- passed out? Maybe she was overheated." Lies. Briar gave a 'innocent' look.

"Check to see if she still has a pluse, CPR. Anything." Ashlynn chimed in, Briar rolled her eyes at Ashlynn's suggestion, no doubt that was gonna work.

"Okay.." Cedar smiled nervously. Briar turned back around to face her girlfriend. Ashlynn yanked her hand and took her to a far-away place from the party.

"I know what happened to those 8 teenagers." Ashlynn blurted out, breathing slowly. "Why would you- That's so sick. I can't even see myself to be in public with you!"

Briar's eyes widened. How did Ashlynn know that it was her? Without any DNA evidence? "I have.. no part in this. Just because Blondie's MirrorCast Show predicts everything? Doesn't mean I'm the killer." Ashlynn nodded her head in a 'yes, you are' gesture.

Briar felt her head, twitching with malfunctioning electronic circuits. How could her own partner not believe what she has to say? It was driving her insane.

"I need DNA from your little weapons. I still don't believe any shit your saying right now, Bri! Not to mention those 8 people were your friends-"

"We're past that. Okay? My brain is drowning in regret, guilt. Like I said before, it's not true. If you don't believe me? Let's go through my weapons stashed in my.. closet and see if there's DNA." Ash was still skeptical about this, she followed behind her in her dorm. She placed the wooden box on her side (Briar) of the bed, opening it up.

Ashlynn's eyes widened, holding a blade.. Who did she assassinate with a blade? Pretty useless weapon if you asked me.

Briar held the knife in her hand, nervousness dripping to her face to her heart. This exact weapon she was holding had DNA on it. There was nothing she could do, literally nothing. She couldn't hide it now, she's fucked.

Ashlynn lifted it up and noticed the dusty fingerprints, which looked which similar to Briar's hands. She had to compare them first, then she knew it.

Ashlynn shook her head rapidly, dropping her shoulders to release her stress. Putting the knife back in the box, and sitting on the edge of the bed. Briar placed the box back in her closet and looked at Ash with a worried expression.

"You're probably still ashamed of.. you know, dating a psychopath? Don't blame you either." The other girl was zoned out, her saying was going in one ear and out the other.

Ashlynn felt like she was going into a huge puddle of blood, not her blood exactly, someone else's.

Even though she would never hurt a fly or human, she was driven to murderousr tendencies, she was so influenced by Briar's terrible behavior that she became her puppy, puppet.

Briar noticed that she was zoned out and tapped her shoulder, this was the second time this made her jump in fear.

"You have to stop doing that." Ashlynn rolled her eyes, but playfully. She smiled and stood up, looking at Briar. "Back to the party now..? I'm kind of- still, scared." Briar frowned, she stood up and cupped her cheeks, titling her head a few inches away from her lips.

"Scared of me right? Don't worry.. I'm not gonna kill you. If you don't end up wrongdoing me." Briar kissed her passionately, still in a good mood. She dragged Ashlynn back to the party and sat her on the couch, looking for Cedar. She noticed her near the kitchen counter and ran to her, whispering. "Where's Cupid's body.."

Cedar furrowed her eyebrows. "In the trashcan, behind the school.. Her body was starting to smell so, so bad." Briar sighed in relief. Filling two cups up with Rum, one cup for her and another one for Ashlynn, even though she told her she doesn't drink it.

"Here, for you." Briar handed her the rum, sighing and drinking it. Ashlynn chugged the whole thing in 2 seconds. "That actually tastes good.. I don't know why I was so hesitant to try it." Ashlynn shrugged, Briar nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I had at least 3 cups and I'm starting to sober down.. No more alcohol for me." Ashlynn giggled and they both did cheers and enjoyed the party.

Few hours later and Ashlynn was in the bathroom, in her dorm room throwing up. Briar kneeled down and soothed her shoulders, pampering her. "Never again.. your a bad influence on me, Briarr.." Ashlynn whining and drunkenly. Wiping her mouth with a towel, staying by the toilet in-case she ends up disgorging again. "Like I said before, you only live once upon a life time." Briar recalled, winking.

[silkendress]

Bitten Bullet

Previous Chapter First Chapter Next Chapter Chapter 2: Just You

Call of Duty Suggestive Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build 8k words Read on AO3

He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

You stare blankly at your phone.

You lay flat on your back on the bed, almost completely swallowed up by blankets, your phone screen the brightest light source in your dark room.

It’s the night after Simon gave you his number. It’s the night where you are wracking your head for what to text him for the first time.

In your mind, you have to text him tonight. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t want his company. Yesterday you tried to think of something to say too, but nothing clicked.

You stare at your phones virtual keyboard, your thumb hovering over letters but never pressing them. You’re on the screen to send Simon something.

You wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s awake like you; if he’s a night owl or has difficulty sleeping.

The thought of him sleeping puts the thought of him without his mask in your head. You wonder what he looks like under there. You wonder if he’s waiting on you to text or call like how you’re waiting for your nerves to settle to do one of those things.

You’ve been laying here for what feels like hours.

Maybe just a simple text telling him it was you—so that he could save your number in return—was enough.

That’s what you end up going with. You make sure to include your name and some mildly identifiable information—‘the one that works at a bookstore, you walked me home again yesterday’—and hit send before you become too embarrassed.

You click the power button on your phone to make the screen go dark and you bury yourself under your blankets, your heart pounding as though you just ran a marathon.

When you wake in the morning you pace your morning routine as not to rush. You were putting off checking your messages due to nerves. It wasn’t as if the slower you went would change anything, but it made you feel better to put it off for now.

You make up your bed. You brush your teeth. You shower. You don’t check your phone.

It isn’t until you’ve dried off and redressed that you finally built up the nerve to see if Simon replied to you. He did. There’s a tornado of butterflies in your stomach.

‘Got it.’ Was all he replied. You felt oddly relieved, you weren’t sure what you were so nervous about—Simon didn’t seem the type to be a texter, anyway. That was fine, you were certain many people weren’t. You were just pleased he responded at all.

Your phone hangs loosely in your palm as you walk to the kitchen to have something for breakfast. Thoughts pass your mind, all about Simon.

Another day passes. You fall back into a mundane routine. You haven’t texted Simon since, you’re not sure how to initiate conversation with him, despite your borderline desperate longing to do so.

Chloe told you earlier today that she would be with her sister for another two weeks, that her sister and the baby are healthy but she just wants to be with them. Chloe sounds happy, you’re happy for her.

It’s yet another late night that you can’t sleep. You’re in a cocoon of blankets trying not to stare at your phone—you remember reading somewhere about ‘blue light’ and sleep disruption. It takes a few minutes of you laying as still as a statue until you drift off.

A booming, revving noise makes you jump awake, gasping for air.

The motorcycle again. Your phone is in your hand before you know it.

‘I heard a motorcycle just now. Was that you by any chance?’

You hit send before your doubts can creep up and paralyze you. You hastily click it off and set it on the nightstand to lay back in the bed.

You’re not sure exactly how much time passes between that text being sent and now, just that it feels like forever. Now that you thought of it, you suppose someone would have to pull over first to do anything on their phone on a motorcycle.

You were expecting the notification ping of a new text message, so you jolt upright when your phone begins to ring.

You stare at the now lit up screen of your phone with wide eyes and lips parted in mild shock. On the third ring you snap yourself out of it and make yourself answer.

“Hello?” Your voice wavers and you clear your throat. You mentally wince.

“Hey,” the low sound of him on the other end gives you excited jitters. “Did I wake you?” He sounds careful, a barely-there softness to his voice that makes your hands get increasingly fidgety.

“No, no. I’m just a light sleeper, is all.” You mutter, huffing out a soft laugh in a nervous reflex.

He hums, and then there’s silence.

Not quite silence but close enough because Simon isn’t saying anything. You think you can hear the soft rumble of an engine in the background on the other end. You wonder if he pulled in a gas station to refuel, or if he returned home for the night but decided to call you before heading in.

You think Simon is alright with it—the lulls in conversation. You could relate to an extent, you were quiet too, but he definitely was more self-assured than you. He never felt the impulse to unnecessarily fill the silence with chatter.

You’re so deep in thought that when he speaks again it almost makes you flinch in surprise.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your mouth feels dry, you have to swallow before you can speak. “Uh, no, I have work—“

“Day after?” Flat and to the point, he isn’t deterred one bit.

“Yes. I-I’d be free then.” Your heartbeat feels like a drum.

You hesitate before asking; “Why?”

There’s a pause, you can’t tell what Simon is thinking, only that his reply is spoken bluntly.

“Got a second helmet yesterday.”

The day is bright and beautiful, the sky is blue and the warm sun is a welcome contrast to the chilly autumn breeze. Your eyes are trained on the road and your ears are especially attuned to anything that sounds like a motorcycle.

After the call Simon texted you a time and a place. You spent the entirety of yesterday thinking about today, and now you were fiddling with your hands in an attempt to dissipate the nervous energy in your limbs.

Here you were about to get on the back of a bike owned by a man you had a chance encounter with at a bar—a man you had grown increasingly intrigued by and even tentatively fond of, but that was beside the point. You think you’re being more daring than you ever had in your entire life precisely because you were becoming keenly aware of the fact your comfort zone was suffocating you.

It doesn’t change the mild absurdity of the situation.

‘I don’t even drink.’

