#I could do this with many other pairing in the show

[tonycries]

Bed Chem - T.F.

Synopsis. No, you’ve never gone through a heat. No, your big bad neighbor, Toji Fushiguro, hasn’t had a rút in years. No, you don’t think you’ll make it out alive when all that changes with your…bed chem.

Pairing. Toji Fushiguro x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! oméga! reader, alpha! Toji, OMÉGAVERSE AU, slight enemies-to-Iovers, rúts, breéding, MARATHONS, cúmplay, búlges, Toji is BIG, heats, face-sítting, 69, spítting, praise, oraI (f + m), knottíng, he goes FÉRAL, DÚMBIFICATION, one use of “ma’am”, fated mates, matíng bites, p talking, breaking furniture, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 9.9k (whoops)

A/N. Hope you have a lovely week <3

“-oh! And, darling, my friend recently showed me this new serum that could-”

“-help with my…condition, huh?” You’re finishing off, teeth grit almost as hard as your fingers were around your glaring phone. “Mom- I’ve already told you that I want nothing to do with those sketchy inducers. I’d rather stay dormant like this forever.”

There’s slight static crackling from the other end of the line, “I’m just so worried for you, especially with that massive alpha-”

“Who? Wait- Toji?” You’re braving out a chuckle, gut clenching at the memory of your utterly hot new neighbor and his muscles upon drool-worthy muscles. “Y’know, the doctor has already determined that it’s impossible for me to go into my first heat now.”

And despite it all, you can’t help but drink in a deep inhale the moment you step foot into your cozy local convenience store. Only for your senses to be met with…nope. Nothing, again.

“Besides-” Fingers hovering over that angry red End button, you’re speed-walking your way as inconspicuously as possible towards the Heats and Ruts aisle. “-Toji doesn’t have ruts.”

Well… 

Nobody ever said that you weren’t a hypocrite - but, hey, you were desperate at this point. 

Even if you had to consider another one of your mom’s attempts to artificially induce your inner omega into finally putting in the work.

With your goodbyes hastily muttered, and your phone stowed deeply away into one of your pockets, you find yourself slowing down near that one particular section of the Omega shelves. Gulping at the somewhat-shady inducer portion that you found yourself familiar with ever since you’d reached late puberty without a single heat. 

It was ridiculous, but it wasn’t impossible. 

Mandatory school bloodwork revealed you to be an omega - yet, you felt like anything but that. Anything but what you supposedly were as you watched more and more of your fellow omega classmates miss out on a week or two of school to deal with their heats. 

Consoling you with pitying glances and half-hearted complaints that alpha scents were annoying anyway. But you didn’t care if the pheromones were obnoxious, and the cycles even more so.

Your months just came and went by without any of it.

You’d visited many fertility and growth doctors over the years, and not a single one had been able to pinpoint exactly what was blocking you from accessing the pheromones and biology that everyone else could. That you wanted to. 

Hell, even betas were said to have at least a faint ability to smell wafting clouds of musky perfumes.

Most professionals claimed that everything was as it should be, that you might just be dormant - a late-bloomer, if you will. A very, very late bloomer. 

A majority presented at the start of puberty, or perhaps - in only very rare, alleged cases you found on barren forums - after meeting their fated mate. Two souls bound to fill in each other’s missing pieces. 

The theory was something you let yourself indulge in guilty sips, the sort of fantasy that flashed through your mind right before you wound up with yet another heartbreak.

But after graduating college without a mere half-sign of anything to do with your second gender, you vehemently called bullshit on that one. 

Some suggested that you might merely be a beta in disguise. It was almost comforting to think that it might have all been one big mix-up, yet, every medical test after medical test you’d done always came out the same. 

An omega.

“Damn second genders.” You’re grumbling, traitorously curious fingerpads skimming over the sterile boxes of medicines with official-sounding names. You’d tried out a few with the least amount of side-effects before, and it always ended up being a waste of your time (and your paycheck.) “Damn- damn inducers-”

CLACK!

In your reveried haste a few unstable boxes of products found themselves plonking onto the ground. Wincing at the withering glare of the manager unhelpfully peeking in from a few aisles down, you urgently dropped to your knees to put them back-

“Damn, what did those scented lotions do to you? Remind me not to get on your bad side, doll.” 

You see him before you hear him - strong, engulfing hands motioning into your field of vision to dexterously grab at the mess you’d created. 

And then once you hear him it isn’t any better, because you could recognize that richly rumbling baritone anywhere. 

“Wha-” Cutting your own self off with a strangled mess of a yelp the moment your furrowed gaze looks with viridescent eyes. “-oh.”

Oh? Oh?

Toji Fushiguro quirks up one brow in a way that is unfairly attractive, sultry scar engraved onto one side of his sleazy grin tilting up ever-so-slightly. And was that- a dimple? “Heh- n’ the pretty girl says oh. Cat got your tongue, sugar?”

It’s only then that you’re realizing that this was the first time you’d ever been so…close with the man himself. 

Usually settling for grumbling conversations from your doorstep and incoherent text conversations from his toddling, cherub-faced son stealing Toji’s phone.

So ah, there was one thing you’d forgotten to mention to your mother. Sure, you might have let it slip that Toji was…ruggedly handsome - all Herculean physique, a glossy black Harley Davidson bike, and long legs that carried him well over six feet - but you’d always omitted one thing. 

He was just so cocky.

And you can already feel your blood curdling strangely in your veins, scoffing out a heated puff of breath. “Nah, more like the alpha in the Omega section is.” Darting your eyes anywhere but at the strain of Toji’s sinful compression shirt sneaking winking at you underneath his leather jacket, practically painted onto the ridges of his washboard abs. “Thinkin’ of a secondary gender change, Toji?”

“Ah, yeah yeah-” He’s rolling those hooded eyes, leaning in so pointedly close that you can practically feel his slow, seeping look up and down. “-got tired of havin’ cute lil’ omegas falling all over f’me.”

You scramble to finally stand, “You wish.”

The bout of husky snickers that escape from him make your thighs squeeze together, and Toji’s promptly following you to place back all those fallen lotions. “‘Course I do. That n’ the brat is out on a trip with his lil’ pink-haired friend, m’just killing time.” Tilting his head at you, “You? Thinking of going for alpha? Or…” Crossing his big, beefy forearms, and he must know the effect that has on you and your greedily ogling eyes. “-an alph-”

“Just this.” You’re cutting him off before Toji could fray at your sanity even more, holding up that heat-inducing serum your mother had mentioned. 

But, oh.

Oh.

That wasn’t the expression you’d expected on the handsome face of Toji Fushiguro. Maybe something more smug, perhaps even amused as he realized your little predicament- but never this.

Eyes stony, sharp jaw clenching with a jumpy little tick. And Toji’s fingers are so thick when they pluck the box cleanly off your hands, the split-second graze of his burning skin making you feel almost feverish.

“This trash? Yer takin-” He’s glaring down at the serum as if it had offended him personally five times over. Something about the utter look of discontent makes your chest burn, “-this trash?”

You find yourself defensive, “N-no. At least, not yet. What about it-”

“Because s’gonna ruin your inner workings that’s what.” And for all the world, you never expected to be getting lectured by Toji Fushiguro of all people on your health - though, one look at his sculptured body should have told you all you need to know about just how seriously he takes it. “Don’t even know why s’on the market. S’not good for ya, mama.”

And you knew that. Probably. But ah, the things you do when you’re at your ropes end. “And? I’ve never had a single heat my whole life, y’know?”

“And I should know, bratty doll.” Toji murmurs, throwing that oh-so-famed miracle serum haphazardly back onto the shelf and flipping off the manager who glares at him. “Haven’t had a single rut in years, not since Megumi’s- anyways, all these inducers here are full of shit.”

“Oh.”

Wrapping a staggering arm around your waist to guide you, your body practically burns. Weird. “Tch- silly girl.”

Two peas in a pod.

Before you know it, you’re being dragged by a disgruntled Toji away from the treacherous clutches of the Heats and Ruts aisle and past the cashier - who only smiles as you so-very-subtly sneak in a long whiff of the air. 

Again. Nothing. 

With the stinging pang of disappointment, you sigh as you step outside. Only for Toji to rub your back with a hum, “S’alright. You’ll be alright, sugar- you’re my strong girl, huh?” Eyes widening at just how…sweet Toji was being. That is, before he opens his mouth once more- “Besides. Who needs inducers when you’ve got such a big strong alpha-”

“Pass.”

“Don’ act like ya don’t like it, little miss neighbor. I see how ya look at me.”

“I- I don’t-” You did. And you do. And you will - in fact, you were looking at him that way right now as Toji swings over one thick thigh to straddle the padded leather seat of his prized Harley Davidson. Looking like he’d just stepped out from your wettest of dreams and it makes you almost simper out a sigh.

He’s jutting his head back at the tempting extra space behind him, and you could already hear the suggestion oozing into his next words. “Mhm— whatever ya say, girl. Now stop just standing there looking pretty n’ get over here, I’m a busy man.”

It’s almost as if on auto-pilot when you do.

Toji Fushiguro’s motorbike was big, and just as intimidating as he was. And it’s only on shaky legs that you manage to press yourself only mere precarious inches away from his hulking form. “Heh, ‘er name’s Harley. Fitting for a bike, huh?”

“If- if you crash I’ll kill you.” You’re puffing out a few thickly muffled words through the sleek matching black helmet he was deftly putting on you. Wondering just what led you to be…here of all places. 

“Yes ma’am, I’ll help ya hide the body.”

“M’serious- no funny business.”

“Uh huh, anything else, mistress?”

“And I’ve seen you run red lights so no-”

SMACK!

Your heart stutters with a loud ba-dump! as Toji’s rounded, calloused fingertips leave a good smack against the side of your thigh to get your yammering mouth to halt. And he’s letting off a titter at the shocked expression of your face even through the tinted helmet before turning to rest his hands on the handlebars. 

“Hold on tight.”

It’s all the warning you get - and, honestly speaking, you don’t think any sort of warning could’ve prepared you for the way that Toji rides. 

Something about it is so attractive. 

Maybe it was the creaking stretch of leather as his biceps strained against it from underneath, maybe the way your ears ring with his words even louder than the growl of the bike, maybe it was the way that you were holding him.

Arms stretching to connect over Toji’s broad front, your skin mushes against the curvaceous mounds of his toned pecs. Firm and warm. So, so warm that you can’t help the way that your eager self was mindlessly inching ever-so-slightly closer-

“Phew.” Startling - but not moving away - at the low whistle that Toji blows out, eyes still trained weaving through traffic. “Dangerous game yer playin’, omega.”

Sidling even closer, the defined angles of his back muscles only flexed at the innocent smooch of your tits. “What?”

“S’fucking close.” And not just to him, but to his scent glands. So sensitive and prickling the shaggy black hair at the base of Toji’s neck just from your heated proximity. Huh, strange. “S’a damn good thing I ah- don’t get my ruts, huh?”

And, suddenly, you’re despising what these helmets hide from you. “Well, it’s a good thing I don’t get my heats, huh?”

The exact same words playing over and over in your minds once Toji’s braking to a stop at his designated spot right outside your apartment building. And part of you almost feels upset that this little ride with him was over. 

Letting him do as he pleases when he’s seating around gruffly to take off both your helmets himself, you couldn’t help but notice that something about the air seemed…thick. Like it had just been dipped in candy and right now you were gladly suffocating in the sugary sweetness. 

Your eyes catch onto a lock of deep black that’d curled behind Toji’s ear - and you knew right then and there that something was wrong, you knew that you weren’t thinking. That you weren’t listening to your common sense. 

Because before you can stop yourself - before you can even register it - you’re swiping away the stray tuft, sensory curves of your fingertips just catching onto the skin above where Toji’s smooth glands should be.

“Fuh-fuck-” He’s hissing, willowy eyes curtaining behind a scrunch of his lids, and it’s almost as if on instinct that his thick digits fly upwards to trap your hands right there. “Hold on- just a little, mama-” Pressing down even tighter, and the way that Toji’s letting his head tumble back makes your mouth lacquer with a syrupy wave of drool. “-s-so you said you haven’t had a heat in years-”

“Ever.”

“-ever, huh?” Dewy whirlpools of his eyes examine you, and suddenly you feel like running away. But Toji only grins, “Say, why don’tcha scent me?”

Your maw falls slack with a hot shudder, and you’re not sure if it’s in shock or if it’s from how much you wanted it. To have an alpha offering himself on a silver platter - let alone Toji. Letting out an eloquent, “Wh-what?”

You’re being reeled in even closer with a tug of Toji’s strengthened hands, plummeting onto his chest with a cushioned oof–! He only repeats, breathing bated like he didn’t want to know anything himself until you did. “Scent me, pretty girl.”

“I-I don’t know why-” Your fingers unlatch, and you swear it makes Toji’s chest rumble with a low whimper. Steadily planting them onto the collar of his overpriced jacket to pull. “But if this is your idea of a- oh.”

Shit.

Shit.

And something…is different. There. 

Was- was this how he smelled? This heady concoction of jasmine and something so undeniably…Toji? 

Something snaking and boiling bubbles up throughout your body, you all but slump yourself into his eagerly awaiting arms. You can’t even register what you’re doing, nuzzling into his tender throat. Can’t even recognize the look on your face when you’re gasping in greedy heavals of what was obviously his scent.

That you could smell.

With a gasp, you’re pulling away, eyes diverting to him and- oh, it was much the same for him.

There was no other explanation for the lecherous look of devastation on Toji’s pretty features right about now. 

Scarred lips parting in awe, weighty lids drooping down until those heart-eyes him were almost invisible, face veiled with a delicate flush. His palms find their way to rest on the dip of your hips and stay there.

You’re croaking out, “T-Toji-”

It happens so fast - too fast. 

It’s as if your mere voice was enough to send a zillion volts of electricity shattering down Toji’s spine, jolting him with something darkly visceral. Enough to snap up one tannish forearm and bite-

“Ngh-” Toji’s pearly canines coat with a slight tinge of red, eyes shuttering open - and you notice that they seem slightly less glassy now. Slightly. “-fuck ya really are dangerous, doll. Was almost g’na have me take you right here right now.” The slight dip of his strawberry-pink tongue as Toji pulls away makes you gulp, “N’ I don’ wanna spend my first rut in years here.”

.

.

.

Toji couldn’t think - he couldn’t breathe. And if he was any lesser man he’d have fallen to his knees with only one whiff of your candyland smell. 

Addictive. 

Fingers clutched tightly underneath the plush of your thighs to carry you all the way in through your cozy apartment. Never faltering. Never slowing. You could almost roll your eyes at the blatant reminder of strength if you didn’t feel so feverish.

Toji’s steely eyes light up at the way your trembly fingers clutch the silken hem of your skirt, lips wobbling with every spilling word. “T-Tooooji, feels so hot.”

“S’that so?” He’s swiping the regal button of his nose down where the sides of your neck were swollen, breathing in the hot, sugary waves emanating from your skin. “Feel anything else?”

And the slight hitch of your breath is all that he needs as an answer, well, that and the goopy wetness that was formulating between your thighs. Shit, he never thinks he’s kicked down a door off its hinges harder than he has to your poor bedroom door. 

Draping you gently onto the plethora of silken sheets, you whine at the slight recoiling bounce.

Barely even given the time to gather your wits before Toji’s sliding his jacket and his t-shirt teasingly off, all thick, muscled limbs stalking towards you like a predator that’d just cornered his favorite prey. And you eye his rippling back, his rumbling tone speaking over your mattress’ creaks. 

“Ya better know…” he’s hurling out, mouth just only centimeters away from yours. Hot. “-m’not here ta fuckin’ play around jus’ cause you’re in heat, sugar.”

Ah, that’s what it was - heat. You were in heat. Fuck. 

Your fingers leave neatly indented semi-circles on his flesh when Toji’s grasping your throat tightly, padded ends of his fingers pressurizing right onto the treasure trove of your scent glands. “If I fuck you now, you will be mine. You and…” Before one largely crowned kneecap of his sidles into the snug cove of your pussymound. Weighing down- “...her.”

It’s the only thing you could do to bat your lashes up at him in a way that makes Toji’s achy cockhead twitch. “I want you…wan’ you to touch me, Toji–”

And that’s all that he ever wanted. 

Roughened hands shove you meanly back onto the cushy bed, and Toji’s sliding his palms languidly down, down, down every curve and dip on your body. As if he was trying to worship you with them. 

“Oh? Only wan’ me to touch ya?” Toji’s humming, Adam’s apple bobbing with wads of salivation once his fingers slink down to curl at your bra strap and snap! “Not to take this off or-” You gasp, the sting almost making you forget those minute rips! echoing from where he was grasping your t-shirt. “-this? Guess I can do whatever I please then, right?”

Before you can say a word of shrill protest, those useless pieces of fabric are tattered off. Ending up not-so-nicely in a pile right beside your bed with Toji’s intact clothes. 

“H-hey!” You whine, “Those were ah- limited edition-”

“Ah, I’ll buy ya five more of those.” Toji rolls his eyes when your lips part open, “What? Thought I wasn’t filthy rich or somethin’- Oh, girl, you are about to be spoiled. But first, a kiss-” Innocent and sweet onto your lips, “-here. And…”

Toji huffs out a few cocky sniggers at his own little joke, because of course he does. Leaving you off with a gentle swat! to the perfect curve of your hip and your heartbeat throbbing at your drooling cunt. 

He’s shuffling onto his very knees at the bottom of the bed, tutting at how unfairly far you were from his greedy mouth - well, that had to be fixed. You almost get whiplash from how swiftly you’re being dragged to let your jittery legs be thrown right near his tightly coiled deltoids. “-here.”

Head bobbing in an urgent yes yes yes when Toji rids you of your flimsy skirt and slowly slides down your drenched panties. All bunched up and leaving a glimmering coating of slick down your skin.

Stuffing it into his pants pocket, “This is a lil’ reward f’me.”

“Filthy.”

“Oh, well helloooo there, pretty girl.” He’s drawling, eyes flashing with such darkness at the heavenly mess of a banquet all laid out in front of him. “You’re so in heat- so fuckin’ in heat. See? Who needs fuckin’ inducers when ya have me.”

Toji’s pupils were swallowing up his verdant orbs. Needy. And he’s unashamed in taking a long deep inhale of your saturated pheromones. His favorite perfume now. “Lookin’ real happy ta see me. Happy s’your hah- first heat, hm?”

You’re squirming, fingers tangling into his silken tresses in an attempt to try and shove his face closer. “Are- are you talking to-”

“Hush now, doll.” Toji leaves a wet pap! of his fingers thwacking against the treacly slit of your pussy, watery with your flooding slick and greedy. “Lemme talk to ‘er- lemme talk this cute cunt through her first heat. M’honored, y’know?”

And honored just doesn’t begin to cover it.

Toji was devoted.

It’s like your wafting clouds of heady scent made his mind dizzy, until the only thing he could do was to let his slutty tongue loll out and sliiide at the splatters of translucent sap soiling your inner thighs.

“Oh- fuck-” You’re squirming your hips in a wild buck upwards, only to have him pin you down with the heavy-handed weight of his forearm. “-feels so- so…”

“Yeah? Good? Ya always get this wet or s’that jus’ f’me?”

Truly, you could only jumble out a few nonsensical syllables. Because Toji didn’t want to waste a single ounce of your precious juices, slurring out a few open-mouthed kisses across every inch of skin you’d exposed to him. And the moment that rosy peak of his tongue touches upon your teary pussy- oh.

He thinks he might just be the one about to cry.

Because you didn’t just smell like his favorite candied lollipops - you tasted like it, too. And, fuck, he can’t help but go in for seconds. Thirds.  

Guffawing out breathily with disbelief, he’s drawling his tongue to mush open the gummy folds of your pussy. Swirling out a lazy flick of his sopping muscle to stretch out the tight ring of your wide agape-

“Just look at ‘er all hngh- overflowing.” You watch with bated breath when Toji’s prying your quivering entrance with a bullying few inches of a singular thick index - only one, but Toji was so incredibly towering with his size and strength that you find yourself keening. Coral pink lips puckering up to give your hooded clit a squelching kiss. “Heh…like a damn waterpark, aren’t ya?”

Filthy words only making you filthier. Making your omega inside blink up and yearn.

Your gushing wads of juices bawling from between your legs in torrent. And you yelp at the lecherous sounds that echo out - the waterlogged squelches and slurring that only makes Toji grin. Wild and sly. “Mhm, real talkative.”

Arching your back into the perfect slutty curvature off of the prespired sheets, “Tojiii- s-stop teasing n’ give me- ngh- more.”

More. 

And just then you feel him fuck his softened digits into you slow and thorough. Curling up to swipe down the mushy soft spots of your walls - Toji was burning up. But you were burning up even more, and shit.

Shit. shit shit shit-

You don’t know if it’s because of your heat, or if it’s because Toji is just that good with that rude mouth of his - but you’re cumming faster than the thought could even flash across your melty mind. “Wait- m’close ngh- Toji- I’m gonna-”

It’s like a tidal wave of bliss peaked up further and further with every slashing motion of Toji’s gyrating make out with your cunt. You’re so very extra sensitive right now and he makes use of it - bumping up that rounded angle of his nose to press your fleshy clit just right. 

It’s so intoxicating. So heady that he finds himself pushing back those sweat-dampened bangs of his to lower down loooong breath. And then finally another passionate French kiss onto your bulging pussy. 

“Fuck- I-” Pearlescent droplets of tears welling up at the scrunched corners of your eyes. “M’so- sensitive–”

God, his wolfish canines were sharp nipping teasingly into the fat pucker of your pussy lips. Parting your slick-gleaming mound to squeeze his tongue into your tight hole, the stretch is incredible. It’s staggering. And Toji can only sully your insides with a gentle brush of his lengthy tongue along your gooey insides before pulling back with a huff. 

And then again- to let out a throat groan when your elastic walls push with resistance. And again. And again and again-

“Now m’offended.” Toji’s letting out a surly swat! where you’re trickling down viscous fluids of sickly sweet slick that coat his mountainous knuckles, his wrist, the raised trailways of his veins. “Wanted more but tha’s all ya can take- tch.” 

Oh, by the time your white-hot tingles of pleasure were bating you should’ve known better than to think that Toji Fushiguro was done manhandling you with his superhuman strength to every whim and want of his. 

That he would give you even a second of a warning before hovering over your frame and flipping you into such a pliable position over him.

His back hitting the puff of the pillows, strands of hair making a dark halo underneath him. Toji looks so fucking handsome that you can feel your pussymound slobber a few streaky puddles of slick onto his heaving abs. 

Hands positioned on either side of his leering head, you mewl. “Give me a warning first, you animal-”

“Hell yeah.” He’s snarking up at you, but there’s not a single speck of heat behind his words other than towards you. Towards what he wanted to do to you. Planting a heavy smack! on your ass, “Tha’s right you’ve got me in a rut after years like a fuckin’- animal. Heh, so jus’ lemme throw my pretty omega ‘round a lil’, I can feel how wet that gets ya.”

“N-noo- it doesn’t-” But that was a fucking lie and both of you knew it, knew it from the syrupy pool of sap laminating his heated skin. 

“See? She’s on my side. Doesn’t talk back.” The curvaceous pads of his fingers twiddle and tease your plumpened clit, so dirtily that it only makes your dripping cunt drool even further. Leaving a gauzy cobweb of treacly slick with every swat! swat! swat! he gifts. “Has anyone ever had her seated on a mouth, sugar? Made you feel good that way?”

Your head shakes before the thought has even contorted itself into an understandable shape. “No- no one has- ngh- before.”

It’s a confession, it’s a line plucked right from Toji’s filthiest thoughts on those late, late nights.

And he couldn’t look happier when molding you to the exact shape and angle that he wants you in. Turning you right around to bare your sodden pussy from the back, your unbalanced thighs curling on either side of his ravenous head. 

Not even a single command, yet your head is swimming with honey at just how much you were like putty underneath his hands. 

Your head cranes over the plane of your shoulder to give him a pretty plea. “Toji?”

“Mhmmm, Toji’s right here, pretty girl.” He’s awestruck - stunned with the gumdropping droplets of sap plopping down onto his tongue and sliding right down his throat. Making him groan, “Filthy fuckin’ pussy, can feel ya ngh- dripping allll down my tongue.”

And he’s drunk. He’s babbling, he’s heaving and heaving to inch his intoxicated maw to connect with your saturatedly glossy pussy lips. “Lower her down so I can give her lil’ smooch.”

Your hands nimble down along the tufted black happy trail brushing from between his navel and going down, down, down. “L-like this?”

“Nah, more. Can’t believe all those pathetic boys never had ya hah- sitting on their faces. Spread those pretty legs n’ lemme show you-” You can’t even begin to think about merely hovering your entire deadweight above him, because Toji was ready. And he was hauling you to rest every single mass of your flesh onto him, “-how a real man fucks.”

Thickly viscous helpings of your generous slick flood his mouth the second that Toji’s lengthy tongue is burrowing between your folds and driving you mad. 

Sliding all the way up and down up and down up and down with a welcoming flit at your buttoned clit and then pumping you overwhelmingly full. Fucking you with the overheated scratch of his tastebuds exactly the way that he wanted to with his achy cock right now.

“Can still taste m’self on ya- haaah- good.”

Toji wasn’t holding back.

“O-oh my god, m’so sensitive.” Your moans come out mangled. Wanton. Spilling from between your parted lips right along with rivulets upon rivulets of waterfalling saliva every single time that Toji’s bumping the curvaceous search of his tongue into your earliest sweet spots. “Slow down, Toji–”

Your fists maze through the velveteen blankets and clench, hips jerking up-

“Nuh uh, doll, no runnin’ away from your Toji.” Sliding up one slick-glazed hand to snake the small of your back, he’s using his face to nudge your legs even further. Drowning your sobbing cunt with a fat wad of spittle, Toji’s licking down the stray speckles that gravitate back onto his own mouth. So dirty that it makes him delirious, nose crinkling, bottom lip bitten. “Yeahhh, crack ‘em open even wider. She’s eager.”

Eager you were.

Jostling your hips against his mouth until through your clouded mind you were wondering whether he would suffocate. But little did you know that this might just be Toji’s ideal death - buried right there between your pretty legs. 

You’re being bounced so hard that you can feel your legs aching with the strain, hollowing out shuddered breaths and whines of Toji, Toji—

“Say my name.” He’s huffing, easing in a thick few inches of his fat digits that fill up the snug geysering orifices. Each n’ every single volume of space that’s inside you, and those puckered pecks leave screeching squelches that have you halfway through sobbing. “Say my name- say my name heh, g-gonna have a looot of ngh- noise complaints after this.”

Even though he’s saying this, he doesn’t do anything to deter you. Why the hell would he?

Pumping you full of one finger, two, three until your gummy ring of muscle was being molded to the plump circumference of his lengths. Multi-tasking. 

All the way until he was slathering the patterned bumps of his knuckles with a sticky second skin of slick, Toji curls those rounded tips down the tenderized walls of your channel and drags. Feeling for that one special target of his-

“G’na make ya feel s-so good.” He’s whispering, breathing like it was the truest of true words. And shit- he hasn’t felt like this for ages now - years. Secondary gender growling from his inner depths with guttural need to give you more more more. “Gonna find- ah- found it.”

And Toji knows he found it with the way you squeal. Wafting scent intensifying, lashes fluttering with a clinging swash of tears once he jerks a good push into that bulging bullseye that makes you see stars.

“Right there- Toji– right there-”

“S’fucking loud.” He’s rolling his eyes for what seems like the nth time today, but it was impossible not to when you were just so cute being teased like this. Bubbling out a few sloshes of slick and spit when your fingers dip right underneath his trousers and push. “O-oh? Trynna keep yer mouth full, huh? Let’s see ya try then.”

Your low lip juts out into a pathetic sort of pout that Toji finds adorable, that only makes his clothed cock pool out a darkening patch of precum onto his boxers. 

“Wan’ taste you- make you feel good.” Your words are warbly and broken, tone hitching upwards with every tiny slip of his sticky underwear downwards. It’s like you were teasing him - teasing yourself. And your inner omega was oh-so-very impatient. “Wanna make you feel…oh.”

“Heh, cat really got yer tongue now, huh?”

And you couldn’t even retort, you couldn’t even snap back as you usually might have because you were stunned. 

Maw falling slack at the generous girth that was throbbing fatly between your fingers, honestly from this lecherous angle it seemed like a struggle to even close your fist around him. Because Toji was…big - and even saying that was an understatement. 

Just about nine throbbing inches with hefty breeder balls that your bleary gaze could make out, flushed a candied pink on the rounded curve of his mushroom tip. Graduating down, down, down into a pale baby rose - you didn’t know whether it was the heat talking but right now he just looked like your favorite sort of lolly.

“L-look so pretty, Toji.” You babble away, words getting breathier and breathier as sloppy as his kisses get. Your puckered lips are almost stinging with just how thorough he was. “Wanna taste…”

Oh, and you didn’t realize that one perk of having your secondary gender presented was realizing the shift in his pheromones. 

You didn’t know how you knew but there was a tinge of utter adoration in Toji’s jasmine-infused scent as you plop down a wet mass of slippery saliva right onto his strawberry divot. Lathering the split, plummy globe before planting your mouth down and kissing.

Your mushy tastebuds looping little motions over the creamy butter-topped cap of his splurging cock, he tastes so heady. Rich pre melting on your tongue and it was so musky, so…him. 

“Oh, girl-” he’s breathing out through a rasping sigh. Darkened brows marrying together at just how warm your mouth was sheathing around his painfully hard shaft, “That’s it- thaaaat’s it. Suck on my cock like a good girl, mama—”

“Ngh-” Your jaw aches, throat jumping at the squeezing sensation of his lustrously crowned tip tunneling right down. Craning your head so that he could count every bounce, “S-sho bwigh.”

You were so heavenly, alternating to leave shy little snogs over and under his sensitive slit - and Toji was one competitive man. It was in his nature, of course. 

Tumbling your hips to rest even greater onto his mouth, he didn’t need to breathe. Didn’t even want to even dream of it when he had the circles of his fingerpads latched on your jiggling ass so hard it was sure to leave battered bruises for the next week and weeks and weeks.

“Damn, she’s good, huh?” Toji’s whispering at the sopping wet purse of your lips, “But I can’t have myself  c-cum before- fuuuck- my girl.” 

Your eyes were sprinting all the way to the back of your heavy lids with ever swaying lash of his mean mouth. And it didn’t matter just how vulgarly you were sliding your starved tongue down the heated ridges and veins of his swollen cock - Toji was doing ten times worse. 

Every deepening inch you swallowed up into your cavernous mouth only made him plug you fuller. Every stray swipe of the thick, ivory beads of his pre made Toji douse out lumping masses of saliva lewdly. And every twitch that made you sure Toji was right on course to tumbling over the edge was urging him to push you headfirst into your orgasm with a final teasing pinch at your clit. 

And your mouth opens with an accusing gasp - did he just…pinch your clit? But all thoughts of his audacity and the fact that Toji was chuckling out right after washed away as soon as your high was flooding you.

Moans being muffled around his generously fat shaft, the only thing that you get is just a single wispy wire of condensed cum being lacquered onto your tongue. Just one. Right before Toji’s free hand splays out onto your scalp and pulls you free with a wet pwah!

“Tha’s it-” You hear him mutter in the blinding cloud of your orgasm, it felt so blissful that some darkly primal part of you said that you were never letting him go after this. He was yours. Your mate. “-louder. Louder– good fuckin’ girl cummin’ all over my mouth.”

Toji didn’t know how the hell was multitasking with your pussy kindly spraying him with a sheeny covering of all your remnant juices. But for you? Anything.

Anything anything anything and he was whispering the very same mantra into the quavering, slick-flooded entrance of yours. Letting your hips drag sloppy grinds to ride out every edge of your peak - to use him in a way that no other alpha might just.

Toji’s strokes up into your tightly-clasped fist were deep, and he doesn’t stop even when your eyesight stops tinging with black. Not even when your back arches with oversensitivity, waterfalls of tears producing from your ducts. Sobbing, “I-I’m- ngh- Toooji- I can’t anymore-”

“Sure, ya can–” Looking you right into your thoroughly half-lidded eyes as he nods along with the slurring symphony that he was orchestrating from between your overworked legs. “-she says ya- ngh- can.”

Toji wanted to taste you again. Needed it.

“But-” And, yet, he finds his ear perking up at the wobbly sound of your voice, blushing bludgeoning tip creaming out another thick mess of white. “-but I wan’ my next- ah- next orgasm around your cock, Toji–” 

And, well, how could he say no to that?

Toji thinks he could never say no to anything you ask ever again with the way you were positioned precariously on top of him and still begging. 

He’s saying goodbye to your pretty pussy with a slow peck as a lover would. Breathing in heavily - oh, how he loved the smell of you. “M’gonna see ya later, m’kay? Don’t miss me too much.” 

And another gifted spank! to your tenderized ass makes you jerk a few inches off of his sugary mouth. Sweet, sweet praises being pecked up the bending arch of your spine when he sits you down all cutely on his lap.

You’re heaving out a huff, scent glands throbbing with a spike of something slightly salty. Jealousy. “M’startin’ ta think you’re playing ngh- favorites.”

“Well, duh.” He’s fluttering his long, bestowed lashes with an eyeroll, barely even flinching before cupping your slobbering pussy with one large palm. Teasing, “I’ve got yeeears ta make up for.”

Years of desperation and need pouring and pouring out when Toji folds you easily onto all fours.

And that’s when you’re getting a thorough striking of exactly three times that Toji’s sappy crownhead jolts upwards with a few gummy kisses hello up and down the crying middle of your pussy lips. Smooching. Gently. Before he’s snuggling right beside your hole-

With you bent over and arched right how he wanted you - oh, he was so enjoying the view. Saturated bursts of cloudy pheromones hitting your feverish body and only making the fountains of translucent slick increase tenfold. 

Shit, you were so wet that Toji has to force himself to let one greedy hand go from its favorite job trapping you underneath him. 

Guiding a few dexterous digits to wrap around the bulkily bloated cylinder of his base, he takes his time slipping and sliding.

“Might wanna hold yer breath, mama, h-heh…” You’re squirming your hips deeper into those pronounced hip bones of his despite the fact that simply breathing won’t help you take on his monstrous size. But you wanted to. You needed to. “Gotta c-count- ngh- eeeevery inch like a good girl now, m’kay?”

And that’s exactly what he made you do. 

“Oh!” Saltily flavored globules of your tears had your lips wetted, blubbering unconsciously when Toji anchors the hills of his palm onto the ends of your spine and pushes. “Shit- Toooji, why the hell are you s-so big-”

“Now that doesn’t sound like a ngh- ‘one’ ta me…”  But of course, who was Toji if it wasn’t for a little bit of teasing. Just enough to get your lips pouting cutely and your gluey walls clinging around him as if afraid he would pull away. Adorable. “Now now, c’mon- don’t tell me the biiig stretch has made ya forget how to ah- count, mama.”

So easy to rile up, to get you shaking your head so fervently that you swear you could feel your melty mind tumbling about like a bobble head. “N-no. I can count.”

“Then, say it w’me-” And oh, you knew that tone. That feral tone of his that would never ever bode well for you or your needily dripping pussy. Toji’s inching his hips back mere sinful inches, drawling out all the while. “-oooone.”

He doesn’t even ease you in.

Hitting your spraying cunt with the full force of his mushroom-topped head pushing past the adhesive-like resistance of your flooding entrance. Pushing and pushing and pushing- “One.”

Toji’s hands are clammy - depraved - when they pry your bouncing ass ever-so-slightly to really take in the sight of your gobbling pussy. Because he had no shame. He had no fucking shyness letting out a proud puff of pheromones that make your boneless knees weak.

“There there.” He’s patting that curve of your hip he loved so much - birthing hips, the thought strikes him. Shocked at just how much deeper that drowns him into his heady rut. “My good omega. Now…two.”

“T-two-” You’re sobbing out.

“Hmmm, nah- no stutterin’.”

Oh?

And, honestly, Toji half-expected your omega in heat to snarl at him a little, to let your hugging channel scoop up a hefty few dollops of milky pre right before he’s reeling the familiar pathway forwards again.

But, oh shit, he didn’t expect for you to bare your teeth like a fucking threat. For one hand of yours to dart behind with surprising accuracy and curl around his shaggy haircut, dragging Toji to pump you full. And it wasn’t just one inch. Not two. Not even three - you were damn near yearningly jackhammered with about halfway down his fuming red shaft before he finally got his cottony brain together. “Two.” 

“Damn, greedy girl–” Toji praises, though it comes out as more of a rasping growl that sends voltaged shivers down your spine. “Comin’ back for more, already? Knew my dick was hah- heat- alright then-” And the bed rings out with a few symphonied creaks when he shuffles his muscular thighs wider. Steadier. “-but ya better still fuckin’ count.”

Four. five. Six.

More and more - seven and eight. 

Up until Toji’s puffy head smudges a wet wipe at the canvas of your cervix. You were so soft there that he obviously has to greet the melty depths of your pussy with a good spurting of ribbony pre, swabbing around those drenched springs with a lazy circle of his hips.

“Eight.” Your jaw spills a surging slew of profanities at the feeling of him spearheading you so open, face pushing into the soft mattress when you perk your hips up and push. Only to gasp at there being- more? “Wait- I want-”

“Down, girl.” Toji’s sweat-shimmered biceps flex when he shoves your too-eager body back. “Gotta get you to at least cum on m’cock again before I give ya my- fuuuuck- knot.” 

And Toji fucks you like he’d going to make you remember.

He knows he’s going to make you remember - it’s why he has that big, dopey smirk smearing wider and wider across his face with every fat thud! into the rubbery bounds of your pussy. You’re taking him like you’re made for it, and that only makes his heart stutter even louder than your protesting wooden bedframe.

“Doll, m’gonna ahh- break this damn bed.” He’s uttering out, never ever sounding prouder of himself than right now. “And you.”

“Cocky.”

“Whatever, girl- talk t’me when ya haven’t gotten- hah-” Managing out through blissful hiccups of his breath, “-heart-eyes after bein’ hngh- fucked dumb by me, ‘kay?”

You’re not sure if you’ve heard that correctly - but luckily for you, Toji Fushiguro is allll about keeping his girl in the loop.

All about prancing his rough hands to entrap your wrists and pull you with barely even a wisp of his true strength. Beaded dewdrops of sweat perspiring up and down the heavily toned muscles of his back like their very own personal rollercoaster.

With you right along for the ride with the way that his rightly angled rotund tip romantically scours and scours for your magical g-spot. Jerking you up in midair to snap his slender hips with a particularly vicious pap!

The sensation of skin-on-skin makes your head dizzy, and your core overpour with another sudden downpour of treacling juices. But what was even blasphemously worse was the way that precious geyser embedded into the treasure trove of your walls were pummelled. 

Over and over.

“There- right there–” you’re sounding out as if you were a broken record. Every resonating moan of yours accompanied hand-in-hand with the loudest splish-splosh of sputtering juices. Secondary gender working overtime now to make Toji cum. To make him give you his knot- “-wan’ you to c-cum right there.”

“Where?” Toji’s deepening his angle to bump a heavy-handed slam pounded into your cervix. “Here?” At your vehement shakes - honestly, he wondered if you even knew he was taunting you at this point. “Then…” Only to give your peaked clit a mushy squeeze, “-here?”

You’re almost crying at this point, bursts of heat fluctuating between your goopy depths and your swollen scent glands. Full and ready. And it’s a sight so pretty that Toji can feel his stomach twisting already. “N-noooo.”

He almost loses it once your shakier, smaller hands take the lead to guide one of his own all across your thighs where he loved. Your cunt, where he loved just a bit more. And to about halfway along your pretty tummy to press- “Wan’ you to f-fill me up riiight here.”

And Toji only growls, “Riiight there, huh?”

Pinpointing his puffed-up divot to smudgeon repeated heavy collisions into the latched wall of your womb. Once. Twice. Before thrashing your permeated walls with hosing flushes of his cum. Of such thick ribbony wads - and it’s so fucking dense that you feel your hips weigh down.

Or perhaps that was because of your own orgasm the- third of the night?

Just about all you can manage out, syllables falling from your lips slower than you’re being hammered through the faintish spurts of your high. “C-umming–”

Before you know it, you have one of his muscular forearms around your throat in headlock, bulging Toji’s rounded biceps hard and possessively at the bumpy area of your glands.

“Cummin’ again?” Toji snarls against your ear, nails clawing at your hip to keep them under his control. “Yeah- yeahhh tha’s right. Milk your dear Toji, t-take this fucking cock. Take my…”

And Toji was about to overstuff your awaiting hole with the fat circular ring that’d swollen around his base, to finally give you his knot the way he’d been dreaming of ever since you waved at him on the day he moved into this fucking building. 

But just one sneaking glance at the ivory lipstain your puffy pussy was wearing, the way the ends of your sopping slit drown with a swamping drip drip drip of his lustrous cum makes Toji go a little…crazy. 

Makes the bulgingly tender crook of your neck look so, so tempting. 

His glassed-over eyes lock downwards, breath hitching at the way he slowly sinks back out and in has your pussymound mewling out such a cute glomp! His second-favorite girl - after you, of course - was speaking back to him. Lathers of splashing cum painting his bulky heft with a ring of frosted seed. 

Oh.

Toji would never get tired of this. How the fuck hadn’t he had a rut in years again?

And he says only one word, “More.”

“M-more?” Your fingers experimentally nudge at the tautly coiled pressure at your stomach and find yourself slobbering - from both drizzling lips. Even with the dredges of pouring cum, you were still so full you felt that you could burst. “Can it even fit?”

Right now he thinks the hazy fog covering his brain would never stop - and he doesn’t want it to. Waves of pheromones wafting off of him in such high concentrations that you find your mouth flooding with saliva all over again.

Cobwebs of it overspilling down onto the veined muscles of his forearm - only increasing in saturation when he tilts your head up in the perfect 90 degree curvature to face his boring gaze. And his mean mouth.

Spitting right onto the tainted bullseye of your tongue, streamy rivers flowing back into your mouth when he firmly nudges it shut. “If yer droolin’ n’ can still t-take ngh– that,” Branding the thorough push of his circled circumference into your cervix like he was branding the swollen indentation there permanently. “-then ya can take allll of haaah- this, okay, mama?”

Shit, was Toji glad that both your concoctions of pheromones kept him still hard. And he’d heard of ruts that lasted a week - two, uncommonly. The longest ever recorded was twenty days and by god was he going to gain the title of world champion.

Even if it meant he had to lift you cleanly off of the now-broken bed, the exact same one that you were only now noticing. Just barely so. 

You’re gasping, fingers digging into Toji’s smooth skin when two arms wrap around your middle and jostle you over a few coiling bedsprings that’d started to stick out from one sagging end of the mattress. Being pushed to bend over in such a complaint position at the end of your cool mahogany desk. 

You’re dipped deep, but his battering rams were impossibly deeper.

And the zig-zagging probe of his veins were massaging you just right, thrusts determined and practiced now that Toji had every scouring inch of your pretty pussy drilled into his mind.

“Th-three’s the ah-” Toji’s chest rumbles with a sensitized shiver once he hikes up a strong leg, caging you with him and his ruthless cock and him. Letting you gape at the documents rustling and flying about, “-charm. Or was it four? Ngh- f-five? Six?”

Just how long did he intend to mess up your insides? 

Though, you really, really aren’t complaining at the way that every merciless dab of Toji’s sharp hips into your fleshy mounds fuck you stupid. Entire body burning up - all the way from his lolling, sweat-stucken head in the crook of your neck, to the splurging torrents of streamy sap coating you.

And then there was that stinging plap! of his tightened knot behind you-

“C-can I have your knot now, Toji—?” 

Shit, his hips stutter their sloppy staccato, did you even know what you were asking for?

You never knew that heats came with such a side of begging, but right now you couldn’t really bring yourself to care. Or to complain. Because Toji liked it, earning your pillowy walls with extra thorough hits. 

“Impatient girl.” He’s raising a hand to give two messy spanks on your bulging pussymound, deep snickers hitting your ear in condensed pants at the way it only makes you filthier. “Real diiiirty, too. mmm, wonder if she’d ngh- m-make an even bigger ngh- mess if I…”

And at this point, you were hanging onto every word falling from his kiss-bitten lips. A side-effect of just how good he was fucking you into the digging edges of your clattering desk right now. “What- ngh- what? P-please-”

“Ohhh, know yer m-manners, huh?” Full body wracking at the oodles of slicked sheens frothing down the plump curve of his globed balls and making them clench. Dangerously so. “S-since ya asked so fuckin’ nicely, I’ll let you ngh- know, sugar.” 

Nothing could have prepared you for the way that Toji moistens his parched mouth with a few sultry licks of his lips as if preparing to share his deepest, darkest secret.

Nothing could have prepared you for the notched up burst of his jasmine perfume that makes your legs resemble weak jelly, and Toji’s support yours until they were hovering almost midair. 

Because he was craning his head down to nip at your scent glands, with a sudden snicker. Crazed. A few octaves higher. Like he doesn’t even realize it’s tumbling out before sighing, “-wonder if she’d make an even bigger mess once I get ya…pregnant, mama.”

And oh you think you’re cumming - hot spurts of bliss tackling you by surprise. Fuck, and if you thought that the last orgasm had taken a lot out of your Toji then you’re sluttily glad to find out that that was not the case.

The complete opposite, in fact.

You’re sure that Toji cums even more this time, sunken divot into the elastic material of your walls welling up with the creamy helpings of his bloated cock. So much seed spilling out of him that you wondered whether this was the rut or just him.

Just his urge to fuck you full until you were pathetically overspiling, until had had you in a hold so tight that you think you could almost feel Toji’s delicious crownhead fuck his cum into you until it reached your lungs. 

For what feels like rounds upon rounds until your saliva had amassed in a forevermore pool underneath you. You didn’t know what time it was. How long it had been- 

Only feeling the firm glissade of Toji’s washboard abs against your back. The way his thighs shivered and jerked at every one of your gripping clenches. And despite being so fucked, you were already drooling at the heavenly cushy push and pull of his Adonis-like pecs heaving in throaty gasps. 

So unfairly sexy that it made your primal instincts preen. Mate.

And, apparently, Toji was thinking much the same. 

“F-fuuuck-” He’s letting his mouth nuzzle the side of your throat with all the tenderness that he wasn’t bestowing upon your sappy cunt. “Think about i-it- you all ngh- round and glowing n’- rooound–“ Rambling and rambling at the wet splashes inside you of his stuffing, “You’d make the prettiest momma.”

As if to prove his point, a gentle hand greets the inflationary outline that was slowly forming its way at your tummy. Made by yours truly - Toji. 

“I…” And he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars. And his sanity right along with it somewhere up there. “-want that. Oh, I- hngh! want that-”

Words barely out of your mouth before Toji’s hand slams down - he had to keep himself together. He needed to. But that grating desk clearly wasn’t the place, because you flinch when one straining leg snaps!

And Toji’s alpha instincts are flaring up in an instant, wrestling you to the ground right - pulling out for only a nanosecond to flip you onto your prespired back, pretty legs strewn sloppily over his shoulder, even prettier face gazing up at him - beside the wreckage. One that you’d only find it in yourself to worry about much, much later. 

Definitely not when he’s patting the curve of your pussy with a softened thwack! Murmuring, “Then..g-gonna hafta- hngh- take it.”

And if you didn’t know any better, then you’d have sworn that the smug Toji Fushiguro’s voice cracked as soon as he was settling for drawing a languid heart pattern around the velvety perimeter of your entrance. Before thumbing his way inside-

“Hck!” Your lip wobbles with oversensitivity, nails clawing red, red lines of raw need across the faintly bubblegum pink flush of his body. “S-Soooo much–”

And, yet, you couldn’t get enough. 

You watch with a bitten lip with a fat goblet of sweat drips from Toji’s angular jaw and slithers between his pecs to disappear down below. More - you wanted to fucking ruin him.

The desperation of your heat plummeting in heady wavelengths all around you and making the room smell like a candy heaven.

One that you were very much lost in with the unforgiving stretch of Toji pawing his way to working your sprinkling cunt doubly open. Fingers pumping in quick, methodical half-fucks in the same way that his persistant hips were doing.

Every single recoil against your fleshy cervix causes you both to keen at the wet slosh of his mounds of seed piling up inside you from all the endless rounds before. 

Again. And again. And again and again until it feels like countless hours upon hours. 

“Ohhhh- w-ait-” Toji stammers out, attractively sharp jaw falling and wrenching shut a few repeated times. And then his hips slow down. “Think s’gonna- ngh- ohhhh yeah, gotta take this kn-knot okay? Like my goood girl, okay?”

You’re filled with countless inches of a staggering girth that you didn’t even know was possible. Because while alphas were big…Toji was extra big. 

Extra rounded in his sizable knot, rested upon thickly globular balls that still held such voluminous amounts of cum. Pounding open your eager cunt further and- further-

“I-is it in?” You’re shrilling out, syllables slurring and stumbling together with the incredible stretch being made evident from down below. Fuck, your nails create more painted patterns. You didn’t even want to look - you couldn’t afford to cum again just from the sight. 

“J-just ngh- one more inch. Scratch me, ruin me- anythin’. But m’gonna make it f-fit.”

And Toji only hooks in another one of his thumbs, this time swiping the fat pad of a few stray fingers down your buxom clit. “Count w’me, doll-” For his sanity more than anything. Neck straining with a few popping vessels of blood that swell, face reddening with such a maidenly fucking blush as he looks downwards. “-ooone more-”

“-inch.” You finish off, not expecting that exact moment to be when Toji snaps. His patience. You, full of that achingly hot knot that’d been just begging for you to take him the very moment you waltzed up to him with that sweetened saccharine scent. 

His favorite now.

Gulping in cavernous quotas of it the moment Toji’s inflated knot pops and he sinks his sharpened canines into your scent glands with a whimper-

Hard enough to taste your honey-glazed pheromones, to draw blood. To be permanent - just as he’d needed it. 

Hard enough to make him cum all over again at the feeling of your own teeth making their pretty mark on him. Shit, he didn’t even know if it was fucking possible for his overworked cock anymore. But he sure wasn’t fucking complaining at the delicate splat splat splat of milky cum hitting the back of your pussy. 

Already filled to the brim and spilling with every loving grind that Toji was boring down upon you. The only thing that he could manage when you two were connected so…tightly this way.

“Cute.” Toji manages to run his fingers over the proprietorial set of indentations set in his flesh, eyes still laminated dewily with an euphoric sort of stunned awe. “F-fated mates really have some good ngh- bed chem, huh?”

Fated mates. You could only smile and scent that overwhelmingly addictive jasmine scent of his. Taking in a long, deep breath as he held you. Tight. 

Yeah, jasmine. 

But jasmine was Toji Fushiguro’s.

And you’d be damned if Toji Fushiguro ever let you off that easily.

The smile you’re given is feral, predatory teeth glimmering in the dim lighting and making the neat circle of marks at your neck throb. And something about that told you this was far, far from over. 

You could only hope that your floor didn’t suffer the same fate as your bed, and your desk…and your fluttering cunt.  

After all, you both did have years to make up for. 

“Now the only haaah- way to really test our bed chem is to see whether we can make Megs a big brother.”

A/N. Thinking about making an omegaverse installment for every JJK man- what do you think babygirls?

Plagiarism not authorized. 

[bluemerakis]

Recently finished Swayze’s ‘ghost’ and now I can’t stop thinking about post-Hell Dean, where the reader has his iconic brown leather jacket hanging in her room thinking she’s never gonna see him again but he shows up in her room (in a non creepy way as much as possible lol) and they fuuuuck like old times and she thinks she’s dreaming until she realises it’s actually him (or not lol) but the romanticism is screaming out to me, idk if it’s something you’d be interested in writing but omfg you’d write this so painfully well

ANON!! i LOVE LOVE LOVE this SO much! i’m so honoured that you’ve entrusted me with this idea—i had the time of my life writing this & went a lil wild with it LOL. thank you for your support and kind words, it means the world to me! i hope i did your request justice 🩵

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────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ───

❝ sunshine ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings .ᐟ s4!spoilers, established relationship, dramatic descriptions of grief, cussing, angst, sam being an adorable little angel, nip sucking, unprotected sex p in v, tooth-rotting fluff. lmk if I forgot any! if there are typos, no there isn’t

synopsis ─ after dean had sealed the deal that warranted him a one-way ticket to hell, you had no hopes of ever seeing him again. you were overcome with a grief that felt inescapable, but with sam’s help, you’d managed to pull through the storm and enter clearer skies. just when you thought you’d have to navigate a new life without dean, against all odds, he makes an unexpected appearance.

word count ~ roughly 15k

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Four months.

The duration of your ongoing turmoil. The grim tally of his absence.

For four months, you’d been trapped in the stagnant bog of your grief. It had formed the very first night you’d lost him, seizing your mind like a rabid plague. It didn’t matter which way you attempted to swim, or how hard you paddled to try and stay afloat, there was no sure escape from its bottomless depth. It immobilised your existence, broke down your hope—scattered it like falling leaves to be lapped up by the famished surface and swallowed to the point of no return. It was lonely and suffocating, but you’d since given up on waiting for a lifeline to be cast from some land beyond your gloomy horizon, so sure that you’d isolated yourself from any soul kind enough to try.

Except for Sam.

Sam had tried to rescue you many times, but the lines he casted were always too battered—chewed up by the demons of his own grief. And you knew that if you grabbed onto it—where he stood barely clinging to the other end—it would snap and pull him right in. You couldn’t do that to him, so you’d surrendered to the bog entirely, allowing your grief to engulf you into its endless, bone-chilling nothingness. And each day, you sank further and further, like the dead weight of a stone, drifting down into the pits of your despair. Your living, breathing death.

A slow, agonising journey of digestion—your body, mind and soul disseminating into nothing.

Reaching rock bottom hadn’t taken long, not when you’d been left feeling so shallow by the robbery of your life’s meaning. And you’d laid there ever since, slowly deteriorating, slowly drowning. Over and over and over again. You could have said that you were losing every part of yourself, but you hadn’t been whole to begin with, not for a long time—not since losing him.

If he were here, he could have saved you from yourself. But he wasn’t. And you hated him for it.

You hated him. For striking a deal with the devil. For placing his life on the line without a second breath. For lying to you about it. For even thinking that nobody would notice the dead space left behind. There were certain days that tended to plunge that hateful knife—already engrossed in your heart—a little deeper. A day like this morning.

The day that marked the anniversary of Dean Winchester’s death.

On the first day without him, you’d spent your time trying to fight it—forced smiles, laughs of denial, stares that didn’t linger on any of his belongings for too long. But it was hard not to come face to face with his memory when the ghost of his existence seemed to prowl after you at every turn and every corner of the apartment. His favourite coffee mug with an infamous chip on the rim. The frozen, pasty pies he’d crammed the freezer full of. Six packs of canned beers stocked along the pantry’s top shelf. His discarded shoes. His sparse watch collection. The shampoo bottle he’d diluted to last a month longer.

And that damn leather jacket, which currently draped from the frame of your desk chair.

It hung there like a museum exhibit—the memory of Dean Winchester, frozen in time. The jacket he’d left behind on the day he’d slipped your life for good. You hadn’t once touched it. You couldn’t bring yourself to lay your fingers across the leather when there’d be no warmth radiating through its fabric to soothe you—couldn’t face the fact that it’d reflect the cold, empty truth of it all. So there it laid, collecting dust and slowly drowning beneath the suffocating, grey sea without a merciful hand to liberate it. It was a cruel parallel of your own withering state.

Every morning, your eyes would peel through a hollow sleep, and the first thing they’d settle on was that damn jacket. Every. Single. Time. As if you needed the constant recap on top of everything else. You could have mustered up the courage to move it some place else that’d finally warrant the motto out of sight, out of mind. But the naive fool that had created that saying failed miserably at accounting for the woes of the brain. Once scorched into memory, nothing would ever truly be forgotten. You’d remember regardless of where that jacket lay—a curse bound to your life, never to be broken.

Unless you broke first.

You shifted at the heart of your king-sized bed, your head sinking back into your plumy pillow as you gazed up at the ceiling. At anything but that jacket. Your limbs sprawled out between the cotton sheets, taking maximum advantage to voyage the sea of space left at your disposal. While a mattress this large and luxurious should’ve offered you a sense of comfortable freedom, you couldn’t help but mourn all the space—space that at one point, had been occupied by him.

The gentle, golden glare of dawn had begun its steady journey into the room, letting itself in almost shyly through the slits of your curtains. The meek sunbeams sliced through the dim atmosphere you’d found solice within, and you watched as dust particles began to waltz around one another through the bronzed air—as if they’d been cast into the centre of the ballroom. Around and around they swirled in perfect, mirrored harmony. You thought it looked a lot like a courting display—more mental imagery to emphasise your loneliness.

For a second, some faded image—a memory—flashed across your mind. Yourself and Dean, taking to the neglected dance floor of a bar nearing its closing time. A half-emptied beer bottle clutched in his one hand as his other linked with yours, serving as the leash that dragged your protesting form to its debut on the dance floor.

You’d never been too confident in your dancing skills, a fact you’d tried many times to disclose, but Dean had been insistent. Somewhere behind you, Sam had whooped from the comfort of the booth you’d both discarded, and when you’d glanced back at the younger Winchester, he had his beer-adorned hand raised into the air as a cheer. You’d scoffed with a heavy thanks for nothing.

When you’d turned back to Dean, he’d drawn up in his tracks without any prior warning, causing you to crash not-so-elegantly into his torso. Instinctively, your free palm had lurched forward to cradle his chest in a steadying motion, your chin tilting up to grace him with a stunned giggle.

The drink he’d throttled in his other hand sloshed with the jolt, foam tumbling over the nozzle’s edge like a provoked volcano’s tantrum. It slathered his fingers and trickled to the floor, adding fresh patterns to the aged, sticky blotches already scattered amidst the young night.

“Woah, easy there, tiger,” he’d laughed, but the hand that’d dragged you here released your fingers only to form a seductive curve at the small of your back. There, he’d pulled you in even closer, his lips closing in on you with the promise of a love-sick kiss. But instead, his jaw had dipped past your temple, lips grazing your cheekbone before hovering at your ear. “There’s nuff o’ me to go ‘round without you jumpin’ ship for the first spot,” he husked. You’d practically felt the grin spreading his lips.

You’d ducked your head away from his with a hearty huff. “Down, boy,” you’d scoffed, hands trailing up his chest to crown either shoulder with a natural ease. The touch had been smooth, magnetic. And maybe you two were like magnets, utterly obsessed with being intangible, and eager to keep on exploring every inch of one another with a shifting touch rather than be torn apart.

Dean’s eyes had lowered to the naughty line you’d drawn to his shoulders, the grin he’d taken up deepening enough to suction his cheeks into the dimples you’d come to adore. When he’d acquainted your eyes again, it was through a heavy-lidded stare that promised all sorts of activities to reciprocate your tantalising touch. “Oh, I’ll get down, alright,” he’d chuckled hoarsely, leaving the line open to interpretation as he brought his beer to his lips. He’d downed a slow, deliberate sip, his eyes not once straying from yours as he watched you mentally decipher his words.

“You know what? Enough of your games,” you’d laughed, hands slipping from his chest to forsake the dance floor before you’d have a chance to make it regret hosting you. You’d attempted to turn tail and flee, but Dean’s hand had found your wrist in a firm, yet gentle tug, and then you were held prisoner under those hypnotising eyes once more. Your lips had split to offer some final protest, but his own lips puckered into a shushing pout that had you clamping down on your tongue.

“Don’t say anythin’, just dance with me,” he’d instructed, and then the hand tethering you to him lifted, your arm following the motion like a chain effect. Against your will, you were spun around in an awkward, off-timed circle that deviated abominably from the background music. When you came to face him once more, his chest had rattled with a laugh a little too passionate for your liking. “That was adorable—like a toddler learnin’ she’s got the gears but don’t quite know which she’s shiftin’.”

Your cheeks had seared hot at that comment, free hand diving forward to shove his chest lightly. “Stop—I warned you!” You’d simpered.

“Hey!” He’d laughed, beer-occupied hand lifting in a gesture of innocence. “I’m only playin’! You’ll get the hang o’ it—I’ll teach ya. Watch.” Your hand lifted under his guidance as he executed his own spin—even more sprawled and ridiculous than yours had been. Your free hand had flown to cradle your mouth as a disbelieved chortle blared through, and as Dean came to face you once more, his brows were lifted in question. “Eh? I’m a natural, yeah?”

You’d giggled into your palm again before dropping your hand back to your side, lips pursing with amusement. “Let’s just say that I don’t think either of us should be teaching the other,” you’d huffed through a pained smile.

Dean lowered your joined hands to the space between you. “Well,” he’d begun, pulling you into his frame once more, like he just couldn’t get enough of your presence—like he wanted it to hog him. “Guess we just gotta. . . y’know, feel this one out together,” he’d murmured suggestively, eyes narrowing with cheek while he released your hand to settle into its natural hold at the small of your back.

You’d leaned your smirk-heavy lips closer to his with a content hum, your hands coming to wrap around his neck. “Sounds like a plan. I’ll follow if you lead.” He’d grinned approvingly at that, tugging you along to a slow and steady sway of the bodies, which you’d succumbed to and harmonised with in no time—much to your surprise.

“Sammy!” Dean had called to his younger brother, his eyes not once straying from yours as he presented his beer in the direction of the booth. “All yours for the takin’.” He’d paused to steal a glance at your beaming lips. “I got my own special o’ the night.”

You’d laughed at that, and Dean’s charm had grown all the more potent as he stretched out the dance between the two of you for what felt like a good couple of hours. In the background, the music in bad taste had blared on, ever so eager to cheapen the moment between the two of you, but you’d become so enthralled with one another that all else around you was drowned out, anyway.

Both his hands had selfishly hoarded your lower back, pressing you so far into him that you’d stumbled around his feet more times than you’d have liked to admit. But you’d remained steadied by the hands furled around his neck, and comforted by the gentle, reciprocated press of your foreheads, gazing into the sanctuary of one another’s eyes.

If you’d known then, in that moment, that Dean Winchester was going to die, you’d have held onto him a little longer—and probably never have let go. Even if it killed you, too.

With a heavy, rattled rise of your chest, you came back to your grim present, drawing in a long and shaky breath. You shifted between the sheets to roll onto your side, arm coming up beneath the underside of your pillow to cradle it like an emotional support teddy. You tuned your attention to your curtain-clad windows, and like a corpse, you continued to rot away within your coffin of a mattress, watching idly as the sun continued to announce its ascent.

It wasn’t long before warm golds drained into a paler shades that fully lit your room now—the official statement of a new day. But still, you didn’t stir. The curtains remained cast, the windows crammed closed as tightly as they’d been left about a week ago, and your soul feeling anything but renewed to tackle this heavy day head on.

Somewhere beyond your wall, footsteps thrummed lightly down the hallway. Now and again, you’d let yourself believe that they belonged to Dean, on his way to brew you both a morning cuppa—just to offer some pathetic, fleeting slither of comfort. But nothing—nobody could ever fill those shoes left behind. It hadn’t stopped Sam from trying, though.

Before Dean’s. . . disappearance, the brothers had stayed together in the larger room of your two-bedroom apartment—nothing like reliving the good old times, right? It didn’t much bother either one of them, given that Dean had slept in your bed on most nights, leaving the space feeling basically like Sam’s own. The dynamic between you all worked well, and it was practical for a hunter’s lifestyle. Costs were cut, perimeters familiarised and mapped out, and the shared company between you all was reliable. Trustworthy.

You’d become a blended family of some sort. You didn’t think there was any external force that could’ve torn you all apart. But you hadn’t accounted for an inside job. Hadn’t accounted for the weak link that was you.

After Dean’s death, you’d gone into a self-destructive spiral, eager to push anybody and everybody away while you feigned bravery. But Sam had clocked you like an open book, and it made him the hottest target of your impulsive ire.

You couldn’t stand looking at the younger Winchester, how he served as a constant reflection of your own grief—the grief you’d tried so hard to drown out. You knew you should have bonded with him over your shared loss, and the younger Winchester had tried everything to utilise that angle to be there for you, but it’d only made you push back harder. You half expected him to walk out after the first week, but you’d forgotten how deep-rooted stubborness ran within the Winchester bloodline.

Sam had continued to stick around. Why was beyond you. You could have argued that it was because he’d come to love you like a sister, but you couldn’t help the feeling that Dean had made him promise to look out for you, should he ever bite the dust. And it made you hate him more. Because if it were the latter, it meant that Dean had always intended to stay en route on the sacrificial pathway you’d tried countless times to swerve him from. And it meant that loving you hadn’t been reason enough for him to become sidetracked.

If only he’d held out a little longer and put off making that damned deal, you could have continued searching for a solution that didn’t end with either of the Winchesters’ deaths. But deep down, you knew that fate hadn’t written that ending down in any of her books. That continuing to skim page after page would have done nothing but waste minutes paid in blood. Deep down, you knew that Dean had no other choice, but it didn’t make you hate him any less for choosing it.

The faint clanking of utensils transcended the walls, indicating that Sam had worked himself into the kitchen. It was like a routine now. Every morning, the same time. You thought he might’ve craved some taste of control over his life by instilling this morning pattern he now followed so religiously.

You envied how well he seemed to hold himself together, despite it being his blood that had passed on. It made you feel invalidated in all your mourning. After all, if he could move on from the loss of his brother, whom he’d known all his life, why couldn’t you move on from a man you’d known for a pitiful number that paled in comparison?

As they so often did, your thoughts rampaged for a while longer, so eager to hold you captive between the sheets. But eventually, you felt the pit of neglect burrowed into your stomach gape wider, something that you couldn’t ignore any longer.

Your head turned to glimpse the plates you’d stacked atop the bedside table over the last few days. Almost all of them held meals that you’d scarcely picked at, meals Sam had cooked you, and they were starting to smell. It wasn’t doing much to help encourage the full return of your appetite. But still, you had to eat—something fresher, of course.

Eventually, you mustered up the courage to stir and shed the sheets, your week-old pyjamas falling limp around your frame as you shovelled your weight onto wilted legs. You stood for a moment, taking in this new pull of gravity, before angling yourself toward the door.

At the corner of your eye, it beckoned to you. You shouldn’t have looked, shouldn’t have given it the attention it so desperately craved, but how could you stand steadfast when you were crippled with the need to reminisce him during every waking moment? So you buckled, like you always did, and turned to glance over the waiting leather jacket.

It beamed a little brighter this time around, illuminated by the sun’s pale touch. It looked almost angelic, and you could have sworn that new life had been bestowed upon it—like a reincarnation. But no matter how long you stared, no body seemed to materialise between its hold to glorify that hope. Still no Dean Winchester to show for it.

So much for having faith.

With a barely audible scoff, you finally tore your gaze away and trudged toward your bedroom door. You reached for the handle, fingers hovering over the cool metal as you took a moment to think about what’d you say to Sam. Starting with an apology would probably be ideal, followed up by a looping string of thank yous for everything he’s done. You swallowed thickly before tightening your hold, the mechanism clicking open with a brash sound that cut through your senses. And then, like a ghost, you neglected your grave and slunk into the hallway.

When you traipsed into the open-plan apartment on light, reluctant feet, your eyes wandered over to the kitchen at the corner, where Sam had already made himself comfortable at the hot lip of the stove. His back was turned on you, but you caught the whisk of his arms as he executed an impressive flip of something within the skillet. It landed with a muffled thump, a result that had Sam hissing out a noise of satisfaction.

A shy, smoky ghost levitated above the Winchester, and it wasn’t long before the cracked kitchen window wafted a clue in your direction—the sweet tang of pancakes tickling your nose. Usually, it was a smell that had you inhaling a little deeper, like you couldn’t miss savouring even a scrap of its existence. Now, the smell roused nothing other than a faint reminder of just how much you didn’t crave breakfast. Or anything, for that matter. But still, duty called. More like your stomach would begin eating itself if you insisted on starving it for a day longer.

With a practiced breath of bravery, you picked your way past the living room sofas, your sock-clad feet scuffling across the floor with a severe lack of motivation. As you approached the kitchen island, you spotted a can of sweetened whipped cream—your favourite—and a bowl of berries straddling the plated, ever-growing stack of pancakes. It was the complete picture your stomach needed to enlist the first of its rumbling, but you hadn’t had much of a mental appetite for quite some time. The simple joy you’d once held for eating had been boiled down to the dull necessity of sustenance—you ate only because your body needed fuel. Anything more than that just wasn’t worth feeling.

And, truthfully, it was a baffling, new reality because there was a time you'd have nagged the boys to drive you halfway across the country to try some new cuisine you'd seen advertised across billboards. You’d scribble down the names of the niche diners and renowned restaurants in your trusty notebook to be reviewed on the trips back to the motels, heated debates unfolding as the brothers either vouched for or condemned your idea of a good meal. Now, the memories were so distant that you'd started to wonder whether they'd even existed. Whether that version of you still existed.

You brought up the rear of one of the kitchen chairs, moving a hand to cradle your protesting stomach while the other outstretched to retract the chair at the rim. The sudden, intrusive screech of wood against wood was enough to startle Sam into a growing awareness of his surroundings. He pivoted on his heels to face you, the pan making a reflexive dive in your direction in what was meant to be some pitiful means of a defence. The white of his eyes blared through, his tall frame ducking slightly as he assumed a defensive position.

Your composure didn’t falter as you slunk into the seat; his reaction wasn’t any surprise, not when you lead the adrenaline-laced life of a hunter forced to guard their six on a daily. And you doubted he’d expected any company after you’d basically stopped existing outside of your room these last couple of days—and at this early hour, no less.

What did surprise you, though, was that the pancake had managed to cling to the metal of the skillet in the midst of his jolt.

As Sam drank in your familiar form, his broad shoulders sagged visibly under his growing relaxation, the vice grip he’d unintentionally taken up around the pan’s handle now relenting an inch.

“Oh,” he stuttered out, a flustered half-chuckle diffusing his misplaced adrenaline. He slunk toward the island with his head slightly bowed, his gaze flickering between you and the pan. “Hey,” he murmured, his lips pursing shortly after the meek sound, as though he were afraid to let the wrong words slip. His caution wasn’t misplaced; you hadn’t exactly been kind to him these last few days.

It usually went that way around this time of the month. The days stepping up to the anniversary of Dean’s death tended to trip you right into the worst vision of yourself. You were more sullen than usual, losing patience over minuscule things, and sinking jaws of hostility into anybody who’d even attempted to offer hollow words of comfort.

Bobby had been the first to withdraw with some muttered crap of I’m too old for this shit. But Sam had always been too forgiving. He’d stuck around regardless of your temper, taking all the verbal beatings while he tended to your unspoken needs in ways that you couldn’t. You owed him so much more than you were capable of giving at this time.

You leaned onto the cool marble of the island, your hands coming forward in a timid fold as your lips flattened into a pathetic spectacle of a smile. “Hey, Sam,” you murmured, and for a second, the sound startled you. It was so dull, so lifeless—you’d even go so far as to say that it was so unlike you.

It was a stark contrast to the version of yourself the brothers had learnt to tolerate, maybe even appreciate—constant chatter and running commentary streaming live from the backseat of the impala. Dean had gone so far as to nickname you sunshine and rainbows, trailing after the twin storm clouds—the Winchesters—that seemed to thunder down on the unassuming world. But now, you felt like nothing more than the rolling, gloomy skies that paved way for everything wet, woeful and destructive. A weather so devastating that a show of a rainbow would be a mockery rather than a promise.

Sam returned your smile almost sheepishly, his head dipping to drink in the view of the counter. “You, uh. . . you sleep alright?” He asked, the pan coming forward to leer you over as he tipped the metal downwards and crowned the seasoned stack of pancakes with the fresh newcomer.

Your eyes lowered to the newest addition of the pancake pile, following the faint trails of heat that seemed to rise with a freedom and lightness you craved to feel. “Yeah,” you lied, your lower lip instantly pulled into a tense bite. “Yeah, I slept. . . fine.”

You knew that Sam wasn’t convinced, the moment of silence following after evidence of some tactic he might’ve been mentally reviewing to try and coax the truth from you. You began tracing a line along the patterns of the marble counter with your index finger, anticipating the awkward conversation to come.

“Come on, really?” He laughed softly, but the sound was gentle and sympathetic, not slathered with amusement or scorn. “‘Cause I didn’t,” he confessed.

You glanced up at him in surprise, your finger halting in its place. “Really?” You breathed out softly, instant relief crashing over you. Maybe Sam hadn’t recovered as much as you thought he had, and as unfortunate as that was, you couldn’t help but feel slightly comforted—less alone.

He tipped his head to the side in consensus, a wry scoff piercing his lips. “Honestly? Can’t remember the last time I did,” he said, eyes flickering up to glance you over briefly before he turned his back on you to discard the pan at the sink. He slid over to the stove, flicking buttons and shifting dishes before he was back at the island. “I mean, I sleep—but just. . . not very well.” He took up a spatula and began shovelling at the pancake stack. “One?” He asked intuitively.

“One’s perfect,” you said. You watched as he dragged the rim of the spatula down the building of pancakes, stopping somewhere around the middle floor before he slid the utensil inward. He shimmied out a hot and fluffy pick, placing it onto your plate rather gingerly before he nudged it in your direction. “Thanks, Sam,” you murmured, receiving it with a forced show of eagerness—you didn’t want your lack of an appetite to make things more personal than they already felt.

“Yeah, anytime,” he answered, sparing you a soft smile before he took to plating his own stack of three.

You held off on digging into your singular pancake, hands idling around the knife and fork bracketing your plate as you waited for the younger Winchester to cover up the remainder of the breakfast.

With a satisfied dusting of his palms, he finally pushed his own plate across the marble to slide in a distance beside yours before he made his way around the island. He pulled out the seat beside you and settled himself down with a heavy plop and an appreciative grunt—almost like an old man of some sorts.

He took up his cutlery and glanced over at you with a comforting smile. “Time to, uh. . . dig in, I guess,” he laughed lightly. “There’s whipped cream and berries if you’d like.” His chin jutted to the listed toppings, and then his knifed hand jolted into the air suddenly. “Oh, and there’s syrup, too. I’ll fetch it from the pantry.”

Without waiting for your response, he set down the cutlery and shifted back in his chair, but you turned your body a slither to face him before he could slip away as quickly as your nerve.

“Sam, wait,” you said, your hands straying from the table to bundle in your lap in an anxious toying of fingers.

He halted in place almost instantly, turning to face you with his brows quirked an inch—like your sudden unrest was news to him. But you knew he was only trying to be polite in playing his attentive part; he likely knew exactly what this was about. “Yeah?”

You drank in his softened eyes, and they held so much purity and innocence that it caused your heart to sag with a fresh, guilt-ridden heaviness. It tugged your head down to the view of your lap, your chest heaving with a shuddering inhale. “I’m so sorry,” you blurted out, your voice rattled by so much regret that it began to quiver.

At the edge of your vision, you saw Sam settle back into his seat, arms drawing onto the counter. “Hey,” he cooed gently. “It’s oka—”

“No, it’s not okay,” you cut in hastily. “I need to say this. I’m sorry for everything—for the way I acted. . . for the things I said—you didn’t deserve any of it, Sam.” You began picking at the skin of your nails. “I just, I have all this. . . anger inside of me. I’m angry at myself, and I’m angry at Dean—I’m angry at everything cause everything’s just so fucking unfair. And I know that it’s not an excuse, but I just. . . I figured. . . I don’t know. There’s a lot I don’t know,” you scoffed, but you braved face and lifted your head to face him once more. “But I do know that I am truly, deeply sorry.”

Sam’s head lowered to take in the view of his plate, his eyes darting about the porcelain. “Listen,” he eventually murmured, his mouth stuttering around air as he searched for the right words. Eventually, he settled on grace. “I get it, okay?” His chin lifted to gift you with a break you didn’t think you deserved. “All that anger inside of you. . . I’ve felt it before—more than I’d like to admit, actually,” he laughed dryly before his expression warped into something more solemn. “It eats you up inside. . . makes you say and do things you wouldn’t usually say or do. There are so many times I’ve gone down that road, but Dean—he’s always been there to pull me back, even if it was by the tip of my ear.” He laughed again, this time more genuine, and you couldn’t help but crack a smile of your own.

Sam’s head lowered again, his smile simmering away. “Anyway, I guess what I’m tryna say is that, I get it. I get why you said the things you did, and I’m not mad about it. For once, I don’t feel that anger anymore.”

Slowly, your fingers began to still their fidgeting as you listened to him talk, your chest cooperating by letting up on its rapid pace.

The younger winchester upturned his eyes to yours with a new ferocity. “I’m here for you. I’m always gonna be here for you—and not just because I owe Dean that much, but because you’ve been there for me, too. So many times. Even at my. . .” He trailed off as he averted his gaze to the side, some unspoken shame breaching his conscious. You saw his Adam’s Apple bop under a heavy swallow before he turned back to you. “Even at my worst,” he continued. “So. . . don’t worry about it, really. I get it.”

For the first time in a long time, you found your eyes watering an emotion other than grief and heartbreak—something far lighter and rejuvenating. Love. Appreciation. Relief. You envied Sam’s ability to barrel through this cruel life so determined to pin him down, and you admired how each time, he seemed to emerge with a heart even larger than before. Even after all the rounds you’d emptied into his chest, he stood tall, still offering that hand you so desperately needed to pull you from your self-dug trenches.

Maybe, it was about time you finally took it.

The first tear slipped the keep of your eye, jettisoned from the ledge of your cheekbone to where it splattered across the marble top. Your hand flew to wipe the moisture away, an ugly sniff racking your chest. There was a clank of shifting metal before Sam’s hand came forward to brush your shoulder.

“Hey,” he cooed softly, and then you were carefully tugged into the side of his towering frame. “Come here,” he urged, and he was so gentle that it had you fully succumbing to his hold without a single reflexive need to resist. His arm snaked around your shoulder blades to hook around your arm as he drew you into a tight hug, your hands bundling further into your lap. “It’ll be okay. We’ll get through this. Together,” he added pointedly, a clear warning that he didn’t intend to let you get your lonely way again. You were okay with that.

Your lower lip began quivering with fresh emotion—guilt bouncing on the rim the heaviest. “I’m so sorry, Sam,” you reiterated.

Your felt his chin settle into the crown of your head, the vibration bouncing off your hair. “For what? Being human?” He laughed. “In case you haven’t noticed, we tend to be dicks from time to time, and I’d say hunters have more right than most to be a bigger one now and again.”

You laughed—actually laughed at that, the sound snotty and slightly gross, but real. Sam harmonised with his own throaty chuckle, the hand furled around your arm in a tight, reassuring grip relenting to rub comforting lines up and down the expanse.

“Now, enough of the pity party. Let’s finish these pancakes before they get cold, and then what do you say we pull out a couple of board games?” He gave you one last comforting squeeze before slowly releasing you from the hug.

You leaned away from him, centring your weight back over your own chair as you turned your head down to your plate with a thoughtful pout. “Okay,” you agreed, your chin ducking in tiny, accepting nods. You sniffed away the lingering tears, hand coming up to pat your eyes one last time for good measure. Then, your head swivelled to face him as you put on a weak smile. “Hey—think you’re smart enough to challenge me to a game of scrabble?”

Sam laughed as though your challenge was satire, but you frowned with slight offence, which sobered his smile into a look of confusion. “Wha—you’re serious?” He huffed, jaw gaped around disbelief.

“And why wouldn’t I be?” You exclaimed, your voice cracking around a light giggle—the first you’d uttered in a while. “I’m as smart as you are—we read the same books!”

His averted his gaze, head cocking to the side with a scoff before he glanced back at you in amusement. “Yeah, and after you gave your reports, I had to go back and reread every single one of those books to fill in information you left out,” he said pointedly.

You shook your head with light disbelief, a thin chuckle following after. “You know what? Let’s have that round, and if you win, you can bullshit my literacy skills all you like. Deal?” You outstretched your hand across the counter.

Sam’s gaze ducked to the gesture, his brows cocking on a look that you thought was a little too smug, before his hand reached to link with yours in an informal pact. “Deal,” he said through a scheming smirk.

You squeezed his hand lightly as a warning. “Wipe that douche-display off your lips, nothing’s set in stone.”

“Yeah, no, of course,” he replied nonchalantly, but when your hands unlinked, you saw the corner of his mouth hitch with some mental remark.

“All right, that’s it.” You took up your utensils while Sam glanced you over with slight surprise. You began digging into your pancake with a renewed sense, plopping the first piece into your mouth and taking on a ferocious chew. There was a brief wave of nausea at the food’s sudden intrusion before it quickly dissipated at the sweet taste, beckoning you back for another bite.

“You might wanna slow down there,” he laughed, hands tending to his own plate before they finally presented his first bite to his lips with far more poise.

“Uh uh,” you hummed through a mouthful, swallowing thickly before continuing. “I got a lot riding on this. You made it personal when you brought my ego into this. Sooner we’re done here, sooner I can beat you.”

Sam let out a disbelieved laugh, but didn’t argue any further as he began dissembling his own pancakes at a faster rate. Once you’d both lapped down the dough and licked the plates clean, you’d taken to washing up the dishes and wiping down the counters while Sam procured the board games that had long since collected dust. You’d taken the liberty of microwaving you both a bowl of popcorn and pouring glasses of soda while he set out the game within the living room. Then, you both settled down for the first round, snacks at the ready.

Sam had won, as he’d so smugly anticipated. But you weren’t so eager to be humiliated without a challenge, so for the rest of the day, you’d played out the game to a tally of the most wins. Hours seemed to pass like the impression of a second, the apartment growing dimmer and dimmer with each trailing retreat of the sun.

Eventually, you were both cast in a saturated bronze that poured in through the living room windows, illuminating the score page you’d scribbled up and further glorifying Sam’s final win. He took the game by far, and you were forced to acknowledge that maybe he was the smarter one of you both. Or at least the more apt thinker.

After that, you’d both powered through a movie of his choice, chowing down on some Chinese takeout he’d had delivered. And you emptied the carton down to the last noodle, appeasing the appetite you’d developed somewhere throughout the day. Already, you felt so much lighter—physically and mentally—and you knew that you owed it all to Sam and his perseverence. You couldn’t help but beam with some newfound appreciation for the younger Winchester.

Through the darkness, the tv screen emitted just enough light to illuminate Sam’s side profile. His eyes were glued to the screen, jaw circulating hasty chews as he practically inhaled his second bowl of popcorn. The sight made you shake your head with light amusement, and you watched him a little longer just for the sake of it.

“Hey, Sam?” You eventually called, which made him face you with a look of sudden concern.

His hand halted within his bowl. “Yeah?”

“Thank you. For today—for everything.” You offered him a warm, appreciative smile. He’d given you something you desperately needed today—a distraction. From everything and most definitely from yourself. Debts like those didn’t feel possible to repay, but you’d try, regardless. As long as it took.

Sam took a moment to drink in your words, his features motionless before his brows furrowed like he’d made nothing of your gesture. “Yeah, no problem,” he answered, a smile to match yours following shortly after. You both turned your attention back to the screen, and for the rest of the movie, you sat in comfortable, popcorn-tinged silence.

Once the movie came to an end, you’d both chatted about anything and everything until the first person let a yawn slip—that person being you. After that, you’d both tidied up the space, folded the blankets and packed the games back into their keep. Then, you’d dipped into your room to gather your old dishes, discarding the food and washing up the plates. Sam had helped pack it all away.

Once the day’s chores were wrapped up, you’d both exchanged your nightly greetings before going your separate ways. Sam retreated back to his room, though not without snagging a thick book from the shared reading shelf. You’d briefly slipped into your own room to pull out a fresh set of pyjamas and a towel before dipping your toes into a much needed shower.

Once you felt you’d scrubbed off enough of your week-long rot, you’d slunk from the shower and back to your room to call it a day. When you clicked the door closed behind you, you hovered on the spot with a hearty sigh into the dim atmosphere. You took a moment to reflect on the day, and for once, it provoked a smile—not sadness, not anger, not grief—but a genuine smile. The relief after the storm.

You flicked on the light and dressed yourself into your fresh set of clothes, teeth brushed and hair secured back before you flicked the lights off and sank into your bed with a new type of exhaustion. A fulfilling one. It wasn’t long before sleep arrived to hurl you into vivid dreams, and not unlike other times, you dreamt of Dean.

Within your bed, he had you bare and sprawled out beneath his own nude figure, his lips wandering gentle, curious trails along the side of your jaw before dipping down the ledge to trawl the arch of your neck. His elbows propped him up on either side of your head as he took his time to lovingly brand you with his wet caress, your own hands combing blissful strokes through his hair.

You sank back into your pillow, lips parting with breathy mewls as he shifted his attention down to your breasts. He moved to cup one tenderly, tongue swirling a loop around the hardened bud, his strained moan sprawling into the mix of stimulation as you tightened your hold within his hair.

“Dean,” you exhaled weakly, for no reason other than to verbalise the unorthodox way he made you feel. Your teeth found your lower lip in a restrained nibble as he acknowledged your absent-minded praise with a gentle kneading of your breast—as if he sought to gorge on it to the point of total devouring.

You felt the blood flow vigorously to your chest, spurred onward by the suctioning of his lips, and it pooled at your nipple, causing it to throb within his hold. You let slip a soft noise of discomfort, your hand collapsing from his hair to gently push him back at the collarbone.

Dean’s head lifted to yours, a slight pant wafting from his glistening lips. “All good there, sunshine?” He murmured, hand slipping from your breast to run a light, reassuring finger across your cheek. He smudged away the moisture beading along your skin before settling his thumb in the divot of your chin.

“Too much,” you breathed through a dazed grin, hand coming up to gently wrap around his wrist. “You’re like a leech,” you added with a soft giggle.

His lips thinned in a proud smirk, encouraged by your tease rather than offended. “Damn right I am—have you tasted you? Freakin’ delicious,” he praised, smacking his lips in a dramatic show and tell. It made you giggle and release his wrist to pin his lips between your thumb and index finger, and you held them captive while he mumbled noises of protest. He looked so ridiculous, it warmed your heart.

“Stop that!” You laughed, your cheeks flushing hot at the silly sight of him.

Dean wiggled his lips between your grasp until he was able to wrap his lips around a finger, nibbling your skin tenderly so that you released a light squeal and pulled away from his famished lips. “Stop what?” He mocked lightheartedly, head lowering down to you as he followed after your retreating hand with a determined grin playing his lips.

Your hands flew to your chest in a pretence of helplessness, your giggles elevating to a heartier laugh as he pretended to chase after them. His teeth acquainted the air all around them with animated chomps, but made no good on the promise. Eventually, he gave up the hunt and pressed his lips to the side of your jaw, gradually tracing his way up to the soft curve of your cheek before he drew back an inch to gaze into your eyes.

“My sunshine,” he said softly, adoringly, leaning down to nuzzle the button of your nose with his own before he placed a soft kiss there.

Your heart trilled love-struck melodies around Dean’s proud declaration, the magnitude of your smile hoisting up the apples of your cheeks until your eyes were compressed into half-moons. “Say it again,” you murmured, palms drifting up to frame his face and thumbs twiddling to soothe the humps of his cheeks.

Your touch set Dean’s composure alight, his sultry stare softening into something more pure and needy. His eyes narrowed as he gazed down at you, as though you had captured his complete and undivided attention. You found yourself getting so wrapped up in their green depths that for a second, it felt like you couldn’t breathe.

“You’re my sunshine,” he repeated in a voice so low and soft that it bordered a husky whisper, but the love imbued into those words carried through as clear as a shout. “I don’t care if that sounds like the title of a Jane Austen novel. You’ve got this. . . fire to you, the kind that nobody—nothin’ can gank. And you draw people into your orbit like they’d never stood a damn chance. Trust me, I sure as hell didn’t,” he laughed, both his hands coming up as a unit to brush back the hair framing your face. “And you’re warm. . .” He trailed off to place a kiss on your cheek, “—and radiant—” and then the other. “And my whole goddamn universe.”

You gazed at him as he pulled away from your proximity, his eyes brimming with love as he waited for your response. What you wanted to say was, “I knew you read Jane Austin in your free time!”, a harmless poke that would keep this tender moment elevated at meaningful heights. Then you’d both share a laugh, and melt into the night cocooned within each other’s warmth.

But deep down, something more solemn tugged at the strings of your heart—an unanswered question that slowly began to resurface despite your attempt to bury it time and time again. So instead, you said, “then how could you leave me?”

Dean’s face warped into a light frown, your question catching him off guard. For a few seconds, he did nothing but stare, his lips parting to search for an answer that you’d waited months to hear. But when he looked as though he might finally answer, no sound carried through to lay your suspense to rest. His mouth gaped and his lips moved, but they formed nonsensical words, and no matter how hard you tried to focus and decipher your most craved confession, it never came to you.

Then, the scene around you began to distort, the lights cutting out and the shapes of the room’s decor warping erratically. And when you blinked, Dean had disappeared entirely—his atoms scattered into the cosmos of your mind. You tried to call out to him, to summon him back to his rightful place beside you, but it seemed as though he were destined to be robbed from the palm of your hands—both in the waking world, and in the confines of your own mind.

And then you, in your entirety, were dissolved into a black abyss, the surroundings melting away like you’d imagined it all in a vivid episode of mania. For a moment, you floated around in a void, your mind slowly dissociating from the fantasies of its own creation. You heard nothing, saw nothing, but somehow, you felt a touch lingering upon your arm. It was warm, familiar, and even though no face materialised to claim it, you knew that it was Dean.

You prepared yourself to mourn the loss of it once you emerged into the waking world, but as your eyes fluttered open, your lids blinking frantically to clear your vision, the touch didn’t fade. If anything, it became more palpable, solid—real. And when you’d adjusted enough to the dawn haze shrouding your room, it wasn’t the image of the leather jacket that arrived first to taunt you.

It was Dean.

You blinked harder, more desperately, your heart rate skyrocketing as you attempted to rationalise whatever fucked up delusion your exhausted mind was currently displaying you. But his body didn’t vaporise into nothingness, and blinking didn’t seem to possess the same parlour trick of making the rabbit disappear, like it did in your dreams.

It was real.

There he sat, as stoic as a statue, at the edge of your mattress, and the hand you’d felt cupping your arm stroked up the curve of your shoulder to gently frame your neck. The contact sent a shiver up your spine, your lips falling open to expel a shaky breath.

It can’t be, you thought, your brows contracting in a puzzled frown. He’s dead—he’s in hell, he can’t be here.

Through the dawn gloom, you could make out the faintest stretch of his lips—an almost simper. “Good mornin’, Sunshine.” But you didn’t recognise the voice. It was low, gruff and abraded, like his vocal cords had been extracted and sent through the grinder before being forcibly shoved back into its compartment. And he sounded dull, the type of dull you’d come to embody in his absence. It was. . . anything but Dean Winchester.

Your lower lip began to quiver, your shoulder drawing into yourself as you shied away from his touch. “This isn’t real,” you choked out, hastily collecting yourself onto your elbows as you sought to put some distance between you two. “You’re not real!” You exclaimed in rising volume, which had the impersonator stretching out both his hands in a steadying motion.

“You’ll wake Sammy,” he whispered urgently—a harsh sound that came across as more of a scold.

You frowned as you inched yourself a fraction across the mattress, eager to reach the end opposite to where he sat. “Who are you?” You demanded in a tone more regulated, your hand subtly reaching behind you to grab ahold of the salt container you kept on the bedside table like a framed picture.

Dean’s eyes seemed to follow your not-so-subtle play with dry amusement. “It’s me,” he insisted gruffly, his hands coming to settle on his knees—and one of them bounced with unspoken thoughts. It was a habit you’d come to recognise since knowing him, and it did a fraction of a favour in vouching for his authenticity. “It’s Dean,” he continued, eyes straying from your hands to settle onto your face.

“No,” you refused, and behind you, your fingers grabbed ahold of the salt. “Dean Winchester died—four months ago,” you explained in a low, but no less stern voice. “So I’m going to ask you again—who are you?”

His nostrils seemed to flare with dwindling patience, his eyes flickering off to the side. “Man, paranoia’s one son o’a bitch,” he scoffed under his breath before turning to face you again. “Listen, I know you’re not gonna believe me. And I also know that you’re about to baptise me with a shit ton o’ salt to barbecue the livin’ crap outta whatever demon you think’s got his hand stuck up my ass.” He began reaching into his shirt pocket. “Now, as much as I’d love to swallow a mouthful of killer blood pressu—” his words were cut short as you tossed a handful of salt in his direction, the mound not shying away from taking a bold dip in his mouth.

The assault dealt no physical damage to his body, but it did earn a passionate look of annoyance from Dean, whose jaw slowly circumducted as his tongue began shovelling the salty hell from his mouth. You scrutinised him for a few seconds longer, not so eager to let down your guard because of one passed test.

“You’re not a demon?” You asked more than stated.

His jaw fell limp at your question, a slow blink accentuating his displeasure. “Clearly not,” he said lowly, the words slurred by his unwillingness to taste the salt with proper pronunciation.

He leaned forward, hand reaching for the box of tissues sitting atop the beside table, and yanked a few free. He brought it up to his lips, where he spat furiously to cleanse his mouth. After a rough clearing of his throat, he bundled up the tissues, tossed it onto the table and glanced over at you once more. “Listen, I’ve already been through all the tests back at Bobby’s. I was goin’ to pull out the phone and get him on the line to clear me before you decided I needed some seasonin’,” he said flatly.

You watched him suspiciously, your brow quirking in disbelief. “Fine,” you said tensely, but offered nothing further.

Dean frowned lightly, his eyes doing a brief and clueless sweep of the room as though he expected you to offer more clarity. He settled his attention back onto you, his chin lifting slightly as he uttered a cautious, “okay.” He began reaching into his pocket once more, the movement deliberately slowed. “Just gonna reach for the phone, alright? So hands off the fuckin’ salt,” he said, eyes flickering between you and the container. “Please,” he added gruffly, and then his had retracted with the phone.

You prowled after his every move like a predator, but despite your weariness, you still lowered the salt an inch. You watched as he flicked open the phone, thumb gliding across the keypad as he pulled up Bobby’s number. Then, he lifted the phone to his ear, eyes trained on you with equal caution as he waited for the line to connect him to the opposite end.

You heard the static click, and a voice blared through shortly after—Bobby’s voice. The sound soothed your heart by a slither.

“Hey, Bobby,” Dean greeted, passing his tongue along his lower lip. “Listen, I, uh. . . I need ya to do that thing I told you I’d need—you know, vouchin’ for me and all.” On the other end of the line, Bobby uttered a few, incomprehensible words. “Yeah,” Dean laughed weakly. “Yeah. . . she threw me with the salt. Just like you said.” His eyes flickered to you with subtle amusement before Bobby said something else. Then, he was handing you the phone.

You narrowed your eyes in skepticism before your free hand reached for the phone, so careful not to graze his skin as you retrieved it from his fingers. Dean seemed to notice the rejection, and his mouth gaped slightly with the hurt it evoked. You pushed aside the image, but didn’t stray from his face as you brought the phone up to your ear.

“Hello?” You called into the line.

“Hey, kid, it’s me,” Bobby’s static voice answered. “Listen, I know you’re goin’ through one helluva mind-fuck right ‘bout now. . . but it’s ‘im, kid. It’s Dean.” He trailed into silence after those words, providing an interval he expected you’d fill with some sort of taken aback reaction. But all you could do was choke on your stunned silence, your heart beginning to ram at your chest harder than it’d ever managed before. “Kid? Y’still there?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed all-knowingly as he watched you in patient silence. His hand shifted from his lap an inch, like he yearned to reach out to you and offer some reassurance, but you both knew it’d do little to soothe you in this current predicament—the mental debate of whether or not the man you loved was really back.

Eventually, your body hosted a response, but it wasn’t one you’d preferred to have at this instant. A tear clotted along your one eye, bundling up until it was heavy enough to slip over the edge. Dean’s expression visibly softened, his jaw clenching with the knowledge that he couldn’t exactly pull you into a tight embrace—not just yet, anyway.

Your lips loosened, a rattled breath breaking through. “I saw his body, Bobby,” you pushed out in a quiver. Another tear lined the opposite cheek. “I watched you and Sam dig that fucking hole. . . and I watched you roll his lifeless, rotting corpse over the edge before cementing him under six fucking feet of dirt.”

The phone line hissed and crackled with the silent air on Bobby’s side. You almost thought he’d given up the ruse that you were so determined to believe you’d gotten caught up in, but then his voice blared through—the most tender and sympathetic you’ve ever heard it.

“I know you’re confused,” he began. “Hell, this shit had me believin’ that my family’s history of Alzheimer’s had finally kicked the bucket out from under me. But I did all the tests, and I interrogated him over and over again. I gave him hell, kid, but in the end, it’s really him. Y’know I wouldn’t have even thought ‘bout lettin’ him get close to ya if I weren’t certain o’ it. So if ya can’t trust ‘im just yet, then trust me. I give ya my word.”

Your fingers gripped the phone a little tighter, if only to still the trembling of your hand, and you gave a large sniff as you processed his words. Your eyes still bore into Dean, as though it would keep him pinned to the spot should he think about making a run for it.

You shifted the phone against your ear an inch, taking your lower lip into a tense bite before you spoke again. “Okay,” you breathed softly. “I trust you, Bobby.”

From Bobby’s end, shuffling noises chafed your ear like sand-paper. “Alright, kid, I’ll leave the two o’ ya to it. Good luck,” he said, and then the line terminated with a beep. The call’s ending tune reached Dean’s ear, where he shifted on the mattress almost anxiously while he waited for your decision.

“So, uh,” he began, his lips stuttering on the right words as his head buckled to face the hands he’d crossed in his lap. His palms rubbed tense lines—like the scheming motion of a fly—before he glanced back up at you. “We good?” He settled on. You saw the subtle desperation in the clench of his jaw. He craved the pardon only you could give him.

Slowly, you lowered the phone from your ear, flipping it closed as your chest rattled with another, shaky breath. Your eyes began to water once more, and this time, it didn’t hold back. In a second, you were hurling yourself across the mattress, arms flailing through the air to wrap around his neck with a desperation that could have body-slammed him to the floor.

“Woah,” he steadied in a laugh that sounded all too relieved.

Your chest crashed into Dean’s, and his hands were hasty to return your hug as he wrapped himself around your waist. There, he completed the embrace, pulling you against him so tightly that it started to pinch the meat of your skin through your shirt. But you didn’t care if his grip left behind a bruise—you’d consider it a physical reminder of just how real this all was.

You pressed your face into the crook of his neck, all the pent up emotions you’d come to harbour over these last few months finally liberated from your clutch. The tears began to roll without practiced regulation, and you found yourself yielding all control. Because being around Dean always had you feeling safe enough to do so, and your body had utilised its muscle-memory to re-establish that foundation. To rebuild the home that his death had wrecked.

“I thought I’d lost you forever,” you whispered against the stubbled skin of his neck, the sound heavy and cracked.

His palm stroked slow, comforting circles across your lower back, his own face buried against the slope of your shoulder. You felt his warm breath waft over your skin as he spoke. “Me too,” he pushed out tensely. Shakily. There were very few moments that you’d ever heard that tone on him. “I didn’t think I was ever comin’ back,” he admitted. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you, or Sammy—hell, even Bobby, again. But I’m not complainin’,” he added hastily. “Shit, I’ll never complain ‘bout anythin’ e’er again. I got everythin’ I need right here.”

He shifted against you, torso pulling back as though he couldn’t wait a second longer to peer into your eyes. You leaned yourself back in rhythm, your cheeks blown red with your overwhelmed state and your eyes still glistening with fresh tears. You kept your hands looped around his neck, fingers still clutching his phone, and your heart was seized by a new fist of pain as you saw Dean’s bloodshot eyes pave way for his own, sparse—but undeniably real—tears.

His hands settled at your hips, fingers subconsciously squeezing at the meat as he did a mental walkthrough of his own emotions. “I missed you so goddamn much,” he whispered, his lower lip trembling now. “God, all I could think ‘bout down there, every second of every miserable day, was you—how much I needed you. How much I missed you.” His chest jolted with a forced, but much needed exhale to steady his next words. “And how much I love you.”

You choked on your breath at that final confession, words that—up until now—had never directly admitted. You couldn’t help but huff a slight breath of disbelief, a weak grin beaming through as your eyes softened with a warmth that made you feel whole again. Dean, himself, looked slightly stunned at his declaration, his eyes widening mildly as he drank in your reaction. But as you gazed at him, there was no undertone of regret or shame mingling with his features. There was only what looked like relief, if the slight quirking of his lips and the soft sigh that followed after was any indication.

Maybe, it was relief attributed to the fact that he’d finally started to unpack—and put words to—some of his more complex emotions. It made you feel so much closer to him.

Without sparing it another thought, you blurted your own reciprocation. “I love you too, Dean.”

He smiled tenderly at that, and neither one of you moved as you shared an intense stare that circulated all sorts of emotion—love, adoration, and desire. Then, as though some unspoken agreement had been exchanged, you dove down to meet his lips in a fierce kiss, the phone you’d been clutching dropping to some surface beyond your current care.

Dean’s hands trailed up the expanse of your back as he returned your kiss hungrily, his lips feuding with yours for an advantage of the play. He wasted no time sliding his hands beneath the hem of your shirt, his warm palms massaging a determined, upward trajectory until he gained enough leverage to tug it over your head.

The kiss broke off momentarily as your arms flew up in an eager gesture to shed your layers, your chest heaving with the exertion. He managed to successfully tug the shirt over your head, the neckline the last to go and leaving behind an impression as it briefly snagged onto your hair. When he gave it one last freeing tug, your hair tie came loose amidst the commotion, your hair cascading across your bare torso in fresh, yet slightly damp strands.

Dean came forward to press two distinct kisses against your lips—hasty, but a bold statement in itself—before he leaned back to roll his shoulders and discard his own clothing. Your hands flew to his chest in aid, fingers sliding beneath the isles of his unbuttoned shirt to push it over the slopes of his shoulders. His hands twisted behind himself to pluck each sleeve from his arms with practiced speed, discarding it some place behind him before he was tugging his snugly-fitting tee over his head.

Instantly, your attention lowered down his toned torso, the glorified sight of him causing your core to pulse with desire. You didn’t get to exploit his image for long before he hogged your view with another, fierce tumble of the lips, his hands grabbing at your waist like he’d needed to remember what you felt like. Your tongues found one another with an ease that felt like its fates were tied, swirling about in a seductive dance to the death. Your hands settled at his neck, gently rubbing and kneading the skin as you allowed yourself to melt into his devouring.

When your palms wandered further down the contoured muscle of his broad shoulders, you felt the skin of his left bicep raise in a questionable pattern. The contact over that area made Dean wince into your mouth, and then he withdrew from the kiss with a feral pant, eyes shifting from an insatiable hunger to a more vulnerable uncertainty. It was enough of a reaction to tear your gaze away from him and steal a glance at the mood-killing discovery. But you almost wished you hadn’t stumbled upon it because the sight of a raised, red handprint seared into the flesh of his forearm made your eyes widen in horror.

“Dean—” you breathed, overcome with the instinctive need to trace your hand over the anomaly, but his shoulder withdrew from your curious touch, which called your attention back to him. “What happened?” You asked softly.

He shook his head lightly, taking a moment to acknowledge the marking with a newfound solemness. His chin dipped down for a second, a broken, incomplete noise dangling from his lips. You knew then, that whatever grim reminder had been imbued into this branding was something too fresh to confront at this time, so you made the silent decision not to probe him about it any further.

You moved to cradle his face, tilting it up to you. His expression looked defeated, his eyes sagging with a heavy fatigue. You didn’t doubt that hell had had its tolls—if anything, you were surprised that he’d come out of it in one piece. Physically, at least. Whatever mental deconstruction he’d undergone during his time there was knowledge beyond your grasp, and a conversation for another time. Hell had already taken enough from the both of you; you wouldn’t let it have this moment, too.

“If you want to stop, just say the word,” you told him gently, offering a hearty smile. “We can just lay here and cud—“

“No,” he answered, the hands at your waist tightening with new resolve. “We’re gonna cuddle, alright, but after we’ve had our overdue fun,” he said, a newfound smirk creeping through his evident exhaustion. “I’ve waited too damn long for this day—hell if I pass it up in a blink.”

You loved it when he took charge this way. Your teeth peered through your lips in an exhilarated grin, and then, you let out a yelp of excitement as he pushed you back onto the mattress, his frame following closely in a controlled hover as he positioned himself on top of you. His lips came crashing down onto yours, the heated dynamic between the two of you returning full-forced, as though it’d never been interrupted in the first place.

Your hands wandered messy lines up and down his neck, occasionally dipping down to glide over the curve of his pecks. The heat in your core began to build with every second you spent tumbled within the skilled warmth of his lips, his hands adding fuel to the fire with the way they staggered along your exposed torso to grace any and every inch of your skin.

He pulled away to drag his moist lower lip up your cheek, pressing a kiss to your temple before he whispered into your ear. “I need to feel you. I need to have all o’ you,” he breathed, and then he pulled away as quickly as he’d arrived, leaning back onto his knees as his fingers found firm grip at your shorts.

He tugged the material down mercilessly, pulling your underwear along with it, and you lifted your legs with a giddy laugh to allow him all the access he needed to yank it free. He tossed it to the other end of the room, his hands flying to undo his belt and jeans while his fixated you with focused eyes—like he was silently entertaining all the things he’d like to do to you.

He shed his boots at the foot of the bed to terminate his undressing, and your eyes immediately lowered to the bowing length of his manhood. It felt cheap—ogling him this way, but something about the sight felt so validating that you couldn’t help but stare. Maybe it was knowing that the mere sight of you was enough to spur him on in this manner, and god, you needed him just as much as he evidently needed you.

Your core throbbed more impatiently now, your built-up arousal taking the first of its leave through the slit of your folds. You were tempted to call out to him, to utter the first, desperate words of beckoning, but Dean seemed to clock your needs almost instantly. He leaned back down to you with a charming smirk, one hand propping himself up at the side of your waist while his other took ahold of his manhood.

“Ready, sunshine?” He murmured—low and rough and slightly dazed with his own suffocating arousal.

Your core seemed to answer before you did, the area beaming hot at the mere sound of his voice. You pushed out a needy hum, and Dean wasted no time in sliding his tip between your folds. He breached through your slicked entrance with ease, his head tilting back an inch and his eyes fluttering closed as he pushed out a gruff moan. He sank himself further into you, his length conforming to your walls in perfect unity. Instinctively, your legs propped to give him better access, and the action drew him in even further.

“Fuck,” he murmured lowly, his head then tilting forward as he gathered himself and fully leaned himself down to you. He placed a kiss onto your lips for good measure, both arms scooping beneath yours in a sure grip. His fists balled at either side of your head, and you wrapped your own arms around his neck.

“I need you, Dean,” you cooed into his ear, and he left slip a breathy sound of acknowledgment before he drilled the first thrust into you.

You both harmonised with noises of pleasure, your nails digging into the nape of his neck as his hips began swaying at a faster pace. He leaned his forehead down against yours, lips parted as he fought to steady the feral breaths of pleasure heaving his chest.

Your eyes stuttered closed as his thrusts deepened and deepened, curving against your walls and gliding to meet your sweet spot at just the right angle. Your head burrowed back into your pillow, your lips gaping with a loud moan. It made Dean lower himself onto your lips, taking them between his in a soft, chiding nibble. You breathed into him erratically, releasing noises that gradually became more and more slurred until you became a hot, panting mess.

His own control seemed to slip from his grasp as he began to grunt and whimper against your cheek, his head eventually falling past yours to graze your ear with just the right verbal performance to add to the contractions of that growing ache within.

His thrusts became firmer—but not brutal. They were passionate and needy all at once, but still laced with a sort of caution that only deep admiration could warrant. He gave a few more firm thirsts, both of you heaving against one another with the approach of your climax. Then, with a final jerk of his hips, the knot that had tethered you to one another came undone in a cascading warmth.

You felt it seep from your entrance, and for a second, Dean didn’t stir from atop you. He remained hovered over you, the point of his nose brushing your cheek methodically as he attempted to replenish his lungs and recover from his own bliss.

“Jesus,” he remarked, an impressed chuckle tickling your ear. “All this time apart, and still it doesn’t feel like I ever slipped your spell.”

You released your own breathless chuckle. “I’m usually opposed to captivity of any sort, but in this case, thank god for that.”

Finally, Dean withdrew from inside of you, collapsing to side of the mattress nearest to the door—his space. Rightfully occupied at last. He reached over to pluck some tissues from the nightstand before turning back to you, fumbling the tissue between his fingers before he began dabbing at the moisture along your forehead.

He gazed at you through loving eyes, so soft and vast that it made your heart throb—like you were falling in love all over again. Dean seemed to notice the lovesick look on your face because he smiled with an expression to match. He leaned down to press a kiss to your lips, and you puckered your own to receive it eagerly. And then he shifted momentarily to clean you down below.

When he came back up to you, he flicked the used tissues off to the side, and then instantly, you were pulled against his chest in a tight embrace. The skin-on-skin contact soothed you, your body relaxing almost instantly within his firm hold—a type of pressure therapy that only worked because it was him. It felt so safe and natural, so you melted further into him, and the hand he’d cupped around the back of your hair began to massage a soothing pattern into your scalp.

Everything about this moment was enough to lull you into a much needed state of relaxation, your body finally unwinding after months of being held together at the threads. Your eyes drifted close, your breathing deepening with the newfound peace.

“You know,” Dean said suddenly, beckoning to your senses. Your eyes remained closed, but you hummed softly to acknowledge him. “Down there, time works differently.” That piqued your interest enough to part you eyes in narrow slits. “You said I’ve been gone for four months? Well, for me, it’s been forty years.”

Your eyes widened fully now, your lips split with some bewildered gasp. “Dean,” you sympathised softly, hand moving from its place at his chest to stroke along his cheek. “I’m so sorry—that sounds awful.”

He shifted to place a kiss on the first part of your palm he could reach. “It ain’t your fault,” he assured you thinly, his eyes bowing under his own exhaustion—as if the mere recollection drained him. “If anythin’, you got me through it. I don’t have to tell you just how shitty things are down in Satan’s basement,” he laughed, but you knew there was no real humour behind it, only pain. “But you. . . just thinkin’ o’ you. . . rememberin’ what I’ve gotta fight for, it kept me sane. Strong.”

You smiled weakly, his words evoking a mixture of warmth and guilt all at once. You appreciated that you’d been able offer him some sort of comfort in your mere memory, but at the same time, you wished he hadn’t needed it to begin with.

Hell was no place for a good man like him.

“Well, you’re back now,” you offered softly, your hands shifting to wrap around his torso in a hug. His own arms wrapped around your upper back, pulling you so tightly against him that you thought your beings might finally form a physical union to mirror the spiritual tying of your souls.

“And I’m here to stay,” he finished in a faint murmur, the words—the promise—hot against the crown of your head.

Those words lingered in your mind as you eventually drifted into a sleep, the steady sound of his breathing the last thing you needed to loosen your grip on reality. Darkness came to claim you, and this time, you welcomed it eagerly.

When you roused into the waking world, your room was fully lit with the tell of noon. The finding was indication enough that you’d stolen the sleep of a lifetime, and there was no lingering heaviness perched on your lids this time around. It filled you with a sense of satisfaction, and you blinked a few times to ground your bleary senses.

When you stirred against the sheets, you heaved a deep breath, your lungs expanding around a newfound sense of inner peace. Instinctively, your arm reached across the mattress to claim the touch of man you loved, but where you expected to feel the warmth of his skin, you felt nothing but the cool, empty space of the comforters.

With a jolt, you sat yourself up, head swivelling about the room with a sense of panic. Dean was nowhere to be found. Your mind instantly began reeling with endless possibilities, your breathing elevating with a growing sense of panic—had you imagined it all? Had he ever been here to begin with? Had you finally snapped and gone insane?

But when you took a moment to lower your head and drink in your frame, you found yourself to be as bare as when you’d fallen asleep. You shifted to the edge of the mattress, feeling some slither of relief that your clothes were where you’d left them—discarded about the room in ruthless bundles. And then, out of instinct, your eyes wandered over to your desk chair, where you expected to greet the leather jacket that had become a pivotal part of your morning routine.

Only, your heart lurched when the chair glared back at you with a bare rim—the jacket nowhere in sight.

Beyond the walls, mingled laughter brightened the atmosphere. The sound made you slip from the mattress almost instantly, where you darted about the room to gather your scattered pyjamas in a hurry before slipping it over your frame. You dashed toward the bedroom door, twisting the handle with anticipation before you practically hurled yourself into the hallway.

When you entered into the open-plan living room, you found that Dean and Sam were weaving rather chaotic ant trails around the kitchen’s floor, each brother tending to steaming dishes that you were too far away to appreciate in detail. But you weren’t paying much attention to it, anyway. You were far too focused on watching Dean, as though you’d had to solidify the mental image of his presence—to believe that he was really here, and here to stay. And the best part of it all is that he was wearing the leather jacket you’d thought would never come to crown another set of shoulders again. It was the last image you needed to place the final puzzle piece in your heart—no, you felt truly fulfilled.

Some part of you had thought—just for a second—that your reunion had been a figment of your imagination. But now, you could breathe a little easier knowing that Dean had truly returned, rooted in flesh as he drifted about the kitchen with an extra skip in his step.

Just then, he spun on his heels to nick something off the counter, his head lifting in your direction as he finally noticed your loitering figure. “Second g’mornin’ to you, sunshine,” he called to you, birthing a cheeky smirk. He flashed a quick glance at Sam before turning back to you. “In case you were wonderin’, Sammy here’s all caught up,” he said. “So let’s skip the big, mushy family reunion and get movin’ on those damn tacos. I’m starvin’”.

“Tacos?” You echoed with a light laugh.

Sam appeared at his big brother’s side, beaming so brightly, it was almost blinding. “We’re having tacos for lunch. Everything’s basically finished,” he piped in, casting a pleading glance in your direction. “Would you mind helping me plate it?”

Your heart settled as you drank the both of them in. This was the life you’d come to miss so dearly, and you couldn’t help but smile appreciatively. You jerked your chin in Dean’s direction. “Why don’t you make him do it?” You teased, padding your way over to the kitchen island.

“Call it a family discount,” Dean chuckled smugly, rounding the counter to draw up at your side. “Or, y’know, the breakin’ free from hell card.”

You shook your head lightly, narrowing your eyes at him. “Isn’t it a little too soon?” You scoffed.

“You let me worry ‘bout my own shit,” he replied, gracing you with a charming wink.

You didn’t offer anything further as you turned your attention down to the prepped toppings spread out across the counter—mince, lettuce, guacamole, chilli sauce, salsa, cheese and the taco shells themselves. You reached for the empty plates and began topping each one with the hollow taco shells, moving to fill the first one with the toppings.

Dean snuck up behind you, his hands finding grip at your waist while his chin came to rest atop your shoulder. His lips grazed your ear. “Thank you for lookin’ after my jacket,” he murmured. “I didn’t think I’d be seein’ this old thing again.”

You smile at his words, hands shifting to stuff the taco with the next pick of toppings. “My reason for keeping it was more selfish than that,” you admitted. “I just couldn’t bear to move it. It would’ve felt too final.”

He hummed a noise of understanding, a soft kiss gracing the side of your neck. “The only thing that’s final is that I’m back,” he said. “You don’t gotta worry ‘bout that anymore, alright?”

“I know,” you murmured, and Dean squeezed you in a light hug, but continued to keep you tucked within his hold as you finished stuffing the taco. You lifted it over your shoulder, carefully guiding it toward his lips.

He released an approving noise before leaning forward to accept your offering in a gluttonous chomp, his lips practically smothering your fingers as though it were deemed part of the meal. You giggled at the feeling, taco fragments scattering across your shoulder as he chewed the food intently.

“How does it taste?” You asked him, turning your head to get a better view of his expression.

His eyes did a roll of appreciation, his cheeks swelled with the large bite. He hummed a string of approval, coupled with a content, repeating nod. Once he gave a hearty swallow, he cleared his throat in satisfaction.

“Tastes like sunshine.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ can you tell i had the time of my life writing this?? can you tell?? anon i love your mind so so much please never stop your special creativity. i will be tending to my other requests soon, and i encourage you all to keep on sending them through. i appreciate you ALL and your lovely ideas, as well as the support and trust you have in me to flesh out your fantasies 🫶 now, it’s literally almost 4 am as i publish this so nighty night beautiful people!

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @fallbhind @bohemianblasphemy @figthoughts @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @titsout4jackles @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @floralscented

comment/message me to be added to/removed from the taglist for any future jensen ackles works!

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

© bluemerakis ─ do not plagiarise or steal any of my works.

[melminli]

BANG BANG BANG lll

summery - thanos was always just such an easy person to argue with. you really hated the guy and that was something that was never going to change, even if your life was on the line and it fucking was.

pairing: (thanos) choi su-bong x fem. reader

word count: 2.8k

contains: violence, drug use and addiction, dark content - just usual squid game stuff really

a/n: many wished for a part 3, so here you go!

prev. | masterlist.

Money, money, money - must be funny, in the rich man's world? And you know what, it probably was. Though, it wasn't as if a single fucking person in this room would know that. Otherwise, you all wouldn't be here in the first place, would you now?

There were a few among you who couldn't shake off the desire to understand those lyrics, even if it meant risking your lives for it. Well, and by a few you meant more than half of the people around here. You would bet that they would put even more on the line if they had anything else, but no - your own life was all you had and maybe well, the life of the others around you.

All it took was stuffing a few banknotes into a golden piggy to make all the other pigs hope that it could be them up there - that they could be the lucky person that got the money. It seemed to be true, you could take people's lives but not their stupid hope. The one thing that would still be the demise of many, it had to. The prize money wouldn't increase without their sacrifice, after all.

Everyone knows how stories like that ended. You know, the ones where desperate people fight against each other for a chance? Watching all the glowing faces when the prize money was announced after the first game ended, was like watching a beaten-up dog that someone put outside - only to lure it back into the house with a bowl of food. It was just sick. Well, at least it made you sick.

Your lower lip wouldn't stop quivering and you tried to stop it by biting it, but to no avail. You were sweating while still freezing simultaneously and you were very much familiar with the signals your body was trying to send you. However, you tried to ignore them as best as you could, just like you did with everything else right now.

“Hey, you're really not going to talk to me? What if I die in the next game and the last thing you did was ignoring me?” Thanos' incredibly annoying voice spouted some bullshit again as he leaned against your bed while standing up. He had been trying to get your attention for a while now but you were stubborn and continued to show him your back. He raised an eyebrow questioningly as he nudged you with his hand. “Do you really want this on your conscience? Hey, are you serious? I thought that -”

Thanos stopped what he was saying when you turned aggressively to face him with a rather angry look on your face. He slowly brought his hand back to him as your eyes continued to glance at him with that look. “No, you don't think and that's the problem.” you spat out the words full of venom and tried to control yourself when your eyes shifted to the blue label with the circle on his chest. “Why should I care if you die in the next game, huh? You obviously want to keep playing, you -” and you searched for a word to curse him out, but there just wasn't one that could wrap up your feelings at this moment.

It happened again - he took another chance away from you to just live your life. Maybe it wasn't entirely fair of you to blame him when it was a whole group of people who had voted to stay here, but you stopped caring about what was fair a long time ago. “Whatever, nothing matters anymore anyway.” you laughed out in exasperation as you ran your shaky hand over your face. “I'm going to die next round anyway, but I guess that suits you pretty well, huh? You know, since that means that another 100 million won goes into your pretty piggy bank?”

It was a large sum of money, no question, but - was your life really only worth that much?

Thanos grabbed your arm in annoyance as he shook his head in disbelief at what you were saying. You weren't just a sum of money to him and he didn't understand why you would think that. Yes, he admitted that he fucked up all the time and he had never been the best friend to you, but - if there was one thing, one person that he could care about - that would be you, no questions asked. He still did after all these years, even if he didn't say it, even if he did it in his own twisted way. “Are you crazy? Stop talking stupid shit, you're not going to die!” He exclaimed angrily, not even considering that as an option. “If you'd just stop being so fucking stubborn and join my team, you'd know that too.”

You laughed. “What team? You and your little boyfriend back there?” you asked him as you looked at the guy a little further behind you. He seemed like a good tag-along waiting for his boss. How cute, you were about to throw up. “I doubt you two idiots are going to increase my chances of staying alive.”

Thanos looked at you offensively. “Nam-su is not my boyfriend, okay? And we may still be few, but that will change soon. Can't you just - please trust me? Please?” he just straight up started begging and to be honest, you didn't have much energy left for any arguing at this point.

You wish you had the privilege of being able to say that everything was easier back when you two were kids, but your life was exhausting even then. Your mother had too many children with a deadbeat man like your father and after you were born, they put all their hope in you for some reason - to get them out of their miserable poor lives. You weren't some hero, not then and not now. “Do you know why I have so much debt?” you finally asked Thanos tiredly and he just looked at you silently before shaking his head.

You nodded. Of course, he didn't know, you had never told him since you preferred to cut him off. “Because I lost my scholarship at university after they found out I was a fucking crackhead,” you answered him with a depressed smile. “And it doesn't really help much to be smart or anything if you don't have any money. That was my only chance to pay my way through to not end up like this but now I have to figure out how to pay for all that without working myself to death at a fucking minimum wage job,” you told him.

You thought you could finally get rid of some of the stress - try again with the money you would earn here. Simply giving up your studies wasn't an option, since that would mean that you had to work shitty jobs which didn't pay much for your entire life and not just while studying. You refused to face the same fate as your mother - dropping out after she found out that she was pregnant with you was the first mistake that led to many more.

But of course, you would never complain ever again - hell, you would much rather prefer working every night shift in the world if that would mean that you could get out of here. “And you know what I've been thinking ever since? That if I had never asked you as a stupid kid if I could play with your Iron Man figure, none of this would have ever happened to me.”

This is just fucking great. Fucking bullshit. Thanos angrily smacked himself on the head, knowing he deserved all of this. Yeah, you probably even made the right decision by cutting him out of your life back then, but he still couldn't help but continue to be selfish and want you. He wanted you in his life even if he was the worst thing that ever happened to you because you know what? It didn't change the fact that you were still the best thing that would ever happen to him.

He had been a selfish asshole his whole life and that wouldn't change now, so he couldn't just let you go. “Look, it's just one more game. The money we would have gotten if we quit wouldn't even be enough to buy a Lamborghini and I have to afford at least…” he had to strain his head a little and count with his fingers. “…four of them to pay off my debts. Hell, maybe enough people will die in the next round and there'll be even some left over. I'll also give you back all the money I owe you, I promise! And I'll give you even more if you need it. I want to help you, I really do,” he tried to explain, knowing that he would have more than enough once he took Myung-gi's share too.

He just doesn't understand. You sighed tiredly. “Whatever, I don't really care anymore,” you said and finally gave in. “Okay, sure, I'll join your stupid loser team. Just stop bugging me.”

Thanos smiled broadly and didn't stop himself from pulling you into a weird hug. “You won't regret this! I'll take care of you, okay?” he clarified, and even though he claimed the opposite, you couldn't help but feel like you'd regret it - you always did. “We're going to get out of here and everything will go back to the way it was before, okay?”

You just looked at him and said nothing more as Thanos continued to hold you, finally noticing your slightly poor physical condition. He knew how to solve the problem as well as you did, but even in his current befuddled state, he wasn't sure if he should offer you a pill. “Oh, um - I know this probably isn't the right time for this, but it still feels like I should ask…” he spoke up, looking down at his cross necklace.

You tried to hold back. At least for now. “Ehm, no, I'm fine -” you declined with a slight shake and nodded. “Yes, I'm fine, I'll just go to sleep - exactly.”

You could already tell that this night wasn't going to be an easy one, but as you watched Thanos and that Nam-su guy shoo a few other people out of their beds around your area, so that they could take their place, you knew for sure. How embarrassing, you thought to yourself as you pulled the blanket over your body and hoped that the lights would go out soon.

“Welcome to your second game. We will begin shortly, and this game will be played in teams. Please divide into teams of five in the next ten minutes. Let me repeat -”

I guess we won't be playing Dalgona, after all. You didn't really blame the previous winner of the games, too much. After all, he was in the same shoes as all of you.

“So, we need two more people,” Nam-gyu stated correctly as Thanos confidently slapped him on the back, not doubting picking the best from the pool of players. “Yeah, let's see who we can find. Preferably someone with a lot of muscle and strength,” he said, although you weren't sure what the point of that was since you would be playing children's games. Although, on second thought, the strong kids always managed to win the easiest back then, too…

Thanos looked at you as he pointed his index finger at the ground. “You, wait here. We won't take long,” he commanded you as if you were his pet and you felt your eyebrows twitch slightly at the audacity while you silently watched the two guys go away.

Of course, you didn't listen to what he said and just looked around the crowd yourself when you saw how most of the players had already formed groups. I don't want to be in a team with four idiots, you thought to yourself as you saw two people who seemed to be talking to each other. They seemed to be around your age which made you a bit more comfortable when approaching them. “Excuse me…” you said shyly when you met them because talking to strangers still was something that made you a little nervous. “Would you mind if I joined you?”

The players with the numbers 380 and 125 on their chests looked slightly surprised in your direction. The woman looked at your figure briefly before crossing her arms in front of her. “We are only two, so far.” she clarified before your own number seemed to catch her attention. “Hey, aren't you the one who's always hanging out with that crazy purple-haired guy? I would have expected you to be on a team with him?”

You stroked your hair, slightly uncomfortable. "Did you really notice that? Shit, now everyone probably thinks I'm friends with this guy, how embarrassing,” you mumbled to yourself, and the girl just grinned slightly at your appearance while the shy boy looked at you in confusion. “He's like an annoying tick. He just won't leave me alone. Otherwise, I really wouldn't bother with him! You have to trust me!” you begged her, trying to salvage whatever was left of your image.

And speaking of the devil, it didn't take much longer for Thanos to shout out your name after you said that. “Hey! I told you to stay there, what's so fucking hard to understand?!” he spits out annoyed as he grabs you by the shoulders to shake your body before you can even think of hiding from him. Finally, he noticed the other two next to you. “Who are they?” he asked you as you pushed his hands away.

“I want to be on their team,” you announced.

He looked unbelieving and betrayed. “But you promised me you'd be on Team Thanos!”

“Well, I was clearly lying. So, you'd stop bugging me.”

Thanos looked at you with narrowed eyes before glancing at the two other guys he had recruited along with Nam-guy. “You two - go find another team. Now,” he said simply as he copied your posture and made a counter announcement. “Because we're going to unite our teams. You can't get rid of me so easily, you're staying with me.”

Of course. The player with the number 380 on her chest threw an arm around your shoulder as she looked challengingly at your annoying friend. “And who says that we would want to do that?” she posed the question.

Nam-gyu already knew he didn't like this one. “Hey, who do you think you're talking to -” he started to threaten her, but Thanos put his arm out in front of him before he could go after her.

There was a brief, strange silence as the rapper shifted his gaze between you and the other girl next to you. This girl doesn't look straight, is she interested in…?

Thanos narrowed his eyes as his gaze met yours again and he could feel his muscles tense at the things that were running through his head right now. Number 380 was provoking him with her actions. This shit makes me fucking angry, man. But it only took him maybe a few seconds of imagining the whole thing between you two a bit further to change his mind. Never mind, that's actually pretty hot.

“You're safe as long as the great Thanos protects you, eh? Besides, I doubt you'll find anyone better, there are only two minutes left.” he suddenly spoke out and none of you wanted to know what went on in his head in the short time that he was silent. “Come on, this is going to be fun! Who's the little guy behind you?” he asked and you and number 380 looked at each other reluctantly for a moment before revealing your hidden member.

Nam-guy let out a heavy sigh as his eyes met the loser in front of him but Thanos didn't seem to care much about that. “What's your name?” he asked, watching as the guy looked up at him a little anxiously. “Oh, my name is Min-su…”

Even his name sounds pathetic, Nam-gyu thought to himself and couldn't stop himself from voicing his dissatisfaction. “This guy honestly gives me mad loser vibes, dude…” he complained, but Thanos paid him no mind as he walked towards the member. “Nah, this is perfect - we're the perfect team! Right Nim-su?” he asked the little guy while hugging him more tightly from the side and laughing when he saw his shy reaction. “I like you, you're cute.”

Seeing the two of them together was a really weird view, you honestly felt sorry for Min-su. “I'm sorry about that…” you whispered a little awkwardly to player 380 but she just patted you on the shoulder reassuringly. “Don't worry, how those two behave is not your responsibility. I suppose we're in this thing together now.” she laughed, not sure exactly what to make of this all herself.

You smiled at her before your eyes went to the watch on the wall which showed that you all only had half a minute left before the next game would start. “I mean, I guess so…”

taglist:

@innies-goth-gf @so-dramatic1 @fiicalapsiholoaga @h3artz4soph @luhvaryan @blackcatl0ver @hollxe1 @vixionix @barrythestrawberry041 @hashekyu @daphne00daiz @jayyzki @nikoeatschemicals @noharaaa @llynx7 @diaryofapsycho @nosla65 @tsuniio @gaabyzz @nejilost @homeless-clown @fr3akyyg1rll @ametheslime @chrypir @dior-heartsforever17

[morikosa]

Not sure if I sent this already, but can I get teacher Gojo comforting a chubby student reader because she thinks she's unattractive and so he fucks her until she's convinced she's pretty?

Today was your day off, and Gojo wanted to take you shopping and out to spend time. The food part wasn't bad, of course, but you hated the clothes part.

You weren't very fat, of course, you were just a little chubby and insecure about it. Why was he with you when there were so many beautiful girls around?

It was a nightmare for you. You've been to many stores, but you really couldn't find an outfit that looks good on you or fits you perfectly. God, you wanted to cry. You chose a pair of lingerie for your last try. It was a blue color piece.

Gojo was sitting on the seat in front of the trial cabin, waiting for you with a smile on his face.

You looked at yourself in the mirror and your eyes filled with tears. This one wasn't too bad, but it was tight. You wiped your tears with one hand, and you walked out of the cabin with a deep, shaky breath. You wrapped your arms around your body

''W-what do you think?''

His eyes dilated under the blindfold. God, did you have to be this hot? He was hard the moment you walked out of the trial cabin in that outfit… and you don't think you're beautiful.

God, he could fuck you right now.

And he will.

''What do I think, hmm?… How about I show you this, baby?''

He stood up and pushed you into the trial cabin, closing the curtain behind him, and pressed you against the wall of the cramped trial cabin, his muscular body pinning your soft, plump one. One large hand cupped your chin, tilting your face up to meet his intense, lust-filled gaze.

"God, you are so sexy…" he purred, thumb brushing over your plump bottom lip. "No more of those sad tears, understand? You look fucking stunning in this lingerie. Like a goddamn wet dream come to life."

His other hand slid down to grope your plush ass, squeezing the supple flesh and pulling your hips flush against his straining erection.

"Feel what you do to me, princess? Feel how hard you make your sensei?" he said, grinding his clothed cock against you. 

"I'm not going anywhere until I've had my fill of this sexy little body. Now be a good girl and let sensei fuck you real good, yeah?"

''B-But we are in the-mph-!''

Without waiting for a response, he crashed his lips against yours in a deep kiss, his tongue delving into your mouth to claim every inch of you. His hands roamed your curves greedily, groping and squeezing your soft tits, your ass, anywhere he could reach as he rutted against you like an animal in heat.

His intense blue gaze raked over your trembling form as he advanced on you, a wicked grin spreading across his face.

"Nowhere to run now, princess," he purred darkly, backing you up against the wall until she was trapped between the cold surface and his hard, muscular body. "Sensei is going to take real good care of you in here.''

His large, calloused hands slid up your bare thighs, pushing up the short skirt of the lingerie. They dipped beneath the lacy fabric to grope the soft, plush flesh of your ass, squeezing and kneading the supple cheeks.

"Fuck, this ass is perfect," he groaned, giving it a sharp smack. "Gonna leave handprints all over this sexy bubble butt."

One hand moved around to slip between your legs, thick fingers pushing your panties aside to rub at your dripping slit. He could feel how wet she already was, how your pussy clenched and fluttered around his invading touch.

''A-ah~ S-sensei, please s-stop-nh~ Someone might see us~'' Gojo just chuckled darkly at your nervous protest, fingers still pumping steadily in and out of your soaked, gripping cunt. He leaned in close, breath hot against your ear as he growled,

"Who gives a fuck what anyone sees?."

To emphasize his point, he grabbed your plush thigh and lifted it to wrap around his hip, opening you up even more to his hungry touch. His other hand slid under your top to roughly grope and squeeze your tits, tweaking your hardened nipples between his fingers.

He captured your lips in another kiss, swallowing down your cute, needy whimpers and cries. Breaking away, he demanded loudly enough to be heard through the thin walls,

"Just take what sensei gonna give you, little girl. Gonna ruin this tight cunt so good~."

He grinned wickedly and undid his belt and shoved his pants down just enough to pull out his massive, throbbing cock. The thick head flared against your small entrance as he notched himself in position, the fat crown already drooling pre-cum onto your folds. Without wasting time, he shoves his cock to the hilt. You wrap your arms around the neck.

''Ah~hah~''

Gojo held you close as he rocked into you again and again, his strong arms gently cradling your soft curves. He bowed his head to nuzzle into your delicate neck, lips brushing against your racing pulse as he panted hotly in your ear.

"What a good girl you are" he praised, voice a low, approving rumble. "You're being such a good little girl for your daddy, taking this big cock so well. Fuck, your hungry little cunt feels incredible squeezing me like this."

He rolled his hips in a steady rhythm, the thick length of him stretching and filling you in a way that had you seeing stars. One hand slid down to rub slow circles over your sensitive clit, making your petite body clench and shudder.

"That's it, baby, fucking moan for me. Wanna hear those sexy noises while I breed this prime little pussy. Gonna pump you so full of cum, watch this flat tummy swell up with my baby."

Gojo pulled back a bit to admire your small body as it bounced gently with each forceful thrust. His intense blue gaze raked over your big tits, the way the lingerie had ridden up to put them on lewd display. He licked his lips hungrily.

"Look at these tits, baby, fuck. Perfect handfuls. Like a stress ball." He leaned down to capture one rosy peak between his teeth, suckling greedily as he continued his relentless pistoning into your clutching heat. The wet sounds of their coupling filled the small space, punctuated by Gojo's grunts and groans of pleasure.

Gojo grunted and shuddered as his orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, painting your clenching walls white with his thick, hot seed. He held you close, arms tightening around your small, quivering from

Your legs still around his waist and your arms around his neck. His cock is still throbbing inside you. After a few minutes, you ask nervously

''D-do you really think I'm beautiful, sensei…?''

Gojo leaned back to cup your face in his large hands. His intense blue gaze roamed over your flushed cheeks, kiss-swollen lips, and glazed with satisfaction. A slow, wicked grin spread across his handsome face as he murmured,

"Beautiful? Baby girl, you're a goddamn vision. The most gorgeous creature I've ever laid eyes on."

Nudging your nose with his own, Gojo captured your puffy lips in a deep, sensual kiss, pouring all his lust and desire into the intimate embrace.

''I love you more than anything, my dear. You are my everything.'' After breaking the kiss, he whispers breathlessly.

You were drowned with emotions… your lips were shaking. ''*hic* I-I love you too, 'Toru-sensei… You are so-''

Your eyes widened when you heard footsteps approaching. Unlike you, he grinned and giggled, shaking his head when he heard those voices. ''I guess we need to get dressed now, don't we, baby girl~?

[krirebr]

Still Life 1

Pairing: Alpha Curtis Everett x Omega Female Reader

Word Count: ~2.8k

Summary: Curtis has been volunteering as a foster alpha for three years now. He's never seen a case this bad...

Warnings: Angst (with an eventual happy ending), past abuse (not Curtis), alpha/beta/omega dynamics, physical scarring, extreme sexism, adult themes, explicit language, All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by me this time!

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well, this is for all of you who thought you'd seen the worst angst I could possibly do. Sorry for how much this one's gonna hurt!

Big thanks to @paperweight91 and @bigtreefest who both read so much of this and helped with structuring and world-building. And huge thanks to everyone who showed so much enthusiasm for this idea. I'm so excited to share this story with you!

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. And if you need to come scream at me, that's ok too!

As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

Nzzzz Nzzzz Nzzzz

It took a moment for Curtis to pull himself out of sleep enough to realize the incessant noise was his phone vibrating loudly on his nightstand. It took another moment for him to pull himself together enough to answer it. “Hello?” he croaked.

“Morning, Curtis,” a harried voice came through from the other end. “This is Yona from the Omega Welfare Center. I'm so sorry to call so early, but we've had kind of a crazy night here and we're in need of several emergency placements.”

That had him waking up. “What happened?” he asked, seriously, sitting up in bed.

She sighed, all of her exhaustion coming through. “A traditionalist compound a couple hours away got raided by the feds and ATF. They prepared for some omegas, but… There were a lot more. Kids too. It’s been all hands on deck at all five omega centers in the state. We’re over capacity, so we’re just trying to place anyone we can immediately.”

“Shit,” Curtis mumbled to himself. Traditionalist communities popped up on the news every once in a while, populated mostly by alphas on a power trip. But this one sounded bigger than most. He looked at his clock. It was just past five. “I’ve got room for one,” he said. “And I can be there in an hour.”

“Thank you, Curtis. I’ll see you soon.”

Fifty-five minutes later, Curtis was checking in at the center, his second coffee clutched in one hand. He’d been volunteering there as a foster Alpha for about three years. Mostly short-term placements. His longest one was just over a month. He provided safe touch, grounding, and a sense of security to omegas who needed to get back on their feet. He’d help them through heats when necessary, never knotting them, but whatever else they might need. Often, it was just his scent. It made him feel good, to be able to help these omegas, offer a positive alpha experience to omegas who hadn’t had many.

He’d worked with a few different case workers during his time. Yona had been the main one for the past year. He’d never heard her sound like she had that morning.

Even just at the front desk, he could sense how much more chaotic it was here than usual. He could hear babies screaming beyond the office door, endless anxious chatter. The entire building reeked of omegas in distress. It made his nose itch and his skin crawl.

After a few minutes of waiting, Yona came and got him. “How bad is it?” he asked the omega as she hurriedly led him down the hall. 

She showed him into a small meeting room as she answered, “Really, really bad. I’ve never seen anything like it. None of them are talking, but from what we can gather, most of them have spent their entire lives in the compound. No IDs, no papers. Figuring out who they are has been nearly impossible.  And as terrible as it may have been, their whole world was ripped apart in the last twenty-four hours. No one feels like cooperating. We hope you might have better luck as an alpha.”

“You think they'll talk to me?” 

She shakes her head. “Just the Omega we're placing with you. They've all been taught never to trust outsiders, but they've also been raised to see Alphas as the ultimate authority. So, it's worth a shot.”

He nodded, slowly. “What do you need?”

“Just basic identifying information for now. So we can see if she even exists in any sort of governmental system. Then we can go from there.”

“If you don’t have any information, what makes you think I’ll be a good fit for her?”

“Honestly,” Yona said, with a helpless shrug, “you only have room for one and she doesn’t have any pups. That’s it. Listen, I know this isn’t how we normally do things and I’m so sorry I’m just throwing you into it without any preparation, but we’re really desperate here. They’re all high needs, high risk. There’s no existing support network for them, and there are more of them than we have room for. So we called all of our most experienced, most dependable alphas first thing this morning so we can focus on the ones we have room to house here. I know it isn’t fair to you but–”

“Hey,” Curtis interrupted. “It’s ok, I understand. I’ll take care of her. I promise.”

“Thank you,” she breathed out, a small fraction of the tension she’d been holding bleeding out of her shoulders. “Ok, I’m gonna go bring her in.” 

She slipped through the door and Curtis leaned against the table in the center of the room as he waited. He took a deep breath and tried to focus on putting together a to-do list. He had two sets of nesting supplies always ready, one with his scent and one without. In the next few days, he’d try to figure out if there was anything else this omega wanted for the nest. He’d gone grocery shopping the day before, so his pantry was stocked, but he’d see if there were any favorite comfort foods he could grab in his next shop. He needed to rearrange his work schedule, push back some deadlines so he’d have time to get the omega settled. He had no idea what they’d be bringing with them, so a shopping trip for toiletries and clothes would probably be necessary. Depending on the omega's state, maybe he'd be able to get the shopping done on the way back to his house. He glanced at the time on his phone. Shit. Depending on what was open.

At movement right outside the door, he stood at attention. Yona came back in with you right behind her. He took a good look at you. You wore a rumpled long-sleeved floral dress that went down to your ankles. It was faded like it’d been washed too many times. Your eyes were fixed on the tennis shoes you wore, which had probably been white at one point, but now were discolored and looked like they didn’t fit quite right. 

There was a little hand-written number ten pinned to your dress. He wanted to raise a judgemental brow at Yona, but if none of you would say your names, he supposed Yona and her team had to come up with some way to keep track of you all.

He had to stifle a gasp when his eyes landed on your neck. There was a large bite scar over your mating gland. Unlike the neat and pretty, well-healed ones he was used to seeing, yours was deep and jagged, red and white, scar tissue bubbling up where your flesh had clearly been torn. This didn’t look like a mating bite. It was the sort of bite meant to inflict pain. What sort of alpha had you had??

Your eyes stayed on the floor, your expression blank but your scent said so much – panic, sadness, terror, relief all jumbled together. He wanted to reach out and touch you, his alpha instincts were going haywire, but he kept his hands to himself. 

“This is Curtis,” Yona said to you. “He's the alpha who's going to look after you until we can get all this sorted.”

You didn’t react at all, just stood there, stiff as a board with your eyes on your shoes.

He stayed where he was, conscious of giving you space. “It’s very nice to meet you,” he said, as gently as he could. Then, with a glance to Yona, “Can you tell me your name?”

Your face scrunched up and the fear in your scent spiked but you didn’t say anything. He sighed. Shit. He really didn’t want to have to use an alpha command with you right now. That could be disastrous for any dynamic he tried to build with you. But they needed this information. He really, really hoped you wouldn’t make him force you.

“Omega, what’s your name?” he asked as firmly as he could, hopefully without scaring you. “I need to know.”

You closed your eyes tightly and he thought he saw the smallest little head shake. There was another moment of silence and he looked at Yona nervously. But then, you said it. So quietly he almost didn’t catch it. But you said it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Yona frantically scribbling it down, but his focus was completely on you.

He tried to keep his sigh of relief to himself. “That was so good. Thank you. You’re doing so well,” he said, keeping the praise soft, hoping you could scent how pleased he was with you. “When were you born?”

You gave up your birthday a little more easily, but you left off the year. 

“That’s great. Thank you. Do you know how old you are?” he asked, maintaining his gentle tone, knowing it was possible that you didn’t.

For whatever reason, it was that that finally got a reaction out of you. You looked up at him, so he could finally see your eyes, and snarled, “I’m not stupid!”

There was a beat when no one did anything. Curtis and Yona just stared at you in shock. The snarl was frozen on your face until it suddenly disappeared and your eyes got wide. Before he was able to process any of what was happening, you’d dropped down onto your knees. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’m sorry, Alpha. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Alpha, I’m sorry.” You just keep repeating that in a constant stream, your head tucked to your chest.

Repeatedly mixed into that jumble was a number. It took Curtis a few moments to realize it was your age. You were answering his question. He quietly repeated it to Yona, then dropped down to his knees as well so he could be closer to your level. “Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re alright. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re right. You aren’t stupid. I can already tell how smart you are. It’s okay. I’m not mad.” He wanted to reach out and touch you, wrap you in his arms, even, comfort you however he could. But he was too afraid that that’d make you panic even more. That was a boundary he couldn’t cross. Not yet. He stayed down there, whispering reassurances to you for as long as it took for you to stop apologizing, and a few extra minutes for your breathing to calm down. Once you seemed like you were back in the present moment, he moved to a crouch. “Think you can stand up for me, honey?”

You nodded, but you were back to keeping your eyes downcast. “Yes, Alpha.”

He wanted to tell you that you didn’t need to call him ‘Alpha,’ that ‘Curtis’ was just fine. But that could wait until you were a little more comfortable. Once he had you home, maybe. He could already tell that picking his battles was going to be important.

“Thank you,” he said as he stood up to his full height, and you did as well. “You answered my questions so well. You gave me exactly what I needed.” He looked to Yona to see if there was anything else.

“Do you have any questions for me or Curtis?” she asked you.

You shook your head, emphatically, hunching your shoulders. The room filled with the scent of fear again.

“Okay… that’s fine,” Yona said, and he could tell how much she hated this. “Well,” she turned to Curtis, “I’ll go get the paperwork and then you two can get home. I’ll be right back,” she said to you, then left the room. 

This was happening too fast. In normal circumstances, you would have already been at the center for a few weeks, at least, with access to mental health professionals, life skill classes, and support groups. He’d be the last step before going back to the real world. You’d be ready to spend time with an alpha. Ready to work through processing positive physical attachments. Ready to learn how to share space with someone who wasn’t a threat to you. You’d be ready to slowly take steps into the world, with him there to support you.

You had backed yourself into the corner now. He could see the way every single muscle in your body was trying not to cower. You weren’t ready. You were nowhere near ready. But with all the resources for at-risk omegas pushed to their limit by this raid, what would happen to you if he didn’t take you? As insufficient as it might be, his help could be all you’d be able to get. This wasn’t how it should be, but he’d do everything he could for you.

Yona came back in and he watched her take you in, sighing at your state. He knew she was thinking the same things he was. “Ok,” she said, handing him the packet of forms to sign. “No changes since last time. You know the drill.”

He nodded as he grabbed them and sat down at the table, getting to work signing where he was supposed to. As he did, he felt your eyes on him as the scent of your apprehension filled the room.

Yona called your name. “Let’s go outside for a minute while Curtis finishes up.”

You both left quietly. This, too, was part of normal procedure. She was asking if you were sure you were comfortable leaving with him, telling you you had the option to say no, getting your verbal and written consent, and giving you cards with all the emergency numbers on them. He was afraid this situation might stretch the legal definition of informed consent. Based on everything he’d seen so far, he couldn’t picture a scenario where you’d say no. 

Nothing about this felt good, but everyone’s hands were tied. And he knew that he’d do everything he could to keep you as safe as possible.

A few minutes after he’d finished signing the last page, you and Yona came back in. A worn knapsack hung from your fingers. It was small, confirming Curtis’s suspicions that you didn’t have much in the way of clothes. Alright, that was priority number one.

Yona had a thin folder in her hand that she immediately passed to Curtis. “The regular information, along with her schedule of appointments for the next few weeks, both doctor and therapist. And the card for the agent in charge of the investigation into the compound, in case anything pertinent comes up.” Then she turned to you with a small box. “I’ve got a couple packets of suppressants for you. Do you want them or do you want Curtis to keep track of them for you?”

Your eyes cut to him suspiciously then flitted back to the floor. “Alpha,” you muttered.

“Okay,” Yona said, handing the box to Curtis as well. Then she clapped her hands together, her face set in grim determination. “I won’t keep you any longer then. I’ll see you both next week.”

On the way out of the center, Curtis was all too aware of the way you walked exactly three steps behind him, one step to the left. That wasn’t just old-fashioned, it was archaic. He’d never seen an omega do it in real life.

At his truck, you looked at the truckbed in a way that made him worried you might try to ride back there, so he opened the passenger door for you and waited for you to get in. He resisted the part of his alpha instincts that wanted to buckle you in. And after a gentle request, you did it yourself.

As the two of you hit the road, he reached over to turn the radio on. He tried to move slowly, but you still flinched. “Want some music?” he asked quietly.

You didn’t respond, so he found an oldies station and left the volume low. His plan for the day had shifted a bit. You definitely weren’t ready to go shopping. That was fine. There was nothing that couldn’t be delivered.

About five minutes into the drive, the strong scent of your tears filled the cab. He looked over at you. You were huddled against the door, as far away from him as you could get. Your face was pressed against the window, so all he could see was the back of your head. But he could hear your sniffles and he could smell your distress.

It took everything in him to not pull over right now and reach over to comfort you. Pull you into his arms. Rub soothing circles on your back. But he knew that would do more harm than good. His touch wouldn’t be welcome. Yet. You weren’t ready.

And god, he wasn’t either. He wasn’t ready for any of this. But damn it, he was going to try.

Tag List is open!

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[vampzity]

neglectful | FL

“It always goes like this, could’ve predicted it. I’m so naive to think you loved me for me.” — goddess, laufey

pairing: bf! felix x reader

after a rough disagreement with your boyfriend, you can’t help but feel like a terrible parter to him. he does his best to go out his way to show you you’re more than enough but unbeknownst to him, it was already too late.

[warnings]: slight arguing? self-consciousness. this is far from fluff i fear…! angst only hehe

word count: 1.5k

“You just don’t seem to care! All you’ve been doing is pushing me aside and I’m tired.”

You stormed out of the house, completely forgetting the lunch that Felix had packed for you. You’ve had enough of the excuses, of the silence whenever you were right, the “ifs ands and buts.” Felix stood there in disbelief, your plate of breakfast still in his hand as he hoped you would just come back through the door.

Except you wouldn’t, not this time.

There was going to be no more, “letting him off the hook.” Every time you argued, you’d let him have the last word— you’d forgive him so easily and let it go as if it wouldn’t continue again in the future. You were exhausted and you just wanted him to listen.

Felix wasn’t always this way, oh no. He was a completely different person back then, but it just left you with the many wonders of what had changed. When did he become so cold, so distant and why? For some odd reason he didn’t want to talk about his feelings toward you and that bothered you. Relationships should be all about being open with each other, communicating.. he was doing the exact opposite.

The cycle was the same, he’s cold, he’s distant, you comment about it, he brushes it off as nothing and then you argue. With him moving on like it was nothing hours later. It hurt you to see someone who you still cherish so deeply, switch a flip on you unexpectedly.

Felix placed your plate on the table, staring with a blank expression. There wasn’t a single day that you’d go without eating breakfast, especially not before work. It shouldn’t have. bothered him, but it left a heavy weight on his shoulders that he didn’t like. He sat at the table, pushing the food on his own plate around with a fork as his mind raced.

Was he really as neglectful as you made it out to be?

He glanced over to your plate across the table, full and missing your presence. An empty feeling washed over him— it was odd to be eating breakfast without you, as it was something you two have done every morning for the last 2 years. For once, there were left overs. Your untouched leftovers.

A frown painted his face as he got up to clear the table. He searched through the cabinets for a container to save your food in, but to his surprise there was none. How far in the gutter was his mind? Did you ever mention anything about needing more containers before?

Felix glanced around the kitchen, his eyes catching a small list against the fridge. He walked over to it and pulled it down, scanning it for a moment. Milk, eggs, cereal, and there it was.

Storage containers.

“A grocery list, for me?” He tilted his head in confusion, his eyes catching the date of the note.

1/03/25.

That was nearly a whole week and a half ago. A sighed escaped him as he imagined the many times you had told him to bring back groceries on his way home, or simply go and get them on his days off.

It all made sense now— why you came home furiously carrying multiple bags of groceries the other day. Why you gave him the cold shoulder whenever he cooked for you. He was neglecting you without noticing and didn’t even bother to see the signs you threw his way. Felix’s heart sank at the realization, feeling horrible for the way he let you feel. He loved you, he always did, however it was clear you felt that he didn’t anymore. The last thing he wanted was for you to feel less than enough.

How could he make it up to you?

— ✧⁂✬ —

You pulled into the driveway of your shared home, groaning as you turned off the car. You sat in your seat for a minute, contemplating if you even wanted to walk inside— it’s not like you’d be greeted with any warm welcome. A useless argument seemed more likely to occur the that at this point, and you weren’t exactly looking forward to it.

You got out of your car, locking it as you walked over to the door. You fumbled with the keys for a moment before the door swung open in front of you. Startled you jumped back, being greeted with a guilty look from Felix. You looked at him for a second, before brushing past him to take off your coat and shoes.

“Can we talk?”

Felix closed the door, trailing behind you as you switched into your house slippers. You ignored him, walking over to the kitchen to spot a small plate of brownies on the table. You raised your eyebrow, giving him a quick glance only to be met with a half smile. Sending the cold shoulder his way, you grabbed a drink out of the fridge and walked toward the stairs.

It’s been months since he’s made you anything, let alone brownies. Though to make brownies all of a sudden, especially knowing you were upset with him? It was unusual.

“Hey,” he grabbed your hand, tugging on it slightly. You turned your head to look at him, sighing as you pulled your hand out from his grasp.

“Please talk to me, I’m sorry.” he mumbled, searching for even the slightest bit of light in your eyes.

“Talk about what, Felix? I’ve said more than enough to you yet time and time again you don’t care. Why waste my breath?”

He gave you a small frown, accepting the harsh truth that you had every right to be upset with him. All he wanted to do was fix things and make you happy— was it too late for that?

“I’m just, I feel horrible. I spent so much time in my work, I neglected you and.. that’s not right.”

He looked away from your cold gaze, picking at his chipped nail polish. You sighed heavily, turning away from him and walking back up the steps to your shared bedroom. You dug through the closet and pulled out a suitcase, soon fumbling through the closet and drawers for clothes. Felix watched from the doorway, eyebrows furrowed.

“What are you doing?”

You ignored him once again, walking into the bathroom to grab things and soon placing them in the stuffed luggage. You closed the suitcase, pulling it off the bed. Felix walked into the room, grabbing the suitcase from your hands and pulling it to him.

“Hey, give me that back!” You tugged at the handle that he held a firm grip on. “I’m serious Felix, I’m done here.”

“So you’re just going to leave like that? After everything? Where are you even going to go?”

His questions felt like knives, turning and twisting inside of you. Still, you ignored them, yanking the suitcase from his hold and walking down the steps. You changed back into your sneakers, Felix standing a good distance away from you. You glanced over to him, watching as tears escaped his eyes.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to you. Brownies doesn’t fix anything, especially this and you know that.” You put on your jacket, pulling the car keys out from the pocket.

“I’ve fought, I’ve communicated, I even thrown hints at you and still you pushed them aside as nothing. Can’t you see it Felix? I loved you more than I loved myself, more than you even loved me.”

Felix stood there still, his face covered in tears as he wiped them away. He couldn’t respond to you, he wouldn’t. There was nothing for him to say when you were right. He had to bring himself to see the harsh reality of it all— he hurt you, put you last, every feeling you had at this moment was valid.

He wasn’t always cold, he was never the cold mean guy toward you, and the tears may have proven it, but a part of you couldn’t bear with it anymore. He showed you his true colors without a warning. He was more passionate about his work than he was of your relationship, and it tore you apart.

“Felix..” your voice broke, tears rolling down your face as you walked up to him.

You held his hands in your own, bringing them up to your face before you placed a soft kiss against them. You gave him a small frown as you wiped the tears from his eyes.

“I love you, but I deserve better. I’m sorry.”

His heart shattered at your words. He subconsciously pulled you into a hug, squeezing you softly as if he didn’t want to let go. You ran your fingers through his hair, kissing his head gently before pulling yourself away from his hug.

“Please don’t go, I can do better. I promise.” His doe eyes met your own, making you look away.

You walked back to your suitcase, holding it tightly as you made your way to the door. You stopped suddenly, taking in a deep breath before looking back at his fragile gaze. It hurt you to see him like this, but that was only part of the extent that he ever made you feel. He may not ever know how you truly felt.

“You’re too late.”

You shut the door behind you, tears streaming down your cheeks as you made your way to the car. The worst part was over— at least for you, unlucky for Felix, it was just beginning.

uh, i’m sorry for this LMAO. part 2 maybe?

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[sugurusfavemonkey]

CALL IT FATE - PROLOGUE: KNOCKIN' ON HEAVEN'S DOOR

summary: your roommate left and the bills were staring to pill up when three knocks to your door bring you Ino Takuma: say hello to your new roommate. The easygoing boy quickly worms his way into your life and heart. pairing: Ino Takuma x reader word count: 1.3k contents: college AU, short series, afab!reader, fluff, some crack, cursing, miscommunication (you think Ino is gay), strangers to friends to lovers (and they were roommates!), smut to come in future chapters (MDNI)!

prologue || chapter one

"What do you mean you're moving?!" you bellow, throwing your hands up in disgruntlement as you walk back and forth through your living room.

"I know it's sudden, but-" your roommate tries to chime in from her spot on the couch, shoulders hunched as if trying to make herself look smaller and hands splayed together on top of her thighs.

"Sudden is right. I'm not saying I'm not happy for you, but you could at least have let me know in advance, you know? I mean, a little room to breathe would've been nice." you keep on rambling.

"I'm so sorry! It's just... we've been dating for a few years now and when she asked me to move in with her I just- what was I supposed to do?"

"Say yes?" at that you finally stop, one hand running over your face, "and then ask for a little time so your roommate doesn't get swarmed in debt."

Utahime has the chagrin to stay quiet while you let your frustration out. Glancing at her from between your splayed fingers, your own shoulders fall, defeated. You walk to the couch and let yourself fall down beside her with a deep sigh, head lazily lolling back against the worn-out cotton.

"I can't afford this place on my own and we're in the middle of the semester, how am I supposed to find anyone?"

"I'm sorry." she tries one more time, softly.

You turn your head to face your ex-roommate and reach for her hand, a small if not bittersweet smile on your lips.

"I really am happy for you, Hime."

"I know."

"Ugh! The commute back and forth to campus has been taking me ages. I haven't had the time to skate in... forever!" Ino Takuma whined to his aloof blond friend, head falling down against the table wooden top with a smack.

Nanami scowled in disgust, who knows how many people have done god knows what against that same table top but showed no other reaction to Ino's dramatic display. He kept on politely munching on the surprisingly good sandwich he had just bought at the campus cafeteria.

The unlikely duo had come to be when Ino had been a freshman at Jujutsu Tech and desperately needed help in one of the general courses. With the pending prospect of failing his class, he finally sought out tutoring. Cue in Nanami Kento, a junior with one of the highest GPAs in the school who offered tutoring lessons for extra credit.

Takuma had instantly latched onto Kento, his admiration and high regard evident through his constant praise of the slightly older man. And Nanami try as he might couldn't help but cave in under Ino's unrelenting enthusiasm because, as cold as he may seen, he has a soft heart underneath.

"You think maybe I could get a spot in one of the units closer to the campus?" his voice comes out muffled.

"We're in the middle of the semester, Ino. I doubt there's anyone interested in-" Nanami cuts himself off when an abrupt memory flashes in his head.

"You're right." Takuma lifts his head up and sighs, taking a large bite of his own sandwich and chewing thoughtfully.

"No, no. I just remembered something. Believe it or not a friend recently had her girlfriend move in with her. Her roommate could be looking for a new tenant." Nanami puts his sandwich down and reach for a napkin, meticulously cleaning his fingers before picking up his cellphone and scrolling through it.

"You're joking?" The brunet visibly perks up, his entire demeanor shifting, eyes wide and lips splitting into a wide grin.

"Not at all." Nanami replies mindlessly as he starts typing on his phone.

Meanwhile, Ino's eyes grow distant as his head spirals into different thoughts and plans, "that's like... it's gotta be destiny or something like that, right?!"

Just then Nanami's phone chimes with three consecutive pings.

"Yes. Very fortuitous indeed. They are in fact looking for a roommate. Here, I'll send you the address."

After your roommate left for good, everything seemed to be going downhill.

Five out of the six jobs you applied to had reached back out only to let you down, you missed the deadline to an important project in one of your classes, you accidentally washed a red pair of panties along with the white clothing ending up with a bunch of pink pieces instead and, to make matters worse, the heater broke down just as the temperature started dropping.

You were in the middle of a break down when there were three knock to the door.

Your spine went rigid, cold sweat running down your back, immediately assuming the worse. Murphy's Law has been theorized for a reason after all.

"Well, better nip it in the bud." you mumbled before lifting yourself up from your laid out position on the floor with a grunt and some joints popping.

As you open the door you're surprised to find a boy you're pretty sure you've seen in passing across the campus standing with his hands in his pockets. He is handsome in a boyish way and you can't help but appreciating his big dark eyes and disheveled brown hair.

"Can I help you?" you ask after a few seconds of awkward silence as he stares at you with wide eyes.

"Uhm... yes! Yes. I, well, you see, I was complaining about the loooooong time it takes to and fro from my apartment to campus and how I no longer have time to do anything, it's really annoying because I like to skate and chill with my friends sometimes, you know? And then Nanami, who's whip-smart, reminded me we're in the middle of the semester so chances were I would be stuck there at least until it ended. But suddenly he remembered a friend of his had just had her girlfriend move in with her so now her girlfriend's roommate could be seeking another roommate! So he reached out and turns out, she is! I mean, was. If she takes me, that is. No! Wait, I mean, if you take me."

You blink owlishly as your brain struggles to comprehend the influx of words being thrown at you at breakneck speed, "what?"

"Damn," he sighs and looks down, wincing at his own frenzy, "I'm sorry, I got ahead of myself. Let me start over," the boy fixes his posture and tries again, "hi, I'm Ino Takuma. I heard you were looking for a roommate and I wanted to apply for the position!" He punctuates his sentence with a charming smile that had no business being as cute as it is.

You introduce yourself with a chuckle.

"I am looking for a roommate. You said Nanami sent you? The blond guy with the glasses and a penchant for weird patterns?"

"Yes! That's definitely him."

"We may not be close, but I know for sure that's the most trustworthy guy on campus."

"He really is. Nanami is like the most amazing guy I ever met. He's so smart and cool. And handsome too!" Ino says dreamily, a bit too dreamily for it to pass as only admiration and you feel yourself growing a bit less tense, letting go of the door you were halfway hiding behind.

Sharing your housing with a man would be a risky venture at the very least but if said man played for the same team? maybe that could work.

"I'm not gonna lie, you've come at the right time." You admit, glancing at him from below your lashes. He seems to falter for a second, but recover just as quick.

"See! It's like fate!" his overexcited reaction has your smile growing, Ino has this endearing quality to him that immediately lowers your defenses.

"Fate." You nod your head, lost in your own head.

"So?"

"Oh, yeah! Right! Come on in. Let's chat about this."

next

taglist: @lavenderdaydream97 @ilovemyhusbandnanami @iluvmusicxoxo @tunnelvisionlove @sweetwonieee - I went ahead and tagged those who showed interest in the drabble that lead to this series as well as those who asked for it, hope you don't mind (and if you do just let me know and I'll take you out) <3

[itzsana-kiddingmenow]

Thank you! Okay here’s my idea. It’s kinda like a slowburn fic but tickling? So imagine it’s a Ler in a Ler mood (maybe Chan?) but is trying to hold back from acting on it cuz he doesn’t wanna make the others uncomfortable. But the members notice and decide to tease the Ler by doing little things near him but not close enough to let him participate. So like poking each other, short quick tickle, stretching and showing off weak spots but hiding them too fast. Just really making the Ler mood for him worse trying to break him but he keeps holding back until finally one of the Lees just flat out invites him to tickle them cuz you know you want to hyung. Basically a flustered shy Ler fic! I hope I explained it right. I think it’d be fun for it to be a longer fic so you can play up the flustery parts. That’s my idea! I love ur writing so I hope you like this idea and feel inspired to write it! If not, maybe one day I will post my version of it. Thank youuu!! ☀️

𝗻𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗼𝘂𝘀 — 𝘀𝗮𝗻𝗮’𝘀 𝗯𝗶𝗿𝘁𝗵𝗱𝗮𝘆 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗰𝗶𝗮𝗹:

𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙙𝙨: 3.5k

𝙖/𝙣: happy birthday to me!! i’m so happy i got to post this fic on time hehe :3 i hope you all enjoy this!!

𝒍𝒆𝒆: skz

𝙡𝙚𝙧: chan

𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕: @someone-who-loves-kpop-saranghae @jeonginsdiary @leeknowstan33 @v--143 @wereallgonnadieonedaybutnottoday @inkytornpagess @lajanaa @a-wild-seungberry @channieissocute125 @soap143 @seungsluvv @skznccmlee @moony-9 @sunny-117 @minnielvrr

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐞? 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐮𝐛s🖤

Ler mood: 9/10 

Chan was this close to losing it. He felt the overwhelming guilt flood his system, like the feeling of sticky fingers after eating ice cream, that annoyingly clammy feeling that spreads through the body with no end in sight. 

Jisung’s gentle snoring filled the studio, and Channie watched, laptop forgotten and bottom lip between his teeth, as the smaller boy shifted, his shirt rising just a bit more to reveal his tiny belly button. 

The urge to stick a finger in there, to hear the high pitched squeal and chaotic, unhinged laughter that would ensue was catastrophic. Chan fidnt know how he’s still holding back. 

But he was asleep, and what if it irritated him? 

Chan felt the guilt rise again, and he nearly groaned out loud. His ler mood was killing him, and he needed one of the members right now or else he might actually explode. 

Okay…so maybe he became a bit dramatic when his mood hits. But who could blame him?

Listening to Jisung complain about how sleep deprived he had been lately, Chan knew it would be horrible to just disturb him like that. 

Ler mood: 8/10

Wandering around the dorm in search of a potential lee, a sinking feeling began to emerge in Chan’s gut. Am I too overbearing? Is this crossing the line? And worst of all, Am I…weird for doing this? 

Chan froze mid-step, vision going slightly blurry as tears welled up in his eyes. He felt absolutely horrible, hunting his members down to tickle them just because he was feeling a certain way. 

Even if Changbin’s tummy looked too sweet not to be tickled, and even if Seungmin called him old one too many times, Chan wondered if the members hated the spontaneous tickling sessions he threw at them, whether it made them nervous, or even worse, scared of the leader. 

Dinner time was a chaotic time as normal, all the members chatting as they devoured the scrumptious cooking, courtesy of Minho. Except for one. 

Chan moved around the food on his plate with his fork and spoon, feeling squeamish and uncomfortable with the prospect of eating. He felt nervous as he felt seven pairs of eyes stare him down, like a flight of hawks. 

“You haven’t eaten a thing, hyung… are you okay?” Hyunjin’s tone dripped of suspicion, like honey, sweet and sultry at the same time. 

Channie gulped. “Yes, I’m fine,” He chuckled, trying to act normal even if he knew it wouldn’t work. His thoughts were confirmed when Minho narrowed his eyes at him across the room. 

Chan excused himself, trying his hardest to ignore how the others stared holes into the back of his head as he set his plate in the sink and left. 

Ler mood: 10/10

Hearing the sound of screaming laughter, Chan shot up from his studio table, turning his head to see the rest of the members immersed in playful banter, and poor m was getting it, dozens of fingers attacking as he squealed out, face red. 

Chan fought the itch to join in, instead trying to block out the sound of the maknae’s joyful hysterics  by slamming his headphones onto his head, pressing them against his ears in a hope that they’d drown out the laughter that made him wanna cry. 

It did nothing, and Chan felt his eyes well up with tears again as he was forced to listen to the one sound that he wanted to elicit the most. 

He watched in slight sadness as Changbin showed off the progress on his muscles, pointedly looking at Chan to signify his point, and Chan felt horribly guilty for not being able to focus on anything other how exposed Changbin’s armpit was, and how easy it’s be to pin him down and tickle him silly. 

It happened later again with Minho too. His feet were in Chan’s lap while the leader massaged, and Minho kept giving him hard looks, almost as if to try and egg him on as Channie’s brain filled with thoughts on how simply he could just skim his fingers along Minho’s soles and have the younger go ballistic beneath his tickling fingers. 

Then with Jeongin too. The maknae kept poking Channie’s sides, at this point he was just asking for it, telling Chan fo get him back fast because “You know you want to, hyung.”

Chan wondered if it was all on purpose and the members knew, or if the universe was conspiring against him to make his ler mood worse. 

Ler mood: 10/10

After two grueling days of drowning in his own thoughts, Chan was dragged into the living room by Minho, and there awaited the one sight that he’d been dreading. 

All of the members were seated around the couch, eyes sad and expressions concerned. Chan felt a knot form in his throat, and he felt so bad for making them feel upset. 

“Hyung, seriously, what’s going on?” Minho asked, his tone gentle as he took both of Channie’s hands. “Did someone hurt you? Do you feel sick? You’ve been off lately, we’ve all been worried.”

“Please,” Felix joined in. “Please just tell us. You can trust us, hyung.”

“Yeah,” Jisung added. “We know you love to tickle us, and we love to be tickled, hyung. You can do what you want when you’re in a ler mood. Don’t hold it back and don’t overthink it. You’re destroying your own happiness.”

Chan sank into the nearby couch section, and his mind felt like it was exploding, and it was unbearable. 

“I just want…to make you laugh. I want to make you all happy…” He started, sniffling as he felt many pairs of arms wrap around him. “It’s stupid…that I’m overthinking a ler mood, but I don’t want to…make you all uncomfortable.”

Jisung giggled, sinking to his knees in front of Chan, hands reaching out to cup the leader’s cheeks and jaw, wiping away the stray tears with his thumbs. “So you were watching me sleep because you wanted to tickle me?”

The leader sputtered, cheeks going red as the whole group laughed. “Well—hey!”

“So hyung’s in a ler mood. So why don’t we let him tickle us? You know you want to, hyung,���  Seungmin announced nonchalantly, although his red ears and pink cheeks told another story. 

“Mmm…how about two minutes each in whatever spot he wants?” Hyunjin joined in, teasingly poking a reddening Jeongin’s cheek. 

After some time discussing, the members all gathered on the carpet in a circle, staring up at Chan as the eldest gleefully sat in the center. 

“Everyone has to try not to move their arms a lot, so that he’ll be able to do what he wants.” Minho announced. 

“Easy for you to say, remember how many times you nearly killed hyung by slapping him while he tried to tickle you?” Jisung laughed, screaming when Minho made claws at his face. 

“First, Seungmin!” Felix screeched, and all of the members jumped into action, dragging the protesting puppy into the center of the circle, and restraining him to the floor. 

Biting his lip, Seung could feel his cheeks heat up as Chan stepped over him, then lowered to pin his hips to the floor. The leader’s slightly shy gaze was too much, and Seungmin squeezed his eyes shut, feeling flustered. 

He felt his shirt being untucked and pulled away, and he let out a helpless whine as his tummy was exposed to the cool air. 

Then, Seung felt a pair of lips attach to his belly, and his eyes shot open in horror, but far too late. 

“Oh my—GAHAHAHAHAHAA!!” Seungmin shrieked as he tried to curl in on himself to protect his tummy from the endless raspberries being peppered onto it. 

Chan smiled, albeit shyly, holding Seungmin’s sides while he blew a long one right into the boy’s navel. “NO—NOHOHOHOHOOO!! Ihihihit tihihihickles!!” Seungmin whined, unable to shield himself in any way. 

He endured more and more, feeling like he was gonna burst from how hard he was laughing. He even heard himself snort—how embarrassing. “STAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!! Pleheheheheheaseee!!”

Before he even knew it, his time was up, and he was released. Panting, Seungmin ran towards Felix and dragged him to the center of the circle. 

Now, Felix was a giggling mess, pinned on his back in the middle of the living room floor. His arms were stretched above his head, held firmly by Hyunjin, whose long fingers were occasionally scribbled along Felix’s forearms to keep him squirming.

Seungmin, seeking revenge, and Jeongin, had each grabbed one of his legs, keeping them still despite Lixie’s half-hearted attempts to kick free. The boy whined and kicked, but he was unable to break free. 

Chan hovered near his waist, fingers poised hesitantly, but his expression was gleeful and joyful. 

Lixie let out a helpless wheeze, eyes fearful hesitatingly Changbin scooted to his torso, holding down his hips. “Please…Channie hyung, go easy!”

Chan grinned, confidence regained, and his fingers descended happily onto Felix’s waist. Lix’s reaction was immediate: his body arched off the floor, a burst of uncontrollable laughter spilling out of him.

“Gotcha~” Chan said smugly, his fingers moving with accuracy as he targeted Felix’s ribs.

Felix twisted and squirmed, his laughter growing louder and more desperate. “HYUHUHUHUHUNG!! THAHAHAHAHAT’S CHEEHHEHEHEATING!!” 

“How?” Chan asks, digging deeper to hear the brownie boy squeal, his body arching a little bit unable to go far. 

“Youhuhuhu knohohow that’s my wohohohOHOHORST SPOHOHOHOHOHOT!!” Felix howled, body bucking as he felt more fingers spider along his sensitive skin. 

“Times up!” Changbin called, and Chan groaned. 

“IHIHIHITS OKAHAHAHAAY!! Gohhohohoh on ihihihits fihihine!!” Felix squealed, wanting Chan to have as much time as he wanted to tickle the members until his ler mood was satisfied.

Chan smiled gently at that, continuing to tickle for about another minute with joy, loving the way his sunshine squirmed beneath him, laughing so happily at something so simple as some ticklish touches. 

Chan finally leaned back, giving Felix a moment to catch his breath. Felix panted, his voice hoarse but still tinged with residual giggles.

Hyunjin and Seungmin finally released him, and Felix immediately curled into a ball, hugging his sides protectively.

Hyunjin had been laughing way too hard during Felix’s ticklish ordeal. He’d been the first to volunteer to pin Felix’s arms, the loudest to chime in with teasing remarks, and the most smug about his role in the chaos.

So when Felix finally caught his breath, wiping away tears of laughter, he turned toward Hyunjin with a look that could only be described as pure vengeance. 

“Come here!” He shouted, grabbing Hyune’s arms and dragging him to the center, much to the others’ delight as they pinned him down. 

“No, no, NO!” Hyunjin shrieked, scrambling to his feet as Felix grabbed his arms to pin. The rest of the group erupted into cheers, their laughter filling the living room as Lixie tackled Hyunjin to the floor with surprising speed.

Hyunjin’s legs kicked wildly, but Chan was quick to sit on them, his grin smug as he held Hyunjin’s ankles down. “Oh, no, you’re not going anywhere,” Chan said, his tone playful as he grabbed at Hyunjin’s waist, motioning Lix to keep his arms steady as he dug deep into the boy’s armpits. 

Hyunjin shrieked, laughter tumbling out of him as Chan’s thumbs massaged torturous circles into his sensitive skin, even slipping under his shirt to access the bare skin. 

“NOHOHOHOHOHO NOHOHOHOT THEHEHEHEHERE!!” The ferret screamed dramatically, bucking up and down as Chan dug even deeper, grinning maniacally as Hyune squealed in response. 

Hyunjin’s laughter was frantic now, unable to get enough air between the bursts of giggles. His feet twitched and jerked, but no matter how much he squirmed, Felix and Seungmin kept him firmly in place.

“YOUHUHU AHAHAHAALLL SUHUHUHUHUCK!!” The laughter that spilled from Hyunjin was near non-stop, and the sound was contagious. His whole body shook with helpless giggles, making it hard for him to catch his breath as Chan’s relentless poking continued at his armpits.

Changbin raised a single arm to signify the time completed, and Chan released the red faced boy instantly, laughing as Hyune practically scrambled to hide behind a very amused Jisung. 

Hyunjin, still flushed with laughter and completely winded, shot them all a glare, though it was hard to stay mad when his grin was just as wide as everyone else’s.

Changbin had been watching the chaos unfold with a mixture of amusement and caution. Being the self-proclaimed strongest member, he was confident that he wouldn’t fall victim to the tickle onslaught that had already claimed three of the members.

But when the others turned their attention to him, his confidence started to waver.

“No! Not me!” He stumbled backwards as five of the members began to approach to help Chan—Minho, Seungmin, Jisung, Hyunjin, and Felix. 

“Careful boys,” Chan called out. “He won’t go down without a fight.” He proclaimed dramatically. 

It ended up taking all seven of them to bring a wailing Changbin to the floor. 

“NOOOOO!!” He cried out as each member sat on one of his limbs to finally pin him down, and he squeaked in fear as the leader sat triumphantly on his thighs. 

“Ready, Binnie?~” Chan cooed, but he didn’t wait for an answer. He shot his hands to Changbin’s hips, and much to the poor boy’s horror, dug in deep with his thumbs. 

“AAAHAHAHAHAHAA!! NOHOHOHOT THE HIPS, NOTTHEHIPS—AAHAHAHAHAHA!!” 

Chan grinned in amusement as Changbin flopped around, laughing his head off as the leader targeted one of the worst spots on his body. 

“Not so strong now, huh?” Minho crooned, laughing as Changbin let out an adorable snort of laughter before devolving into frantic cackles yet again. 

“ENOUGH—EHEHEHEHENOUGHHHH!! IHIHIHU GIVE UHUHUHUHUP!!” 

The timer rang faintly in the background, so Chan gave Binnie’s hips one last squeeze before letting the boy go, relishing in how red the rapper’s face had become, combined with how teary eyed he seemed. 

Changbin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Nope,” the others said in unison, laughing as they watched their strongest member reduced to a giggling, embarrassed mess.

Jeongin had been watching from the sidelines with a mix of amusement and dread. Sure, he’d laughed along with the others as Seungmin, Felix, Hyunjin, and Changbin were respectfully reduced to ticklish messes, but the way everyone slowly turned their attention toward him made his stomach drop.

“No. Nope. Not happening,” Jeongin said, backing up quickly, his hands raised in a defensive gesture.

“Oh, it’s definitely happening,” Chan said, his smile far too innocent to be reassuring.

“You’ve been way too smug over there,” Seungmin added, cracking his knuckles as he stepped forward. “Time to see how well you can handle it, maknae.”

Innie darted a glance around the room, trying to find an escape route, but the others had already spread out, blocking any possible exit. “Guys, come on,” He said, his voice pitching slightly as he tried to reason with them. “I’m the youngest! You can’t do this to me!”

Felix snorted. “That’s exactly why we can do this to you.”

Before Jeongin could make a break for it, Hyunjin and Changbin lunged forward, grabbing him by the arms. Innie let out a startled yelp, thrashing wildly as they dragged him toward the center of the circle.

“NOO!!” He shrieked as high pitched as he could, causing one of the members to groan loudly in the background. Innie was very quickly shut up by the feeling of feathers gliding along his neck. 

“WAHAIT!! Nohohohohobody sahahahaid toohohohohools!!” Jeongin squealed as Chan cooed, cupping the maknae’s chin with one hand and tilting his head up to expose his neck, grinning down at the youngest’s giggly expression while the others used whatever feathers they found, tracing and fluttering along his sensitive neck. 

“I know, I know,” Chan pouted down at the maknae. “But you’re too cute not to use them on~”

Innie giggled, eyes tearing up as the tickles continued without an end in sight. More feathers fluttered along the shell of his ears, and Jeongin exploded into giggles, his face scrunching up as he squirmed helplessly.

“Oh, baby, I love you so much,” Chan smiled, brushing Innie’s hair out of his face. “You’re so cute~”

The timer rang loudly, disrupting the vibe, but Jeongin was too dazed to really care. The members made sure to slow to a stop, however. 

“Look who’s so cute being tickled,” Jisung chuckled. 

“Good, because you’re next, and boy am I not gonna let you off easy~” Chan laughed, and Jisung gulped hard. 

“This is a bad idea,” Jisung said quickly, his words tumbling over each other as he was dragged to the center. “You really don’t want to do this. I’ll scream. The neighbors will call the cops.”

“Let them,” Chan replied smoothly, kneeling beside him with a devilish grin. “We’ll just explain that our dear Han Jisung couldn’t handle a little tickling.”

Chan didn’t wait for him to finish. His hands dove straight for Jisung’s ribs, digging in with a devilish intent, and the effect was immediate.

“NOOHOHOHO!! AAAAAHHH!!” Jisung shrieked, his body jerking violently as he tried to escape the relentless fingers.

“Oh, he’s loud,” Felix noted with a grin, poking at Jisung’s sides to add to the chaos.

“I CAHAHAHANT HEHEHELP IHIHIHIT!!” Sung howled as Chan scribbled deep into the crevices. 

“Reeeaallly had to go for the death spot, huh?” Minho winced as Sungie let out a particularly long scream of laughter. 

“LET ME GO LET ME GO—AHAHAHAHAGH STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAP!!” Jisung screeched, a laughing, flailing mess as Chan really used the tips of his fingers to taser at the skin. 

“THEHEHEHE TIHIHIHIMERRR!!” Jisung wailed as a last resort, and the second Chan stopped, the sound of the ringing became clear. 

“Whoops…sorry Sung,” Chan grinned sheepishly as everyone released the quokka’s limbs. 

“You’re all…soho evil…” Sungie panted. 

Minho had been quietly observing the chaos from the corner of the room, his arms crossed and his face set in a neutral expression, though his sharp eyes betrayed a hint of amusement. 

He’d been smart enough to stay out of the fray while everyone else fell victim one by one, but as the group’s focus began to shift in his direction, his confidence faltered.

“What about Minho hyung?” Jeongin said suddenly, an impish grin spreading across his face as he wiped at the tears still clinging to his cheeks. “He’s been awfully quiet over there.”

Minho’s eyes darted to the grinning maknae, and he was already planning exactly where he’s wreck him until the boy was a giggling, howling mess. 

“Yes, I saved the best for last.” Chan grinned, cracking his knuckles. Minho felt a spike of nervousness spread through his system. 

He let himself be dragged to the center. What? He was already gonna be wrecked anyway, might as well save the energy fighting to actially survive the wrecking.

Minho groaned as Jisung cleared his throat. “I have a very special announcement for you, Channie hyung.” 

Minho shot his head up, pleading with his eyes to Jisung to not tell him. Don’t tell him. Please—

“Minho hyung has this really adorable habit of flapping his hand whenever he gets overwhelmed while being tickled.” Sungie blabbed joyfully. 

Screw you, Han Jisung. 

“Oh, really?” Chan smiled down at Minho, who frantically shook his head, biting his lip to seal his mouth closed as the leader directed the others to pull the dancer’s knees away from each other. 

“Such ticklish thighs, aren’t they?” 

Minho nearly screeched in response, and he’s never felt so much fear in one moment. Laughter exploded out of him the minute Chan’s hands clamped down on the firm muscle of his thighs. 

“NOHOHOHOHOHOTT THEHEHEHEHEERE!!” Minho screeched as Chan squeezed, and the leader watched as Min’s fists clenched in a desperate attempt to alleviate the ticklish sensations. And to possibly hide that flapping of his. 

Channie cooed, slipping his fingers under the capri pant leg to truly access that sensitive area right above Minho’s knee with his nails. The poor boy went absolutely ballistic, thrashing as laughter poured out of him endlessly. 

Then it happened. 

Minho’s fingers splayed free and his hands began to flap erratically in a desperate, frantic motion as he cackled in the background. 

Chan felt his heart nearly explode with how much it swelled. “Awwww…you’re so cute, Minho-yah…”

Minho kicked his legs out, a mess of laughter and adorable squeals as his hands continued to flap in tiny, fluttering motions, fingers closing and opening in frantic desperation.  

“IHIHIHIM NOHOHOHOT CUUHUHUHUHUTE!!” Minho wailed, tears spilling down his cheeks as Channie’s nails teased at his sensitive thighs, massaging circles deep into the firm skin and sending Minho into a screaming, thrashing frenzy of laughter. 

The timer rang faintly, but Chan continued going until he was satisfied at how much he had tickled the fight out of Minho. 

“That habit of yours,” Chan chuckled. “Cutest fucking thing ever.” 

Minho blushed a deep red at the ears, shoving at Chan’s arm as he panted, gasping for air. “You’re welcome I didn’t put up a fight, dipshit,” Minho melted as Chan hugged him tight. 

Ler mood: 0/10 — Satiated. 

[eddiesvixen]

𝘴𝘶𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘳𝘺: 𝘪𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴. 𝘸𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘰𝘧 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘰 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦’𝘴 𝘌𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘨𝘪𝘳𝘭𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥.

𝘊𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴: 𝘬𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧, 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘷𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘦𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘦, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘢𝘭𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥, 80𝘴 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘮 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯, 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘰𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘴, 𝘴𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘶𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵, 𝘢 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘺 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 (𝘪 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦𝘤𝘢𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪 𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵.)

One thing you’ll never forget is how you met Eddie, Aisle 9 in Tape World. You both reached for the same tape.

“Oh sorry.” Eddie pulled his hand away so quickly you couldn’t make out what the shapes were on his rings.

But you offered a grin anyways. “That’s okay, just glad it’s not the last one. Last week me and this guy had a little argument over the last Overkill.”

Eddie couldn’t hide his surprised but yet intrigued emotions. “You like motörhead?”

“I do.” You smile and hand him the tape you both had originally reached for, Wasp’s ‘The Last Command.’

He takes it with a small “Thanks. Sorry this is just.. weird, for me. I never really meet many people here into this sort of music. Especially girls.”

You raise a brow and give him a confounded look. “Are you saying girls can’t like metal?”

His eyes widen and he quickly shakes his head, his wild curls bouncing with each sway. “No! No, of course not..,” he sighs, “I live in Hawkins, the next town over. There aren’t a lot of metalheads or freaks.”

“Freaks?” You smile and it shocks his heart. The way your cheekbones rise and the crease under your eyes make themselves known, he couldn’t get enough.

“That’s what they call us. I mean me and my guys. My friends.”

“Because you like metal?”

“Amongst other things.” He trails off, reading the back of the tape cover. He can’t help but look at the other tapes in your hands. Mercyful Fate, Dio, Icon, Metallica, Queensrÿche.. he was in complete awe. Amazed even. But another tape makes him laugh and you raise a brow.

“What?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Come on tell me.”

He laughs and takes the one tape from your fingers. “Poison?”

Your jaw hangs and you point at him. “I will not be made a fool of.”

He laughs and holds up his hands in defense. “Hey, no judgement here, sweetheart.”

You smile and take the tape back. You try not to show how the ‘sweetheart’ got to you.

“I’m Eddie.” He grins and holds out his hand. You shake it and he smiles as you tell him your name.

And from that day you and Eddie talked more about music, interests, dreams. With so many stolen touches and looks, it took for you to bring up a date for him to ask you out, given how he’d pull away when you two got close. He still hears your voice in his head. “Were you ever planning on asking me out?” So he did. Which is where he faces himself now.

You’d told him to be himself. Just a comfortable movie night in the trailer. He has videos, your favorite snacks, even blankets set on the sofa to give you a comfortable experience. He waited until he heard that knock on the door.

Sniff check, pop in a mint, smooth down the beast.

The door opens and he gives you that same boyish grin as always. “Hey sweetheart.”

“Hey rockstar.” You hug him and walk into the trailer and remove your jacket. He only wishes you didn’t because you had dressed really comfortable too. And damn those black yoga pants you had on were doing you so much justice. It didn’t help that you paired it with a cropped top. The way the notch of your Judas Priest shirt slit so low he could see the curve of your breasts and.. oh. No bra.

“I like the candles.” You smile and look over him. He’s always taken off guard with how your eyes seem to hunger for him but also admire him.

“I remember you saying something about your special scents.” He smirks, pridefully showing how proud he is that you noticed his attention to detail.

You shove it off to something simpler. “Pheromones, nerd. And it’s from our skin but.. good job.”

He rolls his eyes as he sits next to you on the sofa. “You keep bullying me like this and you can find a new friend to harass.”

You smile and warm his heart with the sound of your laugh. “Oh like Harrington?”

“Yeah right, like Harrington. I bet he wouldn’t be able to handle any of your jokes. Don’t talk about his hair.”

“How could I? It’s perfect.”

Eddie frowns a bit. “What and mine’s isnt?”

“Perfect doesn’t suffice for this glorious mane.” You smile and so does Eddie.

“Damn right, sweetheart. Now, shall the horrors commence?” He does a theatrical bow to the tv as he inserts the first video.

“Night of the living dead? How you spoil me.” You grin and when he sits back down you hold his hand.

It’s a feeling he can never get enough of. You’re the one thing, the one person he could never get enough of. Sharing snacks as the film goes on, laughing and quoting lines together. Despite the films being entertaining and Eddie being a comfort, you find youself feeling more turned on. It’s his fault really with all the small touches and gestures. You cross your legs but it doesn’t help.

Not when he’s laughing at This is Spinal Tap. Not when he drinks his beer and his throat bobs. Definitely doesn’t help that he’s holding your hand on the pillow over his lap. Or when he leans in to quote the film.

“This scene is called Lick my Love Pump.” He says dramatically and laughs as the movie continues.

You smile and look at him. “You’re such a nerd.”

“Didn’t I tell you? I was born this way.” He grins and then he freezes when you look at his lips.

“Love pump huh?” You grin and so does Eddie, his dimples greeting you.

“Guest’s words, not mines.”

When you see Eddie swallow you narrow it down to two things. Nerves or dehydration from the beer. When you see him squeeze his pillow you go with nerves. You gently take his hand and hold it.

When you take his hand, he’s hesitant at first, like he's unsure if he's allowed to hold on. But then his fingers tighten around yours, warm and slightly clammy, roughly calloused but gentle in hold as usual. You give him a soft smile, hoping to ease the tension in his shoulders.

"You don't have to be nervous," you say, your voice low and reassuring. "It's just me."

Eddie lets out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "That's kind of the problem." His gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips, his free hand clenching the pillow tighter.

You lean in closer, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think you're overthinking this."

Eddie nods and speak softly. “Sorry sweetheart. Just not used to this is all.”

His breath catches as you bring your other hand to rest gently on his cheek, your thumb brushing along his jawline. You see his lips part slightly, his gaze locking onto yours as though he's waiting for permission.

“I won’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.” You assure him and he nods.

“I want this. I mean I want you.” He swallows again.

“So take me, Eddie.”

His mind goes blank as he feels your lips on his. You release his hand and slowly reach up, brushing your fingers along the side of his face. His skin is warm, faint stubble from his shaven face and he leans into your touch as if it's the only thing keeping him steady.

You deepen the kiss, sliding your hands up to tangle in his hair, and a soft sound escapes him, half surprise, half surrender. He lets you tug him by his shirt, his arms wrapping around you.

He mutters. “Princess, Wayne will kill me if we do this here.”

You nod and keep kissing him one more time before standing and pulling his hand. “Come on.” He follows you into his bedroom, letting you guide him. You close the door and your lips never leave his. Kissing him as he caresses your body, over your curves and on your soft skin.

When the backs of his knees hit the bed he hesitates, pulling back just enough to look at you. "Are you sure?" he asks, his voice low and rough with unease.

You nod, brushing your thumb along his jawline as you smile. "I've never been more sure."

And this time he takes the lead. His arms wrapping around your body and caressing your skin. He lays you down and hovers over your body. Before he gets too handsy you pull back.

"Wait," you say softly, your lips curling into a small smile as you catch your breath. "Put on some music."

Eddie tilts his head, his brows knitting together. "Music?"

You nod, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. "Yeah. The tape we both grabbed when we first met—remember?"

Recognition flickers in his eyes, and a small smile tugs at his lips. "Wasp?”

"Yeah," you confirm, sitting up and tugging him gently with you. "Go put it on. It feels right."

He hops up from the bed, shuffling through his drawers before he finds it and inserts the tape to his smaller stereo. When he turns back to face you, his expression is softer now, less nervous, as if the music has grounded him somehow. He crosses the room, sitting beside you again, and you tug him back into another kiss. This time he’s more confident, with the music weaving through the air around you.

As the rhythm of the song builds, so does the kiss, and when you pull him gently toward the bed, Eddie doesn't hesitate to follow this time. He takes lead. And the entire night he makes it the best date with many more to follow.

AN: hope you enjoyed. likes and reblogs are well appreciated. not sure ill ever write again.

[arcane-ish]

Embracing the Monster: Why CaitVi kind of felt left out compared to Zaundads/Timebomb/JayVik

Let me start with some disclaimers: I have have wrestled with the way CaitVi was written in season 2 and tried to make sense of it in this post. And I have wrestled with myself and my tastes and why I actually feel very ill equipped to really say whether CaitVi is shippishly having issues or just being written for a different taste/target audience.

I have my very subjective often very oddball tastes of what I consider a good ship that often goes aggressively what either the general public or the popular fandom public considers good. In the end I can only report on what I saw.

IMO: looking at Arcane season 2 act 3 specifically there is just a really natural thematic flow.

Have you seen the meme: "Arcane was about love? Always has been"?

To me the overall message of Act 3 in particular (but that you can go back to and see traces of it in plenty of other act) is about Embracing the Monster.

And to me, despite the choppiness of much of Act 3, there's just a certain grace to how this is done.

It starts with Silco and Vander formulating the concept. They tease the promise, whether you see Silco or Vander as "the bad one" in this constellation, if you embrace, if you forgive, something great can come out of it.

This flows directly to Ekko who actively listens to it and tries applies it to himself

And it ends with JayVik symbolizing the concept. and ending the cosmic threat with it. