#I can’t tell if this makes sense but I hope at least a sliver of my point is visible in here somewhere.

[ottosbigtop]

thinking about isat. I feel like this game talks about relationships in a way that is so refreshingly honest.

There’s something so not quite perfect about the resolutions and conclusions. I can’t think of as many examples to point to off the top of my head but, the specific moment that comes to mind is Siffrin and Bonnie’s talk about Siffrin’s physical boundaries. How they work through it but Bonnie still doesn’t exactly get it, because it’s a very complex situation, because they’re young. And Siffrin still has some feelings about how Bonnie approaches them, because they’re very headstrong and quick to act even when they’re earnestly trying. But they’re trying, and they’re making progress, and that’s the important part that comes out of it.

I think that’s really what makes isat’s conclusions to some of its character vs character(s) conflicts hit for me in a way some others don’t. The resolution doesnt mean that things are immediately improved, necessarily. But there is a promise in the actions and conversations. There’s an implication that these things being addressed are things that the characters are going to keep working on even as the game comes to an end.

Even Isabeau and Siffrin finally getting their confession, although not necessarily having the same tone as Siffrin working on his boundaries or communication, is still a “let me think about it.” It’s still not giving you a solid answer. There’s no capstone that says exactly where they stand now. Relationships are and will always be malleable. Although stories have a set beginning and a set ending, real people, their relationships, their conflicts, will forever be in flux.

something along the lines of, just because isat is a narrative with a beginning and end, it doesn’t mean the relationships and their conflicts and progress are as set in stone as the ending of a story. You will, ideally, always be communicating with people. You will, less ideally, continue to have conflict, and times you feel like a conversation could have gone better, and the thought that you’ll probably have to come back to the topic again sometime. And isat delivers its relationship storylines in a way that acknowledges that, I think.

[underoossss]

Completely Yours – Miguel O’Hara

pairing: Miguel O’Hara x f!reader

warnings: non, it’s a good old fashioned hurt/comfort fic 💕

an: I had a lot of fun writing this, there’s nothing more comforting than a story where your love being in danger makes you realize you’re in love. anyway I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think ✨

masterlist

——-

“Ugh, Miguel, you’re brooding too loudly over there.” You groan, pausing the video playing on your tablet and looking at the tall man pacing on his platform.

It’s easy for anyone who knows you to hear the lack of annoyance in your tone, and rather the concern laced within each syllable. As far as friendships go, the one you have with Miguel is the most meaningful one you’ve had with anyone. There’s a sense of home and protection that falls between both of you whenever you’re together, at least on your side of things. You know there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for you, and the same applies to you; he might be taller, stronger, and smarter but you’d protect him with your bare hands if necessary. The fact that you have a ridiculous and hopeless crush on him doesn’t help.

Setting the tablet down, you stand up and shoot a web towards the freakishly ominous platform before hauling yourself upwards. “Did they cancel your telenovela, hot stuff?”

Miguel’s back is turned to you, and he glances at you over his shoulder when you make your way towards him. “It’s more complicated than that.” He sighs and steps aside, gesturing towards the big screen in front of him.

“No internet connection up here.” You say solemnly; from where you stand you can tell the blinking letters on the screen are an error message –a failed code, but you’re not about to tell Miguel that. It would undermine his surprise when you whip out some smart rhetoric in a moment of need. “Tragic.”

“No, smartass, I’m trying to improve our algorithm, but I can’t figure it out how to do it yet.” Miguel’s eyes scan the screen, his hands placed on his hips and his weight settled on his right leg. You shift your eyes from his back to the error message and smile.

“Can I try?” You ask, concealing the mischief that possesses your body at the idea of getting under Miguel’s skin. “Maybe I can fix it.”

The fact that your grump of a friend steps aside to let you take a look at the code speaks on his stress. He’s tired, you can tell, the shadow under his eyes is darker today; he most likely didn’t sleep trying to get this to work. You shouldn’t make fun of it, you know that, and making a joke is not going to help fix this. But you also need you friend to relax before he gets a neck spasm. Miguel is grumpier than usual when his neck hurts.

You step close to the screen and analyze the code, it’s impossible to know what’s wrong at a glance –this isn’t your forte– but you pretend to. Biting your tongue to keep from laughing you tilt your head and hum. “I see what’s wrong.”

“What?” The sliver of hope in Miguel’s voice tempts you to abort mission and leave him alone. But who would you be if you didn’t annoy him?

“There is not a single legible word in this mess, babe.” You shake your head and place your hands on your hips as he always does. “No wonder your computer’s struggling, this is gibberish.”

“I thought you–” Miguel groans and covers his face with his hands staring up at the ceiling. “Por que yo? Por que yo? Por que yo?”

Naturally you start laughing, arms around you stomach when it begins to hurt. “Honestly, it’s on you. Crazy that you didn’t see it coming, baby.” The endearment falls easily off your tongue, all of them do, you gave up hiding how smitten you are a long time ago. It’s not like Miguel is ever going to act on it or make things weird. No matter how much it hurts you on the inside, this is a one-sided thing you’ve gotten used to.

Miguel turns to look at you, clear annoyance in the pinch of his eyebrows before it lessens when you smile at him. He sighs in defeat, shaking his head at you. “Why do I even let you come here?”

“Oh, come on.” You smile stepping closer to the edge of the platform and shooting a web at each opposing wall. “You were so stressed; I’m trying to get you to relax.” Making sure both webs are safely attached, you jump on the makeshift tightrope finding your balance at once.

Miguel’s amused, you can tell by the way his eyes seem to catch on your actions before he goes back to his computer. “This isn’t a game, the algorithm–”

“Is not as serious as you think either, try to relax. You should join my yoga class.” You shrug, jumping up and down on the rope before it snaps. Having seen it coming you shoot a web at the ceiling and catch yourself at the same time Miguel’s red webs pull you back to the platform and towards him.

“Cuidado.”

His eyes lock on yours, vexed at first before the shift into something softer when your arms go around him. You press your cheek on his chest, trying to push your affection onto him, let him know how appreciated he is. You hope the nano-tech allows it. “Sorry.” You mutter, voice muffled.

Miguel’s arms go around you and he holds you to him; you resist melting into his hold. “It’s okay, you were right.”

Those three words are enough to make you step back and look up at him, smirk on your face. “What was that?”

He chuckles under his breath and looks away. “There’s no way I’m repeating that.”

You’re about to say something else when you hear someone call from the lab’s floor “MIGUEL!!”

A chorus of voices follow the initial call, all coming from the lab’s entrance, and you’re quick to jump down and greet the three teenagers that walk in. “Careful guys, he’s moody today.” You warn with a smile.

“Same as always then?” Gwen says before all four of you giggle.

“This’ll cheer you up!” Pavitr says, before messing with his watch and sending something Miguel’s way. “Another mission complete.”

“So you did your job.” Miguel says once the platform’s closer to the ground. “Congratulations, here’s another one.”

Lyla pops up in front of Miles’ face and fixes her pink glasses. “New anomaly on earth 55. It’s a Vulture variant, Gwen takes point.”

“Why is she always the leader?” Miles complains, gesturing towards Gwen.

But the teenager ignores him and nods once, a determined look on her face before Lyla blinks away. “Let’s go.”

“Wait just one more thing.” Pavitr says, stopping Gwen and Miles on their tracks. “I have a question!”

“We’re full of answers.” You shrug before Miguel can shut down the kid. “Ask away.”

“Is there a monarchy on earth 928? It seems too futuristic to have one. Please tell me they got rid of it.”

“Other than the one in here?” You ask, a smile on your face as mischief makes another grand appearance.

Miguel mutters your name in warning, almost as if thinking you’d reveal the details of Miguel’s earth to the young Spider-Man. It makes you throw your hands up in mock surrender. “What? There is a monarchy here! I mean after all…”

Miguel turns to look at you, eyebrow raised and an unamused look on his face. The teenagers wait expectantly as well, until you open your mouth.

“You’re the king of my heart.”

Everyone groans at your bad joke, and you throw your head back laughing. Resorting to humor to let out all the feelings you have for the one you love, pathetic but necessary. Miguel sighs and turns back to his computer, but you’re almost sure he’s holding back a smile.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Miguel calls over his shoulder, arching a menacing eyebrow at the teenagers. It’s enough to make them scramble out of his lab, pushing each other to get to the entrance faster.

“Get ready,” Miguel then tells you. His mask covers his face once more, and you mourn not seeing his handsome face anymore. “Anomaly on earth 7832, you’re coming with me.”

“You got it baby.” You smile brightly, hopping onto the platform again and putting your mask back on.

“Come on.” Miguel huffs, but his tone is lighter than before. The hug helped, you smile in triumph though he can’t see it.

---

“The anomaly is a goblin variant” Miguel explains once the two of you make it out of the portal. “We need to take him away from this dimension.”

As you look at the buildings around you, shiny and modern, Miguel keeps briefing you on the matter at hand. The Goblin is going to Oscorp, thinking he can have his revenge on those who wronged him. However, this Oscorp hasn’t wronged him, it might have before but the goblin from this dimension already took many lives years ago. Miguel needs your camouflage, as you’re the only Spider-Man with this power other than Miles –though you’d rather have his venom powers instead, they’re so much cooler.

“I need you to trail him.” Miguel turns to look at you and places a hand on your shoulder. “Lyla will track him for you, and I won’t be far behind. Just stop him before he gets there and… be careful.” The last two words are said with emphasis, and it makes you smile. He worries so much; it gives away just how much his heart feels.

“Careful’s my middle name, handsome.” You blow him a kiss before you swing yourself off the building.

“Oh really, most of your records might disagree.” Miguel tells you on your watch and you can hear that cocky smile on his face.

“I hope you caught my kiss.” You ignore his jab, smiling under your mask as you swing yourself upwards and let go, doing a flip mid-air and shooting another web. “Lyla, am I close to our guy yet?”

“Closing in.” Her voice comes from your watch. “Three blocks.”

“Better turn invisible.” Miguel’s voice follows, it’s more agitated that before which you know means he’s trailing after you. Though you’re not nervous, a sense of relief washes over you at the knowledge that he’s close. “And no more talking, this is a stealth operation.”

“Sure thing, baby cakes.” You agree, “Catch you in a bit.” You make sure you’re camouflaged one block before you intercept the anomaly, staying silent, and focused on the mission. That is, until you pass a lilac and orange storefront. “Oh that milkshake place closed last year! Can we go back, later. Please.”

Your voice is merely a gasp, but Miguel’s chastises you. “Y/N”

“I’m gonna take it as a yes.” You shrug before going silent once more.

You spot the Goblin when you turn the corner of the last block. He’s green and wears a yellow hood on his head, his glider looks a lot like wings with green lights on the bottom. The anomaly is heading for a window, to break into the building mode likely but your don’t let him.

Shooting a new web and launching yourself upwards, you kick his glider to destabilize him and miss his shot. He’s definitely confused at what happened and even more so when you shoot two webs at his feet and pull. “I’ve engaged the anomaly, where are you?” You ask Miguel, showing yourself to your opponent so he can follow you to the rooftop.

The Goblin is faster than you, especially with his high-tech glider —you’ve never seen one so advanced— and he snatches you from the edge of the building then proceeds to throw you on the rooftop’s floor.

“How rude.” You shake your head at him, camouflaging again and slipping underneath the floating board he’s perched on. You shoot your webs at the blue ventilation system, knowing it will overheat it until it explodes before a series of red ropes latch onto the equipment and pull it away from the Goblin’s feet.

You roll to your right to avoid his body falling on top of you, at the same time an explosion goes off in your vicinity. Miguel stands there, as the glider’s smoke clears behind him, head cocked to the side. “I’m here.” He states when you stop camouflaging.

“You know, you really have to work on your one liners.” You shake your head. “Miss me? Would’ve been a much cooler thing to say.”

Neither of you can do anything else as suddenly six explosives are thrown both your ways. In a second, you shoot your webs are them, pulsing the shooter three times to change the web’s pattern and create a net-like trap you throw to your left. “Excuse me, we were having a moment here?”

The empty parking lot on the neighboring building shudders at the explosion and that’s when the Goblin attacks.

You try to put up a fight, and so does Miguel but the Goblin stronger than you. Though you manage to get some good punches in, his are stronger and knock the air out of you. He’s fast, too fast for one person to catch up with him, and even with you and Miguel running yourselves ragged, it’s hard to keep up. His bombs run out eventually —you kept throwing them to the empty parking lot, which worsened his mood— and you can focus on keeping Goblin still. The issue is, that no matter how many webs you shoot at his limbs, he snaps them easily before going back to exchanging punches with Miguel.

You try to pin his arms one more time, but he sends you backwards with a kick to your stomach.

You scream one of Miguel’s most common expletives, frustrated with yet another failed plan. “Okay. Babe, I have an idea, but you gotta help me out.” You tell Miguel, voice breathless, as he struggles with the anomaly.

“Tell me.” He grunts, trying to keep Goblin from escaping the rooftop, if he reaches the door and gets inside there would be too many people to look after.

“I hold him still and you bite him; I think it’s the only way to cage him.”

When you see Miguel nod, you get to work. You begin by shooting webs to the side of the buildings, much like you did back at Miguel’s lab, before attaching them to the Goblin’s body. His arms and legs are next, which you manage to hold down by circling him until they’re tight enough that he can’t move. Miguel uses his red webs to hold him too, and the front of his mask disappears showing his teeth as he approaches the anomaly. But the Goblin’s stronger than anything you’ve fought before and in mere seconds snaps one web, then another, until suddenly and with an ear piercing scream he’s free and sending a well-placed blow to your chest that leaves you breathless.

You’re out of webs thanks to your plan as he stands before you —to finish the job you’re sure— but it’s hard to focus on anything other than your shortness of breath. Miguel’s voice is muffled when it reaches you as he tackles the Goblin, grabbing at his neck with his claws. You take the opportunity to take off your mask, gasping for air and trying to get your rising panic in check. It barely lasts though, because the anomaly gets away, slipping through Miguel’s clutches, and going back to you. His green claw snatches you from the floor, making you grunt in pain as he jumps to the other building. Next thing you know, the Goblin lets go of you between the two buildings and your stomach drops. You activate your web-shooters in the hopes that even the smallest bit of web can help you but it isn’t your lucky day. Your body is in free-fall and the wind mutes the words coming out of Miguel’s mouth.

All you manage to hear is his scream, a desperate sound, followed by him diving to rescue you without hesitation. You can sense how his mind goes over the million ways he can grab and not injure you. Not even his bright-red webs can help you, he’d snap your back in two or detach a limb. But he will help you, you’re sure of that. You see him get momentum from the building in front of you before he dives in your direction, arms tight to his sides to gain speed. Once you’re within reach, his arms go around you, enveloping you completely before he turns around so his body receives the impact as you crash through a glass window on the opposite building.

“Go get him.” You groan, body limp on top of his.

Your lack of comment on your position is enough to worry Miguel. He was expecting something that would make him roll his eyes and hold back a smile as he always does when he’s with you. If you wanted some alone time, you could’ve asked, big guy. Woah, take me out to dinner first, handsome. He can hear it so clearly in his mind that your silence at present causes a wave of anxiety to rise in his sternum.

“You’re hurt.” Miguel states, voice strained as he lies you down gently on the floor.

“I’ve seen worse.” You shake your head. “Go find him, I’ll catch up.” It’s a blatant lie, and you know Miguel can tell. He can see you’re barely awake, how you’ve turned a shade closer to grey, how clammy your forehead looks and a quick glance at your abdomen confirms his first guess. He thinks at once, internal bleeding.

He talks to Lyla through his watch but you can’t make out a single world after the system’s name because you’re trying really hard to concentrate on breathing. Since when do you have to think about breathing? You’re suddenly bathed in tangerine light as a portal opens behind Miguel, and though he’s still in a hurry to get you back to the Society, he takes his time as he picks you up.

The movement is gentle but you still whine in pain, a string of curses flying past your lips. “How do I say motherfucker in Spanish?” You ask Miguel as your eyes fall closed.

“It’ll be over soon. Just look at me, okay?” His voice is tight yet calm despite the disastrous turn the mission’s taken. “Don’t close your eyes, you have to stay awake.”

You open them weakly —it’s so hard to stay awake all of a sudden— and look at his illuminated profile. His chiseled jaw, beautiful but so tense you’re sure he’ll crack a tooth. You’re in pain, slowly feeling like you’re fading away into nothing, but you can’t bear to see Miguel so stressed.

“Hey,” You whisper, and he looks down, his expression softening. “It’s Guasha right?”

“What?” Miguel looks so confused you’d laugh if it didn’t hurt to breathe.

“The secret to your cheekbones, babe.” You mumble.

Miguel squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, not annoyed but something else you can’t figure out. “As if I’d tell you.” He tells you, rolling his eyes at you in that fond way of his.

He steps through the portal and a moment later you’re back at the society, spidermen walking left and right to their own dimensions and missions. Miguel’s quick to bring you to the med-bay, at least that’s where you assume you are until you pass out.

It turns out, you were put under so the Spider-Medics could operate on you. Everything’s fine, they reassure you when you wake with a start, a couple of needles pricking your skin. Your eyes search for a familiar tall figure, brooding, handsome, the light of your eyes, but you can’t find it. So, you let the doctors run their tests and give you their diagnostics without another word. It takes a whole day for you body to heal and feel better, all while waiting for Miguel to show up.

He doesn’t. Not once.

Once you’re dispatched with an all clear and a lollypop, you immediately open a portal back home. There’s no use going to see Miguel at his lab. If he doesn’t want to see you, that’s fine. You get it, you ruined his mission and he’s gorgeously pacing in front of his many computer screens. But there’s also the gentle way he’d spoken to you, the look he’d given you before you passed out… No, it’s just childish wistful thinking. You’re the last person he'd like to see at the moment. You’re sure of that.

When you get home, you’re quick to turn on the radio and sync it to the police channel. Maybe chasing some bad guys will clear your head, take your mind away from the heartache threatening to consume you –it’s even worse than your previously broken ribs. But you shower and change back into your suit and no such luck; not even a small robbery to stop. With nothing else to do, you go up the fire escape and to the rooftop just in time to see the sun set in the horizon. It bathes your New York in orange; it’s not nearly as modern as Miguel’s but it’s loud and fun regardless.

“One would think that after that fall, you’d avoid heights for a while.” Miguel’s voice comes from somewhere behind you but it doesn’t startle you.

“Occupational hazard.” Is all you say, staring ahead as your heart aches in more ways than one; for your own feelings and his likely regret of bringing you along to Earth 7832. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

You refuse to look at him, guilt eating you up from the inside out. “Miguel, I ruined your mission.”

“You didn’t.” Miguel sighs. “Why would you think that?”

You huff, then look down at your hands and twist your gloved fingers. “I know you’re mad, don’t lie to me.”

You hear him approach you, his footfalls getting closer before he places something next to you. You look to your right and see it, the lilac paper cup with the orange logo and white straw. What? You take it in your hand and examine it in the sun. “Is this?”

“They closed a year ago, right?”

You turn then, and the sight of Miguel standing there increases your yearning tenfold. He’s bathed in orange light from the sunset, it casts sharp shadows on one side of his face as the wind tousles some rogue strands of his hair. It should be illegal really, to be so beautiful you bring people to tears.

The worst thing is that he’s not mad, you can tell by the way his jaw isn’t tense like a day ago. His brows are relaxed, and his eyes scan your face as if drinking you in. It makes your eyes tear up, much to his shock. If he’s not been angry at you, then he didn’t go to see you because he doesn’t care. You thought you were good friends, despite him trying to conceal it; he’s let you hang out with him all the time, never once has kicked you out of his lab, has taken you with him to multiple missions. Yet…

“You left.” You murmur tearily.

Miguel sighs and sits next to you, his back to the sun and his hands falling between his legs. His shoulder hunch, as he shakes his head. “Do you know how close you were to…”

“They said everything was fine.”

“You almost died.” Miguel’s voice isn’t loud but the pain with which he murmurs those three words make you grimace.

“Oh.”

Miguel shakes his head. “I was scared to lose you.” His right hand reaches for yours and you take it, moving the milkshake to your other side to scoot closer to him. “I might be strong, but not when it comes to seeing you in pain.”

“And after that?” You turn to face him, big fat tears fall down your cheeks, and Miguel wipes them away, setting your skin on fire and comforting you at the same time. “You still didn’t come. I thought we–“

“I was thinking.” He tells you softly, a hushed confession.

“Of course you were.” Even though you’re confused by his words, a grin makes its way to your face. He’s ridiculous. “About what? the multiverse perishing ‘cause of the bad guy we let escape?”

Miguel shakes his head before holding your chin between his thumb and index finger “The fact I was so overtaken by fear when you got hurt I could barely think; that I can’t live without you; that I’m completely yours without even knowing when it happened.”

“You’re mine?” You question, eyes widening in surprise, heartbeat raising at the same time as your hopes with his words. “You mean—”

“That I love you?” He chuckles at your expression, his eyes looking at yours fondly; “According to Lyla, everyone knows I do but you. I thought the milkshake would give it away.”

“Miguel, I thought I was the obvious one. I’m always —”

“You were, baby, you were” Miguel’s hand slowly moves to your cheek, eclipsing it in size as your body lights up at the endearment. “I was hesitant but I’m not anymore.”

“So you got me a milkshake.” You smile, widely this time as you move even closer to him. Damn this man and his acts of service love language.

“I would get you whatever you want, you know that.” Miguel’s voice drops to a whisper at your proximity, his hold on your cheek pulling you closer to his face.

“And you looove me.” You tease him, brushing your nose tenderly against his; there’s nothing you’ve wanted more than to shower him with all the affection you have for him. It turns out you have a chance to do it after all.

He rolls his eyes with nothing but adoration, and love. “Never stood a chance.”

“Wish it didn’t take falling to my death to tell me, hot stuff.” You murmur, brushing your lips against his, drunk with your feelings and the idea of loving him freely, no jokes needed. “You’re the one that bites out of both of us.”

Miguel chuckles and you lean close, closing the gap between you and kissing his lips like you’ve dreamed of for a long while. Your hands move to his hair as you pull him closer and a noise gets caught in the back of Miguel’s throat. His own hand on your cheek tilts your face to the side before his tongue brushes your bottom lip to open you up to him. There’s no testing the waters, no hesitation. No, this is something you’ve clearly wanted for a long time and after the events from yesterday’s mission there’s no way you’re delaying this anymore. You sigh into his mouth, intoxicated in the best way from the taste of him, coffee and something sweet that makes you gravitate even closer to him.

You’re left dizzy and happy beyond words when you part, your lips chasing his for a moment before you press your forehead against Miguel’s.

“Hermosa,” Miguel murmurs. You can feel his eyes on you as he ghosts his lips across your chin, your cheek and jaw, as your mouth shifts to a grin. No one but you knows your moody vampire is so loving.

You move to sit on his lap, your side to his front, smiling widely at the content look you find on his face when you look up. Completely unguarded, for you.

“Okay moment of truth.” You announce, reaching over and taking the paper up in your hands. Your hands cover your face as soon as you take a sip, the creamy chocolate taste coating your mouth and releasing endorphins to your system.

“What?” Miguel asks, his protective mode rising to the surface for a moment before you smile. It makes him shake his head.

“Ohmygod, I missed this so much!” You cry out, taking another sip and sighing in content. “Might have to pop by and get another one every now and then.”

“If there’s another mission there maybe,” Miguel concedes, arms going around your waist to pull closer. “Maybe.”

“You did it though.” You remind him, cheek resting on his chest, making your words come out muffled.

“I’m in charge,” He shrugs, self-assured smile clear in his tone.

“You’re no fun.” You sink against his chest, breathing him in and taking in his warmth. Until a memory flashes in your mind, making you light up and look at him again. “WAIT. Was that a joke earlier?”

—-

*por que yo? (why me?)

*hermosa (beautiful)

*cuidado (careful)

[hufflepuffronstan]

Lucky

#5 - Hate, for @hinnymicrofic

They were lying on Ginny’s bed on a summer night, a couple of months after the first anniversary of the war. The whole house was quiet apart for the sound of the wind coming through the open window.

She rested her head on Harry’s chest listening to his heartbeat, her hand absently stroking his chest. 

A part of her felt selfish for not feeling awful for being able to lie together like this, for feeling relieved and comforted in his arms after so many people lost their lives, including her own dear brother.

She looked at Harry to see him looking up, unblinking, a myriad of thoughts passing through his eyes. 

“I thought of you.”

He had a hand wrapped around her and the other gently stroked her back.

“What?”

“Right before I faced the spell.” 

Ginny felt her breath catch. 

“I knew it was going to be the end, that there was no coming back. I knew there was nothing else I could do and right before the spell hit me, your face was the on my mind.”

He sounded almost detached, as if he was telling the story of a fictional character in a dystopian world. But there was a minute tremor in his voice that had she didn’t know him wouldn’t notice. But there had been so many conversations and she knew him and his mannerisms.

She wrapped her arms around him tightly as tears flowed down her eyes.

“And when I was given a choice to stay, I chose to stay because of you. I didn’t want to leave you behind again. I left you once and I didn’t want to leave you again. Finally, there seemed to be a tiny sliver of hope that if —” he tightened his hold around her, “if I came back maybe I could make things right and maybe, if I was lucky, I could have a life with you.”

A million emotions coursed through her mind.  She wanted to speak and comfort him, reassure him and tell him that she loved him, but her throat was tight and all she could do was hug him tighter as she tried to gain control.

She felt sad for the boy whose childhood was wrecked. 

She felt intense hatred and disgust towards the people who puppeteered his entire life, exploiting every bit of pureness and kindness of his soul. 

She felt fear for the boy who walked away, silently watching the faces of the people he loved, to face death alone. 

She felt admiration and awe for the boy who fought for everyone brave, loyal and unquestioning selfless.

And right now, most importantly, she felt immense gratitude for having him by her side. 

No, she wanted to be by his side. 

She wanted to be by his side so that she could spend her life trying to show at least a fraction of love he showed her.

She didn't know how long they lied silently in each other’s arms. 

When she finally calmed down, she leaned over and kissed him on the lips, softly. She hoped that her lips would convey the emotions where words failed her. 

She sat up, feeling a single kiss inadequate, and started peppering his face with kisses. She kissed his temple and then his cheeks then his nose, his eyes, his neck, fervently whispering words of love.

Harry sensing the need for her, grabbed her face and crashed their lips together. Their lips tangled together passionately, their emotions driving them together on a high like fuel on fire.

After what felt like several lifetimes, they broke apart, breathing heavily.

Ginny stared into his eyes and whispered, “I love you, Harry. So, so, so much!” She pecked his lips. “And you’re wrong.” Harry let out a watery chuckle. “You’re not the lucky one. I am the lucky one. I’m lucky that you chose to come back, that you love me and I’m so grateful that you’re here because I can’t imagine a life without you.”

“I love you too, Gin!”

Note:-

I’m sorry for the angst. Promise I’ll try to write a fluff next.

[colormepurplex2]

Chasing Shadows | Cat & Mouse

↳  Jungkook x f.Reader ⤜ Best Friends Brother/Lovers ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 5,989 ⚠️ death threats, breaking and entering, stalker behavior, references to crime and violence

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“Another one?” you mumble to yourself as you twist your key and lock your door, heading out for work. Attached to the front of your door with a small sliver of clear tape is a dirty, brown napkin. There’s a grease stain on one corner and small spatters across the bottom edge. A red logo is distorted by the smear, but you can just make out that it says Rosey’s Place.

You grab a tissue from your bag and snatch the napkin down. Turning it over, you suck in a stilted breath. A crude drawing is etched in red and black ink across it. Though it’s a poorly executed image, you can clearly see it’s a cat eating a mouse. Very juvenile, but no less macabre. It’s offensive enough on its own, but add it with the other two scraps of trash with similar drawings on them that you’ve received over the last few days, and it has the hair on the nape of your neck standing on end.

It could just be some punk-ass kids playing a joke. But, in your line of work, you’re a bit more paranoid even when it comes to seemingly innocuous coincidences or harmless pranks. Criminal journalism is in your blood, but it also comes with an ingrained sense of overbearing self-preservation. Better to be cautious than be a victim. You write dark, yet wholly real, pieces on some of the largest crime heads in the world. Your articles aren’t exactly glamorous and flattering; you have plenty of potential enemies.

Sighing, you shake your head and wrap the tissue around the napkin and tuck it away into your bag for now. You’re heading into the office and the few extra minutes it would take to get back into your apartment and do something with the napkin are precious minutes you desperately need to grab a coffee.

Despite your own sense of self-awareness, you still aren’t always able to brush off that little bit of disbelief. Which is why you find yourself pulling out your phone and dialing your best friend.

“A call before eight in the morning, to what do I owe this pleasure?”

You smile and hit the button for the lobby in the elevator. “Hey, E. I wanted to run something by you. If you have a moment?” Being on the third floor, your ride down doesn’t take long.

She hums thoughtfully. “Always got time for you, babe. Lay it on me.”

“First, promise you won’t freak out?” you lower your voice as you make your way across the lobby and pass Henry at the front desk. He throws a hand up in greeting and you nod, giving him a small smile.

There is silence on the line for a moment. You know she’s having her own internal struggle not to instantly react to that preface. “You realize saying that only makes me want to freak out before I even know what you’re going to ask of me, right?” she finally says.

“Yeah, but, it’s not really all that big of a deal. At least, I don’t think so. That’s what I’m getting your opinion on, actually, determining if it is something that I should be freaking out about,” you explain with a shrug even though she can’t see you.

There’s a hint of suspicion in her voice as she responds, “I can’t promise that I won’t freak out. But, I’ll try to keep my head about it.”

“This morning as I was leaving, I found a crude drawing on a diner napkin taped to my door. This is the third drawing like this that I’ve gotten. It could just be some kids in the building being assholes, but I don’t know. What do you think? Nothing or…” you trail off, hoping you don’t sound completely paranoid.

“I see,” she sighs. “Well, what kind of drawings are we talking about here?”

You hesitate to reveal the truth, knowing it could potentially set her off. Maybe that’s the answer you need anyway, if you’re too hesitant to even tell her because you’re worried how she’ll react then it’s probably something you should be worried about. You called her because you value her opinion, both professionally and as your best friend. 

“The first was from a ripped-up fast food bag, it had a hawk eating a rabbit on it. The second was a matchbook with a spider catching a fly. This last is on a greasy diner napkin and has a cat eating a mouse. All black and red ink, very crude and elementary, bordering on stick figures but still plain enough to determine what they are.”

 A colorful swear comes down the line. “You expect me not to freak out? Babe, that’s straight out of weirdo stalker 101. My protective momma bear instincts are kicking in. I swear, if this somehow leads back to your damn job, I’m going to force you to quit. That fucking website gets you into way more trouble than my job ever has me.”

“Enola, you’re an FBI profiler. I’m just a journalist. That’s like comparing apples and oranges. You definitely take the cake in the trouble department. Don’t jump the gun here, it’s probably just nothing.” You hate to admit she has a point, though. You’ve found yourself in some rather unnerving situations over the years due to the nature of your job. But, she’s the one who actively seeks out the crazies with guns and intent to harm; surely, that means her job has more trouble. Though at least she also has a gun to point back at the crazies…you’re just armed with a laptop and the can of mace at the bottom of your bag.

Enola gives a soft, humorless laugh. “Let’s not start this conversation again. My opinion is that it’s something you need to be cautious about. I insist on you getting a door cam or something like I told you to months ago. Have you told Detective Jung about this?”

“My building has security. Henry would have mentioned if there was something weird going on, someone suspicious or out of place in the building. Which is all the more reason why I think it’s just kids being punks. It’s probably Ms. Abernathy’s kids, Cody and Riley. You know how much shit they get into around here. Just last week they flooded the basement trying to film some TikTok video. And, I did tell Hoseok,”—you emphasize his name—,” about it after the second one and he said that unfortunately there isn’t much that can be done over a few pieces of trash being taped to my door.”

She laughs again and you can practically hear her eye roll. “On a first-name basis with that asshole now? That’s a conversation we’ll have another time, I promise you that. Shit. Hey, look, I gotta go. I’m being summoned for a meeting with Director Connor. More than likely I’m going to be heading out on assignment soon, otherwise, I’d come over myself and we’d look into this together. What I am going to do, though, is text my brother your number. He’ll give you a hand and if it so happens to not be some kids in the building, he has the resources to take it seriously and get you the help the police refuse to provide.”

You consider refusing her brother’s help. You haven’t seen nor talked to him since you were teenagers and don’t want to impose on his life. But, you know it’ll be easier to just accept and placate Enola for the time being. “Thanks, E, you’re the best.” Your office building comes into view as you round the corner. The coffee shop you want to stop in is just across the street. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Hey, wait,” she stops you before you can hang up. “Listen, please be careful, okay? I know you don’t think it’s anything serious; but just, please, for me?”

The sincerity in her voice breaks down your walls a little. “Yeah, of course, always. I promise.”

Enola says goodbye and assures her brother will be reaching out to you sometime later today. The cafe isn’t very busy so you manage to get a coffee and make it into the office before most of your coworkers arrive.

Working for a major news outlet, specifically doing the criminal and justice spread, is everything you ever wanted in a career. Growing up, you devoured mystery and thriller novels which quickly developed into a love for true crime and murder mystery as an adult. You love watching true crime documentaries and listening to various crime podcasts.

Some of your closest friends work in adjacent fields. Like Enola being an FBI profiler and Hoseok being a detective with the local PD. They have a history together, which is why Enola is hard-pressed to show as little respect to Hoseok as possible right now. You can’t really blame her, he was a total ass. But, he’s really good at his job and you know he’d help you in any capacity that he could, if he could. The police department is just limited in what they really can do and the resources they can expend for a situation like yours.

Setting your coffee down on your desk, you settle into your chair and pull out your laptop from your bag. You tuck your bag into the bottom drawer of your desk and lock it before sliding the small key ring into your pant pocket.

“Morning, boss!” Taehyung, one of your coworkers, calls as he enters the office. You’re still getting used to that title— boss. It’s only something you recently acquired. Your last big exposé earned you a promotion to team lead editor. You’re now in charge of the entire crime and justice branch of The Scarlet Informant, totaling just under a dozen people.

You waggle your fingers around your cup at him as you take a sip from your coffee. “Morning, Tae, how was your evening?” Building rapport and a bond with your team was priority number one for you. Despite working with these same people for years already, you feel like you could be making more of an effort, especially now as their boss.

He slides into his chair and hides a yawn behind a fist. “Mmm, it was good. I had a meeting with a new lead for my Marshal story. I think I really might have something special.” Taehyung crosses his fingers and does a little shoulder shimmy in his chair. His black polo and navy slacks complement his slim frame. You catch the glint of a silver watch on his wrist. Taehyung, you’ve come to learn, has an extensive collection of watches, wearing a different one every day. “Is this what it felt like for you when you landed that key info on Nauvez? I still can’t believe your article ultimately led to his arrest. That’s like, the epitome of badassery.”

The tight smile that pulls at your lips feels weird. When you first published the shadow piece on Nauvez you had no idea it would actually help the LAPD track him down and make the arrest. You lucked out on putting together some breadcrumbs, talking to the right people, and somehow connected dots the police hadn’t. That’s how you ended up with your promotion; just pure luck, though everyone swears you deserve it regardless and you’re being far too humble.

You honestly don’t mind the promotion and intend to do your best no matter what. Your only fear is that you’ll grow to resent it. The last thing you want to be is stuck in a job you hate. Writing is your passion, your main hope is that you’re able to continue writing even when delegating to others. So far, it’s worked out fine.

“That’s wonderful. Just be sure to vet your sources thoroughly. We don’t do maybe’s or possibly’s, nothing but definitive reporting. Taking on a new source is its own balancing act. If it wasn’t for my resources, that Nauvez piece wouldn’t have been nearly as impactful.” You’re a firm believer in doing things the right way. No cutting corners or taking the easy way around a story. It’s important for people to get the facts, false information and the grey areas of crime reporting are extremely dangerous.

Taehyung laughs. “Wouldn’t dream of disappointing you like that. We have that meeting with Rigby later, right?”

“That’s right. It’s after the editor meeting. He wants to discuss the projections for next quarter. There’s also the new newsletter format he wants to roll out that needs some tweaking. I imagine Paris will have something to say about that,” you mutter, more to yourself than Taehyung. Paris is the office mean girl. She’s the team lead editor for the fashion and pop-culture columns. If she wasn’t so good at her job, you’re certain Rigby would have canned her by now.

“Good morning, fellow Scarleters!” The nasally pitch of Paris’ voice echoes down the hall as she prances through the office commons. “I grabbed bagels on my way in this morning, from that cute vegan spot on Seventh.” Her fiery red curls appear in the doorway to your team's office before her face does. “Hi, sweeties!”

You internally cringe at the saccharinity dripping from her words. “Morning, Paris,” you try to suppress the sigh in your tone.

“Hey,” Taehyung offers with a half-hearted wave toward the door. His desk is on the far side of the room, facing the large windows overlooking the cityscape.

Paris drops a white paper bag onto the corner of your desk. “Enjoy!” You nod in thanks, turning back to your laptop to make sure you’re prepared for the morning meeting. Long, red-lacquered nails tap against the top of your laptop screen. Paris leans in when you look up at her with a raised eyebrow. “I made sure to get the low-fat bagel option for you.” She says it with an overly sweet smile on her face. “Us girls gotta look out for each other, right?” Her eyes flick over what she can see of your body above your desk before sweeping out of your office space.

You’re still trying to reign in your desire to shove the low-fat bagel down her throat when Taehyung makes a disgruntled sound from behind you. “One day she’s going to get punched in her fake lips and I sincerely hope you’re the one that does it.”

That makes you laugh. The sudden mirth instantly puts you at ease. “Wouldn’t that be something?”

The rest of your office files in over the next few minutes and the space quickly fills with soft chatter and clacking keystrokes as everyone adds last-minute touches to their reports.

You quickly forget about Paris and her disgusting attitude. At least, until you’re heading toward the conference room and she falls into step beside you. 

“You must be so concerned for Kat, huh?” she feigns a sad pout. But her words throw you off.

“Kat?”

As if the exaggeratedly appalled look on her face wasn’t enough, she flourishes a hand and presses it to her chest dramatically. “You know, Kat that works in your department. It’s terrible what’s going on with her brother. I can’t imagine having to put a loved one in a full-time care facility.”

Right. You had noticed she hadn’t made it into the office yet and had intended to check in but time got away from you. She asked a week ago to have the morning off for personal reasons today, which you granted. But, this is news to you. You didn’t know she was having to put her brother in a care facility, or that she even had a brother, to begin with. That is if Paris is even telling the truth; it wouldn’t be the first rumor she’s started in the office. Kat’s one of the few people in your department that has been a bit more reserved when it comes to opening up and bonding with you in your new position. So, for all you know it could be true, even coming from Paris.

“Right,” you mutter hoping she drops the need to spout gossip, especially considering it concerns one of yours and a situation you know nothing about.

She doesn’t stop, though, tacking on a very distasteful comment. “Paralyzed from the waist down, apparently. Poor guy probably can’t even get— Oh!” Paris staggers hard to the right, her shoulder smacking into the wall as you continue down the hall. “What the hell!?” she calls after you.

“Sorry, you were walking a little too close I guess. Hope I didn’t scuff your shoe,” you toss back, not giving her the satisfaction of looking at her while she huffs behind you.

You suppress a smile as you enter the conference room, Paris hot on your heels. “These are five hundred dollar shoes,” she hisses as she passes you to take her seat on the other side of the long table. Her pea-soup-colored eyes bore into you once she settles into her chair. You mouth ‘sorry’ and shrug a shoulder then turn and give Rigby, who’s seated at the far end of the table, your full attention.

“Good morning, everyone, let’s begin with our plans for next quarter.” Rigby pulls his wire-framed glasses down off the top of his head and onto the bridge of his nose. His close-shorn black hair is peppered with silver and his grey suit is fashionable but not flashy. He’s a great boss and you easily get lost in the conversation and ease of making plans for the next quarter.

By the time your editor meeting is over, it’s time for your team meeting. Rigby sticks around for it, listening in and giving his input as he sees fit. You welcome his direction, knowing he’s been working in the journalism and publishing field for at least as long as you’ve been alive. He’s the main reason The Scarlet Informant is as successful as it is.

As the meeting comes to a close, you impart a few words of advice for your team and dismiss everyone back to their respective desks. As Taehyung passes you, heading to the door, you pat his shoulder. “Hey, just a moment, if you will.”

He turns his brilliant smile on you. “What’s up, boss?”

“You’re pretty close with Kat, aren’t you?”

Taehyung bobs his head from side to side in a so-so fashion. “I guess. As much as two coworkers can be close. We don’t hang out outside of work, though. She’s quite shy and reserved. Total sweetheart, though. Why?”

“Paris mentioned something to me earlier on the way to our editor meeting. Do you think Kat would mind if I asked her about it?”

His smile slips. “Paris can’t keep her mouth shut can she? Kat’s a private person, but I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if you asked her. She’s only told me a little bit about what’s going on. That red-headed she-devil probably was eavesdropping again.”

That would be classic Paris, putting her too-perfect-thanks-to-dr-whoever’s nose where it doesn’t belong. You make a mental note to approach Kat about it when she makes it into the office later; in hopes of getting ahead of gossip that might make Kat, being the private person she is, uncomfortable.

It’s a few hours later when you notice Kat slipping into the office. She keeps her head down, her mousy brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head and her horn-rim glasses barely staying on her nose. The muted orange cardigan she has on over a pale yellow floral dress looks vintage, especially paired with her toffee-colored loafers and white socks with lace trim. Kat has always reminded you of a librarian or maybe someone who runs an antique shop, quirky and soft in a cute way.

“Hey, Kat,” you chirp, trying to come off as light-hearted as possible as you approach her desk. “Did everything go okay this morning?”

Her large brown eyes drift up from the folder open on her desk. There is a moment where you’re certain you see a sliver of something resembling fear there but it’s gone before you can be certain. “It was fine.” She swallows hard, averting her eyes.

“That’s good to hear.” You’re not sure how to broach the subject, so you just go for it. “I heard something earlier, someone mentioned a potential reason you were needing the time off.” You pause, seeing if she’ll react to you mentioning gossip about her, but she just glances up at you from beneath her lashes. “I just want you to know that if you need additional time, I can work with your schedule. Family is important and I want to make sure you have everything you need in any way that I can.”

Her thin lips form into a soft smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Do you really mean that?”

“Of course,” you’re quick to assure. Taking care of your team is your number one priority. Plus, you’re big on a good work-life balance. So, if Kat needs time away to take care of her family, you’ll make sure Rigby has no reason to complain. “If you need anything, just let me know. Okay?”

Kat hums, rolling her lips between her teeth before nodding. She directs her attention back to the folder in her hand. “The Handler files, I’m just going over them again,” she says in a way that feels like she’s dismissing you. You can only imagine the morning she’s had, so you don’t push or question further.

“Right. Good luck with that, I’m sure you’ll find anything that may have been missed.” You rap your knuckles lightly on her desk before heading back to your own.

Getting lost in the demand of work helps with your own morning troubles. The greasy napkin in your bag is long forgotten. It’s not until you’re pulling your laptop out at home that you catch sight of it at the bottom of your bag. The text you got earlier from Enola’s brother still sits on your phone, unread.

You pull the wadded-up tissue and napkin out of your bag and set it on your dining table. The other two items you stashed away in your office. At first, you had tossed the fast food bag scrap in the trash. It wasn’t until you found the matchbook that you dug it back out and put them both away to think over at a later time.

Now seems like as good a time as any. Pocketing your phone, you head down the hallway to your office. It doubles as a guest room with a fold-out sofa bed. The space is cozy with your large L-shaped oak desk tucked into a corner so the window of the room sits just above the far edge of the desk.

You’ve been in here so many times you could navigate it in the dark, but you slap a hand on the light switch out of habit. The overhead light floods the room, the scene it reveals stopping you in your tracks.

“What the fuck?!”

One hand clutches the front of your shirt, and the other braces you against the wall as you stagger back. Your eyes flick over the far wall above the sofa, that’s now ripped to shreds; bits of fluff and fabric are scattered over the floor. There are black and white photos taped to the wall, some small and some as large as a movie poster. There are several words spray painted on the wall. Most prominent of all, though, is the ‘NO COPS’ in bright red right in the center.

As you take tentative steps closer, you make out some of the smaller photos. They’re all mostly candid shots, taken from a distance, of you, your family, and your friends. You recognize Enola, your parents, Detective Jung, and even some of your co-workers. The largest photo, centered on the wall, is a blown-up print from your promotion. Rigby has your hand clasped in his, you’re both smiling at the camera. Surrounding you both is your team, all frozen mid-clap as they cheer for you. Everyone, except for you, has large black Xs over their faces.

The pounding of your heart seems to vibrate through your entire body. You can hear the rushing thump in your ears and feel it tingling in your toes. A cold sweat prickles along the back of your neck.

There’s a stack of papers sitting on the remnants of the couch. From where you’re standing, you can see the top page has a format like one of your pieces for the Informant. Your fingers tremble as you scoop up the stack of papers and bring it closer to see.

There is a yellow sticky note tacked to the top. In a blocky scrawl, you read: ‘You have until the end of business on Friday to publish this. If you change anything about it, I’ll kill them all. If you don’t publish it, I’ll kill them all. If you go to the cops, I’ll kill them all. You ruined my life, it’s time for me to ruin yours.’

Under the sticky note, in large, bold print across the top of the paper is your full legal name. Below that, in the place of a subhead is ’The Monster Behind The Mask’. The first few lines have nausea rolling through your stomach. 

‘This may come as a surprise to my readers; I have a confession to make. I’m a fraud. Everything I represent is a lie. I’m no better than the people I feature in my writing. I take other people’s lives and break them apart. I turn people into monsters. But, what you don’t realize is that I’m the real monster.

I ruin lives.

Let me enlighten you…’

You trail off reading, shaking your head at the absurdity. Who wrote this? Your fingers flick through the pages, taking in block after block, ridiculous claim after ridiculous claim until you catch sight of a large image formatted between the columns. You flip back and spread the papers out, taking in the black-and-white scanner-copy image.

It’s a police report. Your own police report. A police report that’s been redacted, sealed, and eventually expunged. Only, here it is, plain and utterly whole. The blurb under the photo indicates that it’s evidence of how much of a monster you are and how you’ve been ruining lives since you were seventeen.

“No. No, no, no,” you mutter, the pages slipping from your fingers and fluttering to the floor in front of the sofa. Your movements are stiff and jerky as you pull your phone out. Your finger hovers over Hoseok’s contact. Blinking away the sudden tears blurring your vision, your gaze snaps to the giant spray-painted warning on the wall. You can’t risk it. So, you click a different contact instead; one you know is still a risk, but a more calculated one.

“Two calls in one day? You’re not drinking tequila again, are you? It’s only Thursday, babe, that’s more of a Friday venture,” Enola’s voice chirps brightly through the phone.

You swallow hard, tearing your gaze away from the wall of horrors in your office. “E,” you begin but have to stop to suck in a calming breath. It’s not that effective. Your voice quivers as you try again, “Enola, I think I’m in trouble.”

“Hey, whoa, what’s going on?” The change in her demeanor is instant. 

“Someone was in my apartment. There’s all this…stuff. Threats, uh…pictures. I don’t— I don’t know what to do,” you babble, describing everything but the image in the printed manuscript that’s mocking you from the floor.

You can hear Enola shuffling around, paper crumpling, and drawers slamming shut. “Send me photos of everything. I’m texting Jungkook right now, I’ll have him come get you.”

“I can’t leave, E. What if they come back? I need to catch them. There’s too much at stake here.” You pause, hearing Enola muttering to herself and the soft tapping of her fingers on her phone screen, probably texting her brother. “There’s something else.” Enola doesn’t respond, too busy texting. “Enola. Are you listening? I said there’s something else.” Still, she’s quiet. “Enola!” you snap.

“What? Fuck, what? Sorry, JK’s being a bit of a shithead right now.”

“There’s something else. And…it involves you in a way.” Your heart beats so hard you feel lightheaded, so you slip down until you’re kneeling on the floor, slumped against the edge of the sofa. “Somehow, whoever this is, they uncovered the accident report…the one from graduation night,” you whisper.

A pregnant pause stretches after your words. Finally, Enola sighs and clears her throat. “Mine?” she asks quietly.

“It’s just mine,” you confirm.

“Okay,” determination enters her voice as she shifts into professional FBI-profiler mode. “Jungkook will be there soon. Go lock your door, and make sure your windows are all shut. You still have the mace I gifted you for Christmas, right? Get it. Don’t open the door for anyone except my brother. I know it’s been a while since you’ve seen him, so you need to ask him for the passphrase. You know which one I’m talking about. I never thought we’d have to use it, but this seems like a good time that we should. Do you understand me?”

“Yeah,” you manage to get out between sharp breaths.

Enola spits another colorful curse. “I’m supposed to leave in an hour heading to Singapore. I’m going to ask Connor if I can drop off this case—“

“No, E! Don’t. No. You can’t do that. I’ll send over photos, show you everything, but you can’t do that. Your job is entirely too important and you know as well as I do that Connor won’t grant it anyway. It’s fine. Your brother will help. He’s good right?” She grunts an acknowledgement. “It’ll be fine. I’m just a little spooked right now, that’s all. You said it yourself, my job gets me into trouble sometimes. I’m sure this is just someone trying to get revenge because I exposed them in the Informant. No big deal, I’ve dealt with worse.” What you won’t admit, though, is how utterly terrifying and just how much of a big deal it is that someone has somehow uncovered your juvenile record. Which is just one step away from Enola’s, and that scares you even more. If this actually gets out, you and she both can kiss your reputations, as you know them, goodbye. “I just got to get ahead of whoever this is, put a stop to it before it gets out of hand.”

“Keep me posted. Swear it!” 

“I swear,” you promise before saying goodbye and disconnecting the call.

You give one last look at the intimidating display on the wall before yanking open your desk drawer and grabbing the other two drawings. You toss them onto the dining table and make quick work of checking all the windows and the doors to your apartment. Everything’s locked; as it always is. How someone got in without breaking something is lost on you.

While you wait for Enola’s brother, you check the text message he sent you earlier. It’s simple, just letting you know that he has some equipment for you and wondering when’s a good time to come over. You don’t bother to respond, knowing Enola already spoke with him and he’s coming over tonight regardless.

Thinking about what you can do in the meantime, you dial the extension for the front desk downstairs. Henry answers on the second ring.

“North Highland Park Tower, this is Henry. How may I help you?”

“Hey Hen, it’s me.”

“Ah, my favorite writer in 3C. What can I do for you tonight?”

You clear your throat. “Well, firstly, I just wanted to let you know I am expecting a visitor. It’s Enola’s brother, Jungkook. He should be by soon. I was also wondering if there was anything you’d noticed in the last few days. Maybe an odd name on the guest list, unusual people hanging out in the hallways, faces that aren’t familiar to you?”

Henry hums. “Is everything okay? Should there be something weird like that?”

It’s tempting to lie to him, but you feel bad enough as it is if your work is bringing potentially dangerous people into your building. So, you deign to give him as much of the truth as you can. “I’m not sure, really. It could just be kids in the building playing pranks, but I’ve gotten some weird presents left at my door the last few days.”

“Do I need to make a call to the locals?” Henry immediately questions. You can hear the seriousness in his voice. All it would take is one word and he’d have the PD here in a matter of minutes. “Damn kids can’t get away with scaring the community. I won’t allow it.”

“No, no, Henry. It’s nothing like that. I just wanted to see if there was anything you’d noticed is all. The things on my door have been harmless—,“ they, in truth, are, “—but if it is one of the kids in the building, I’d like to just have a chat with their parents. That’s all.”

You can practically hear the wheels turning in Henry’s head. “Yeah, okay. Nothing sticks out for me off the top of my head, but I’ll take a look back through our feeds and logs just to be sure.”

“Thanks, Henry, I appreciate it. If you find anything, just give me a ring. I swear if it’s something more, I’ve got Detective Jung on speed dial,” you put as much sincerity into your words as possible. You hope he accepts it and only does what you’ve asked. If he gets the cops involved, you’re not sure if your latest fan will care much whether it was you that called them or not.

There isn’t much more to do other than send things to Enola. You take a deep breath before heading back into your office. It’s hard to try and ignore the severity of the situation as you snap photos and send them off to her via the secure network she has set up for you. Her working for the FBI has its perks.

You get your laptop set up and begin compiling a spreadsheet of possible suspects. The number of criminals you’ve written about over the years is fairly large, but you’re able to reduce the pool based on a few factors. It’s safe to assume any of the individuals that have graced your column and are incarcerated, can be ticked off the list. That eliminates a good portion of the list. Though, you know it’s possible for criminals to coordinate from the inside. So, you backtrack and just divide that group into its own lists. All of this might be for nothing, but you feel better doing something other than just waiting.

It’s less likely that it’s someone in your building. The threat still waiting in your office is proof enough for that. That’s far too complex for a couple of jerkwad kids to pull off. Not only would they have to have the skills to dig up your juvie record, but they’d also have to be able to unseal it, purge the redactions, and then compile the manuscript. You don’t have nearly enough confidence in the abilities of teens to be able to pull that off. Plus, the biggest, glaring factor of all— motive, they have no motive.

For all the work you’re putting in right now, you’re not even sure how much will be worth the effort. You put a pot of coffee on and change into a pair of leggings and a comfortable t-shirt. It’s only about an hour after you discover the message in your office when there’s an abrupt knock on your door.

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to chapter list

◅ Back to Master List ©️       2022-12-22   ColorMePurplex2

[twicearoundthesun]

[coven au]

Nayeon could always tell where the new girl was – or at least, when she was near. The atmosphere became heavy with unease, with disdain, as she approached; the townspeople glaring in her presence. Nayeon rarely tried to use her powers on the people around her, but she couldn’t help but be perceptive to such drastic changes in the mood of the masses.

The town didn’t like newcomers. The newcomer couldn’t seem to take the hint.

Nayeon handed a pouch of her landlord’s money to the butcher and was handed back her basket, this time full of meat and bread. She thanked him and waited for her change. As he dropped the coins in her palm, there was a crash behind her.

The shoppers in the town square had frozen to watch the scene: there the new girl was, on her butt in the mud, the bag full of rotting fruit she’d purchased spread before her. She reached hastily for it, but only managed to grab a questionably bruised apple before one of the teenagers (that had likely pushed her in the first place) brought his foot down, crushing much of it to a pulp.

He laughed at the shock on her face before turning on his heel, friends in tow.

The villagers went on with their days. The girl sat frozen in the mud.

Nayeon sighed, placing her basket to the side before helping the girl to her feet.

“Thank you.” She said, quickly. Relief flooded her emotions, and a pitiful sliver of hope.

“You need to move on. This town isn’t friendly to outsiders.” Nayeon said, voice low.

The girl seemed startled. Nayeon could feel her disappointment. She didn’t flinch.

“I… I will. Soon, I just,” The girl took a shaky breath. “I need to stay in one place. Just for a week. I’ve been going for months… I’m tired.”

Nayeon could see it in her eyes, could feel it, the sheer exhaustion. The underlying fear that motivated her. But she wouldn’t be safe here, Nayeon knew.

“Better to be exhausted on the road than burnt at the stake here.”

The girl recoiled as if she’d burnt her. Her fear was much more urgent now, and potent; it even had Nayeon’s heart rate picking up a little.

“I – Why would they-”

“I know what you are. How you fear them finding out. Don’t play dumb with me, you’re an awful liar.”

The girl looked around quickly. Nayeon had made sure everyone was out of earshot when she’d said it.

“I-I’ll do anything. Please, don’t turn me in-” The tears were starting.

“I’m not going to turn you in.” Nayeon said. “But you need to leave town. It isn’t safe for you here.”

“It isn’t safe anywhere.” Her voice cracked. “I’ve been… Running for so long.”

“Then you can run a little more.” Nayeon said. She looked around and took a loaf of bread from her basket upon seeing no one – she’d have to lie about market prices today, but the girl was swaying where she stood. She slipped it into her hands and turned to walk the road home.

She didn’t look back.

The young witch didn’t heed her warning.

The next time Nayeon encountered her, days later, it was because she’d once again sensed fear. Poignant, this time; not the villagers anxiety towards newcomers, but the fear of someone in immediate danger. Despite her best interest, and her brief attempt to leave it be, she found herself walking towards the source.

As she rounded the corner she found her answer: one of the bastard teenagers held the witch’s arms behind her, a hand clamped firmly over her mouth so she couldn’t scream. She was kicking at an accomplice who’d caught her boot and held tight to her ankle.

“You must have something valuable to us, lady.” One of them was saying, as he patted down her dress and she thrashed in their hold. “We can’t let you leave town without paying the toll…”

“And what makes you think a traveling beggar is a good candidate for robbery?” Nayeon spoke up. The young men froze, and the witch was dropped to the hard dirt under her. The younger of the two men scrambled out of the alleyway, leaving his friend to deal with the consequences of their actions. The girl scrambled to get up, but he placed a boot on her leg, pinning her to the ground.

“Pretty thing like her probably conned a few men out of their hard-earned coin. She’s gotta keep it somewhere, eh? What makes you think a housemaid has any right to speak on the actions of landed men?”

Nayeon barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “I’m not a housemaid. And you’re no landed men; you’re teenagers living on your father’s farms and picking on travelers for coin you don’t need.”

“I could have you locked up for such insult to my character.” He sneered.

“I’m sure you can take that up with my employers.” She waved him off. The young wife of the farmer whose land she worked on had a soft spot for her, as she’d always been loyal. They were filled to the brim with old money, and money was power. Nothing would happen to her.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’d think they might take issue with their housemaid donating to the less fortunate with their own food, yeah?”

Damn. Nayeon could have sworn no one was around to see her slip the girl the loaf of bread. She chewed on her lip.

He smiled and turned his attention back to the girl. He reached down towards the girl’s neck, pulling at a chain until a small amulet was revealed to him.

“Ah, but you’ve got a nice necklace, here. I suppose if you can’t offer coin, I can melt this down and you can consider your toll paid.”

“No-” The girl pleaded. “Please, that was my mother’s-”

“I don’t care who’s it was. It’s mine now.”

“Please-”

He ripped the chain off her neck.

“No!” She shrieked. Nayeon felt white, hot anger permeate the air, and a strong blast of wind made her squeeze her eyes shut and cover her face with her arm. When she opened them again, the world was darker.

Leafy, dark green vines of ivy now blanketed the alleyway, bridging the two buildings above her and blocking out much of the sun. Tendrils of the plant continued to creep along the ground and towards the bricks of neighboring buildings at an eerie rate, stretching out of the alleyway and towards the road.

Nayeon had known the girl was a witch, but had no indication that she was this powerful. She met eyes with her.

“WITCH!” The man screamed, before she had time to react.

The girl ducked out of the alleyway and took off at a run, the teenager sprinting behind her. Nayeon found herself chasing after them, heart beating wildly.

It was a pitiful chase, and the girl was tackled in the town square. Villagers had paused their shopping to watch the show.

“She’s a witch!” He screamed again, and there was no denying it now. All of the weeds around them were beginning to grow, to creep outward and away from them. The alleyway they had just vacated looked like the entrance to a thick, dark forest. “She’ll kill me with her magic! Help me bind her!”

Nayeon’s heart hammered in her chest as they tied her hands with rope. A crowd of men surrounded her now. She could hear the girl’s sobs, but could only focus on her own fear, gripping her chest tightly as she watched from behind the crowd.

This is what they’d do to Nayeon, if they found out. When they found out. When Nayeon’s sharp tongue finally spoke ill of the wrong person and someone decided to look closer into her history, her life. When the hysteria over witchcraft finally reached the point of weeding out every member of the town and putting them through trials.

She could escape it. She could turn to the woods now, set off on her own, try to reach safety in the next kingdom and never turn back. She had a pouch full of her landlord’s money, and a full stomach from breakfast.

They had the girl kneeling in the square now. There’d be no trial; in the girl’s fear, she seemed unable to control her own powers. There was no doubt. The town was quickly looking like it was becoming part of the forest, weeds now blanketing the floor around her, ivy beginning to creep up stairs, horse posts, and the statue in the center of town.

“Build a pyre!” Someone yelled.

“That’s too slow! Cut her heart out!” They were answered.

She took a step backwards and felt something crunch underfoot. The necklace… In the chaos, he’d dropped the necklace. She picked it up with a shaky hand.

When she looked up again, the butcher stood in front of the girl.

In front of the witch. Her own kind.

Nayeon closed her eyes. Fear. She tapped into the girl’s fear, envisioned herself shaping it, amplifying it. Combining it with her own, with the fear from every villager in sight. Paralyzing, bone-chilling fear. She took a deep breath in. On the exhale, she cast it over the square, willing it to stomp out every other trace of emotion.

Everything seemed to slow. Many of the townsfolk dropped, gasping for air, gripping their chests. She took off at a run, untying the girl’s wrists quickly. She winced when she realized the target of her rescue was also in some sort of panic, but channeled warm emotions to her as she dragged her into the woods by their entwined hands. The town was already beginning to shake off the attack, and Nayeon could hear the angry calls to hunt them down.

When they finally stopped running, it was because they could no longer hear the faint barking of the hunting dogs, and they allowed themselves to collapse onto the forest floor. Nayeon quickly sunk to her knees, struggling to get a full breath in. For a few minutes, there was silence.

Then a soft, broken voice whispered. “Thank you.”

Nayeon only nodded. She pulled the necklace from her pocket and handed it back to her, and the girl thanked her again, profusely. There was another few seconds of silence.

“You’re a witch, too.”

Nayeon only huffed. No shit.

“You did that, didn’t you? That fear… I thought I was dying. It was so… cold. I was frozen with fear. You’re a mind witch.”

“I’m an empath. Yeah.” Nayeon corrected, starting to look around. She’d never been this deep into the forest, not since arriving to the little town years ago. “And you’re a plant witch.”

“…Botanist.”

“Whatever, kid.” She grumbled. She was beginning to realize the severity of the situation they were in; until now it had been all adrenaline. Now, she was bone tired and painfully aware that she was miles from her warm bed and that she’d never see her stuff again. Her little house, or the stupid little dog that lived on the landlord’s property but favored Nayeon. All gone.

“My name is Dahyun.”

She wheeled around to face her, a sudden sharp anger rising in her chest. “I don’t give a shit, Dahyun. We’re not here to be friends. We’re here because you can’t control yourself.”

Dahyun stayed frozen on the spot, wide-eyed. Nayeon felt a little bad at the outburst, but she hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true. Still, the girl’s big eyes made her guilty. She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“I’m Nayeon.”

[letters-to-yj]

A/N: this is literally just a self indulgent thing I wrote for myself and is pretty catered to me (gender/enby stuff, afab!reader, coming out, reader getting called boyfriend)

You could do this, you could tell him. You needed to, but mostly you just wanted to. You hated to hide anything from Yeonjun to begin with and this felt especially important because well, it was about you—your identity. You knew that even if you did want to keep it a secret, shove it down and hide it, that you couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to either of you.

After all, you two were together. He was your boyfriend and you were his girlfriend, only that particular word didn’t exactly sit right these days. Not in a ‘I don’t want to be with him’ kind of way either, but rather you didn’t feel like a girlfriend because you didn’t feel like a girl.

And this was the trouble.

Not that you felt like a guy either, but you were certainly not a woman. Would it make a difference to him? It terrified you, not that you’d begrudge him it if he did change his mind—but the idea still made your heart feel like it was cracking.

You try not to think like that though, because Yeonjun has never made you doubt how he feels for you. Because for every bad day or ounce of self doubt, even in the most mundane and sometimes silly moments—he was always there reminding you. It didn’t make the looming cloud of anxiety floating above your head shrink completely, but you needed that sliver of hope.

As soon as he enters your apartment, all it takes is one look at you and his brows furrow, “are you okay?” Geez, does he have some kind of sixth sense? You wonder to yourself.

“I’m okay,” you try to reassure him, hoping to shrug it off, at least for a moment.

“Are you sure? You seem nervous.” Yeonjun looks at you so gently, that you can’t help but let the facade crack. You had hoped to do this later in the evening, but looking at him now only made it harder for you to keep it in.

“Actually—” you start. “I need to talk to you about something…about me.” You take his hand and guide him to sit on the couch next to you. It’s obvious you’re scared, just a little bit fidgety, going over every possible option of how to say this in your head—just like you had been all day.

Yeonjun seemingly picks up on it, taking your hand and squeezing it. “You know I’ll never judge you, right? Whatever it is, I’m not gonna judge you or be upset with you.”

You can feel tears brimming in your eyes at the words, you didn’t expect to be emotional before you even got a single word out about it. “It’s just, I—don’t think I’m a woman. Or a man either…? Not really sure, just not either of those.” Words tumble clumsily out of your mouth and now you could feel the tears falling, you feel ridiculous.

A look of alarm and worry immediately registers on Yeonjun’s face as he reaches out to touch your face, wiping at your tears. “Hey, don’t cry—you don’t need to cry. It’s okay, right? It’s okay.”

The gentle words only make you want to cry more, sniffling quietly, but the way he’s looking at you feels like a balm on your heart. “It’s okay?” It’s all you can get out, voice small.

He smiles softly at you, “yeah, it’s okay,” he says softly. “Did you think it wouldn’t be?”

“I don’t know, I guess I just got scared,” you admit. “I didn’t want you to change your mind.”

“I wouldn’t,” Yeonjun says, almost sounding shocked. “I love you so much, how could I ever change my mind?”

You sigh, a mix of relief and tiredness from all the stress you had built up. “I love you too—a lot, just…nothing scares me more than the thought of losing you.”

“You wouldn’t lose me, especially not over this. I’m glad you told me,” he says. “I want to know you, all of you. No matter what.”

“Thank you, really,” you say, your voice slightly cracking again.

He’s quick to swoop in, “no, no—no more crying,” he pulls you into a hug. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

When you two finally part, Yeonjun is looking at you with an almost contemplative look on his face.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” You ask, just a little amused.

“Do you still want me to call you my ‘girlfriend’?” He asks.

Your face scrunches up, “I mean…maybe something else would be better?”

“Partner?” Yeonjun offers. He realizes it’s a miss when you kind of just make a face at him.

“I don’t know,” you start backtracking. “Girlfriend could be fine—”

“Boyfriend?” He cuts you off.

He sounds a little giggly as he says it and out of nervousness you point it out instead of answering. “Why are you laughing?”

“I don’t know, it’s just kind of cute—why, do you not like that one either?” Asks Yeonjun.

You pause. “It’s…not bad, kind of nice actually. ”

“Okay then,” he says, like he’s making an important announcement. “You can be my boyfriend.~”

He grins proudly at you and despite the slightly teasing tone, you can tell he’s mostly just endeared. And before you even have the time to properly feel awkward or embarrassed about it, he’s pulling you into a soft and sweet kiss, effectively distracting you.

“I love you,” he mumbles against your lips.

“I love you too.”

You feel so lucky.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 20

*Warning: Adult Content* 

Skylar West kisses Martin Hunter with tender patience, his lips and breath are soft caress and his embrace a safe net ensnaring him. 

Martin longs to give in and surrender himself to Skylar but after a moment of bliss, he pushes him away instead.

"Wait. Stop."

Martin rests his hands on Skylar’s chest and stares down at the sliver of space between us, as if it were a bottomless and unbroachable void.

"Why?" 

Skylar’s voice is quiet and undemanding, inviting Martin to set the speed.

"I can't," Martin says. 

"The kids."

"The kids are sleeping," Skylar says but Martin shakes his head. 

"They won't understand."

"Understand what? That their father is a man in need of comfort and companionship? I think you underestimate them."

Very gently and careful not to force the motion, Skylar tucks a finger beneath Martin’s jaw and makes him look up at him.

"Martin, tell me the truth. We both know the kids will be fine."

Suddenly feeling a little out of breath, Martin knocks Skylar’s hand away and turns aside. 

"I'm just not ready for this," he says, hunching in on himself defensively. 

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's been a while since you were with someone, hasn't it? Since your separation, at least, I imagine."

Martin laughs. 

"Well before that. Why do you think I'm so certain Nico and Rio aren't mine, naturally speaking?"

Skylar tries and fails to hide his surprise. 

"Your wife withheld her affections so long?"

"Affections?" Martin laughs at the archaic expression. 

"She had no 'affection' to give. As for... physical intimacy..." Martin crosses his arms self-consciously, remembering just how 'physical' she liked to get. 

"No. We had not engaged in 'marital activities' in a long time."

"Have you been with a man before?"

Skylar’s casual tone catches Martin off-guard and he turns to find him watching him with a curious, slightly concerned expression.

"Once. In college, before Elena. I was never unfaithful," Martin says.

"Just once?"

Flushing, Martin turns away and studies the bare, freshly painted walls. 

"Yes. It was... somewhat transactional."

"Transactional?"

Martin winces at the imagined judgment in Skylar’s tone.

"I had something I wanted to lose, if you know what I mean," he says. 

"It wasn't the best experience and it made me doubt my identity for a while, so I never tried again. What about you?" he asks, turning the question back on Skylar.

"Not often and nothing serious but I've scratched the itch now and again," Skylar says easily, "With men, women and everything in-between. 'Pansexual' is how it's described these days, I believe."

"These days?" Martin raises his brows at him. 

"How old are you? More to the point, what are you?"

Skylar smiles disarmingly.

 "You're right, perhaps we ought to get to know each other better before we get to know each other in the biblical sense."

"You already know pretty much all there is to know about me," Martin says. "You're the one who's still a mystery."

"Some things are easier to show than to tell’" Skylar says, touching the tips of his fingers to his lips thoughtfully. 

"That's why I was hoping we might visit the lake this evening. But I suppose some of it requires explanation, nonetheless. The truth is..." 

He takes a breath. 

"My mother is a queen."

Martin blinks as his brain searches for a believable interpretation of this.

"Your mother is a drag queen?" Martin asks, frowning. 

He supposes Skylar’s long hair would save him some money on wigs and he might have been reluctant to tell him, he performs, given his job and all the misinformation out there these days. 

Skylar laughs. 

"I've been known to enjoy a good drag show, now and then but no. My biological mother is Queen Meridia of Thassos, which makes me Prince Scyllian, heir to the throne."

"Prince..." 

Martin shakes his head and laughs at himself. Skylar had found it easier to accept that Martin is a wolf than he’s finding it to accept that he's some kind of royalty. 

"Sorry. I'm an American werewolf," Martin says. 

"I doubt I could even find all fifty states on a map. Where is Thassos? I don't think I've heard of it."

"There's a Greek island of the same name," Skylar says. 

"But my mother's domain is... further offshore. Nearer the Azores."

Having only a vague idea where that might be, somewhere off the coast of Europe, Martin thinks, he merely nods. 

"Okay. So, this is like one of those 'prince in disguise' things and you didn't want to tell me because you were worried that I'd only be interested in you for your money or title or something?"

"Or something," Skylar says, laughing lightly. 

"It will make better sense tonight, at the lake."

Martin frowns. 

"Why the lake, anyway?"

"I like the water," Skylar says, closing the distance between them once more and looping his arms around Martin’s waist. 

"Almost as much as I like you. So, what do you think? Will your children object to their father kissing a prince?"

"Not if the prince doesn't object to kissing a wolf," Martin says, fighting a smile.

He had been terrified that Skylar would reveal some awful, deal-breaking secret and his relief is like a rush of sugar in his veins. 

When Skylar kisses him, he kisses him back with less restraint and a little thrill of excitement shoots along his nerves. 

His wolf isn't dying. 

Elena had been slowly killing him for so long he'd simply forgotten what it felt like to be alive.

Like this, like there's champagne sparkles in his blood and like every touch tingles with electricity. 

When Skylar slides his hands under Martin’s shirt, he arches against him and lifts his arms so he can slide it over his head, then opens his mouth to a more invasive kiss as he does the same to him. 

Firm muscles shift beneath Martin’s palms, from his trim waist to his swimmer's shoulders, broad and strong. 

The warmth of Skylar’s body, the silk of his skin against Martin’s and the hot glide of his tongue combine to intoxicating effect and when he turns them and walks Martin backward towards his bed, he goes with it and lets him push him down. 

Part of Martin is aware that Skylar still hasn’t told him very much and a more cynical part is aware he might not have even told him the truth. 

He may not have aced geography but how many kingdoms has never heard of could there possibly be? 

But another part of him doesn't care.

The part so starved of love and so injured by it, that it trembles with a painful mix of hope and terror, tells the rest of him to shut up and good choices be damned, live a little.

Then, when Skylar’s lips and hands stray, the first to the side of Martin’s throat and the second below his waist, another part comes to its senses.

"Wait, the kids." Martin gasps, half delirious with passion but still unwilling to forget his duties as a parent.

"They'll sleep awhile yet, surely," Sky murmurs, his lips tickling the dip between Martin’s collarbones.

"It's already been twenty minutes. Nico and Rio recharge fast."

"I see."

To Martin’s dismay, Skylar backs off and looks down at him with a frown.

"I mean... We'll just have to make it quick," Martin says and the corners of Skylar’s lips twitch. 

"I don't want anything we do to be 'quick.' But I suppose we might be quick even while we take things slow."

His gaze travels down Martin’s body and stops below his navel.

"Show me," he says. 

For a full ten seconds, Martin lies without moving, paralyzed with embarrassment and indecision. 

Then, with his heart beating a wild tempo against his ribs, he unbuttons and unzips his pants, lifting his hips as he pushes them down. 

Skylar stares as he does the same to himself and Martin can't help staring, too. 

Between nerves and mixed emotions, Martin is only half-hard but Skylar is 100% ready for action. 

Presented with flushed skin, thick veins and a length and girth that makes Martin’s eyes go wide, he utters two words he instantly regrets.

"Fuck me."

"My pleasure," Skylar says, grinning, 

"And yours as well, I hope. But not today. For today... let's just get to know each other, shall we?"

Wordlessly and breathlessly, Martin nods and Skylar moves over him again, aligning their shafts and taking both in his hand. 

Martin bites back a groan but Skylar smothers it with a kiss.

"Just let it be," he says. 

"Here and now, you and me. Just feel."

Martin obeys but as he'd told Skylar, it's been quite a long time and while he’s taken care of his own needs now and then, he’s more often ignored it. 

With a few strokes of Skylar’s hand and the sensation of his hard length against his, Martin is gasping, then cresting, then done. 

Before he has a chance to register embarrassment, however, Skylar joins him, his head thrown back as he comes in a few spurts of hot, creamy seed. 

Panting, Skylar grins, swiping a finger through the mingled cum painting Martin’s abdomen, licks it and then leans to kiss him. 

The strange, salted sweetness on his tongue should disgust Martin but it doesn't.

 Instead, it feels like they've just done something sacred, something beautiful and free of sin. 

He has never felt anything like it before and as this dawns on him, a well of sorrow opens in his heart. 

Elena wasn't his fated Mate. 

He had known that and had Chosen her anyway. 

Now, it seems fate has given him a second chance. 

Skylar lifts himself to look down at Martin, his expression pinched with concern. 

"You're crying."

Martin touches his face and feels the wetness there.

"Have I... Oh My God, Martin, if this isn't what you wanted..."

Shaking his head, Martin reaches for Skylar, drawing him back into a kiss.

"No," he says, letting them both up for air. 

"If you don't care what I am, then I don't care what you are, Sky. I only care that..."

The quick double beep of a horn interrupts him and he startles, bumping their foreheads together.

"Ow. Who the hell...?"

Skylar lets Martin up and he zips his pants and walk to the windows at the far end of the room. 

A postal service truck is parked in the drive, a confused-looking delivery driver standing beside it with a large envelope in her hand.

"Shit."

He strides back across the room and reaches for his shirt but Skylar gently grasps his wrist, looking pointedly at the evidence of their recent fun drying on his skin.

"I'll get the package," he says, pulling his own shirt over his head. 

"You get cleaned up."

Grumbling under his breath, Martin does as he says. 

The noise might have woken the kids, anyway. 

In the bathroom Martin finds a clean washcloth, dampen it and wipes himself clean, then pulls on his shirt and steps outside just as Skylar returns, envelope in hand.

"I had to sign for it," Skylar says, frowning as he hands it to him. 

"Something legal, I think."

Martin takes it, studies the return address and feels his heart stumbles in his chest.

"Martin." 

Skylar catches him as his legs give way, making him curse his overly dramatic nervous system. 

"What is it? What's wrong?"

Weakly, Martin hands Skylar the envelope.

"It's from Elena," he says. 

[ch4rryc0smos]

SAUDADE | 09

THEY TELL PEOPLE THAT THEY'RE NOT ENGAGED-

synopsis ┊all the years that kept kenji sato and hazel vellichor apart, all the hours spent yearning, or not. all the time wasted, when they could be no more than a few metres apart. love didn't come to either of them naturally, but here they are, as life wrecks them, tests them, for everything they are, and need to be. hazel seemingly forgets him, and yet all he thinks about, is her. how would he feel if he was to know that his yearning is pointless? he doesn't know that it's not. that she's just trying to heal from the years she spent trying to figure out what's wrong with her. trying to heal, and she thinks it's even less possible when he walks back into her now perfectly created theatre play of a life. then he promises her love, healing, and kindness. all the lies she was used to. but a fool remains a fool, at least in her case. And she lets him back in.

genre ┊ childhood-friends-to-lovers, slight angst, tooth rotting & chaotic fluff, domestic fluff

pairing ┊ken sato x fem-self insert/oc, ken sato x public figure!self insert, ken sato x childhood-friend!self insert

warnings ┊ mild cursing, trauma, heavy topics (?), events in ultraman: rising take place alongside this story.

word count ┊1k.

author's note ┊second last part of saudade, what? this is mad (it isn't, i knew it was short). happy reading!! i've got a playlist for it, if anyone's noticed :')

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Hand shaking, Hazel glances at her car and walks up to his front door with legs that feel like jelly. A sigh slips past her, and she reaches for the doorbell. Her heart feels like it might break out of her chest as the sound echoes in her hollow skull. 

To her surprise, within the next two seconds, the door slides open. And the way it does, she can’t tell if there’s any hesitation. But when she sees his face, she just seizes. If there is anything she’d have wanted to say, all the words die in her mind. 

The look on his face is sickening. She wants to kiss it off, wants to hold him, and tell him that it’s okay (it isn’t). She also can’t believe that he was so quick to open the door. What if it was someone else? 

It doesn’t matter though. She thinks he might feel the same way about this. Maybe he wants to hold her too, she hopes it’s not wishful thinking on her side.

Apparently, it isn’t. He does hold her. He pulls her into his chest. Who cares if it’s day and there’s a chance that someone might see them? They don’t, that’s for sure. She’s practically putty in his hands, and wants to be. She lets herself be putty with him, hell, she clings onto him. 

She closes her eyes, inhales. His cologne floods her senses and it’s just so comforting, especially when his grip is so tight it’s suffocating, but it feels safe. It makes her feel wanted. Like he doesn’t want to let go. And the simple thought of it has her looking up, smiling. 

His expression though, is the furthest thing from happy there is, especially at the moment. She reaches up, brushes her fingers against his jaw. He gulps, and it’s so obvious as his eyes flutter shut and adam’s apple bobs up and down. His hands rise higher on her, until they’re on her shoulders. She leans into his touch as much as she can. 

She leans into his hands, and he leans down. 

Her breath hitches in her throat, but she doesn’t stop him. She hooks her fingers around his neck. This feels so right. Even though she’s really never known him, not throughout most of his life, she still feels like whatever they shared back then, is enough. Because she knows him. Anyway, She would always know.

It’s like when she saw him for the first time, her soul knew that he would be the one. Her eternal best friend, in more ways than one. She thinks she’s being stupid, but when his nose is pressed against hers and he opens his eyes just a sliver, she doesn’t care to stop her own mind. 

The question in his amethyst eyes is clear. She leans closer. Is that enough of an answer? She sighs. Her breath despite already being weak in her lungs is taken away when he smiles and presses his soft lips into hers. She melts. She might’ve lost her footing if he didn’t snake his arms around her and pull her flush against him. She almost completely forgets that they’re in front of his front door, but he doesn’t. He tugs her over the threshold of his house, kicks the door close and presses her against it. All while not wasting a single breath, not taking his lips off. 

When they do pull away, she’s panting at him. He barely catches his breath and dives back in, peppering kisses down her jaw, her neck. She has to cup his face and make him look up to have him stop. She doesn’t dislike the feeling, but she wants to just have him. 

He tilts his head, presses one side of his face into her hand. She blushes, fuck.

He has her a mess. A complete, utter mess. He doesn’t seem to mind as much as she does. His hands trace shapes on her lower back although it’s pressed against the door. Their eye contact is getting so intense Hazel finds her heart beating too loudly in her ears. She looks away.

He chuckles, and the warmth starts pooling in her gut. 

“Sorry about that,” he whispers, but the grin on his face is the furthest thing from apologetic. “I’ll make you lunch to make up,” he declares next. She finally meets his eyes again, and this time, it’s a challenge. If she remembers correctly, he literally called her to ask for help with making breakfast.

“Sure, Gordon Ramsay.” She laughs, finally catching her breath and no longer the shade of a beetroot. 

He moves back, crossing his arms over his chest and pouting. He’s adorable, goddamnit. But that doesn’t make Hazel stop smiling, she laughs harder, trying to hide it even though he can clearly see anyway. 

It seems that she’s right in the end. When they head to his kitchen and he proudly shoos Mina away, it takes only a few minutes before disaster strikes. Hazel’s sitting at the kitchen island and watching the muscles on his back flex, an apron tied nicely around him. He was humming, but now he’s just grumbling in confusion. And if the British woman isn’t mistaken, his hands are also shaking. 

Hazel counts the minutes, and after ten solid of them, Ken turns around, to face her. He’s scratching the back of his neck.

“Didn’t work out?” she asks, smirking.

He groans. “I’ll order something.”

She’s about to stop him, but he’s already pulled his phone out and holds his hand up. She doesn’t even bother standing up, just face-palms.

When he turns back, he’s grinning and unties the apron. His hair is sticking up at ends, and when he notices her eyes glued to it, he leans down. Asks her to fix it for him, even though he most definitely could do that himself. He doesn’t anyway, lets her. 

She takes the chance to card her fingers through his hair ever so gently. A smile playing on her lips. 

She doesn’t know that some part of it makes his heart soar.

ch4rryc0smos © 2024 … do not repost, alter, translate, or steal my work.

[theangelofangst]

The only sliver of hope, the only diamond I can see in this massive pile of absolute shit that could possibly save this, it’s knowing that arc they are setting up with Zur taking Bruce over.

Cuz like? Here Bruce was back in Urban Legends where one of his greatest desires was to have Jason be apart of the family again, that was his happiest thought and now here Bruce is brainwashing Jason?????

Make it make sense? I don’t care if it would be completely bs (which it would) I just hate the idea of Bruce being a terrible father to Jason and even to Dick. My heart just can’t take the disappointment.

Please DC if you must make “Oh it was Zur the whole time” then for the love of god at least make it make sense and be good. The payoff better be worth it’s weight in gold cuz if you messed with my boy Jason simply to tell fans that Bruce is a horrible father thinking that’s what fans want then imma take your canon and toss it off a cliff then set it on fire because no.

I didn't think Gotham Wars could get worse... And I was wrong.

So wrong.

Say what you will about WFA but at least that Bruce never kidnapped Jason.

And fundamentally changed his biology so that everytime Jason feels "heightened adrenaline."

He will be immobilised by fear.

So much fear infact that Jason mistakes it for fear gas.

And his justification for giving Jason a "failsafe."

Is that it's to heal him.

"I love you but you're a murderer. You're a bull in a China shop. After round and round with you, trying to figure out how to help make you a better man, how to heal you."

Talks about how he's set him up with a new identity, a new life.

Going on about how "this isn't a punishment Jason. I love you." And it being a gift.

All the while Jason is on the ground.

He can't move and he looks like he's in pain.

While Babs and Dick are trying to look for him.

... Hey DC...

WHAT THE FUCK.

What the actual fuck?!

Leave Jason Todd alone challenge, fucking hell.

Like I knew Bruce has lost his marbles but... WHAT THE FUCK?!

The idea of him permanently changing Jason's biology so his own body attacks him.

Jason who is so fucking traumatised, that theoretically anything could cause him to become immbolised.

Calling it a "failsafe" and justifying it that it's for Jason's own good.

No.

No it fucking isn't.

Also the balls of this man for saying that Jason should be in prison for all the people he's killed.

Like Bruce hasn't probably killed just as many.

I don't care if he's not intentionally doing it, few people are gonna survive the beating he gives them.

Or be able to make it to a hospital.

Also yeah murder is bad but you say it like Jason hasn't only been going after people who have killed just as if not more than him.

Also Bruce you know what else is illegal?

Kidnapping.

Beating up your children.

Being a vigilante.

Taking justice into your own hands.

All the shit you are currently doing.

And how can you talk of healing, you have never healed from any of your trauma.

You're literally conducting this whole shit in your parent's old house.

Fuck you!

You are a massive fucking hypocrite with the ego of someone who thinks they are untouchable.

Who thinks he is right about everything and can do whatever he wants.

Fuck everyone else.

So I guess I gotta give the writers credit because Bruce is actually acting like a billionaire.

I'm just so disgusted by all of this.

Like if I didn't already despise you in this run, I do now.

And I'm pretty sure he's gonna go fight Dick now for daring to get in his way and get Jason.

Good luck to whoever writes the next run and has to retcon all of this.

... Please retcon this...

Gonna take comfort in the image of WFA Bruce is screaming bloody murder, and than hugging his terrified Jaylad.

And promising him everything's gonna be okay.

[moonrisecalamityretreat]

take two || loic || trial 6.5 || re: miyazaki

There’s nothing outwardly offensive about anything Miyasaki says. Well. Other than the entire concept of being a traitor in a murder game, naturally. However, there is a bit that rubs Loic wrong, and he folds his arms in front of himself like some sort of barrier, his lip curling back to bare a small sliver of teeth.

“Gross. Don’t--call us similar. Or from similar cloth. It’s like calling an ostrich and a sparrow the same thing. Last I checked, I wasn’t helping to run a murder death cult or a murder game. And I haven’t killed anyone either, thanks.”

Helping to get away with homicide? Sure, yeah, he’s done that, but he hasn’t ever done the act itself before, and he doesn’t intend to do that ever. Well. At the moment. He hopes he doesn’t, at least, but, if the Shepherd is annoying enough whenever they deign it time for their reveal or whatever they have planned…He’s certain that it’ll be sort of impossible to tell who did what and when once everyone in the group’s had a shot at them, if they all follow through with the idle chatter they’ve had about it.

And he thinks some people were way more serious than he originally thought.

“You…say that your ex is The Devout, right? But we found journal entries that show they were very clearly in a relationship with The Shepherd, not The Exalted--you. So, what, did…you break up with him, and he immediately went on to…whoever the Shepherd is to you? Like some sort of weirdo love triangle or…something? Like--rebound? Or? I can’t--can’t imagine the world is so small that your ex started dating someone that you didn’t know only for you to meet them and find out they’re dating your ex…”

Or maybe the AEDS cult world is that small, and Loic’s just thinking too rationally at the moment. It’s not like these people are normal or anything like that. They’re all freaks. Maybe to them, it makes perfect sense for them to operate like they are. Who knows?

“And just--one last thing. Yeah. 'At least a year.' Nice try? Listen, I can claim that I’ve known Maxie at least a year and still be telling the truth, so. How about you try that question one more time? And stop being annoying. Seriously.”

He says this and glances over at Maxime like “get a load of this guy” before his gaze drops to the ground as per usual.

[yanderelovlies]

✨Galaxy Anon ✨ here!

No worries I make sure especially since I know if I don’t I get even more pissed off and at least later in the afternoon it calms down and I can finally sit down so it’s all good. Thanks for caring vivi! Yeah but at least I get paid enough let alone hire me. Like Starbucks literally asks it’s applicants if they have a PHD and I was thinking “ If I did I wouldn’t even be applying here.” And I was still rejected wow.

Ooh yay! That sounds exciting! I can’t wait to read that angsty piece your cooking up!

Hehe I have so many ideas especially if reader starts to fall in love with Shaun or nick while Jack is still doting on Emily and unaware that demon reader is his true sunshine and when he realizes what he’s done it’s too late. Reader loses that love for him and now even worse in love with another! And demon reader would make sure there lover is safe from Jack influence I mean demon reader is more powerful that Jack. Oooh what torture especially now All hope Jack has left even the sliver while back trapped in the tape is gone and he lose all his sanity. Oh we are so petty lol.

Makes sense especially since you could convince them better than BO and not to mention not have kids that early, I mean with how many kids Bo maybe want I’m good thank you I rather have Jack since he maybe can accept a reader who doesn’t want kids or at least biological since that sounds like it hurts giving birth. I rather adopt if I have to my body can’t take the pain and more stretch marks lol.

Do really?? Ngl after I worked at Dairy Queen I told myself I wasn't gonna work for any food places anymore. The owner of the store bullied me till I left and I refuse. I have a lot of respect for the people who do though. Also, I consider you a friend so I'm gonna make sure you okay and taken care of 💕💕

Let me tell you this scene has been playing in my head since yesterday when I played fire emblem and just would leave lol.

I like the thought of Shaun being that friend that's there for the reader despite knowing what they are. Sure when it all went down he told them it was a bad idea, but he didn't think it would get this bad. Lol I don't mind being petty sometimes 👀

Oh, I know! And with the amount Bo would want 👀 no thanks I love him but like I don't like pain. I don't mind my stretchmarks I've more or less come to terms with them it's the pain I'm worried about lol.

[solrika]

He sleeps, eventually, curling his tail tightly to ward off the cold. “I’d tell you not to slit my throat in the night, but there’s not much chance of you succeeding,” he says cheerily to Kallus, who just rolls his eyes. At least for now, sheer exhaustion seems to have quelled most of his fear. 

It’s back in the morning, if faint, along with all of the usual aches and pains that come with sleeping on a hard floor. The Bogan soothes the hurt away with an absent purr, attention focused somewhere else in the universe. It’s not the first time it’s had its focus called away like this, so Zeb ignores the odd feeling and checks the transponder. 

A bit of luck–maybe the Bogan, maybe sheer chance–has it already merrily blinking “ship locked.” 

“Look at that,” Zeb tells Kallus, who’s been lying quietly in the corner. “I told you not to give up hope.”

A little bit of the fear rises at being addressed, but apparently the urge to be a bastard is stronger, because Kallus retorts, “Maybe it’s one of mine.” 

“Karabast,” and now it’s Zeb’s turn to roll his eyes. 

“Karabast, karabast,” Kallus mocks. “What does that even mean?”

“Right now?” Zeb flicks him with his tail, hard enough to sting if the agent’s hiss of pain is anything to go by. “It means you’re awful ornery for someone stuck in a pod with someone who can’t be killed.” 

Panic, of course, but also that quicksilver calculation. Does the man never stop thinking? “What are you, then? One of those blasted Sith creatures the Inquisitors like to go on and on about?” 

 It’s a good guess, but, “Not quite.” Zeb surveys him, tail twitching. “I’m not sure you get to find out.”

“At least tell me what was in my head. Tell me what it did,” Kallus demands, and there’s truth in the sliver of pure, icy terror that ripples through him at the memory. Even to those it loves, the Bogan is rarely gentle. With someone it despises… “I deserve that much.” 

“It just looked around,” Zeb soothes, wanting to calm that wild-eyed look despite himself. Maybe it’s the memory of Kallus’ protective kyber, maybe it’s the sympathy born out of his own experiences with the Bogan’s brusqueness. “Everything’s still there, agent.” 

“It.” Kallus absently smoothes a hand over his hair. “It wasn’t you in my head, then. Whatever it was.” For some reason, that seems to make him more afraid. “You just… carry that around? All the time?”

 Zeb waves off the concern, ears flicking uncomfortably. “Ah, don’t worry, agent, it likes me.” 

“Hm.” Kallus studies his face. The human’s eyes are gold, an unusual color for his species but a color that would go unnoticed on a lasat. Zeb’s never had the chance to really notice before. “Well. I should hope that means it treats you better than it did me.” 

“It does,” Zeb says firmly, forcibly smoothing his fur back down. This level of scrutiny, this worry, is odd–maybe the Bogan did more than just have a look around. He’s not going to tell Kallus, though. That spike of panic was bad enough that the man just might break from the thought of having his mind altered. “Like I said. Don’t worry about me.”

A flicker on the edge of his consciousness distracts him, and he automatically glances up, as if he could see through the pod roof. The Bogan absently murmurs, your friends, and goes back to whatever it was doing. 

“What is it?” Kallus asks.

“A ship.” 

“You can sense that?” More flashes of quicksilver, like fish under the surface of dark water. “No wonder it’s difficult to sneak up on you.”

“That’s just the ears,” Zeb has to chuckle. “And the nose. You humans say I stink, but have you ever smelled yourselves?” 

Kallus blinks, curious. “The Spectres think you smell?”

Zeb blinks back. “You don’t?”

“It’s strong, but–” Kallus’ eyes dart away. “Not unpleasant.” 

“Huh.” It’s Zeb’s turn to scrutinize Kallus’ face. “You’re an odd one, agent.”

The Ghost must have already reached the atmosphere by the time the Bogan pointed it out to Zeb; within minutes he can faintly hear the roar of its engines. 

After another ten, its signal stabilizes enough to tell who it belonged to, and Kallus mutters, “So your friends did find you.”

“Like I said they would.” Zeb stands, brushing himself off. For the first time since the crash, his bond with Kanan lit up, the Jedi reaching through to poke at his shields. Grinning to himself, he sends a poke of his own back, following it up with, I’m in the giant hole in the ground.

I’ll tell Hera to drop down a ladder. Glad to have you back, Zeb.

Looking back down at Kallus, Zeb offers, “You could come with us. We would treat you fairly, you know.”

Over the Bogan’s aggrieved snarl, Kallus says,  “I’ll take my chances with the Empire. Besides,” and his tone turns almost teasing, “didn’t you say I had some answers to chase?”

“Huh.” Shaking his head, Zeb can’t help but add, “Don’t freeze.”

Kallus scoffs. “I know I look fragile to you, but I’m not that easily broken.” 

“And… It’s Zeb.” At Kallus’ quirked eyebrow, Zeb added, “My name. It’s Zeb.”

“Short for Garazeb.” A sudden smile. “I know.” Nodding towards the pod’s door, Kallus said, “Go on. Your friends are waiting.” 

Shooting him a sloppy salute, Zeb says, “Be seeing you, agent.” 

That quicksilver flash. “Oh, I promise, Garazeb.” 

With a decisive nod, Zeb turns, and heads towards the welcoming lights of the Ghost.

The first part of Bahryn in the Bogan-possessed-Zeb AU. (It's tagged "bogan-marked Kallus" for organizational purposes. yes I know it makes no sense. leave me alone. :p)

~

Zeb can taste the Imperial’s fear, a cool syrupy slide down his throat, and it eggs him on, makes him unwise. Letting the Bogan uncurl from where it’s been hiding in the back of his head isn’t necessary when dealing with one injured human. Not when the change rippling through his body hurts so much, and costs him a few precious seconds. 

The quicksilver flash of calculation hiding under Kallus’ fear flares, and while Zeb snarls through the pain of his ribs cracking open to reveal his second mouth, the agent scrabbles for his bo-rifle. 

Should’ve known better, Zeb can’t help thinking, as Kallus braces himself against the recoil and fires. You never corner a wounded animal. 

The bolt hurts, almost as much as the shift does, but the Bogan just laughs and knits him back together. Kallus’ fear is back, the scent so thick Zeb can’t even smell the smoke of the damaged pod behind them. 

Running his tongue over his teeth, Zeb grins. The kind thing would be to make the kill quick, but he’s got no love for Imperials, and even less for the self-proclaimed Butcher of Lasan. And there’s no Kanan to placate, or kids to watch for. So he takes one slow step after another, letting the Bogan absorb every rifle bolt, watching Kallus drag himself back one frantic movement after another. 

“Just drawing it out, mate,” Zeb drawls, switching his tail. “I’ll get you eventually.”

Gritting his teeth, Kallus fires another bolt. “And what,” he pants, hair flopping forwards out of that perfect slicked-back coif, “do you plan on doing with me?” 

Zeb has to pause a moment to grunt in pain, curl around the healing flesh, but nothing is going to stop him now. He’s got his prey right where he wants him. “Oh,” he says airily, “haven’t decided. But right now I’m thinking about crushing your head like an overripe meiloroon. It’d be so…” He shows his fangs. “Easy.” 

Kallus’ back hits the wall, and he uses it to hitch himself upright, begin hauling himself sideways and away. He’s usually a fast runner, clever enough to squeeze himself through spaces Zeb can’t fit his shoulders, but his leg is wounded and there are no close hidey holes in this vast cavern. This time, this time, there’s nowhere to escape, and the imagined victory tastes sweet. 

“What even are you?” Kallus gasps out. “I should have killed you! You should be dead!”

“Like the rest of the lasats, right?” Zeb growls. “No. You’re not getting away that way, agent.” 

Kallus, surprisingly, growls right back. “Even if you kill me, the Empire will still win. Every day, we recruit more informers. Every day, we persuade rebel sympathizers to reconsider their allegiances.” He twists the bo-rifle into its staff configuration, and the Bogan laughs in the back of Zeb’s head. There’s no way Kallus is wielding a souled bo-rifle, and without kyber, it’s just as toothless as the weapon’s rifle. 

“Every day, more beings get fed up with you lot,” Zeb retorts. 

Kallus snarls, a poor imitation of a lasat’s threat, and the fear is still floating in the air between them. “I’m getting fed up with you.” A sliver of bravado, despite all that terror—Zeb could almost admire that kind of courage–and he braces himself against the wall, raising his weapon. “Just get it over with, and face me.” 

“Feisty,” Zeb chuckles, and strikes–

–the bo-rifle’s crackling energy burns, just as brightly as the Purifying Flame, and the Bogan howls. 

Zeb stares dumbly at his smoking fur. Kallus’ bo-rifle is souled. 

It’s alive. 

Which means–

“Where did you get this?” he roars, and this time ducks under Kallus’ strike, grabs the bo-rifle’s stock and holds tight. The human strains against his grip, but Zeb just tightens his fingers through the crackling anger of a kyber crystal who wants him to let go– “Where?” 

“Lasan,” Kallus chokes out, “it’s a trophy, I told you–”

Lie, whispers the Bogan, and Zeb gives him a shake, uncaring when it makes the agent whimper in pain. “No. Tell me the truth.” 

Kallus’ eyes dart over his face, that quicksilver calculation rising, and finally he says, “The Lasat guardsman I faced… He fought well, died with honor. He gave me the rifle before…”

Lie, hisses the Bogan again, and Zeb echoes it. 

“Fine,” spits Kallus, “fine, you want to know how I got this? My first unit, on Onderon–one of you killed those boys, one by one, picking off the wounded like it was sport. He savaged me, but left me alive, and I made him regret it.” The smile curving his lips is vicious. “I got the attention of the ISB because I hunted him down and dragged that bastard to the nearest Guard outpost. And I demanded satisfaction.”

“You dueled,” Zeb says, slowly. He can see the shape of it: a young, angry Kallus unable to simply accept prison as adequate recompense for his squad’s death. And the Guard offering a ritual duel, intended to help Kallus spend his violence and make a clean break, but– “And you won.” 

“They said I fought honorably.” Kallus tips his chin up, pride running through his voice even now. “And it was mine.” 

“But you still attacked Lasan,” Zeb says, returning to the sticking point, “We showed you we were more than that one lasat, and you still–” 

“It wasn’t supposed to be a massacre!” Kallus bursts out, and Zeb could feel the Bogan between them, pushing and pulling at the agent’s thoughts like a kit trying to get a snail out of its shell. “It was going to be an example, and the T-7s weren’t supposed to– and honor doesn’t keep you alive–” 

Kallus clamps his mouth shut, horror kindling in his eyes. It’s a miracle his heart hasn’t given out yet. “What in the seven hells are you doing to me?” 

“I deserve the truth,” the Bogan says with Zeb’s mouth. It burns just as much as the kyber still straining against Zeb’s grip. “I deserve to know what you did to my children.” And then, surging forwards, it crowds into Kallus’ mind. 

The moment it lets Zeb go in favor of the agent, he staggers a bit, finally letting go of the furious bo-rifle. I’m going to need burn cream for my hand, he thinks absently, and then has to catch Kallus as the agent’s eyes roll up in his head. 

He’s an easy armful, only weighing about as much as Kanan. Maybe a little lighter without the benefit of Zeb’s cooking, all lean muscle and pointy elbows under that uniform. Zeb stares down at him, pokes at the Bogan. Are you going to be done anytime soon?

No reply. Typical. 

Most of Zeb still wants to crush Kallus, but the Bogan will be cross if he does it before it’s finished. And a little part of him–

That kyber loves the agent, in a way only a freely-given souled weapon can. Just as Zeb’s bo-rifle resonates with his soul, so does Kallus’, and that means once, this was an honorable man. 

Maybe Zeb is curious, too.

[frogtanii]

confusion.

that’s all daichi felt as he stumbled from yachi’s office after he finished his interview, the dim light coming from the sunset washing the hallway in a layer of color.

he wasn’t sure what to expect at first when he’d been called in, the previous members downright refusing to share what they’d discussed, but he had heard whispers that whatever you talked about was... bad.

you’d disappeared into your room after your interview, refusing to let anyone but atsumu in and even then, atsumu came out of his time with you looking worse for wear. neither of you joined the rather tense game night and it was clear the others were worried, but daichi just couldn’t understand why.

why were all the other house members (besides osamu) suddenly so invested in you and your well-being? contrary to popular belief, daichi was not dumb — he knew this was a long time coming, more of the people who he thought were his friends abandoning him to join you.

well maybe not just you, but they seemed to spend an awful lot of time and energy on the woman who’d destroyed meiko’s life. he just couldn’t make sense of it.

he was even more thrown when sugawara, his best friend, joined the trend and stopped talking to him, supporting you to the fullest and avoiding him at every turn. it felt wrong, somehow, that koushi was no longer by his side but he didn’t know what to do about it.

they clearly had a difference in beliefs — sugawara was hard pressed to believe that meiko was some kind of horrible person and daichi... well daichi loved her. he knew he did.

these thoughts overwhelmed him to the point where he was unable to sleep, tossing and turning while his mind raced to unravel the mystery of what was going on in the house.

“fuck,” daichi sighed as he glanced over at his alarm clock with bleary eyes. it read 2:57a and he let out a loud groan. there was no way he’d be able to sleep like this. he wracked his brain for something, anything, to help and he came up with a memory of akaashi telling him that a warm mug of chamomile would send anyone right to sleep.

letting out another sigh, daichi stood to his feet and trudged out of his room and towards the kitchen, ready to finally get some aid but as he approached, the sound of soft voices hit his ears.

on the couch sat you and koushi; you were wearing an oversized shirt (that must have belonged to bokuto) and colorful pajama pants (his guess was that they were kenma’s) and koushi was wearing old sweats and a hoodie. he looked shaken up about something, his eyes rimmed red as he muttered something to you, whatever was said prompting you to reach out and pull him into a hug.

daichi felt like he was intruding and severely out of place, his mind screaming at him to just turn around and go back to his room but he knew if he did, he’d never sleep, his mind full of even more questions than he had before.

so instead, he chose to clear his throat loudly as he walked further into the room, the sound frightening the both of you and causing you to let go of one another.

you shot daichi an uneasy, tired smile as you stood, before patting koushi on the shoulder and leaving the room. sugawara watched you go the entire time with metaphorical stars in his eyes and his heart on his sleeve. daichi repressed the urge to roll his eyes, instead turning toward the kitchen to prepare himself some tea.

to his surprise, sugawara didn’t leave the room. he actually made his way to the kitchen and sat at the counter, watching daichi fill up the kettle and place it on the stove.

the silence wasn’t awkward or oppressive but it was heavy, the unasked questions hanging over them in the air. it was daichi who chose to break it.

“so, what was that about?” he winced at the state of his voice, cracky and weak but he powered through, chancing a glance at his old friend.

sugawara looked tired but also defeated, like he was simultaneously expecting that question and wishing that it hadn’t been asked. “i was apologizing.”

daichi knew he was staring incredulously now but he couldn’t help it. suga was apologizing? for what? what could he possibly apologize for? when he voiced this, koushi scoffed and turned away.

“are you kidding? we have so much to apologize for. we all treated her like shit.”

“but doesn’t she deserve that? she hurt meiko deeply!”

“nobody deserves what we did! nobody! god, daichi, yn has done so much for me and—“

“like what, hm? what exactly has she done for you?”

“i... i can’t tell you that.”

“can’t or won’t?”

the room fell into silence, a stark contrast to the shouting that had been taking place just moments before. both men were warring with themselves and suga was the one to give in.

“meiko assaulted me, okay? is that what you wanted to hear?” koushi’s voice sounded so weak, so broken, and daichi saw red.

“...what?” the words were uttered low and disbelieving as daichi clenched his hands into fists to keep them from quivering with rage.

suga ran a hand through his sliver locks before shaking his head. “i really don’t want to talk about this with you, daichi.”

“but you’ll talk about it with her.”

“fuck off, that’s not fair and you know it,” koushi spat, pushing himself to his feet as he was readying himself to leave. he looked so hurt that daichi couldn’t stop himself from grabbing his arm gently.

“i know... i’m sorry,” he spoke quietly, his brown eyes shining with unshed tears and sincerity. he just wanted suga to open up to him, for them to go back to the way they used to be but he was different now. they both were.

koushi shook his head softly and gingerly removed himself from daichi’s hold. “i’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” he whispered before turning and disappearing into the darkness of the hallway.

daichi was alone. again. he sniffed and wiped his eyes to get rid of any residual tears as he moved back to the kitchen to finish making his tea. not that it would do him any good—the information he was just given would definitely keep him up until morning.

he was having a difficult time processing what had just occurred and yet, he knew he was in the wrong on multiple occasions. he’d abandoned his best friend in his time of need and sided with his attacker. daichi couldn’t even claim that he was suga’s friend anymore with what he’d done. no, he’d earn back his place. he just needed to figure out how to make things right.

whatever it takes.

℗ poker face

whatever it takes

series masterlist

(●’◡’●)ﾉ

an - daichi arc start! skdjjd anw this chapter is a lil wack??? but i hope it at least gets the point across lmfaoo oh n daisuga are working out their issues! s not as cut n dry as the other friendships were but i think this way adds more ~flavor~ hehe don’t forget to feed me!! <:333

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@boosyboo9206 • @geektastic84 • @elianetsantana • @trashy-simp • @infinitebells • @6mattsun9 • @suhkusa • @katsulovee • @kotarosbabygirl • @fucktheworlddude • @insomniacwreck • @calumsfringe • @saltylettuce • @chai-blu • @al3x1ss • @hawksyoongi • @syndellwins • @jooleuuh • @loubells • @kissungjae • @liberhoe • @tetsurocore • @animeoverdosee • @duhsies • @saikishairclip • @afire24 • @premiyagi • @kit-kat428 • @doctorspencereid • @daphnxy • @kyomihann • @maer-333 • @sinoflust19 • @peteunderoos • @peachiikichu • @iidanotlida • @yongboxerrr • @kac-chowsballs • @tanakaslastbraincell • @memorableminds • @risjime • @starry-magicshop • @sugavwara • @smuttyanimeslut • @kiwibirbs-library • @haijkk • @airybnb • @crybabygumi • @iwaisa • @decaffinatedtealover • @notameera • @kawaii-angelanne • @rintarovibes • @urlocalsimp

the rest of the tags will be in the replies!!

[emeraldiis]

Falling for a God

A/N: Forgot to properly post/format this fic, so here ya go ya filthy animals (ok but i wrote it so I’m filthier)

AO3 Link

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 7.1k

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Summary: “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”You have a huge crush on Loki, there's lots of sexual tension, y'all fuck. That's the plot.

“Nat,” you whine. “I feel like you’re not even listening.” You prance to the front of her, spinning around to walk backwards.

Natasha rolls her eyes. “Wow, are you sure you aren’t pyschic?” She keeps up her brisk pace, and you nearly trip over yourself trying to keep up.

“That’s so rude!” You exclaim, but can’t hold back a giggle. Despite her cold demeanor, you know that Nat is just messing with you. Shooting a quick glance backwards, you decide that your path is clear, and return your gaze to your friend. “You’ll tell me if I’m about to run into something, right?”

With a wry grin, Natasha gives you a thumbs up. You beam at her. “Anyway,”  you continue. “I started watching this new TV show last night, and it is so, totally awesome. There’s this guy, and he has these badass powers, and he’s fighting this girl, and she has-”

Thump.

A small oof escapes from your mouth as your back collides with something solid. You pitch forward in surprise, and yelp as you try to stabilize yourself before you fall. Large, warm hands grab your waist, tightening around you to keep you from toppling over. You sigh in relief as your frantic heart slows to a normal rhythm. “Wow, thanks,” you say, and spin around to reveal the identity of your saviour.

Piercing blue eyes meet yours, and your breath catches in your throat. “Careful, pet,” Loki murmurs softly, a sly grin spreading across his lips. His hands slide off of your waist, making contact with the sliver of skin between your shorts and your top on the way. An involuntary shiver creeps up your spine, and you bite your lip.

The reaction doesn’t go unnoticed by the ever-perceptive trickster, and his eyes flash with surprise. “Are my hands really that cold?” Loki teases. “Perhaps you could help me warm them up.” His tone is playful, but there’s something deeper underneath his banter that makes you think he’s actually flirting.

You can tell that your cheeks are red, and you choose not to respond to Loki’s question in fear of making an even bigger fool of yourself. A stammered apology tumbles from your lips, and you look back towards Natasha with a look of betrayal. She grins and shrugs. “I forgot to warn you. Oops.” Your mouth drops open. That scheming little devil. She knows about your crush on Loki, and she still allows you to make a fool out of yourself?

Your interactions with Loki were sparse, to say the least. Aside from a few casual conversations in a group, you had barely even talked to him. Still, he captivated you from the very first day he arrived at the compound. He was exactly your type; tall, dark, and brooding. Aside from Thor, most everyone gave Loki a wide berth, hesitant to forget the battle for New York. You, however, didn’t see a villain. You saw pain behind those blue eyes, and could empathize with Loki’s behavior. You knew all too well that it hurt to live in someone’s shadow, and sometimes acting out was a cry for help. Granted, Loki’s outbursts were far more drastic than yours had ever been, but it was more or less the same on a base level. And, the fact that he constantly had a witty remark on the tip of his tongue never ceased to entertain you. The man liked to hear himself talk, and damn, so did you.

It takes you a second to realize that you’ve been staring. You clear your throat awkwardly and look to the floor, eager to hide your discomfort. “Um, thank you for catching me,” you manage. When you look back up, Loki is wearing an odd expression. His pretty eyes are narrowed, searching your face. The scrutiny only embarasses you further. “Well, see you around!” WIth that, you dart around Loki and scurry off. Natasha follows you, snickering softly.

When you reach the common area, you plop yourself down on the couch and groan, throwing an arm over your face. Natasha sits down beside you. “Smooth,” she says, drawing out the word obnoxiously.

You remove your arm from over your eyes and give Natasha a withering look. “So not funny.”

Nat positively cackles at that. “Oh, come on,” she says. “He’d be an idiot to not at least have a thing for you, I mean, you’re smoking! ” She looks you up and down. “Nice rack, too.”

A giggle bursts from your lips. “Nat. Oh, my god. Stop objectifying me.”

Shaking her head, Natasha replies, “Me, objectify? I would never.”

That earns her an eye roll from you. “Sure. Anyway, can we please change the subject? I’m sick of talking about my embarrassing Loki crush.”

“What does ‘crush’ mean?”

You freeze. Now that was a distinct voice. “Thor,” you choke out. “When did you get here?”

Thor walks up behind the couch and swings himself over the back, making the poor piece of furniture creak in protest. He settles next to you, effectively sandwiching you between him and Natasha. “Just long enough to hear you discussing my brother. Now, will you please enlighten me on this strange Midgardian term?”

Before you can shut him down, Nat pipes up from the other end of the sofa. “It means she likes him. Romantically. Sexually. ”

The temptation to throw yourself onto the floor wailing is high. Instead, you opt to beg for your life. Still embarrassing, but slightly more productive than throwing a tantrum. “Nat!” You screech. You turn to Thor with pleading eyes. “Please, don’t say anything to him.”

Thor furrows his eyebrows. “What an odd expression. You’d think that the word “crush’ would be associated with something negative.” He places a big hand on your thigh. “If what Lady Natahsa says is true, then why would you not tell my brother? He is quite vain, you know. I’m sure he would be delighted to know that a beautiful woman is attracted to him!”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. These Asgardians will be the death of you. “It’s not that simple, Thor. What if he rejects me? I’d never be able to show my face around him again!”

There’s a pause, and then Thor asks you in a much gentler tone, “It seems as though you care for Loki a great deal more than you are letting on. Are you really afraid of embarrassment, or is it the heartbreak you fear?”

You’re glad that your hands are covering your face, because the way the color drains out of it at Thor’s question would have given you away. “No,” you mumble through your fingers. But he’s right, you do care for Loki more than you’d ever admit. His image ran through your head at night when you were trying to sleep, and his voice was what came to mind when your fingers were between your legs and you were pretending they were-

You rub at your eyes, then look up at Thor in desperation. “Please, if you really care about me as a friend, you’ll keep this secret.” You shoot a look at Natasha. “You, too. I may not be able to take Thor in a fight, but I could kick your ass.” You know you sound like a pathetic teenager, but you’re past the point of caring. You were perfectly happy admiring Loki from afar, and didn’t want to get your hopes up just to be met with shame.

Natasha scoffs. “As if.” Before she can continue. Thor holds up his hand.

“Lady Natasha, I believe we should stay out of this. I have done a great deal of meddling in my brother’s life, and I’ve learned that even the best intentions can cause disaster when Loki is involved.

“Thank you, Thor,” you say gratefully, relief evident in your voice. With a tired sigh, you hoist yourself up from the couch and turn to face your friends. “Well, I think I’ve had enough excitement for today. I’m going to hibernate, see you next spring.”

Natasha giggles and blows you a kiss goodbye while Thor scrunches up his face in confusion at your joke. Oh, well. Maybe he’d understand Midgardian humor one day.

*

Thunder rages outside your window while you toss and turn. You roll over to glance at your clock, and scowl when it flashes “3AM.” Giving up on the prospect of sleep, you opt for creeping to the kitchen for a midnight snack. Your bare feet pad down the carpet, and you shiver slightly at the cold air of the hall. Goosebumps rise on your bare legs and you start to regret your decision not to put on pants.

To get to the kitchen, you have to walk through the common area, and for a moment you linger just outside the entryway. There’s a soft glow coming from the corner of the room, and you mentally groan, hoping it’s one of the female inhabitants of the compound. You weren’t too excited at the idea of walking past one of the guys in just a sleep shirt and underwear. Still, your mission for food is not one you’re willing to give up on. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the hallway and into the room. And nearly pass out.

Across the room, perched in one of the loveseats, is Loki. He’s sitting with his legs curled underneath him, thumbing through a book. You consider darting back into the safety of the hall, but you’re too late. Loki has already noticed you, and is now staring far too intently for your liking. Suddenly feeling very exposed, you tug on the hem of your shirt, trying to pull it further down your legs. “Sorry to disturb you,” you whisper, afraid to break the deafening silence. Loki raises an eyebrow at you, then turns back to his book. You aren’t sure if you’re relieved or disappointed when his gaze leaves you.

Not wanting to linger in the entryway any longer, you make your way across the room, keeping your eyes down. As you pass Loki, a loud clap of thunder booms outside, and already being on edge, you yelp. Startled from the deafening sound in an otherwise quiet room, you stagger, falling backwards onto the loveseat. Right next to Loki. The sofa is small, and in your splayed out position, you’re almost half on top of the god.

Loki flinches away, and you immediately begin to apologize. “I am so sorry. I don’t know what happened, I guess I just lost my footing. Did I hurt you?” As you talk, you push yourself off of Loki and cower into the other side of the loveseat. Some more rational part of your brain urges you to get up, give him some more space, but you don’t listen. As embarrassed as you are, you’re not quite ready to give up this closeness to the object of your affection.

With a huff, Loki straightens himself and gives you a cool look. “You did not hurt me, mortal. I was simply surprised.” Then, having composed himself, he smirks and sets his book on the end table beside him. “I suppose it is only natural to have weak knees in the presence of a god.”

The comment lightens the mood, and you find yourself relaxing next to him. “You’re right, Thor’s thunder does make me a tad unsteady.”

At that, Loki stiffens, obviously having not expected you to return his teasing. For a brief moment, you feel proud. Then, something changes in his expression, and he scoots closer to you. His hand finds your bare thigh, and the contact sends butterflies through your stomach. Loki senses your restlessness and gives you a predatory grin. “Is that so? Are you telling me that this,” he squeezes your thigh, and you gasp. “Doesn’t make you feel...faint?” His voice is low, and he almost purrs the last few words.

You fight hard to keep your breathing even, not wanting to give away just how flustered you are. The heavy weight of his hand feels heavenly, and you can feel your panties grow damp. God, you hope he can’t smell it.

This predatory tone is so much different than the playful teasing that you usually receive from Loki. You’ve never seen his blue eyes so dark, and the unfamiliarity of it all tightens your stomach.

Taking your silence as a challenge, Loki presses himself even closer to you. His fingers creep up your leg, closer to your underwear. “Tell me, does being touched by a god make you nervous? I can feel you quivering, are you afraid?” Loki pauses, then leans down until his lips are almost touching your ear. “Or is that arousal I sense?”

Fuck. A full body shiver skates across your skin, and despite your best efforts, a small moan breaks free from your throat. Loki’s hand feels like a brand on your thigh, sending waves of heat up your body. The warmth pools between your legs, and you can’t help but shift a bit. Knowing that your panties are the only barrier between your soaking heat and the sofa, you arch your hips ever so slightly to keep from soiling the cushion.

Of course, your small movements don’t go unnoticed. Loki’s eyes are hooded as they rake across your bare legs, and you can hear his breathing get a bit heavier. He looks up at you, pupils dilated. “Oh, pet, look at you. Barely even touched, and already-”

He’s cut off by the sound of footsteps echoing through the hall, headed in your direction. Loki curses softly and reluctantly draws his hand away, then moves as far away as the small sofa allows. Your skin aches at the loss of contact.

The interrupting stranger’s footsteps approach the entrance to the common room, then carry on past. You let out the breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, thankful that you wouldn’t have to explain anything. Something tells you that, while there’s nothing going on now, sitting with Loki in the middle of the night might raise a few eyebrows.

You and Loki are alone again, but the moment has passed. Whatever spell that had overcome the two of you is gone, and all that’s left is a quiet room and a dim light. “I apologize, I believe I have overstepped,” Loki says, and for the first time, he sounds...unsure. His voice has lost that arrogant confidence that it normally carries, and he sounds like a child that has just been caught stealing cookies from the jar.

You bite your lip and risk a glance at Loki. He’s still pressed against the opposite arm of the loveseat, and is avoiding your eyes. Without the atmosphere of desire from before, now you just feel...awkward. Sighing softly, you rise to your feet and make your way to the hallway. You pause briefly in the entryway, and breathe out a “goodnight, Loki.” You don’t wait for a response, instead turning and trudging back towards your room.

As you flop back down in bed, you replay the night’s events over in your mind. It almost feels like a dream, and you’re having trouble believing that Loki, the God of Mischief, had actually come on to you. It didn’t seem plausible. You’re just a plain mortal, nothing special, no powers. Sure, your combat skills could rival Natasha’s, but besides that, you can’t find anything about yourself that would attract a god.

Eventually, you decide that maybe Loki was just horny, and you were in the right place at the right time. You did walk out without pants on, after all. No matter the reasoning, you know not to expect a repeat occurrence, given how regretful he had seemed afterwards. Tears brim in your eyes as the reality of the situation hits you; Loki regrets touching you. It seems that your crush was one-sided, and even though you weren’t surprised, that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt.

*

Things are tense around the compound. You creep around corners, terrified of accidentally finding yourself in the same room as Loki. And it seems that Loki is taking the same precautions, because you haven’t even seen a glimpse of him since that night. The ache in your heart from his rejection still keeps you up at night, and you still find yourself pining over him like a lovesick idiot.

Ever the observer, Natasha catches on quickly. “Are you really still embarrassed about bumping into Loki?” She asks after cornering you in the kitchen. “You’re not acting like yourself, and it is beyond obvious something is bothering you.”

You groan at her around a mouthful of a granola bar. “Are you really still thinking about it?” You counter.

Nat rolls her eyes. “Please, it’s hard to pretend it didn’t happen when you’re playing this stupid cat and mouse game. I see you check every room for him, I can’t believe you even care that much. He barely even touched you!”

A piece of your snack shoots down your throat with your gasp. You double over, wheezing and coughing. Natasha slaps a hand on your back, sighing. When you finally catch your breath, you glare at Nat. “Yeah, maybe that’s the issue.”

You immediately regret your words as a fire lights itself in Natasha’s eyes. “Want me to help?”

“Nat, hold on. No thanks-”

“Shush, trust me!” To your dismay, Natasha is already on her way out of the kitchen when she finishes hushing you. You whimper out a half-baked protest, but your friend is long gone by the time the words leave your mouth. Fuck, you’re so screwed.

LIfe  was very quickly becoming a stressful game of hide and seek. You’d resorted to spending most of the day in your room, hoping to avoid Loki, and more importantly, Natasha. You’re not sure what she has planned, but it can’t be anything good. As weeks pass by with no incident, however, you begin to drop your guard. Maybe she’s taking pity on you.

It’s around noon when you get the text. It’s an all caps message from Nat, pleading with you to at least hear her out before saying no.

That’s a terrifying text. I’m listening.

Nat: I may have bragged my way into a drinking contest with Thor, and I need a teammate to make it fair.

You want to try and outdrink Thor????

Nat: I want US to outdrink him. I convinced him that it’d be more balanced if it was 2 to 1.

You owe me.

Nat: :)

It was a terrible idea, but maybe a nice night of getting hammered is just what you need to break you out of your funk. Despite your initial reluctance, you find yourself getting excited. You hadn’t really relaxed in ages, this would be a good thing.

As the hours pass, you start to get nervous. It’s been so long since you’ve gotten properly drunk, and you seriously doubt you’ll be able to keep up with even Natasha. Still, a promise is a promise, and you have far too much pride to chicken out now.

The clock reaches nine o’clock, and you sigh. Showtime. Before leaving your suite, you set several glasses of water and a bottle of Advil on your nightstand. If you’re going to fuck over your future self, you might as well try to ease her pain. You take a deep breath and spare a glance over at the mirror against your bedroom wall. You had opted for something comfy, but cute; an emerald green dress that stopped just above your mid-thigh, and fell off of one shoulder effortlessly.

Okay, so maybe you had wanted to get a tiny bit dressed up. You’re sure Nat will tease you for it, but sometimes a girl just wants to feel pretty.

A bit breathless from those pre-competition nerves--yes, a drinking contest was that serious--you make your way to the kitchen. As you round the corner, you stop dead in your tracks. Sitting at the bar Tony had insisted on installing, is Nat and Thor, of course. But next to them, perched delicately on one of the stools, is Loki. He wears a look of disdain, as if this entire competition is beneath him. You hope he can’t tell how badly you want to be beneath him.

Natasha gives you a wicked grin as Thor waves you over, his smile far more innocent-looking than Nat’s, though you’re sure he had a part in this. Cursing your terrible friends under your breath, and yourself for falling for it, you trudge over. Naturally, the only stool left is the one on the end, directly next to Loki. You gingerly hoist yourself up and slide onto the seat.

You stubbornly keep your eyes on the counter, not daring to even glance up at Loki. It’s obvious from the way he’s angling himself away from you and towards his brother that he’s regretting that night, and doesn’t want to be near you. You don’t blame him, humans must seem like animals compared to gods. The reality is that you were a mistake to him, and you just needed to accept that and move past.

Breaking the awkward silence, Thor produces a jug of what looks like beer from god knows where. He grins and gestures to it grandly. As he opens his mouth to speak, you cut him off. “Hold up! I thought this was two against one? Loki being here makes it unfair.”

Natasha rolls her eyes at you. “Yeah, I may have bent the truth to get you to come out. It’s teams of two, but we have a handicap. Our drinks and shots count as twice the actual amount, and they’ll be drinking Asgardian mead. So,” She smirks. “No more complaints, let’s do this shit.”

You swallow nervously at the mention of shots. You could hold your liquor fairly well, but you and shots had...history. Nat knew how touchy you got when you were drunk, and how much of an oversharer you tended to be. Though you have to admit that her plan is almost flawless, you’re still unimpressed with her shenanigans. She’s pretty much set you up to embarrass yourself.

You twiddle your thumbs in your seat as Natasha grabs a bottle of Svedka from behind the bar and begins to pour the beginning drinks. Following her lead, Thor pops open his jug and splits it between two large glasses, then passes one to Loki, who sighs in apparent boredom. He shoots you an unreadable look, then grabs one of the shot glasses that Natasha filled and slides it your way.

With a mumbled “thanks,’ you gingerly take the glass, and look at Nat and Thor. Thor raises his glass. “May the better warriors win!” He announces, then tips back his glass. You roll your eyes at the word choice, but bring the shot glass to your lips and throw your head back. The liquor goes down rough, but you manage to keep your poker face and grit your teeth against any retches.

“The lady can drink!” Thor bellows, wiping at his face.

You shrug, wanting the spotlight off of you. “Um, I went to college?”

Before Thor can question you, Natasha cuts in. “Hello? I took it just as well, where’s my applause?”

“Natasha, you are not a lady,” Loki deadpans. Nat glares and pours herself another shot in response, throwing back the second one just as easily as she had the first. She then points at you. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles up. Despite everything, Loki was still Loki, and he still had your heart. It seems that the tension between you and Loki dissolves after you laugh at his quip, and he relaxes his stiff posture.

You sigh in relief and reach for the bottle to refill your own glass. This time, it goes down easier. That is, until the burns travels past your stomach, right down to between your legs. You squirm in place at the unexpected burst of arousal. Still, you should have been ready for it. Alcohol has always gotten you a little worked up. It was your mistake to believe you could fight it.

Despite the setback, you keep up with your teammate as the night goes on. Shot after shot, broken up by the easy conversation that emerges as the liquor continues to flow.

You’re not sure when the competition was forgotten, but you soon find yourself splayed on the couch next to Loki, laughing hysterically at some story he’s just finished telling about Thor in his youth. You look over at him, hazily trying to center your double vision to properly admire the god. His cheeks are flushed red from the alcohol, and he looks more relaxed than you’ve ever seen him.

Loki glances over, catching you staring, but you’re far too intoxicated to be embarrassed. Instead, you hold your gaze, waiting for a reaction. Loki smirks, then eyes his brother with annoyance.

“Brother,” he says, voice a lazy drawl. “I believe we’ve won this contest, wouldn’t you say?”

Thor cocks his head, then widens his eyes in understanding. “Oh, certainly! In fact, I think it would be necessary for me to walk you back to your quarters, Natasha.”

Natasha begins to protest, but it dies on her lips as her gaze flickers between you and Loki. “What a gentleman,” she purrs, only swaying slightly when she rises from her seat. “Lead the way.” Taking his outstretched hand, Natasha stumbles down the hall with Thor, giggling excitedly.

Now that it’s just the two of you, you expect things to get awkward, but find that you’re still just as comfortable. “Well, I guess I have to bow to the drinking champ,” you slur, sitting up to give a half hearted bow.

Loki throws his head back and laughs. “You,” he manages between snorts, “are far more fun to be around than most others on this planet.”

You scoff and wave your hand dismissively. “You’re only saying that ‘cause I bowed to you.” Chewing on your lip, you let your eyes drift back over to Loki. In your drunken haze, he just looks so...comfy. Before you realize what you’re doing, you slide over to lean up against him. Loki’s surprisingly warm, and you sigh contentedly, letting your mind wander back to how his hand felt running up your thigh.

The arousal from earlier that you had forgotten about rears its head, turning your sigh into a shaky exhale that is not at all subtle. The air feels thick, just like it had on that one stormy night, and you press yourself closer to Loki, unable to resist how good his body feels against yours.

Loki freezes for a moment, then seems to force himself to relax into you. His arm snakes around you until he’s holding you comfortably against his side. For one brief moment, you start to wonder if this is a good idea, given how things had ended in the past, but the intoxicated part of your brain tells the sober part to go fuck herself, and then you’re speaking without thinking. “Do you want to walk me to bed?”

Oh, shit. You can’t believe that just came out of your mouth. A wave of sobering panic hits you, and you untangle yourself from Loki and shoot up from the couch. Before you can flee, however, a pale hand grabs hold of your arm, stopping you in place.

Loki gets up, then moves his grip from your wrist to your hand. “I think that is a lovely idea. Allow me?” With the hand that isn’t holding yours, he gestures toward the hall. Well, that was unexpected. You try not to giggle in child-like excitement, and instead nod hurriedly.

Your heart speeds up at the feel of his hand in yours, and you start off down the hall, letting Loki pull you towards your suite. Caught up in trying to navigate the titling floor, you don’t notice that you’re being led the wrong way until the two of you come to a stop at a door that definitely does not belong to you. You look up at Loki in confusion. “This isn’t my room.”

“I know,” Loki growls, then opens the door and whirls you both inside. When you’ve recovered from the swift movement, you manage to pull away from Loki’s grip.

“What-what’s going on?” You say, attempting to sound stern. Loki stalks towards you. Instinctively, you back up, until you’re pressed against the wall with Loki boxing you in.

Loki presses his hands to the wall on either side of your head and sneers at you. “What’s going on?” He mocks. “I’ve craved your body under mine since long before our little nighttime meeting, and I have run out of patience for games.” He leans in and presses a kiss to your neck, grazing you with his teeth. Just like before, his playfulness has given way to a domineering aura, but you’re not complaining one bit.

You barely suppress a full body shiver. “But,” you protest weakly. “I, I thought you regretted it. I mean, you never said anything about it, so I figured...oh…” you trail off into a soft moan as Loki roughly licks up the side of your neck, growling.

“And when would I have gotten the chance?” Loki pulls away from his assault on your skin to look you in the eyes. “You have been avoiding me for nearly a month.” Those blue eyes are staring daggers at you, and you realize that there’s hurt behind all that frustration.

Your mouth goes dry. He’s right, but the eye contact from his smoldering stare is making you forget how to speak. Fumbling with your words, you cast your gaze downwards. “Yeah, I guess I have. But with what you said after we were interrupted....I thought you were uncomfortable with what happened.”

A dark chuckle spills from Loki’s lips. “The only discomfort you have caused me is the nights I have spent spilling over my own hand because I could not have you. ”

You gasp softly as Loki’s words send a wave of heat through your overheated body. Loki takes that as encouragement, and presses himself closer until his lips are grazing yours. “Tell me you don’t want this and I’ll leave,” he mumbles, eyes hooded.

Your response is to surge forward, hands flying to the back of his head as you roughly pull him in to kiss you. You both groan at the contact. The kiss is anything but gentle; your fingers are tangled in Loki’s hair, tugging harshly, and you can feel his teeth nipping at your bottom lip. It was far better than you could have imagined, and the dizzying pleasure of it all has you feeling drunker and more sober at the same time.

Before long, the room spins as Loki lifts you and hoists your legs around his waist. He kisses you breathless as he walks slowly down the hall towards what you can only assume is his bedroom. There’s a giddy part inside of you that squeals with excitement at being carried like that, but it’s quickly overshadowed by lust as you and Loki reach his bedroom. He tosses you onto his king sized bed like a doll, then kneels on the floor and yanks your ankles until your bottom is almost hanging off the bed.

Loki slides your dress up and nuzzles the inside of your thigh. “I could smell your arousal the entire night,” he says, nearly purring. “May I taste?”

You sit up on your elbows and stare down at him, face flushed with mild embarrassment at his face so close to your soaked panties. Dumbly, you nod, words failing you. Loki growls his appreciation and hikes up your dress, taking a brief moment to admire the soft fabric. “You look absolutely ravishing in green, I’ve wanted to tear this off of you since the moment I laid eyes on it.” And then he’s sliding your panties down your legs and plunging his tongue into your heat.

A ragged gasp tears its way from your throat and you throw your head back. You feel the grin form on Loki’s lips against your skin, and a fresh gush of arousal flows down your thighs. Loki eats pussy like it’s an art form he’s been perfecting for ages. His lips tug at your pussy, worshipping every fold like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. You open your mouth to make some joke about his silvertongue, but all that comes out is a pathetic whimper as Loki drags his teeth lightly across your clit.

It isn’t long before the pleasure reaches its peak.You fight hard to keep your legs from clamping around Loki’s head, but you can’t help it when you crest over the edge of orgasm. Your muscles lock up, your back arches, and you scream. White hot euphoria explodes from your core, spreading through your body like venom. Loki’s tongue works you through it, slowing to wide, long strokes as you begin to come down.

You’ve barely recovered when Loki rises from his knees and crawls up your body, coming to a stop when his face is inches from yours. His eyes are hooded, and his glistening lips are parted to allow frantic, heated pants to escape. “Pet,” he hisses, leaning down to nuzzle into your shoulder. “You taste sweeter than the fruits of Asgard.” He bites at your collarbone, making you shudder in your post-orgasmic haze.

Still out of it, you sluggishly fumble at Loki’s belt. “Wanna make you feel good, too,” you mumble and lick your lips. Loki bats your hand away, shushing you.

“Darling, there will be plenty of time for that later. Right now, I need to feel you.” He grabs your shoulders and drags you up to the pillows, so that you’re lying comfortably on your back with him hovering above you.

Your heart skips a beat at the mention of ‘later.’ So this wasn’t just a one-night stand? You don’t have time to process that, however, as Loki barely gives you a moment to breathe. He sits back on his knees, straddling your waist, and with a wave of his hand, you’re both stark naked. Your hands twitch, wanting to cover yourself. Being naked in front of an attractive man has always intimidated you, but the fact that Loki was a god made it worse. As if sensing your sudden shyness, Loki leans in to kiss at lick at your breasts, and brings his hands up to pin your wrists to the bed. You sigh in pleasure, insecurity fading with every hot swipe of his tongue, not even wanting to struggle against his hold.

Loki lowers himself to grind against you. His hard cock slides against your dripping folds as his narrow hips press into yours. Both of you shiver, and you arch your hips to bring him closer. Loki growls against your skin and sits up. He lets go of your wrists, roughly grabs your waist and angles it to meet his. “Ready, pet? I can’t wait, I need to have you.” he breathes, eyes locked on yours.

Like a deer in the headlights, you’re frozen, anticipation coiling tightly under your skin. Slowly, you nod. Loki wastes no time. He smirks, then slides himself into you, the stretch burning in the loveliest way. Your heated groan mingles with his, and when Loki’s hips come to rest against yours, he falls against your chest, panting. You appreciate the time he gives you to adjust; Loki’s cock is thick, and longer than anything you’ve ever taken, and you can feel it throbbing desperately within you. Now that he’s released your hands, you bring them up to thread through his soft, black hair. He closes his eyes and leans into your touch, nearly purring.

“Tell me when, love,” Loki grits out, fighting to keep his voice steady. The shakiness in his usually smooth tone is arousing to no end, and you can feel yourself clench around him in approval. Loki’s hips twitch at the fluttering of your walls, and though you’re more than ready, you decide to torture him a bit longer.

You bring your legs up to wrap around Loki’s  waist, pulling him closer. He shivers, but keeps his composure, remaining almost statue still. His concern for your comfort makes your heart swell, but you want to see him lose control. “You’re so big,” you whimper out, the alcohol in your system quelling the embarrassment you’d usually feel when talking dirty. You press your face into Loki’s neck, grazing your teeth along the pale skin there.

With a deep growl of barely kept composure, Loki rises up to rest on his elbows, desperate eyes searching yours. It seems that being the God of Lies gave Loki the ability to see through your cruel game, and his expression turns dark, though the neediness is still blatant. You shift nervously as he stares you down, already regretting your mischievousness. “Feeling playful, are we?” Loki asks.

Your mouth goes dry at being caught and your core tightens around him again, earning you a flutter of his eyelids. “I…” you trail off, eyes drifting to Loki’s parted lips. Watching you gaze, Loki grins at you.

“Oh, pet. I think you may be confused. You are mine to toy with, not the other way around.” With that, Loki leans down to crush his lips into yours. His tongue forces its way into your mouth and you whine around it. While his tongue’s distracting you, Loki takes his chance to begin pounding into you at a ruthless pace, and you break away from the kiss to throw your head back and shriek out a moan.

You feel utterly wrecked, stomach clenching and nerves alight with pleasure as Loki continues his assault on your body. Your eyes are squeezed shut, so his teeth nipping at your jaw come as a surprise, sending a whole new shockwave of sensation down your neck.

“You feel so fucking good, pet,” Loki moans, his voice quickly losing its characteristic steadyness. He sighs out something that sounds suspiciously like a whimper, and brings one of his hands down to toy with your clit. Your legs tighten around him involuntarily. “A-ah, fuck,” Loki grits out, increasing his pace.

The pleasure is overwhelming, and the unhuman speed at which Loki’s pounding into you leaves you no time to catch your breath. Moans and whines erupt from your mouth in a constant stream, and Loki keeps his mouth hovering above yours to drink them in. “I wanna cum,” you whimper as Loki’s assault on your senses continues.

“Then cum, pet,” Loki groans, hips stuttering. “ Cum for your god.”

You keen, writhing and chasing your high. As you climb up to your orgasm, you are met with a startling realization that Loki has already ruined you for anyone else. No human man could match the fire that he’s set upon your nerves, the blinding pleasure that mounts with every thrust and kiss. With that settling into your mind, you finally reach your second peak of the night.

Your eyes try to flutter shut, tears brimming at the corners as you wail Loki’s name again and again. Through the haze of your climax, you notice Loki’s muscles begin to tense as he nears his orgasm as well, and you force your eyes to stay open in order to watch him come apart.

Watching Loki cum is almost like a second climax. He speeds up impossibly, mouth hanging open and eyes barely able to stay focused on you. “You’re mine,” he growls out. Choked moans fall from his lips as he nears the edge, and you rake your nails down his back to encourage him.

“Cum in me, please, I need it, make me yours” you ramble breathlessly.

“Oh, fuck, I-I’m so close,” Loki manages, voice breaking. You continue to coo pleas and encouragements at him, and the way his eyes roll back at your wrecked voice gives you an intoxicating rush of pride. Finally, with a whimpering moan, Loki stills, cock pulsing within you and hips twitching as he pumps you full of his cum.

Loki slumps against you, still moving in aborted little thrusts, as if he can’t quite stop fucking you just yet. The weight of him on top of you is heavy, but not unwelcome, and you take the time to bask in the euphoria of having just slept with the god you’d pined after for so long.

“That was…” you start, words failing you.

“Divine,” Loki finishes for you. He slides his cock out of your pussy, and with it comes a gush of warm cum that you’re sure will stain the sheets. He rolls off of you, then guides you onto your side so that he can pull you up against him.

You weren’t expecting Loki to be the ‘cuddling after sex,’ type, so having him spoon you was surprising, to say the least. He nuzzles his nose into your hair, and you find yourself wanting to fall asleep like that; comfortable in his bed and safe in his strong arms.

Still, there’s a nagging question that won’t let you fully relax. Not wanting to expect too much, you brace yourself for the worst and open your mouth to speak. “Loki...what does this mean for us?”

Loki tenses behind you, and your heart breaks at the assumed rejection as he begins to pull away. “Are you...are you not mine? I thought this was-I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood. Forgive me.”

This time, your heart breaks for a different reason. Loki sounds so hurt, so unsure of everything, and you can hear a scared little boy behind that velvet voice. “No!” You nearly shout, turning around to pull him back to you. “I want to be yours, I promise,” you say as you tug Loki back into your arms, running a soothing hand down his back. “I just wasn’t sure if that’s what you wanted.”

The relief in Loki is visible as he relaxes into you. “Love, I am yours as much as you are mine, do not doubt that.”

The pet name brings a smile to your lips. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” you reply happily. Heart full, you roll back over so that Loki can snuggle into you again, and finally let your drowsiness overtake you. You catch a faint, ‘I love you,’ just before you drift off to sleep, and though it could just be your mind playing tricks on you, you know that you love him, too.

[dreamerstreamer]

Love Bite

Pairing: vampire!Dream / Clay x human!gn!reader

Summary: [Vampire!AU] Despite how deadly it may appear at first glance, you love your vampire boyfriend with all your heart, so when Clay goes a bit too long without a drink, you’re more than willing to help him.

Warnings: tw// mentions of blood & general vampire shenanigans

Word Count: 3.9k

A/N: requested by a lovely anon who wanted to see vampire dream! this was lots of fun to explore, and i hope you all enjoy! <3

You scroll mindlessly along your mouse, your laptop screen illuminating your dim room with a pale glow as image after image pops up on your screen. Your assignment lies long forgotten on the side of your desk, the tab still open just a single click away.

“Whatever,” you mumble quietly to yourself as you click on another link. Your gaze briefly flickers to the calendar on your wall before you shake your head. “I still have another week to work on it—it’s fine.”

Letting out a sigh, you slump over onto your desk, pressing your cheek against the cool wood as you sweep your gaze over to your balcony window. Outside, the sky is dark, the vast expanse washed with a deep, navy hue as the stars begin to peek out from the shadows and gaze down at the bustling city below. It’s a little past midnight now, and despite how late it is, the streets are just as busy as ever. You only catch a small glimpse of the crescent moon hanging among them before your gaze drops to your balcony.

Yet again, it’s empty, completely devoid of life.

The sight makes you frown, and you tear your gaze away from the sight and back to your laptop, continuing your scrolling with a sulk.

It had been a little over four days since you had last seen your boyfriend. Not that you’re counting or anything, of course. It’s just that you’ve gotten lonely without him, and you’re starting to miss him more than you’d like to admit.

Having a vampire boyfriend and being a human isn’t always the easiest, but you’re more than willing to put up with it for him. You can still remember the day he had broken the news to you, having been fully prepared to sacrifice his life right then and there for you if you chose to call for a hunter. But you hadn’t—you chose to stay, to love him.

And love him you do.

There may be times where he has to disappear for a little while that leave you cold and wanting, but the time you do spend together more than makes up for it. He’s overwhelmingly kind, honestly stubborn, and always loves to put a smile on your face, no matter how bad of a day you may have had. You can’t possibly count how many times you’ve thrown yourself into his arms with the widest grin on your face, all just to feel him laugh against you with a soft kiss behind your ear. There’s no one else in the world for you, living or undead, and you are willing to wait for him. It’s embarrassing to think about, but you really would walk to the ends of the earth just for him.

Heat creeps up your neck at the thought, and you force it down with a huff, ducking your head back down again and staring at your assignment. You distantly think of your phone sitting next to your bed and the string of messages you had sent him a few hours prior, all of which remain unopened. Kicking your legs, you whine, burying your face into your arms upon your desk.

Tonight is just not your night, it seems.

Just then, you hear it—the unmistakable sound of nails tapping on glass.

Lifting your head, you blink, slowly turning to look over at your window. Squinting for a moment, you can barely make out the shape of a familiar silhouette standing on your balcony and leaning casually against the railing. His golden hair shines beneath the moonlight, and your heart leaps into your throat.

He’s here.

In an instant, you’re scrambling out of your desk chair and across the room. Fumbling with the balcony lock, you slide open the door with a gasp, the cool night breeze brushing against your cheeks with a soft caress. In front of you, the figure shoots you a crooked grin, his eyes flashing with delight.

“Good evening, sweetheart.”

Your heart melts at the sound of his ever-soothing, familiar voice, and you return his smile with one of your own. “Good evening to you too, Clay.” Scanning him up and down once, you gesture for him to come inside as you add jokingly, “You do know you don’t always have to come in through the window, right? I do have a front door.”

His grin only widens at your words, a soft chuckle tumbling from his lips as he ducks his head to step into your room. “I have a reputation to uphold as a vampire, you know?” he hums. The glint in his eye dances with mischief. “Twilight was the one who said that windows are the way to go.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, your lips twitching with amusement. “Are you really sure you want to use Twilight as your vampire role model of all things? Why not use...” You pause for a moment, then lift a finger. “Dracula?”

A grimace skitters across his face as he pulls the balcony door shut behind him. “Dracula may have been scary, but he was also an old man and, like, super creepy. At least modern vampire fiction makes us sound less gross.” His eyes gleam devilishly. “And also hot.”

You gulp, stepping back until your hand is brushing over the soft covers of your bed. “Well,” you ask softly, “do you think they got it right? The way they portray you guys?”

His lips split into a sly grin, his teeth flashing in the starlight. “I dunno, darling,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to a low whisper as he dips his head closer to yours. “You tell me.”

Your breath catches for all but a second before you’re gently pushing him away from you with a giggle. “Nice try,” you say, leaping onto your bed with a teasing grin, “but I’m not feeding your ego any more. You do that enough on your own.”

He feigns a wounded look, climbing into the space next to you with a hurt pout. “Aw, bummer. At least give me a kiss, then.”

For a second, you pretend to think about it, mulling the decision over in your head just to watch something needy spring to life in his eyes. Then, you smile, leaning in close to his face with your mouth hovering over his. “Just one.”

You only manage to see a sliver of his lovestruck smile before he presses his lips to yours, your eyelids falling shut. You can just barely feel his sharp fangs brush against the skin of your lip, and the thought makes you croon into his mouth. A certain fondness blossoms behind your ribcage, and your lungs almost feel as though they’re too tight to breathe. He’s cold against you, and when he lifts his hand to cup your cheek, you shiver at the feeling of his icy skin against yours. Everything he does sends a chill rushing down your spine, but when you part just a moment later, you already feel yourself missing his touch.

Brushing his nose over yours, you feel him inhale sharply against you, and the breath he lets out is positively trembling. “God,” he whispers into the side of your face, his voice rasping ever so slightly, “you smell so good.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest at his words, and you feel warmth blossom across your collarbones. “I’m flattered,” you say gently, reaching a hand up to press against his shoulder. Instantly, he melts into your touch as you subtly shuffle back across your bed away from him. “But you’re the one who told me I’m not allowed to let you drink from me.”

His lips part for a moment, and you catch a gleam of the moonlight flashing across his fangs. Swallowing, he runs a hand through his hair and sighs with longing. “Yeah, yeah, I know.” His eyes dart up to meet yours, his gaze swimming with a deep, drowning sense of sorrow. “You know that I’d never, ever want to hurt you, right?”

A smile tugs on your lips, sincere and true. “Of course I do,” you murmur, “and I promise you that you won’t, even if you did drink from me.”

You pause for a moment, then slowly reach a hand up to your shoulder. You don’t miss the way his eyes widen at the sight, and you almost swear you catch an inkling of crimson swirling within his viridian gaze as you lean your neck to the side. “It’s okay if you want to, alright?” you whisper, swallowing.

His eyes are glued to your neck, and you can almost see the storm that rages just beneath his skin. Your chest aches at the thought, knowing just how conflicted he must feel right now. When he doesn’t move, you drop your hand back down to the bed, your gaze focused intently on his.

“I trust you,” you say, pouring every ounce of honesty you can into your words. “Can you trust yourself?”

For a moment, he simply stares at you, his lips parted as his emerald eyes rake you up and down. They’re wide with hunger, an expression you had seen many times before over the months, but not one you had become fully acquainted with. You fidget a little under his intense gaze, and you’re just about to open your mouth again when suddenly, his hands are reaching for yours on the bed.

You gasp as he intertwines his cool fingers between your warm ones, your heart leaping for joy. You let your eyelids flutter shut as he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours, drinking in your sweet scent as your warm breath tickles his cold skin. You love the quiet moments like this, the enamoured silences that envelop the two of you in your own little bubble as the world seems to slow down. Sucking in a breath, he shudders at your touch, his hand squeezing yours.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs quietly for you and you alone to hear. “You’re too good to me.”

You smile at his words, your heart fluttering in your chest, but something uneasy sinks into the pit of your stomach at the bittersweet tone of his voice.

He didn’t answer your question, a voice whispers from the back of your head. Why didn’t he answer?

A moment later, you push the feeling away, nudging it back into the dark crevices of your mind. Instead, you choose to focus on the feeling of his skin pressing against yours, soothing and soft as you relish in the moment. The moon’s crescent frown seems to deepen from her perch in the sky, but she remains ever silent, only watching with her patient, pallid gaze.

You’re probably just imagining things.

After that night, time passes by you at an achingly slow pace. Night after night passes without a single sign of Clay, and before you even know it, a week and a half has flown past you without so much as a call. You text him as often as you can, and more often than not, you do actually get a response. Seeing the notification of his name pop up on your phone screen makes you smile until your cheeks hurt, and you’re always eager to hear back from him, but you can’t help but miss him as the hours drag on.

An empty, hollow feeling sinks into your chest as you curl up in your bed, the blankets strewn around you haphazardly as you blink over at the closed curtains draped over your balcony window. You haven’t bothered to look outside for a few nights, now—you already know that he won’t be there, as much as you want him to be. Even now, you can imagine his grinning face and teasing pokes as clear as day. The loneliness gnaws away at you as you turn onto your side, facing away from the window.

You hope he’s safe no matter what he’s up to, right now. You know better than anyone that sometimes, he can be a little too reckless for his own good.

Letting your eyes close, you sink into your pillow, a galaxy of stars whirling around your head as you slowly feel yourself drift off into a murky dream. Flashes of bright grins and the sound of wheezing laughter trickles through your thoughts, and you sigh at the endearing memories that wrap around your heart. You can almost swear you feel a pair of hands wrap around your own.

All of a sudden, something prods at the back of your ear, restless and sharp. Wincing, you blink a sleepy eye open, your bleary mind sorting through the sounds in your head before landing on one.

Glass—that’s the sound of glass.

Someone is tapping at your window.

Your eyes shoot wide open, and in a whirlwind, you’re ripping the covers off your body and pushing open your bedroom curtains. On the balcony stands a hooded figure, his golden tresses just barely peeking out from beneath the low-hanging cloth. You swallow and grab onto the door lock, slamming it open just a moment later. You shiver at the night breeze nipping at your skin, but in that moment, you couldn’t care less about the cold, your focus entirely devoted to one thing and one thing alone.

“Clay!” you cry, your eyes desperately scanning him up and down. “Where have you been? I���ve been worried sick.”

He doesn’t respond right away, and instead, his hand reaches to the side to desperately grip onto the balcony railing, his knuckles turning white. Your eyebrows furrow with concern, and slowly, you take a step toward him. You haven’t even crossed the doorway separating the inside of your room to your balcony when he suddenly barks, “Stop!”

You freeze in place, your hand halfway reaching for his when he practically crumples against the railing, curling in on himself with a choked plea. “Wait,” he gasps, clutching at his chest with a ragged breath, “please. I’m—”

“Clay?” you breathe again, this time much quieter. You shuffle closer to the window glass, your toe just barely brushing against the doorframe. “Are you okay?”

All of a sudden, a snarl rips out of his throat, guttural and beastly. You flinch at the sound for a split second, the worry in your chest only making your heart shake even more. His grip on your balcony railing grows even tighter, and you don’t doubt that it’s going to leave a mark on the metal.

“Don’t come too close,” he pants, his thighs shaking beneath him. “I—I don’t know what I’ll do.”

You purse your lips at him, frustration and confusion digging at the sides of your stomach. “Then why did you come here?”

All is quiet, and he doesn’t respond. The only sound you can properly hear is his uneven breathing as he claws at the front of his hoodie, the fabric bunching beneath his touch. You flick your gaze over him again, and a cold realization suddenly washes over you.

“Clay,” you whisper, the tiniest hint of fear seeping into your voice, “when was the last time you had a proper drink?”

You are once again met with silence, but the way he suddenly stiffens does not go unnoticed by your watchful gaze. Something curls nervously inside your gut, and your lips curl into a frown as you dig your heel into the ground.

“Clay,” you say again, a little louder this time—a little more firmly. “How long has it been?”

There is a beat of silence. Then, he whispers so softly that it’s almost swept away by the wind, “...too long.”

A pang of sorrow shoots through you, a stone dropping into the pit of your stomach. You were right. He’s thirsty. A sigh escapes your throat as you open up your arms, beckoning him toward you. “Come here,” you murmur with all the softness you can muster. “Look at me.”

He shakes his head, and it’s then that you realize you haven’t seen his face this whole time. “Take off the hood,” you say gently. His shoulders tense at your request, and you quickly add a tender, “Please.”

His throat bobs as he gulps, and ever so slowly, his hands reach up to tug at his hood until suddenly, the moonlight is casting a glowing streak of silver across his face. Your eyes go wide.

His kind, lovely eyes, which are typically viridian green and swimming with adoration for you, are now painted a deep, scarlet red, his pupils dilated beyond belief as they lock onto yours.

In all the time you’ve known he was a vampire, you’ve never seen him like this before.

But strangely enough, you’re not afraid.

Instead, you gently reach for his hand, careful to only just lightly wrap your fingers around his. His gaze drops back to the ground again, and while you know he doesn’t have a pulse, if he did, you imagine that it would be going haywire right about now. “Oh, honey,” you whisper. “It’s okay. Look at me.”

Just as you begin to lead him inside to your room does he raise his chin once more, his jaw clenched tight as he takes in your soft, enamoured expression. As he steps inside, you reach behind him to slide the door shut before tugging him back toward your bed. Settling down on the mattress with a loose breath, you let go of his hand. His arms are still shaking at his side when he sits, and it’s then that you open your mouth again.

“Clay,” you say, your voice as clear as a bell, “you can drink from me.”

His crimson eyes widen, and the look he shoots you is one of pure, unadulterated panic. “I-I can’t,” he stammers.

“Yes,” you shoot back, reaching up for the collar of your shirt, “you can.” His eyes trace down the slope of your jaw before landing on the smooth skin of your neck, exposed and waiting for him. His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands squeezing into fists beside him. “It’ll be alright.”

“H-How do you know that?” he blurts, his nails digging into his palm. “What if—what if I lose control and hurt you?” His face blanches at the sight, and he slumps over onto his lap, hanging his head in his hands. “I can’t let that happen.”

You sigh, and he clams up at the softness of the sound. “And it won’t.”

A moment passes in aching, tense silence. You resist the urge to hug him, knowing that initiating any more contact with him would only make him panic even more. “Last time I was here,” he suddenly whispers, shattering the silence with his head ducked down, “you asked me if I trust myself.”

You blink at him as he slowly raises his head, turning his gaze to look at you head-on. “I don’t, [Y/N],” he whispers. “Not one bit.”

Your eyes flash in the darkness of your room, and before you can stop yourself, your mouth opens. “But I do.”

He goes stock still before you, and suddenly, the words are flowing from your lips in a rush, unstoppable and dripping with honesty. “I know you, Clay, and I know you won’t hurt me, no matter how scared you are that you might. I believe in you, and I believe in us.” You press your hand to your chest, your fingers curling over your beating heart. “I love how much you want to make sure I’m safe, but right now, I want to make sure that you’re safe, too.”

If you were looking a little closer, you would have seen the glossy sheen in Clay’s eyes as you tip your head to the side once more, your shirt collar tugged down your shoulder. You bite on the inside of your cheek, your fingers squeezing the sheets. His crimson eyes almost look soft in the glittering starlight of the night, and you feel your chest flood with heat.

“Please,” you croon, your eyes never leaving his. “Go on.”

He eyes you for a moment longer. Then, he’s crawling across the bed toward you, his shaking hand reaching for your shoulder. Gently, he turns you toward him, his other hand cupping your cheek. Slowly, you feel his nose brush against your jaw, something cold pressing against your skin.

“Thank you, darling,” he whispers.

Then, he sinks his fangs in.

A sting shoots up your neck at the feeling, just barely there and slightly sharp, but it’s most certainly nothing you can’t handle. Heat pools around your collar bones as he drinks and drinks, and you feel your eyelids flutter shut. His lips, which are usually cool and soft when they meet yours, feel oddly warm for once, and you sigh at the sensation of your blood pumping from your skin.

You aren’t quite sure how much time passes with him cradling you against him and his mouth lapping at the side of your neck, but soon enough, you can feel a slight dizziness flit around your skull. A soft whimper escapes your lips and instantly, he breaks away from you, his eyes wide with worry as you lean against him for support. You press your forehead against his shoulder for a brief second before sitting upright once more, blinking away the vignette tinting the edges of your vision. In front of you, Clay’s lips are stained with a faint shade of red, but his eyes have returned to the brilliant shade of green you know and love. He grips onto your shoulders a tad tighter than before, his hands reassuringly rubbing against up and down against your arms.

“Oh, [Y/N],” he breathes, his eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of harm. “I-I’m sorry if I was too rough or anything. I tried to be as gentle as I could, but god, you taste so sweet and I—”

You don’t let him finish his sentence. Before he can even blink, you’re pressing your mouth to his, your tongue swiping at the seam of his lips. The uncanny warmth of his lips against yours makes your head spin more than it was before, and you feel yourself smile against him when you pull back. You can taste the slight metallic tang of your own blood on your mouth as you flash him a grin, his eyes wide with adoration as he drinks in the sight of you sitting before him.

“I’m okay, Clay,” you say with an earnest look. Tilting your head at him, your tongue darts out to swipe at the corners of your mouth. “Are you?”

His eyes never leave yours as he reaches forward to slip your hand into his, his fingers slotting between your own. “Yes,” he murmurs. “Yes, yes, yes.”

His pale skin almost seems to glow in the dim light filtering through your balcony window, and he strokes his thumb over the back of your knuckles. Something inside you suddenly unravels as he tugs you into his chest, holding you close to him as his arms wrap around your backside. You feel him rest his chin atop your shoulder, and you melt into his cool touch. Just as you let yourself let out a loving, hazy sigh against his chest, you feel him whisper into the shell of your ear.

“Would you maybe let me... have another sip?”

[ahkaahshi]

steadfast [miya osamu x reader]

pairing: miya osamu x fem reader + miya atsumu x reader x suna rintarou

genre: smut (18+)

warning(s): explicit sexual content, group sex (threesome), cuckolding, dirty talk, swearing, praise, daddy kink, deep throating, squirting, brief mentions of jealousy, and just a lil bit of that competitive spirit ya know?

word count: 4.3k

overview: after years of witnessing suna and atsumu shamelessly flirting with his girlfriend, he decides to give them one chance to change her mind knowing damn well she won’t.

By nature, Osamu is observant. Few things escape his attention, whether it’s trace amounts of ice cream disappearing from his tub in the freezer or the longing look you always give him moments before you press your lips against his in an affectionate kiss. Though he wants to pay full attention to the intense game of Super Smash Bros.a few of his former teammates are playing, he can’t help but let his eyes wander to your form as you shuffle into the kitchen to grab another beer. It’s not for you, but for his twin brother who places a lingering touch against the small of your back upon accepting it.

To the untrained eye, the action would appear as a gesture of appreciation and nothing more. But Osamu understood his brother well enough to know that he’d always had a habit--or intention, rather--of being handsy with you. His dark, stone-colored gaze quickly flicks back to the game on the television, however, when you saunter over to him to lean down and place a gentle kiss against his temple.

“Need anything, babe?” you ask, (e/c) eyes tracing over the handsome features of your boyfriend’s face.

He shakes his head and assures you, “Just ‘cause this is our place, don’t mean ya hafta play hostess, y’know.”

“I know,” is your cheerfully spoken response before you turn your attention to the chaos unfolding on-screen. “Damn, who knew Kita-san was good at video games?”

Aran, who overhears your comment, laments, “Not me. This guy acts like it’s his first time holdin’ a controller ‘nd then proceeds to give us an ass-beatin’!” That deceptively sweet smile you’d seen many times before soon spreads across Kita’s lips as he casts it in your direction. Moments later, you notice his chosen character catapult Aran’s off the side of the screen, making the man sigh and hand his controller over to a somewhat unsettled-looking Ren.

The exchange makes you laugh, and your amusement quickly spreads to Osamu, who smiles as he pecks your cheek. “Why don’tcha come sit down, honey?” he suggests, patting his knee and slowly pulling you closer by giving your hand a gentle tug.

“Later. I’m gonna go talk to Rin real quick.”

Giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze, you back away and dart past the television to where Suna’s standing on the balcony outside. Osamu doesn’t miss the lazy grin that tugs at the corners of his friend’s mouth when you greet him and seat yourself on the chair beside him. Though he’s noticed how much of your attention Suna must’ve been aiming to steal away the entire evening, he doesn’t comment or intervene. Instead, he sends a sideways glance at Atsumu, who plops down on the couch beside him, pops another sliver of pickled plum into his mouth that Kita brought with him, and returns his attention to the game onscreen.

It’s not until later that he decides to speak on the issue, when everyone’s left the informal team reunion but Atsumu and Suna. As you’re scanning the apartment for any trash that may have been forgotten—though there’s not much to find since Kita and Aran scolded anyone who so much as left their drink unattended—you find yourself tripping over the rug sprawled across the wooden floor. Atsumu, who’s seated on the couch nearby, avoiding any tasks associated with cleaning up while tapping through his own Instagram story, quickly extends his arms towards you to steady you as you stumble towards him.

Feeling his hands on your hips and hearing him say, “Careful, there, girly,” brings a rush of heat to your neck and face.

“Thanks, ‘Tsumu!” you chirp quickly, pushing yourself away from the couch with haste.

“Anytime, hon,” is his nonchalant response. Normally, you wouldn’t think much of it because he’d developed a habit of giving you affectionate names over the years you’d known him, but, in this situation, his reply has you glancing over your shoulder at Osamu. Though he remains silent and focused on the task at hand, that quiet but dominating presence of his is intense. You know his brother’s actions are hardly going unnoticed, so you hustle into the kitchen to start cleaning the dishes Kita had neatly piled in your sink—which you’d had to practically beg him not to clean for you by insisting that he was your guest.

Osamu’s dark gaze narrows at his brother in a silent warning once you’re occupied again. Atsumu, being competitive and provocative as ever, simply raises an eyebrow at him as a challenge. However, both their attention soon snaps to you when they hear you and Suna snickering about something that must’ve been just hilarious while he helps take care of the dishes. Jealousy isn’t an emotion Osamu’s entirely used to, seeing as he’s always been secure in his relationship with you, but knowing the types of things his friend and his brother have said about you in confidence before the two of you started dating makes a flicker of it burn within him.

Finally, he speaks, not even attempting to hide the curtness to his tone when he questions, “Why don’t the two of ya just fuck ‘er already?”

The silence that befalls the house following his outburst is deafening, and you freeze in your act of handing Suna another plate to stick in the dishwasher. The three of you collectively turn your gazes to him, though theirs clearly portray an intrigue to learn more about what he means.

“What’re ya sayin’ that for, ‘Samu?” Atsumu asks rather coyly, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees.

However, your boyfriend isn’t having any of his twin’s attitude tonight, since he retorts, “Don’t fuckin’ act like ya don’t know what I’m talkin’ about. I know you’ve been wantin’ her for years now. I see the way you both fawn over her whenever I bring ‘er around.”

“Baby…” you coo softly and dry your hands so you can approach him.

The daggers he sends sticking into you with a sharp glance in your direction stops you in your tracks, though, as do his words. “What? It’s not like yer doin’ anythin’ to stop it.”

You swallow thickly, your eyes sinking to the floor as shame wells up inside of you at the truth his statement holds. You had never intentionally flirted with either of them, but you hadn’t done anything to put an end to their advances. Even though Atsumu and Suna were close friends of yours—and had been since high school, when you’d first met them along with Osamu—you knew they’d both harbored feelings for you at some point over the years. Part of you didn’t stop them because you hadn’t wanted to think the worst, which was that they still had any remnants of desire for you when you were clearly in a committed relationship with Osamu.

However, as you look around and find yourself the subject of not one but three hungry sets of eyes, you realize that they’ve still been hunting you regardless of the fact. “’Samu, I—”

“Do ya wanna let ‘em fuck you?” he interrupts. The fire you can sense burning behind his ash-colored eyes robs you of a response, so he adds, in a softer tone, “’S okay if ya do.”

Atsumu chuckles, “Might not wanna give ‘er the chance since she might rethink her decision about who she chose.”

Without thinking, you shake your head diligently and argue, “I would never leave him.”

“So, is that a yes, then?”

As you take a moment to ponder his inquiry, you notice Osamu moving closer to you before he takes your face in his hands. Tenderly, he kisses your cheek and leans towards your ear so he can murmur, “Why don’tcha let ‘em live out their li’l pipe dream for one night, (f/n)? You’ve got nothin’ ta lose, since I’m the one who suggested it in the first place.” A slow, shuddering breath escapes your lips when he adds, “In fact, I want you to do it. Show ‘em a good time; hell, enjoy yourself too.” He lets his finger run over the gentle curves of your neck, sending tingles down your spine. “I hope they make you feel good—or at least try to, since I know there’s no way they’ll be able ta make you squirt like I can, pretty baby.”

His words quickly fill your core with heat, and you’re consenting with an enthusiastic nod without so much as another thought. A small smile ghosts across his lips for a moment before he gives you a gentle nudge in the direction of the hallway leading to your bedroom, silently telling you to lead the way. Even though your body’s abuzz with excitement at what you’ve willingly gotten yourself into, you can’t help but feel somewhat sheepish at being the subject of three intense gazes. Having them follow you down the narrow hallway makes it somewhat hard for you to breathe, but it’s not long before they’re finding more physical ways of taking your breath away.

Upon entering your bedroom, Atsumu’s the first to paw at your shirt, taking the soft fabric in his grip so he can pull it over your head. Your bra is unclasped moments later and tossed aside haphazardly before you’re pushed onto the bed. The suddenness of your body hitting the mattress makes you squeal, eliciting a low chuckle from Atsumu as he leans over you and captures your lips in a surprisingly tender kiss. While your eyes are closed, you can feel one set of fingers trailing lightly along your sternum while another pair of hands tugs at your pants before removing them, along with your embarrassingly wet panties.

“Mm,” Suna hums gently, pressing his lips to the inside of your thigh, “Soaked already?”

“Lemme feel.” The fingertips grazing the expanse of skin between your breasts soon travel down closer to your core, plunging inside and emerging coated in your essence. A soft whine escapes your mouth at the fleeting sensation of being somewhat filled, and you watch with half-lidded, (e/c) eyes as Atsumu slides his fingers into his mouth. “Just as sweet as I expected,” he comments before placing another passionate kiss against your lips so he can swipe his tongue along yours to give you a taste. “What did ‘Samu say that gotcha all worked up, honey?”

From where he’s sitting on a chair across from the bed, Osamu grunts, “None of yer damn business. And don’t call ‘er honey.”

Suna understands why Atsumu’s attempts at using this pet name for you are futile when he sees the way you clench around nothing at hearing it leave Osamu’s mouth. “’Samu,” you whimper softly and look in his direction. In spite of the way Suna and Atsumu’s hands feel against your skin, you’re still pining for the familiarity of your boyfriend’s touch. Eager to bring you back to the matter at hand, Atsumu turns your face back towards him and occupies your lips once more.

Meanwhile, Suna sets himself to running his fingers through your glistening folds and pleasuring your sensitive spot, making you moan into Atsumu’s mouth. When his digits venture inside of you, your hips instinctively buck against them, desperate for the thumb you know he’s intentionally keeping away from your clit. “Keep making those pretty sounds, baby,” Suna coaxes, using his free hand to palm his erection through his pants. Between him thrusting his long fingers into your core and Atsumu pinching your nipples with his, it’s not long before you feel the knot in your stomach threatening to come undone.

What pushes you closer to the edge is the smooth, wetness of Suna’s tongue dragging over your slit. “Rin!” you squeal, grinding your hips against his face to get as much contact with his mouth as you can. He squeezes your thighs gently, holding them in place over his shoulders where he kneels on the floor at the side of the bed. At hearing his name leave your mouth between kisses from Atsumu, he rewards your behavior by flattening his tongue against your clit and licking in broad stripes. Suddenly, a wave of ecstasy crashes over you, reducing you to a moaning mess as you cling onto Atsumu’s arms and squeeze Suna’s head between your thighs.

Your wanton cries have all three men in the room mesmerized. However, their awe quickly transforms into something more animalistic, and, in your ecstasy-induced haze, your body is nothing more than putty in their hands as they maneuver you into a different location and position on the bed. You’re vaguely aware of your own hands reaching for Atsumu’s shirt to remove it before unzipping his pants so his erection can spring free.

As you move closer to him to take his cock in your mouth, Atsumu grabs a fistful of your (h/l), (h/c) hair to keep you from doing so. “Oh, sweetheart, I love how eager you are to suck me off, but I’m dyin’ ta see whose cock you like better: mine or ‘Samu’s.” Osamu growls with irritation at this comment but feels his dick throb painfully at knowing what he’s about to witness. With that said, he relinquishes his grip on your strands of hair so that he can readjust your position, bringing you face to face with the tent in Suna’s pants.

This time, it’s him who’s threading his fingers amongst your locks, but with a much gentler and more affectionate grip than Atsumu’s, and his sandy-colored irises fasten on you as you work on unzipping his fly to give him some relief. If anything, knowing he’d just brought you to an orgasm with his mouth spurs you on to use yours so you can do the same for him. The way you eye his erection hungrily once you’ve freed it from the confines of his pants has him tugging your hair backwards to tilt your chin up towards him. He’s always wondered what it’s like to kiss those delicate lips of yours, and they look far too delectable—slightly swollen from Atsumu’s bruising kisses and glistening with the saliva he can see dripping off your tongue—for him to show any restraint now that he’s been given a free pass to do so.

“Are you gonna be good and take all of it?” he wonders, his mouth brushing against yours with each word. Your diligent nod earns you a deep kiss, and you moan into his mouth at the feeling of his tongue trailing along yours, carrying the taste of you. “Gonna drool all over my dick for me with that pretty, little mouth of yours?”

You’re barely able to let out a breathless, “Yes,” before his lips are over yours once more. But, just as quickly as his onslaught of kisses started, he’s pulling away and moving your head down south. Saliva collects in your mouth at the sheer size of him, and you cast him a demure glance up at him through your eyelashes as you lick a long trail from the base to the tip, causing a low groan to rumble in his throat.

At feeling the head of Atsumu’s cock teasing your sensitive clit, a whimper rolls off your tongue. “I’m gonna fuck this sweet, little pussy of yours so good, (f/n),” your boyfriend’s twin murmurs, his hands moving your hips so he can push the tip inside of you, “so you’d better take it like a good girl.”

“Don’t hurt ‘er, dumbass,” Osamu barks, the hand he has shoved down his sweatpants coming to a halt at the thought of your comfort being compromised by his brother’s greed and desire to show off. “She’s sensitive.”

“Oh?” Atsumu challenges as he inches more of his cock inside of you, making you remove your mouth from Suna’s dick to mewl loudly and drop your head towards the comforter. “It’s ‘cause yer not used to bein’ filled up are ya, sweetheart?” Another lascivious cry from you is stifled by the thick duvet when he snaps his hips against yours, sending himself deeper into your clenched core. “Don’t worry; I’ll take care of ya in all the ways ‘Samu can’t.”

Osamu’s face burns ever so slightly with humiliation and anger, but he finds he can’t tear his gaze away from the scene before him. He watches in silence as Atsumu’s fingers dig into the supple skin on your rear and snake around your hips, pulling you closer to him as he sheathes more of his cock in your greedy cunt. Then, his eyes are darting to where your pretty lips are wrapped around Suna’s dick, eyes gazing upwards at him in an affectionate manner that he thought was only reserved for himself.

He feels as if he should be enraged by the whole situation—by the way he’s being forced to sit and watch while his brother and his friend fuck your pussy and your mouth, respectively—but he isn’t. In spite of being excluded and having derogatory remarks thrown his way by Atsumu like daggers, he loves it. He loves every moan of their names that leaves your mouth because of how good they’re making you feel, as well as the hungry looks in their eyes at how good you’re making them feel. Because no matter what his twin says about how he’s “gonna make ya feel better than ‘Samu ever will,” he knows he’s wrong. In a scenario where Osamu should be the one feeling inferior, his ability not to lose sight of what he knows is the truth is what keeps the warmth burning in his stomach.

No matter how much you drool all over Suna’s cock while he thrusts deeply into your mouth, batting your eyelashes at him each time he sends a compliment your way, he knows whose pants you’re pulling down after he’s had a long day at work. Even as Atsumu’s hips snapping against yours reap a myriad of mewls or moans from your mouth that bring a self-satisfied smirk to his face, he’s confident that you’ll always be louder for him. Nobody knows how to treat you quite like Osamu does, and nobody knows how to fuck you like he does either.

So, as he slowly strokes himself off to the sight before him, he’s able to ignore the sting of every off-handed comment thrown his way and the sound of you begging Atsumu for more in the moments when Suna’s dick isn’t down your throat. He might as well let them have all the fun they want with you, seeing as it’ll be their last time doing so. He only intended to give them a taste of how good you are as a way of getting back at them for all of their shameless advances towards you in the first place. What’s better revenge than giving them something amazing that they can only remember, but never recreate? Nothing, he thinks.

“Lemme cum inside ya, pretty girl,” Atsumu coos, though his voice is raspy from his heavy breathing as he slams into you. Removing your mouth from Suna’s dick with a loud pop, you shake your head, making them both look at you with raised eyebrows. “Why not?” he asks.

Osamu nearly finishes on the spot when you whine, “Only ‘Samu can.”

Atsumu shoots his brother a withering look that he beats down with a smirk but obeys your wishes anyway. “Whatever ya want, princess,” he murmurs, placing a gentle kiss against your spine before continuing to thrust into you at a breakneck pace that has you crying out with ecstasy in no time.

Your breathy moans sending vibrations along Suna’s dick have him finishing inside of your mouth, and you swallow his seed as you sink into the bed once more. Atsumu’s hands keep your hips flush against his as he plunges into your spasming core until he can hardly take the sensations your body’s offering him anymore. Once it gets too much for him to handle, he obediently pulls out of you and cums on your back, spreading warmth along your skin and eliciting another whimper from you.

As you come down from your highs, you feel Suna’s long fingers stroke the side of your face affectionately, as if trying to communicate the praises he can’t find the words for. Meanwhile, Atsumu takes one last look at your back coated in his release before grabbing a tissue and cleaning you up. “So,” he mentions, interrupting himself to place a gentle kiss against the nape of your neck, “whaddya think? Did we change your mind?”

There’s not even a moment of hesitation before you shake your head and reiterate, “I’ll never leave him.” The soreness you feel settling into your body does nothing to quell the warmth in your belly, especially with the way Osamu’s gazing at you hungrily from his seat at the other end of the room. It’s almost as if your body moves by itself as you get up from the bed and shuffle over to him so you can seat yourself in his lap. “I want you, baby,” you breathe as your arms instinctively wrap around his neck.

A shit-eating grin appears on his lips as he places his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. You moan softly at the bulge in his pants pressing against your sensitive entrance as he mentions, loudly enough for the other men in the room to hear, “How cute. Even after getting’ fucked by them two, ya still only wanna be stuffed full of my cum, huh?”

“Please.” Your plea escapes you in a soft whine when he bestows a fleeting kiss against your lips. He hums into the tender skin on your neck, eyeing Suna and Atsumu over your shoulder while he does so as if to clearly convey to them who’s won this challenge. However, his silent gloating is soon put to an end when you wriggle your hips against his, move your face closer to his ear and beg, “Please, daddy.”

In an instant, he’s barking at Suna and Atsumu to get off the bed so he can push you down onto it. “So good for me, honey.” Osamu’s loving words have you clenching around nothing as he shoves off his sweatpants and positions himself at your entrance. “Shoulda never doubted ya. I know how much you love me, don’tcha, baby girl?” he muses, flooding you with heat once more.

“Mm!” you chirp enthusiastically, “I love you so much, ‘Samu.”

His smooth voice becomes ever so slightly strained as he pulls your hips towards him, slides his cock into your warm, velvety core, and replies, “I love you too, (f/n).” Having him inside you once more brings you a pleasant sensation of comfort that you felt as if you’d been missing earlier, and you reach for one of his hands. Sensing your desire to be more connected with him, he wraps his fingers around yours and presses the back of your hand against the mattress beside your head.

You moan softly at being filled once more when he bottoms out inside of you. Glancing over at where Suna and Atsumu are sitting nearby, he comments, “Ya feel so good, honey,” and increases the volume of his voice before adding, “it’s like yer sweet, li’l pussy was made for me, wasn’t it?”

“Just for you, daddy,” you agree with a small smile, eliciting a low groan from him and spurring him to start thrusting into you with long, deep strokes. From where he’s standing at the edge of the bed, he’s able to lift your hips upwards to drive himself even deeper into you than he’s sure Atsumu could reach. Any overstimulation you felt initially has since been replaced by pleasure once more as he showers you with kisses accompanied by compliments that you confirm enthusiastically, earning you more of what you want.

“Why don’tcha tell ‘em whose cock ya love the most, baby girl?”

You cry out his name once.

“Who’s making ya feel so good right now?”

Twice.

“Who’s gonna make ya cum harder ‘nd faster?”

Thrice.

He leans down towards you to press those slow, passionate kisses against your lips that you’d missed so much, spreading your legs further and pounding into you with more speed. It’s clear he knows the map of your body that he’s made through experience like the back of his hand, since he’s able to hit that sweet spot within you time after time with more accuracy and precision than anyone else could. “Right there!” you cry, fingers dragging along the muscles rippling beneath the skin on his arms as your toes curl.

A few more thrusts send you over the edge again, and the strength of your orgasm is felt by every man in the room. Atsumu and Suna realize your cries are much louder than they were before, and Osamu smiles when he feels you squirt as your walls clench tightly around him. He doesn’t mind that you’re getting his clothes and the comforter covered in your essence—he only cares that he’s delivered the promise he’d made for you earlier. It’s not long before he reaches his high and fills you up with stuttering snaps of his hips and labored breaths. You moan breathlessly at the sensation of warmth inside your core, and let your head come to rest against the bed while he finishes inside of you.

As much as you want nothing more than to crawl under the sheets with him and rest, you’re reminded of your guests when Osamu casts his dark gaze in their direction. “Ya got whatcha wanted. Go home,” he announces, eyes narrowing at his twin brother who, along with Suna, are clearly still in awe at what they’ve witnessed. 

Turning back to you and planting a tender kiss against your collarbone while they rise to their feet and head for the door, Osamu adds deviously, “So much for rethinkin’ her decision, huh? Now ya know why she won’t.”

treat me to a coffee! ⭐︎ kinktober masterlist

taglists (see pinned post on my blog for form)

general: @dinablossom, @newfriendjen​, @devlovesramen, @ohbyunhunn, @aftcrlust, @mister-future, @kyleclxin​

osamu: @pretty-setters​, @misora-msby​, @why-aminot-dead​, @atsunakaashi​, @heyhinata​, @why-aminot-dead​