You find yourself checking your phone periodically for the time, Simon would be coming in a few minutes.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. But then again, you couldn’t believe you met Simon at all, let alone kept in touch with him.

He wasn’t a stranger anymore, he was an acquaintance now, surely. You still had so many musings about him, curiosities that had yet to be sated; but you held back. You didn’t want to overstep a potential boundary.

But that didn’t change the fact you curious about him.

You wanted to get a close look at his tattoos. You wanted to know the story behind each one—assuming there was one to be told—and when he got them.

You wanted to know what his laugh sounded like.

You wanted to know what he looked like.

You wanted to know if he wondered about you like you did him.

You wanted to be able to say you knew him, not just an awareness of his existence but a deeper knowledge of him as a person.

You waffle back and forth with your thoughts. ‘He’s the one that offered to take me on his bike,’ you remind yourself in intervals. It works for calming your nerves, but only for a short while.

Your mind combs over things about Simon you do know.

He’s in the military.

He likes motorcycles.

He smokes.

He always wears a mask.

He, for some reason, is keeping in contact with you.

And he is also about to pull up to you.

Your mind belatedly catches up with your senses. You hear the revving first then you see Simon—and the bike—in the distance.

It’s like all of your self-soothing methods were for naught. Your stomach flutters with frenzied nerves and you shift your weight on your feet repeatedly in an effort to shake off some of the jitters.

A part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually show up.

You don’t know much about motorcycles, you couldn’t tell what kind it was by looking at it. It was black and shiny, the metal bits of it reflected the sunlight.

Simon looks in his element on it. More than competent. Your legs feel wobbly.

He rolls up and his boots settle on the ground, then his heel pushes out the kickstand. You can tell it’s a motion he has done many times before, there’s no hesitation or carefulness to it.

Simon flips up his visor. His eyes take you in, lingering for a moment on your fidgeting, gloved hands—the gloves he gave to you—then back up to you.

He dismounts his bike, a lazy cadence to his movements. Your face feels warmer all of the sudden.

His helmet comes off much the same way, he’s wearing a mask like you expected, and denim jeans and a thick hoodie. He rests the helmet on the seat of the bike for now. In the sunlight his cropped blond hair reminds you of straw.

“Nervous, are you?” He nods down towards your hands. You tuck them in your pockets.

“A little, yes.”

He grunts. “Don’t be,” he meanders to the back of the bike and opens up the trunk box attached to it. “I won’t be goin’ above the speed limit. Not while you’re with me.” His tone is almost protective. You’re not familiar with that tone general, it makes your insides feel fuzzy.

He pulls out another helmet. Your heart rate doesn’t go any slower.

Simon comes over to you with the helmet tucked underneath his muscular arm. Your hands are about to extend outwards to take it from him, but he takes another step forward.

He takes the helmet from under his arm holds it out. “Gonna put this on ya now.”

He says it slowly, almost tentative. His eyes are so intensely trained on you that you almost feel self conscious. Your mind swims, a vast sea of uncontrollable thoughts.

Your brain catches up in slow motion. Simon interprets your silence as a green light to continue.

It’s no-nonsense and straight to the point, but for you it feels like an eternity. You are paralyzed in place and looking straight ahead to avoid his gaze—straight ahead just so happens to be his broad chest, which fills up most of your vision.

He’s careful yet swift with placing the helmet on your head, his gloved thumbs brush over your cheek incidentally as he settles it on you. His palms almost encompass your entire face.

‘His hands are big.’ You realize helplessly.

It wasn’t like you’ve never seen his hands before, it just was that there was something about having said hands in such close proximity that made you starkly aware of their true scale.

You don’t have to wonder if there’s callouses or nicks on his hands, you’re so confident in your assumption that it would be more of a shock if there wasn’t.

It wouldn’t stretch your imagination too far to twist the brief, unintended contact into the image of him cupping your face instead. Your stomach swoops and you mentally berate yourself, mortified.

He demonstrates how to flip the visor up and down and how to take it off yourself. You find it remarkably difficult to absorb his instructions even despite your apt attention.

Then Simon’s eyes narrow questioningly down at you. Your heart lurches for a moment, he must have said something that should have prompted you to answer, but you were much too preoccupied with dousing the fire growing in your face and breathing slow to steady the rabbit-kicks between your lungs.

“Listen, if you’re not up for this—“

“I-I want to.”

You surprise yourself with your sudden insistence. The words tumble from your mouth inelegantly and rapidly. You truly wanted to crawl under a rock in that moment, you felt as though your desperation for human connection couldn’t have been more obvious. Rationally you knew that your blurted out reply could be understood as mere excitement, but you weren’t being very rational right now.

Fortunately, you don’t spiral further into self-deprecation as you are not given much of a chance to, not when Simon utters a single word that has your mind scrambling for a reason you’re not certain of.

Simon’s head slants ever so slightly, a look in his eye that you’d almost call amused. “Good.”

Something in the timbre of his voice reminds you of the fact that very soon you will be in the closest proximity you’ve ever been with him—or with any man for that matter. Hugging your male family members didn’t count.

He takes one step backwards away from you before turning on his heel and approaching the bike to put his own helmet back on.

“Alright,” he starts with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you pay attention. “When we go around corners don’t lean. If we get on the road and you’re too nervous just tap me and we’ll pull over, won’t be able to hear you that well unless we’re stopped.”

His speech isn’t harsh but it demands attention. Your eyes are wide, you’re nodding along. You wonder if he’s done this before—give people direction. It sounds like it. You are reminded of his job, military, he told you.

“Understand?” He crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head at you.

You nod. “I understand.”

He tips his head slightly forward in a single gesture of acknowledgment, seemingly pleased with your answer. He goes towards the bike, one hand on the handlebar and the other near the back.

Then, with an effortless amount of strength, he tugs the bike forward along with the momentum of taking a large step. The kickstand rolls up and away.

Your mouth goes dry when some ancient, primitive part of your brain shudders in delight. You shift your eyes away and downwards at your feet, burning and mortified.

 Simon settles himself on the bike, his long leg easily swinging over the side. He then motions you to come over with a single croon of his two fingers. Your heart is a drum.

With every step to him your nerves rise in anticipation, excited and electrified. You’ve never been on the back of a bike before.

When you come around to the side of the bike you pause. You find yourself once again thinking of how his presence will be adjacent to yours once you sit down behind him.

“Just swing your leg over it.” He supplies, acknowledging your hesitancy but being unaware of the deeper source.

You make yourself do it, lest you tick him off to the whirlwind going on inside your head.

You had to throw your leg wider than you were expecting, your shaky legs didn’t help you much. You were fearful that you would lose balance, but somehow scrambled on the back of it in one piece.

Your knee brushes against his hip incidentally, it’s barely a second of contact but you jerk your leg away like you had been burned regardless.

With how hot your face was feeling, you might as well have been.

It was an almost uncomfortable contrast; the heat of your body yet the chill on your skin due to the breeze. Your palms felt clammy in your gloves.

You pressed yourself as far back as you could on the seat, which wasn’t much considering the minuscule amount of space you were working with. The way you were seated was a bit awkward, it would be all too easy to scoot yourself forward to get more comfortable, but then you’d be pressed against his back.

“Settled?” Asks Simon. You nod, but then sputter when you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.” You clear your throat.

There’s a pause that stretches on long enough that you were worried you said something wrong somehow, you begin to analyze your conversation up until this point to try and figure out what, but before you can begin combing through your memories in earnest Simon speaks up.

“You can hold on if you need to.”

For a moment you don’t know what to say.

“Okay.”

And Simon just waits, almost expectant. He gave you the go ahead to hold onto him,and now he’s seemingly waiting for you to do exactly that. You weren’t even on the road yet.

He said you could. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to.

You move in increments. Your hands reach out slowly in front of you, slow enough that you don’t think Simon is aware you even are. Then you lurch forward, and there’s no discretion about it.

You move up in the seat, your arms hover over his sides, and—

Two hundred-something pounds of muscle suddenly becomes less abstract.

He’s solid. You can’t even wrap your arms around him entirely. You feel dizzy.

Your hands are laid flat and stiff over his abdomen, you can feel the steady rise and fall of him as he breathes. You imagine his heartbeat, strong and anchored. Not at all like yours, which was pounding with an almost frenzied electricity.

He shifts a little in his seat, he’s only getting comfortable but you are panicked that he’s attempting to nudge you off, so you lift your hands off him.

His hand, which completely wraps around your wrist, comes down to reposition your hands where they were previously.

It’s so fast yet so absentminded that you are convinced it’s more of a reflex than a conscious move.

He says nothing. You say nothing. Your palms rest against him.

The engine roars especially loud suddenly, you jump against him in surprise.

Your stomach swirls with nerves.

“Hold on.” His voice is raised just enough so that he can be heard over the noise. You find your fingers curling to clutch onto him when the bike begins to slowly move forward, turning to pull out into the road.

You cling ever tighter.

Any and all semblance of personal space is disregarded when he begins to ride in earnest.

He doesn’t go over the speed limit just like he promised, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were still trembling behind him. You hug onto him tight when he goes on the highway. If it bothers him he makes no show of it—verbal or otherwise.

You feel even smaller pressed up against him like this, his broad back filling your vision to the point that if you wanted to comfortably see what was in front of you, you’d have to try and sit up and look over his shoulder.

The sound of the wind whipping past you is almost static to your ears. You’re caught between two separate strains of nerves, one from anxiety over being on a bike for the first time, the other from the rapid pace of your heart thanks to the sturdy man you were clinging onto for support.

It makes your hands jittery and your stomach swoop. When you go around a turn for the first time your hands squeeze him like your life depended on it. You doubted it bothered him, considering how he eclipsed you in every way.

He comes to a stop at a red light.

“How are you holdin’ up?” His calls over the hum of the engine, his helmet muffling the sound somewhat.

“Good!” You call back to him, moving one of your hands to give him a small, yet shaky, thumbs up.

His chest rises and falls sharp and quick, a short chuckle. You can’t hear it. It makes your heart feel warm nonetheless.

As the ride goes on your nerves melt away bit by bit. You find comfort in Simon’s solidity.

It was when you relaxed somewhat that it dawns on you that you had no clue as to where he was taking you—if anywhere at all. He didn’t really specify anything other than a time and place to collect you.

Time ticks by, the feeling of Simon’s presence so close to your own becomes increasingly familiar. It still doesn’t rid you of the occasional fluttering of butterflies in your stomach, much to your chagrin. It wasn’t an awful thing to feel small in such a way with Simon—far from it; the issue was how embarrassed it made you.

You went out of your way to ensure your thoughts never crossed that line you drew for yourself, but as you were holding onto his broad midsection it became an increasingly daunting task.

So lost in thought you are that you do not notice that he has turned into somewhere until the bike goes slower than you were expect. You sit up just a little in your seat in an attempt to look over his shoulder the best you could.

It’s a quaint little restaurant. A sign with chalkboard written on it sat out in front of the entrance, informing potential patrons that they were still serving breakfast.

He parks the motorcycle. Then he waits, and waits. It isn’t until he shoots you a glance over his shoulder that you realize he’s waiting for you to get off the bike first.

You dismount as carefully as possible, but you can’t shake the feeling you look awkward regardless, like a newborn filly. Once both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground Simon follows.

You are reminded to take off your helmet when Simon does. Once it’s off your head you hand it to him, wordlessly waiting for him to confirm your assumption that he just took you to breakfast.

He takes your helmet with two of his thick fingers hooked into it, then he’s placing both helmets back in the trunk box. Your eyes dart from him to your feet in random intervals. You were still wrapping your head around the idea of breakfast with Simon.

You’re not certain of what to say, if anything. Thanking him right at this moment felt too presumptuous, so you hold off on that. When he clicks the box shut he regards you for a moment, observant.

When your eyes meet you give him a small smile, it’s more of a reflex if anything. Whatever was there disappears, his posture eases.

“C’mon.” He beckons with a nod of his head towards the building. Looks like you were having breakfast after all.

You are quick to follow. You notice his steps are slower to make up for your shorter strides.

Subconsciously, you are walking closer together than before. You notice it only when the fabric of your jacket brushes against him. You flinch and yank your arm away. You’re about to sputter out an apology.

But Simon remains impassive, almost as if nothing unusual occurred, like you didn’t accidentally cross over into his personal space.

The thought of your hand in his is an unbidden one.

Simon opens the door for you. You tell him ‘thank you’ in a hushed tone as you skitter inside.

The inside is just as quaint as the outside. There aren’t many people within, it’s small but not claustrophobic. The primary decor is wood and earth tones, the scent of coffee drifts across the air invitingly.

“Any preference?” You blink up at him, momentarily at a loss for what he was asking.

‘Seating preferences,’ you realize belatedly. “No.”

You and Simon end up seated at a table in the far back. Simon takes the seat facing the entrance.

He’s leaned back lazily in the chair across from you, It was sturdy enough to hold his weight. His legs are spread in nonchalantly and his arms rests across his thighs. His eyes are half-lidded.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him.

This is also the first time you are acutely aware of Simon’s legs. They’re thick and long, his denim jeans cling to his limbs as his legs stretch the material out. The jeans weren’t tight or form fitting, just that he was so well-muscled he ended up filling most of the space in them out.

His voice startles you out of your observations. “Get whatever you want.”

You feel embarrassed, even though Simon can’t read your mind it doesn’t stop the heat crawling up your neck. You sheepishly lean forward in your seat to skim over the menu, your hands still neatly folded in your lap. Then you glance up at Simon.

“Thank you.”

He simply nods.

“I like this place.” You suddenly say.

Simon cocks his head. “Do you, now?” You ignore how the rough timbre in his voice gives you pleasant butterflies.

“I do. It’s very…” Your brows knit together as you search for the word. “…Rustic. I like it.”

“Had a feeling you would.”

You force yourself to read the menu to help you get your mind off of your increasing body temperature.

“What will you be getting?” You ask after a minute or so of comfortable silence.

Simon doesn’t bristle, but you can’t ignore the almost exasperated tone in his voice, like he’s had this conversation before and is already bracing himself to have it again.

“Nothing.”

You peek up at him. He holds your stare. He eases a little when you don’t push the subject any further.

His following words are more neutral in tone, a clear change of subject. “Get what you want.” Simon points to the menu with his eyes.

You do exactly that.

Eggs, potatoes and bacon sounded delightful, so that was what you ended up getting.

You just ordered, so there still would be some time until your food came.

This was uncharted territory for you. You’ve never been on a bike or had a man take you somewhere to eat, two new things in a single day; that was a very welcome rarity for you.

“Do you come here a lot?” Now that you were in such a setting with Simon you found yourself more conversational than usual. There was a desire to know more about him, no matter how mundane. He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

Simon lightly shrugs his shoulder. “Not that much.” He answers. “Just enough to know the food’s decent.”

“Well, thank you for taking me.” You mumble sheepishly, not quite certain on how to word it.

“Should be thanking you for coming with me.”

There isn’t trepidation in his tone but there is a sort of carefulness there that you can’t place. You’re not expecting it, so you can’t help the way your eyes widen. You nod quickly, not wanting your surprise to be mistaken for something negative.

“I got to try two new things today thanks to you.” It slips out easily, without much thought.

His eyes crinkle somewhat. “Liked the bike, then?” There’s the faintest twinge of pride in his tone.

You like it, you like the thought that he takes some measure of satisfaction in it; it humanizes him and gives more clarity to the jagged edges of his exterior—it doesn’t sand them away, just makes them more legible.

Your lips twitch in a brief smile. “I was scared at first, but yes, I did.”

“You’ll get used to it.” You don’t have the time to register the potential implication there before he speaks again.

“What’s the other one?” Your confusion must show in your face, he elaborates. “You said there were two new things.”

‘Oh.’

The soft clatter of a plate being set down before you makes you jump. You are quick to hastily apologize and stammer out a thank you to the waitress, she only smiles at you and gives an apology of her own for startling you before leaving.

You didn’t even realize you slipped and admitted that, now your mind was working overdrive to figure out how best to word it. There’s an awkward beat of silence until you pick up your fork. You take a bite of potatoes first. It’s more than just decent, it’s delicious.

“What’s the verdict?” Simon asks wryly.

You chew and swallow before speaking. “Very good.” You reply cheerfully. Simon seems pleased.

He then looks at you expectantly.

There wasn’t really much point in dancing around it, you already brought it up by accident, the issue was how to say it without earning potential judgement.

“The other new thing was this.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Never been taken to dinner, either?”

You shake your head. You poke at the food on your plate, growing increasingly self-conscious. Simon catches it.

“Not your fault some bastards don’t know how to act.” Despite his flat delivery it’s reassuring. You find yourself feeling less insecure. You don’t get the impression that Simon is a man to sugarcoat or utter empty platitudes, so you are appreciative.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know, though.”

Simon cocks his head at you, intrigued. “Wouldn’t know?” He asks, parroting it back at you.

“Wouldn’t know.” You confirm, taking another bite of your eggs. You don’t realize that you just implicitly admitted you’ve never had a boyfriend until you’re taking a sip of your water.

For an imperceptible second you freeze before forcing yourself back into motion. In this situation it would be better to just move on and ignore it, but that still didn’t stop your face from feeling like a bonfire.

You think Simon recognizes the implication immediately, but he doesn’t look surprised at all. You’re not certain of how you feel about that.

What you are certain of is the relief you feel when he doesn’t press on about it, but you still feel a tad mortified. If he’s put off by your lack of romantic experience he doesn’t show it.

Maybe it’s the desperation to change the subject that makes you ask Simon;

“So, what do you usually get when you come here?”

That simple question kicked off a sort of back-and-forth conversation between the two of you, which the questions becoming increasingly mundane as it went on.

The questions are asked by you, and Simon answers, then waits for you to give him an answer in return before you toss another question at him.

What kind of music do you listen to?

Favorite color?

What about your favorite season?

Cats or dogs?

Things of that nature are thrown back and forth between you two. You’re pleasantly surprised that Simon is entertaining you.

You decide to push your luck and dip your toes into more slightly personal questions—nothing inappropriate, of course. Simon doesn’t hesitate.

Early bird or night owl?

When’s your birthday?

Have you ever rode with any of your friends?

Simon sits up a little. “What, on the back of it?” His tone is so incredulous that you fail to suppress a giggle.

“No, no, just in general.” You amend. Simon leans back in his seat once more.

“No. Just you.” Just you. No one else. You wonder if he was simply solitary or if there was something else—maybe both. You brush off the warmth blooming in your chest.

You think about what kind of friends Simon would have.

“Doubt they’d be interested.” He continues.  “Don’t think any of ‘em even ride.”

“Ah. I’m assuming you don’t have breakfasts with them either?” It’s more of a joke than a question.

Simon answers regardless. “Sometimes I do,” you can’t discern the look that’s in his eye. “But nothin’ like this.”

You cock your head at him, curious. “Never took them here?”

“No.” He confirms bluntly.

“Just me?” You ask. His dark eyes stare at you intently. Your heart pulses.

The entrance to the restaurant opens and Simon’s eyes dart to the door, severing the intense connection briefly. Then his sights shift back.

“Just you.” He replies without skipping a beat.

You look down at your plate just to give yourself a reprieve from the lingering intensity of his stare. You’re almost done with your food by now.

His voice dips a bit lower in a light tease. “I was going to ask you if you ever had any other men walk you home, but I already know the answer to that one.”

Your face awash with warmth. “What’s the answer?” You manage to speak.

You notice the corners of Simon’s eyes wrinkling, the pitch black in his eyes almost look warm for a flicker. Your heart aches with every pulse. He says it in the same tone he had when asking you if you liked his bike.

“Just me.”

Simon ends up paying for your breakfast. You insist he doesn’t have to, but he insists that it’s not a problem. You acquiesce.

He opens the door for you as you’re exiting just like he did when you were entering.

“I’ve got a place in mind to take you to, if you’re up for it.” He has already retrieved the helmets from the back of the bike.

You nod immediately.

Simon was right, you were getting more accustomed to being on a bike already. You still clung onto him for support, however. You were able to appreciate things that you couldn’t before due to your fear; the cool wind blowing past, the auburn trees lining the road.

You cherish what little time you have left being so close to him.

Time that slips by too fast even when you’re holding it tight, because before you know it he’s pulling in somewhere and slowing to a complete stop.

You glance around. It’s a park, if not secluded. You don’t see any other vehicles parked. The trees in the vicinity are so red they might as well be torches.

“It’s beautiful out here.” You say aloud, dismounting the bike.

Simon takes your helmet and puts it along with his in the trunk. “Thought you’d like it.” Unless your ears were deceiving you, you detect a hint of cheekiness there. You’re not used to it coming from Simon, he sounds as dry and flat as usual, but it’s there’s an element that’s foreign to your ears. You cherish it.

You smile sheepishly and turn around to get a better view of the trees in the vicinity. “Do you like coming here a lot?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Sometimes.” He sounds indifferent.

“Oh, hopefully I’m not being invasive or something—“ You begin to stammer, the words tumbling out almost reflexively.

Something in his expression softens. “You’re fine.” Simon replies. You relax a little, but not by much due to how you’re chastising yourself.

You force yourself to brush off the negative self-talk when Simon comes over to stand next to you. Once he’s there he’s grabbing something out of his pocket. A box of cigarettes, you realize.

You’re busying yourself with admiring the trees, you hear the sound of fabric shifting. A comfortable silence envelopes you both. It isn’t until you notice Simon’s hand moving up to his face that your eyes shoot over to him.

He hooks his thumb up and under his mask, underneath his chin. You blink and suddenly you’re staring at pale skin where midnight fabric used to be.

There’s light-colored stubble on his jaw, you catch a scar running there and up, it disrupts the natural growth pattern of his facial hair.

There’s  a scar on one side of his upper lip—the same side the other scar on his jaw is—it is vertical and goes from the seam of his lips to seemingly all the way up, maybe even to his nostril. You can’t tell, his mask is still dipped low enough to obscure his cupids bow and the rest of his face. It intrigues you because you’ve never seen a scar like that before.

His lips themselves look like how you expect, slightly chapped and maybe a bit redder than usual from the cold.

You make yourself dart your eyes away. It would be rude to stare.

But then holds the cigarette between his lips, and you find yourself paying as much attention as possible through your peripheral. He feels in his pockets for a lighter for a fraction of a second before he’s bringing it up and setting the cigarette alight.

It isn’t long before the scent of nicotine follows.

And the two of you simply exist in one another’s presence like that for a little while. Nothing is said because nothing needs to be at the moment. You think about how nice it is to have someone be effortlessly content with you. There wasn’t any song or dance you had to do while tone deaf and out of rhythm just to keep away the dreaded labels of ‘odd’ and ‘strange.’

It was just you and Simon.

He says your name. You turn to look up at him.

“Yes?” There’s a pause there, you watch his lips thin out into a line, the motion is almost imperceptible. It’s a welcome strangeness to see a portion of his face now. A small part of you that you bury deep hopes that the sight won’t be unfamiliar one day.

He brings the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes are far away.

“In a month or two I’m gonna be gone for a while.” Smoke pours out his mouth in wispy coils. You turn your head to look at him. He’s still looking at the autumn trees.

“Oh.” You try to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“How come?” You ask, then realization dawns. “For work?” The question is asked carefully.

“Yeah.” He confirms after a stilted pause. He takes another drag.

“I’ll be back.” He says after a beat of silence. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at the moment.

You don’t want him to leave, but that was just the reality of things. Sensibly, you knew that a month or two was still a lot of time, but just like the time you clutched as tight as you did Simon on the bike, it would slip away before you knew it.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” The words sort of pour out, like water from a stream. There’s no question about it, you’ll wait for him; there’s no harm in it. It wasn’t like you’d be putting anything or anyone on hold.

Simon finally looks down at you. His eyes are cavernous, searching.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for or not, only that he looks away from you and back to the trees. He doesn’t say anything else.

The subject leaves a lingering melancholy in the air that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You make an attempt at further conversation to shift the tone.

“You’ll be here for Halloween.” You state, not quite sure where you’re going with it.

Simon only grunts in reply.

“Do you think you’ll be here for Christmas?”

Simon stills for a moment. “Not sure.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“Like what?” He sounds mildly amused.

You think.

“Something with a skull or skeleton on it.” You eventually decide.

“Have jokes, do you?” He says dryly, though not offended.

“Not a joke. But I have an actual joke to tell.”

“Go on.”

“What do you call a pile of kittens?”

“You tell me.”

“A meow-tain.”

He actually snorts through his nose, you even see the scarred corner of his mouth quirk up in a ghost of a smirk, he’s more endeared by you than the joke itself. “Not the worst I’ve heard.”

You beam up at him, and the silence is comfortable yet again.

It’s a minute until next he speaks. “I know what I’ll get you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll see at Christmas.”

Something about the rustling of trees and the soil being stamped underfoot is soothing.

After Simon put out his cigarette and lowered his mask back over his mouth he asked you if you wanted to walk around the park for a bit, which was how you and him ended up walking on one of the short trails.

Simon walks closer to you than usual. You don’t think you’re imagining it, not when you incidentally brush against one another at sporadic intervals.

Neither of you make a move to put some distance between one another.

It’s the distance—or lack thereof—that makes your mind wander.

You think about that day at the convenience store, the night at the bar, and the othernight at the bar when he walked you home for the first time.

You think of Simon, the scar on his jaw and the muteness in his obsidian eyes. The oddly stable monotony of his voice. Big hands that put your helmet on for you for the first time.

You didn’t expect him to show up.

Not when he standing on the other side of the street, not when he came into the bookstore to give your freezing hands gloves, not when he pulled up on his bike.

When does it stop being chivalry?

It was a dangerous thing for someone as sentimental as you to ask.

You didn’t want to smother. To desperately clutch so tight that it suffocated. Having false hopes flood your heart almost always ended with you drowning, so as always, you just took what you were given.

You’d mentally reprimand yourself for every skipped heartbeat and flutter in your stomach, and you would convince yourself that it would be fine if Simon suddenly stopped talking to you one day. Drifted away, further and further until he was a stranger once more.

Your heart was soft and bleeding, too easily bruised for your own good, that’s why you always got so hurt. It was why in spite of having a lovely day you now found yourself hurting.

So you bury down your desires of companionship and the word-you-refuse-to-say with a shovel that’s so well-used it might as well be another limb—

A single, thick arm shoots out and grabs you by the middle.

You are caught before you fall forward on the cold earth. So lost in thought you were, that you tripped over a pebble.

“Watch yourself, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. Your mind is in utter disarray.

‘It was just an off-handed term of endearment, let it go.’

It slipped out from his lips without thought, it didn’t have to mean anything, you’ve heard people use that word before, it didn’t have to mean anything.

It’s difficult to let it go when his strong limb remains wrapped around your waist. He waits until you steady yourself before slipping his arm away.

It’s just as difficult to forget about the effortless strength he exerted to pull you upright before you fell over, especially when that ancient sense hums in delight at such a display.

Your heart pounds hysterically despite your best efforts.

“Thank you.” You mutter quickly. He gives a single, curt nod.

You wait until your pace returns to a normal rhythm before speaking again, you want to put as many syllables between you and that term of endearment as possible.

“Did you ever read that book?” You can imagine the green cover and gold lettering clear as day.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What was it about?” Try as you might, you could remember the letters but not the specific ones which formed the title on the book.

“Mythology.” You blink up at him in mild surprise.

You didn’t take Simon as one who would be interested in that subject. “Oh! Do you usually read those?”

“No.” He answers flatly, “Wasn’t my first choice. Just wanted somethin’ different.”

“I understand.” You do, you truly do.

A beat of empathetic silence washes over the two of you.

“Do you read a lot?” You carefully store the bits of information about him in your mind, in hopes that one day you’ll be able to paint a fuller picture.

“Not often.”

You shoot a curious glance at him. “Oh, so what do you do in your spare time?”

Simon says nothing for a moment. He’s searching for an answer, you realize.

Eventually he responds. “Wait.”

You blink at him, momentarily puzzled by his response. ‘Wait for what?’ Your gaze says. He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

You see two birds foraging. Further down the trail is a little babbling brook. You exclaim your enthusiasm for both, and for every other thing which grabs your attention on the path. Simon only gives you an endeared scoff in reply.

You can’t help but feel dispirited when the trail eventually loops back around and you see the parking lot in the distance. You can’t help but feel a bit childish; not wanting the day to end just yet.

When you reach the bike you stand awkwardly next to it for a moment, waiting for Simon to retrieve the helmets for the final time today.

Simon comes over, the length of his shadow swallowing yours. While looking down at you his brows crease briefly. You are frozen in place when his free hand comes up to your head, slowly and gingerly, giving you time to flinch away. You don’t.

It’s too easy to imagine him cupping your face. That’s twice now that you’ve imagined that. The lump that forms in your throat following that thought is nigh impossible to swallow.

He pulls his hand back and he flicks his fingers so fast that it barely registers that he plucked an autumn leaf from your hair. You’re too caught up with what just happened to feel even remotely embarrassed over that.

An unknowable feeling dawdles around between you. You’re staring forward, avoiding looking up to meet Simon’s eyes, directionless.

You manage to choke something out to break the silence. “Thanks—“

“Don’t mention it,” Simon’s reply is swift, yet no less understanding for it. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You decide to just give Simon the directions to your home to drop you off. You trusted him at this point.

The ride there felt too short despite being a good distance away.

Simon only speaks to confirm he was at the right house, and then he’s pulling over to let you off.

You linger on the bike a second longer than needed. Simon doesn’t say anything or look over his shoulder to wordlessly tell you to get off. He sits there with you.

Your arms are still wrapped around him.

You shake off the urge to give him a final squeeze goodbye. Eventually you do get off the bike, and you take off your helmet. You’re about to give it back to him until he stops you.

“Keep it.” You blink at him, and tuck it under your arm instead.

You stand there aimlessly while you try to think of what to say.

“Thank you. For all of this.” There’s a quiet that settles between the two of you. It isn’t an unwelcome one.

Simon hums in reply after a time.

“I…” Your words slip past your lips and out of your head. Simon stares at you intently, waiting on every syllable.

“I appreciate it.” The words fall flat on your tongue, they barely scratch the surface of how you feel, but you hope he understands how much this day spent meant to you.

“I really enjoyed today.” You mumble, staring down at your shoes.

“Likewise.” He replies. Your lips twitch in a smile that never fully forms.

“Text me when you get home.” You blurt out. Simon simply nods.

And just like how you lingered for a second too long with him on the bike, Simon lingers a second too long with you.

“Talk to you soon.” He says after a moment. You wonder if he was going to say something else. You make yourself nod in agreement.

“Bye, Simon.”

You watch him leave, your eyes stay on him until he’s out of view.

You’re already laying in bed about to drift off to sleep for the night when you hear a high-pitched sound from your phone on the nightstand.

You swipe at the screen, your half-asleep eyes burning uncomfortably with the light that floods your vision when you open your phone. When you read Simon’s name you’re rubbing your eyes to help them focus on what he texted you.

‘Sleep well.’

Looks like this will be more than 2 chapters after all!

I also wanted to thank everyone who liked and reblogged the first chapter, the positive response really motivated me to finish this. It really means a lot!! 🫶💘

I actually read an article and watched a video on how to use kickstands on bikes, there’s always a possibility I described something wrong, but I hope that can be overlooked!

The plan is to ramp up the romantic intensity a lot in the next chapter. (This story will still shift to an explicit rating once we get there.)

Thank you so much for any and all likes and reblogs! Please feel free to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

Previous Chapter First Chapter Next Chapter

[crunchy-pavement]

Ao3 is down for two hours???!!!!

WHAT THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW???!!!

[jpitha]

Awakenings

It's been said that every human comes out of hibernation differently. Some wake up as if they just had the best night's sleep of their lives, stretching and yawning and coming to consciousness gently, slowly. Others wake as if they were coming to after a night of partying; roughly, all at once, with a booming headache and fuzzy memories of the night before.

Alia woke screaming.

She sat up screaming, panicked, not knowing where she was. Her screams echoed in the cavernous room. The lights were dim around her, but she could see that the room was massive and empty. There were row after row after row of beds just like the one she was on, all made with cleaning linens waiting for people who weren't there.

Next to her was a data pad and a cup of coffee in a white mug on a little saucer.

The mug and saucer rattled gently with the rumbling vibration that Alia noticed only now. She turned and saw the pad had a message that read: "Read me please, Alia"

Taking a sip the coffee - it was hot, sweet and black, just the way she preferred it - She opened the pad. A message read:

Alia,

I'm sorry to wake you like this. Something has come up. After you finish your coffee and get dressed, please take the cart to the command deck, I'll explain more when you get there.

Best, Greylock

The ship woke her early and is asking for her to come up to the command deck? Something must be wrong. As she swung off the bed, she saw the clothes neatly folded next to the little electric cart. Quickly getting dressed, she grabbed the coffee and pad, and got into the cart. As she sat down it gently started off, preprogramed with its destination. As she rode, she looked around.

The Mt. Greylock was a colony ship. Fifty thousand souls, all in deep, long term hibernation were aboard all (hopefully) still asleep, awaiting for them to arrive at their new planet to begin the hard, rewarding process of setting up a new home for Humanity. This isn't the first time we've done this. Humanity has sent out at least a dozen colony ships, all throughout the Local Group to extend our reach and make sure humanity can grow and thrive.

The little cart came to a gentle stop in front of the door of the command deck. Alia got out and walked through the door.

The command deck was also empty and dark except for the command chair in the middle, which had a single spotlight on it.

Her chair.

She was the human commander of the Mt. Greylock. Together with the AI that was the ship, getting everyone to their new planet and starting a new colony was their responsibility.

Alia sat in the cold chair and said out loud "Okay Greylock. I'm here, I've had my coffee. What is it? You've woken me up during braking if the rumbling and rattling is any indication. Something must be wrong."

"Well, you see.." Greylock had a smooth alto voice and she had chosen female pronouns. AIs don't really have gender, but some choose to present with either masc or femme traits. "You see, I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Alia was incredulous

"We've received a message"

"From Earth? That's not that unusual. Maybe they have some updates for the colony package for us."

"Er, no. Not from Earth" Greylock said quietly.

Alia's blood ran cold. "From...another colony?" she asked, carefully.

"Sort of?" Greylock was audibly stressed. "Look. Why don't you just play it, I put it on your pad. That might help."

On her pad, a video came up. It was a human male and...something else.

Next to the human was a...a being, about a meter and a half tall, with large expressive eyes, reddish brown fur all over it's body, ears on the top of its head and maybe a tale in the background of the image? It was hard to tell. A sapient species?? But, humanity was alone in the galaxy. Humans have spent thousands of years alone, searching the whole time and never found anyone else.

She pressed the play button.

"Uh, Hello! My name is James Tennigan, and this is..." He gestured.

The sapient next to James spoke accented but very understandable Colonic, the language most humans off Earth spoke. "My name is Fellmeli Unmenniam and we represent the joint Human/K'laxi colony Zen'm'gan's Reach. We see that you have begun braking towards us. Two Starjumpers that were in-system and the Starbase are in agreement that you are most likely a Human colony ship coming to a stop here."

James nodded and continued "Yes, and we wanted to give you a few facts before you came in-system. One: Zen'm'gan's Reach is about 400 years old and has been a joint Human/K'laxi colony for 100 of those years. After we developed wormhole generators and the K'laxi showed us the Warp Gate system.."

Alia paused the video. "The what and the what?" she said

"I don't know either" Greylock said. "It sounds like humans developed some kind of wormhole generator and these K'laxi showed us an existing system of travel between systems. Sounds like we were missing out on a lot."

Alia restarted the video. "We merged with the existing K'laxi colony on this world a while ago. We can welcome all of you with open arms, but you won't be coming to a raw planet, ready to be shaped into a colony of your own making."

Fellmeli went on "And Two...We need your help. You, specifically, Alia Maplebrook, Co Captain of the Mt Greylock. We'll send another message when you're closer, but we wanted to get this message beamed as soon as possible to give the Mt Greylock time to wake you and prepare."

The message ended.

Alia looked up at the ceiling, then looked out into the empty command deck.

"Fuck Me." was all she said.

Update! Part two is here!

[separatist-apologist]

Nesta FM

Prompt: Nesta is a host of a radio call in show for relationship advice and Cassian is one of her colleagues that starts making a few call ins…

SFW, 1800 words

-

“And you’re on Radio IBVU,” Nesta Archeron crooned into the microphone. “What’s on your mind tonight?”

Taking the overnight job at the college radio had, at first, seemed like a terrible idea. When would she find time to sleep? How would she focus on class? The truth was, Nesta had never been a good sleeper to start with and as a graduate student, she could be more liberal with her class schedule. She took evening classes and slept in late most days. 

All Nesta had to do was make sure ads played when they were supposed to, and music when they weren’t. The last person had slept, which, coincidentally, was what had gotten them fired. But when she’d come on, she’d  been told she could do classwork or read—anything, so long as there were no disruptions that were her fault.

Boredom had gotten the best of her two months ago, and on a whim, Nesta had invited people to call in for relationship advice. Nevermind she was the last person that should be handing that out. Her last boyfriend, Eris Vanserra, had been a disaster. That was what she got for dating the much older brother of her sister Elain’s boyfriend. Eris was a walking red flag and Nesta had known it the minute she’d laid eyes on him.

Eris practically radiated dirtbag energy. Even in his crisp suit and his five thousand dollar watch, he’d been worse than a fuck boy and Nesta had just barely made it out with her sanity in tact. Still, at the time, asking people to call her for advice had seemed fun. She’d never expected anyone to actually do it.

Now it was a nightly routine. For the five nights Nesta worked, from midnight to one am, she invited people to call in and tell her their problems. And people did. More than she could ever answer, lighting up her switchboard hoping for a chance to hear her—or other listeners—offer suggestions.

Nesta pressed the first button, smiling as she leaned forward on her chipped, metal desk. “Caller one, you’re on the air.”

“Hey, Nes.”

Nesta’s shoulders relaxed at the sound of that man’s voice. She didn’t know who he was, though something about him felt familiar. He’d been calling from the very first night, and though sometimes he didn’t get through, Nesta knew she’d hear from him a few times a week.

“How is it going?”

He sighed. “It’s good. Could be better. I’m thinking about telling that girl I like that I…you know. Like her. We work together, and I’m afraid it’s going to get awkward if she shoots me down.”

“Why would anyone shoot a guy like you down?” Nesta asked earnestly. She liked this stranger. 

“I don’t think I’m her type, if we’re being honest. She’s smart and cool and I’m…” he hesitated, like he was trying to find the right words. “Okay, I’m smart and cool, too. But I don’t think we’re in the same orbit. She barely looks at me at all when she sees me.”

“Maybe she’s shy, “Nesta began, earning a boom laugh from the other end.

“No, I don’t think that’s it.”

“Well, you should still tell her. And if she isn’t interested, there’s someone else out there who will appreciate you.”

Another soft chuckle, and then, “Thanks, Nes. I’ll let you know how it goes.”

She smothered a smile no one could see. He’d have to wait for Monday because Nesta was off for the next two days. She’d be thinking about him, though. Nesta thought of him for the rest of the night, long after she concluded her hour-long show with a guy asking other listeners to explain why his girlfriend was so mad at him for kissing another girl at the bar. 

She was half asleep when a knock on the concrete door roused her. With no windows to the outside world, Nesta never quite knew when it was, even with her phone. Glancing at the clock, Nesta found she still had half an hour before her replacement arrived.

She stood from the swivel chair she was hunched in and pulled it open. 

“Cassian?”

He was early. Nesta worked nights and Cassian worked days. They saw each other in passing—he was always so cheerful while Nesta was too exhausted to make much conversation. Not that he didn’t try, of course. It was endearing, in a way. Cassian never quit, even when any other rational person would have.

Case and point: the coffees in his overly large hands were clearly meant for the both of them. “Latte?” he asked, offering her one of the paper cups. Nesta nodded, stepping out of the way so Cassian could come in. It was easy to forget just how big he was. Nesta was considered fairly tall at five nine and Cassian utterly dwarfed her, ducking beneath the doorframe at six five. He’d half tied his shoulder length, chestnut hair from his face and from the looks of the stubble gracing his chiseled jaw, Nesta would bet he’d been up all night.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked, yielding the chair to perch on the side of the desk. Cassian ran a hand down his face. 

“Something like that,” he grumbled. Hazel eyes fell on her, bright and warm despite the gloom of the little box they were trapped in.

“What’re you playing?”

Nesta glanced at the deck. “More Bruno Mars.”

Cassian scoffed. “If I never hear Uptown Funk again.”

“I’m surprised it’s still so popular,” she agreed, taking a sip of her latte. Warmth flooded through her, jolting her awake. She was never going to sleep now. Somehow she didn’t mind. Not when Cassian was reclined in the chair like he was, his long, muscular legs spread slightly, hands resting between them. For the briefest of moments, Nesta wondered if all of him was large.

She chased that thought away. “You’re early.”

He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I uh…needed to do something before I start.”

She took another sip. “Oh yeah?” Nesta didn’t know what else to say to that, or even if he wanted advice. Instead, she pushed further up onto the desk, gently sliding a telephone out of the way with a socked foot so she could recline against the concrete wall. Closing her eyes, she added, “Anything I can help with.”

“No, Nes,” he chuckled. “This is something I have to do all by myself.” That voice. Nesta took a breath. It sounded so familiar. Maybe it was her exhaustion that made her want to hear more of him when usually

Nesta didn’t want to talk to anyone. “Tell me about it.”

“That’s the problem, I think,” he murmured. She peeked open an eye, surprised to find him staring so intently. 

“I’m the problem?” she questioned. Cassian shook his head quickly.

“No, of course not. I’m the problem,” he replied easily. “I need to just…say what I need to say.”

“You could always practice on me,” she offered, holding his gaze.

Cassian offered her a smile that made her heart stutter. What had him so worked up so early in the morning. 

“Right. I ah—I like you, and I want to take you out.”

Silence rang between them for half a second. “See. That was easy—”

“No, Nes,” he interrupted impatiently, unaware that she understood what was happening. Awareness was crashing around her like a wave and oh. How had she missed it? All those weeks he’d been calling to talk about the woman he liked, dropping obvious, blatant hints…and she’d been so blithely unaware. And before that…all his attempts to talk, brushed off as she rushed home to collapse into bed…

“Oh,” she whispered.

Cassian ran a hand back over his jaw, waiting for her to say something. The problem, of course, was Nesta had no idea what to say. She was so used to men snapping their fingers and telling her what to do. Wasn’t that what Eris had done? “Dinner, nine o’clock. Wear something black, and make it a little slutty.”

If Cassian had told her to meet him for a date, she might have offered him a snarky comment but agreed all the same. Instead, he was asking her for reciprocation—I like you. Do you like me? 

“Take me out where?” she asked, trying to keep her voice light and playful. That failed almost immediately. Instead of seeing coy, Nesta sounded a little too harsh, a little more suspicious than she was.

And, okay. Maybe she was suspicious of him. Cassian seemed a little too good to be true, after all. Handsome, smart, and interested in her? Historically, most men only had one of those things. Except Eris. He’d had none of those things, and they’d still dated for seven whole months. 

Cassian shrugged his shoulders. “The bookstore?”

Ah, shit. 

Nesta bit down on her bottom lip, trying to hard to avoid blurting out yes, anything you say, or worse, would you like me to call you daddy—not that it mattered. A small smile spread over his lips. “They have a bakery in there.”

She was well aware of that. Elain had worked inside it back when she’d been in undergrad, and Nesta had gone often for a nutella stuffed croissant. Elain didn’t make her pay, and as a broke student, Nesta needed all the handouts she could get. 

“What ah…what would we do?” she questioned, gripping the edge of the desk to keep her from hurling herself into his lap. 

Be cool, Nesta. 

As if she’d ever been cool a day in her life. 

“You could show me what you like to read,” he began, leaning forward ever so slightly. “I could buy some of them for you…if you wanted? We could get something to eat…maybe make out in the historical section. See where the night takes us?” She couldn’t hide the small laugh that escaped her, nor could she pretend that none of that sounded good.

“When?”

Cassian looked as if he couldn’t believe his good luck. “What time do you usually wake up? The book store closes at ten.”

“Seven?” she suggested, thinking that would give her time to sleep, shower, and overthink the entire thing well before it was ever time for her to meet him. 

“You’re not going to stand me up, are you?” he questioned, maybe knowing her a little too well.

Nesta reached for a stack of orange post-it notes. Too quickly, before she could talk herself out of it, Nesta scribbled both her phone number and her address. 

“Pick me up,” she told him. “Maybe we’ll make out in your backseat, too.”

Cassian held that little piece of neon paper like it was made of rare diamonds. “Don’t tease me, Nes.”

She hopped off the desk. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Cass.”

Assuming he had things under control for the last fifteen minutes of her shift, Nesta decided to make her exit before she did or said something that changed his mind. Knowing full well she’d do no sleeping, and still determined to try, Nesta went for the door. 

“Why don’t you dream of me?” he called, turning in his chair to watch her go. “I know I will be.”

“Don’t make me wait, tonight,” she replied instead, unable to smother her smile. 

Cassian returned her grin. “I wouldn’t dare.”

[clareguilty]

Arthur Morgan/reader, desperate sex

Here is my second fic for kinktober! The next should be up on Wdnesday <3

Arthur Morgan/fem!reader | desperate sex, dominant Arthur Mentions of death and injury, mild angst. I made the cowboy cry. Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2000

“Who goes there?” a gruff voice demanded as you rode up the trail to camp.

“It’s just me, Bill,” you called back, tipping your tattered hat.

“What the hell?!” He blinked and rubbed his eyes like he couldn’t believe you were right in front of him. “You’re alive?”

You grinned, opening your arms wide. “You can’t get rid of me that easy.”

He watched dumbfounded as you rode the rest of the way up to Horseshoe Overlook. You had been gone more than a few days, and your worst fear was that the gang would have packed up and left. The job had gone terribly -- so terribly you had been stranded and lost with no way back -- which was a good reason for the gang to move on to somewhere where the law didn’t know their faces.

But everything was exactly the same. People milled about, scrubbing or packing or chopping. Dutch’s gramophone played on, louder than a dynamite blast and seemingly never ending.

“What in god’s name?” Hosea took one look at you, bruised and battered and covered in every inch of wilderness you had hiked through trying to get back to camp.

“Glad to see y’all are still here.” You groaned in pain as you slid out of the saddle, smacking your ‘borrowed’ horse on the rump and pointing her back to the road. “Go on, girl. Find your way back home.”

The horse slowly headed back the way it came. Hosea was staring at you.

“I know,” you frowned. “I look terrible.”

“No,” Hosea waved his hand, shaking his head. “It’s not that -- though you do look like shit. We thought you were dead. We mourned you.”

It was your turn to look taken aback. “Dead? You gave up on me that quick?”

“Sweetheart.” He gripped your arm as if he was still trying to convince himself you were real. “You fell off a bridge. Those rapids… the rocks…” he trailed off.

You grimaced. “It certainly wasn’t my best performance.”

“There wasn’t any time to go back and look for you, but we weren’t even sure we would have found a body.” He looked ashamed. “We failed you.”

“No,” you took his hands in yours, squeezing. “You did what you had to do. I couldn’t bear it if you had lost someone trying to come back for me.”

Sean was walking by, bottle in hand. He did a double take when he saw you standing there, glanced at his bottle, and then back at you. “You mean Dutch gave that long fancy speech for nothing? You had better not die again.”

You laughed and shot him a wink. “I don’t plan on it.”

Sean seemed satisfied with that response. “Your man’s been a right mess since we lost you. Hopefully he quits moping around all the time now.”

“Arthur?” you glanced around. “Is he alright? Where is he?”

Sean shrugged. “Probably the same place he’s been for a week now.”

You turned to Hosea, desperate. “Where?”

“He’s been at his wagon mostly. I didn’t want him going out in the state he’s been in.”

His words only made you more worried. You had finally made it back to camp. All you had been able to think about -- the only thing on your mind as you clawed your way out that ravine and stumbled through the woods -- was that you had to get back to him. You couldn’t leave him. “Is he hurt? Did something happen?”

Hosea didn’t get the chance to answer. Whispers of your arrival back at camp must have spread fast, because Mary-Beth was dragging Arthur by the arm to where you and Hosea were standing.

“Arthur.” You were running -- as fast as you could move with all your injuries and exhaustion. He finally saw you, freezing in place and staring in disbelief.

You slammed into his chest, flinging your arms around him.

He hesitated before returning your embrace, leaning in to bury his face in the crook of your neck. The two of you stood there for a long while as you sniffled into his chest. Arthur held you tightly, as if you would disappear if he let go.

“Isn’t this sweet,” a familiar booming voice rang out. “Glad to see you alive and well, dear.” You didn’t even turn to look at Dutch. Not when Arthur was clinging to you.

The ground disappeared beneath your feet and you found yourself hoisted over Arthur’s shoulder. The crowd that had gathered around the two of you dispersed as he stalked across camp. The world flipped right side up again as Arthur sat you on his horse, swinging into the saddle behind you and taking off at a full gallop.

You made it to Valentine in record time. The ride was harsh and agitated your injuries, but you didn’t mind with Arthur at your back. He helped you down to the ground and practically carried you inside the hotel, slamming the door open. “A room for me and my wife, please,” he demanded.

The hotel clerk handed over the key. You clung to Arthur the whole way up the stairs, nuzzling against him and just glad to be near him again.

The lock clicked behind you and Arthur… changed. His embrace became more insistent. His eyes darkened. The edge of the bed hit the backs of your knees and Arthur laid you down. It was gentle, but he pressed you into the bed, climbing over you. “Where are you hurt?” he asked.

“It’s not too bad-” you tried to play it off.

He cut you off. “Where. Are. You. Hurt.”

It was terrifying, but thrilling. You shivered under his intense gaze. “My hip,” you grabbed one of his hands and gently lay his palm over your hip. “Makes walking and riding hard.”

He nodded. Clearly waiting for you to continue. “My back is pretty messed up, and my shoulder.”

He noticed the rips and tears in your shirt. All the places you had scraped or torn. His hands went to the buttons, lifting you carefully so he could get you out of the sleeves.

Your trousers were next, slowly pulled down over your hips. When you winced in pain, Arthur stopped to kiss you, cradling your face in his hands.

He stripped you down. His expression was pained as he took in the full extent of your injuries. You had fallen off of the rail bridge and gotten swept into the freezing rapids. The current slammed you into the rocks and swept you down the ravine before you washed up on the bank of the river. From there, it had been a grueling process of making your way out of the ravine and through the woods.

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” you reassured him. Glancing down, you got a good look at just what he saw. “It does look pretty bad, though,” you frowned.

Arthur’s expression was hard to read. You wondered if he was disgusted by you. It would take a long time to heal, and you knew he might not want to look at you while you were so beat up and battered.

He nearly collapsed on top of you. Luckily, he knew to brace his weight. He buried his face into the crook of your neck, breaths ragged.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he gasped. “I didn’t know what I was going to do.”

You reached up to run your fingers through his hair. “I’m still here,” you promised. “Busted and bruised to hell, but I’m not gone yet, honey.”

He kissed his way along his jaw until he found your lips. It was perfect. You had missed him so much, so worried you would never make it back to him. But now you were here in his arms and kissing him. 

“I love you,” you said as soon as you caught your breath.

“I love you so much, darling.” He hovered his hands just above your skin, too scared to touch you.

You placed your hands over his and guided it to where you weren’t scraped or bruised. “Touch  me,” you begged.

He sighed as soon as he felt your skin against his palms, as if he just needed to know you were really there.

“I need you,” you tried to pull him against you, attempting to slot your hips together. “Please, Arthur.”

He hesitated. You could see the desire in his eyes, how badly he needed you, needed to feel you. But he didn’t want to hurt me. You would have to convince him.

“Arthur,” you grabbed the waistband of his pants. “I fell off a bridge and climbed out of a ravine and walked across half the damn state. I want you to fuck me, and I don’t care if it hurts.”

He seemed dazed, but lust clearly won out as you tried to slide your hand under his shirt. He was undressed in seconds, kissing his way over your neck and unable to keep his hands off you.

The pain was bearable, and you were too distracted with the warmth of Arthur’s skin under your hands. You couldn’t get enough of him, so glad to be near to him after all of those cold nights in the wild. 

He was impatient, desperate. He wanted all of you at once, and he didn’t know where to start. Now that you had given permission, he wasn’t afraid to take what he needed. And take he did. He sucked a mark into your collarbone before kissing down to your chest. You gasped as his lips found your breasts, teeth scraping along the skin.

“Please,” you rocked your hips.

He got the message, gently pressing your thighs apart so he could stroke your clit. It felt so good. The stretch when he slipped two fingers inside made you cry out. You sighed and pulled him closer, winding your fingers in his hair as he pulled moans and gasps from your lips.

“That’s it,” he said. “Good girl. I wanna hear you.” He doubled his efforts, determined to make you come around his fingers.

You pulled him up for a searing kiss, biting his lip as you came. “Fuck me,” you breathed.

He was just as needy, cock hard and aching against your hips. He grabbed your less injured leg and hooked it around his hip, dragging his cock against your slit. The teasing was going to drive you mad, but luckily he was just as impatient. He sank into you with one slow motion.

He hissed a curse against your skin, lost in the feeling of you around his cock. “God, darling. Need you so bad.”

He didn’t even try to start slow, setting a quick, frantic pace as soon as he began to move. His fingers dug into the bruises on your skin, but you didn’t mind the pain. It only reminded you that Arthur was there, that you had made it home to him.

You were so close, clinging to each other so desperately. You couldn’t imagine what Arthur had been through the past several days. He had truly believed you were gone, he had been in mourning. While you were focused on not getting eaten by wildlife, he was grieving your death.

It made sense why he couldn’t keep his hands off of you, why he sighed so deeply every time his hips met yours. The way he drank the taste of your lips as if he could never get his fill. You gave him everything you could.

The two of you went three rounds that night, fighting through your exhaustion in a desire to be close to one another. You fell asleep wrapped in each other's arms, curled together on the rickety hotel bed.

“I can’t stop seeing it,” he whispered, unable to take his eyes off you. “The sight of you falling off that bridge, the way you just disappeared. It’s kept me awake every night.”

You can see it. The dark circles under his eyes, how haggard and underfed he looks. You can only imagine how broken up he must have been.

“Not tonight,” you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “You have me here, safe and sound.”

[vneuns]

how to take care of a baby 101

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↬ pairing: cc!dream x reader

↬ genre: falling for the babysitter

↬ summary: The last thing Dream expected was to find a baby at his front door and his upstairs neighbor to be a hot babysitter who just might make his life a hell of a lot easier.

↬ warnings: cursing, dilf dream, Jorge being stupid for five minutes, Sapnap being a hot uncle and a ladies man, Quackity getting yelled at 24/7 for something dumb, Karl being confused every chapter, and Emma being sick and tired of all the men around her.

↬ note: boom boom boom idk wtf i’m doing but for some reason everyone wants to read this series 🙄

if you didn’t get tagged i’m super sorry but it is first come first serve but don’t worry if the few peoples who’s user is in italics don’t turn on their tags they will be replaced <33

↬ edited by: @/ttakinou my beloved

↬ banner by: @/mitzimania

↬ layout by: @/basilly

© cherios 2021. all rights reserved. do not copy,

“Taking care of a child is a big responsibility Clay.”

The boy nodded looking over at where his two sisters were sitting next to each other admiring their new baby niece who looked like a carbon copy of their brother.

“I know, mom but I don’t know what else to do. I'd feel terrible putting her up for adoption. The last thing I would want would be for her to feel like she was a burden and her parents gave up on her because they were young.”

His mother gave him a soft smile before placing a small kiss at the top of his head. “Who raised you so well?” The woman engulfed him in a tight warm hug rocking back and forth. When they pulled away from each other Clay’s mom made her way to the kitchen to put down the groceries she had picked up before coming with her daughters.

“Where are the boys?”

Clay pried Emleigh out of his older sister's hands ignoring her protest before following after his mom. “Shopping for baby supplies.”

Drista broke out into a fit of laughter at the words that had just left her brother's mouth.

“That was the second stupidest thing you have ever done.”

He flips her off before opening the diaper bag that was left with the little one and begins to go through the contents of it. Em’ had her head laid against her fathers chest babbling softly to herself. Clay smiled down at her, placing a kiss on her forehead before pulling out a stuffed giraffe which seemed to grab his daughter's attention pretty quickly.

Lifting up her head she attempted to grab for the stuffy which seemed to have gone through quite a lot. The blonde smiled, pulling it a little bit out of her reach.

Em’s eyebrows knitted together agreesively opening and closing her hand. A laugh left his lips looking down at the girl when she stopped reaching for the item and looked at him with a curious face.

After a beat of silence the little girl breaks out into a fit of giggles, forgetting all about the giraffe in her fathers hand.

“Think she likes your laugh.”

-

“Uhh..” Y/n enters the elevator attempting to fit in with the four boys and multiple unnecessary baby items.

“Our friend found a baby on his doorstep.” The one with a beanie states after she’s pressed the button above theirs and the doors closed.

“dude..” The ginger's eyebrows knit together looking over at his best friend shaking his head, as if he had just told some very classified information.

The woman turns her head inspecting all the items they had with them. “By the looks of it I'm guessing she’s a girl and you’ve all never had to take care of a baby.”

The four of them all nod in sync.

With a sigh she turns around digging in her purse for a notepad and pen. She writes down her name, apartment number, and personal cell along with her house phone and hands it to the man, who’s hair is very fluffy.

“You seem like someone who would put this to good use if anything were to happen.”

George nods, folding the paper and placing it in his pocket, not even glancing at her name.

“I’m George, this is Karl and those two are Alex and Sapnap.”

The woman nods. exiting the elevator first when they arrive at their floor to allow them the chance to step off.

“Thank you,” Karl thanked the woman before halling the items in hand to the door to the left of the elevator.

-

Unlocking the door Y/n steps inside, immediately engulfed with cold air. She mumbles about how her roommates are gonna get a cold at some point with how low they keep it, before closing the open door with her foot and setting her purse down on the couch, making her way into the kitchen.

“I say you drop out and live the rest of your days as a stripper.”

Looking back from her spot digging through their cabinets, Y/n is met with her two roommates, one shrugging at the statement that had just left their lips and the other scrunching her nose in disgust.

“I’m never gonna do that.”

The y/h/c woman laughs, placing a bag of scoop chips on the table before going into the fridge to get the salsa and guacamole she had made before going to work.

Art rolls her eyes before plopping down on the bar stool sat in front of the island. “So anyways, Y/n how was your day?”

After grabbing the contents needed the woman closes the fridge door placing down the guac and salsa before taking off her jacket and placing it on the counter.

Out of the corner of her eye she can see her roommate visibly grimace at the action and has an internal battle with herself not to move it to the coat rack.

Y/n’s eyes meet Arts and they have an entire conversation trying to decide whether she’s gonna tell her friend to move it or do it herself.

Basil clears her throat, dragging her eyes away from the dirty coat that was placed on the island she had just cleaned.

“I’m gonna go finish my homework.”

With that she leaves, excusing herself to her room and closing the door.

“So, tell me all about him.”

“Who?” She takes a swig of a cold water bottle she had gotten from the fridge along with her guac and salsa.

“You have that look on your face,”

Art reaches over the island, grabs a chip from the bag. before dipping it in salsa and sitting back in his seat with an eyebrow raised.

“Well I met him in the elevator…”

“Oh okay Y/n living the wattpad lifestyle I.R.L.”

-

“Fuck she won’t stop crying.” Clay groaned looking down at Em who was upset but none of the five boys could figure out why. Karl shook up the bottle with the formal they had bought before handing it to Em who slapped it out of his hand.

“Oh she’s feisty.” Sapnap comments, also attempting to hand her, her giraffe which also gets slapped.

“I’ve got a meeting to keep her occupied for like fifteen minutes and I’ll call my mom after.” The blonde got up, handing his daughter to George before jogging to his room.

All of the boys looked at each other then at the screaming baby before deciding what the best option would be.

Five minutes later Y/n was downstairs now in gray sweatpants and a Nirvana t-shirt. She greets the boys before looking over at Emma; Her face morphs into a pout before taking her from George’s arm and cooing down at the little baby.

Y/n curls her index finger before carefully slotting it into her mouth giving her something the chew on. The boys looked at her as if she had just cured cancer.

“She’s teething, usually around this age their teeth start to come in so that’s probably what’s been bothering her.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” Alex admits and all the boys nod in agreement.

“I basically raised all of my younger siblings, so,” She smiles, rubbing the baby's cheek with her thumb. A few beats of silence goes by before the girl's alarm goes off telling her she has somewhere to be.

“Uh i have a job interview in a few minutes, order her a few teething rings and put them in the freezer and she’ll be good to go.” She hands the baby off to Karl before rubbing her slightly bald head soothingly.

“Let me know if you need anything else!” And with that she’s gone.

“Woah- how’d you guys get her to stop crying-?” Clay asks, confused looking at all the boys who looked like they had seen a ghost of some kind.

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[foxgloveprincess]

Hanging Out on a Rainy Day

Word Count: 450

Warnings: Barely Any Editing, Zero Hours Spent Watching Stranger Things (this is all fandom telephone from reading fics and falling in love with Eddie), Mildly Suggestive Themes, So Much Fluff (you might barf). Minors do not interact (18+).

Divider by @firefly-graphics.

I love feedback, so go ahead and reblog if you want. No permission given to copy, translate, rewrite or post my work, at all. I cross-post to my AO3 account (FoxglovePrincess). Seeing this anywhere else means it’s been stolen/plagiarized.

Please DO NOT click ‘Keep Reading’ if you are not 18+ years of age. Thank you.

Thunder booms. Lightning crackles. You sigh. Cup of coffee in hand, you stand by the sliding glass door of your place and stare out at the downpour.

Over the ruckus of the storm outside cuts the plucking of tuning guitar strings. A small smile threatens at your lips. But it stops too soon and you begin to wonder why.

You don’t have to wait long to find out when his arms wrap around your body and his head rests against your shoulder.

The faintest earthy, skunky hint of his scent welcomes you. Familiar, safe, soothing as the storm outside. You relax back into him and turn your head to brush a kiss against the apple of his cheek.

“Come away from the window, gorgeous,” he whispers against your ear. Oh so temptingly sweet. You can’t resist.

The afternoon whiles away with the strains of his music, heavy and chaotic like the storm, setting the mood and leaving you wrapped up in comfort. Only he can do it. A force of nature himself, equally matched.

You capture the moment on a roll of film. Needing a reminder of this moment. His head bent over his instrument, hair falling over his shoulders, fingers primed to play, so far away from this world. Something ethereal about him.

But he always comes back to you. After glancing up to see you placing your camera away, he sets the guitar aside and switches on his cassette player—an album he’s listened to countless times. Starved of your touch for too long and craving your body wrapped around his, he approaches.

He knows you too well in these moments. Moving you both to a seat by the window and sharing the overstuffed chair to watch the rain fall.

But he can’t be idle, playing with your fingers and the buttons on your shirt or flipping his pick between his fingers.

You don’t notice your eyelids begin to droop, but he does. Bundling you closer in his arms and grabbing the blanket draped over the chair to cover your shoulders.

He smiles a little, grabbing and twirling a pen through his fingers before jotting down notes for his next session of D&D on a pad of paper resting on the chair’s arm. Only you can sleep through thunder, rain, and heavy metal. Could sleep through the end of the world, you could. And he’d be right beside you the whole time, making sure you’re safe.

He presses a kiss on your forehead, your cheek, your lips until you whine and snuggle back, grasping at that comfy space between sleep and awake.

“It’s okay, I got you,” he whispers and wraps himself tighter around you.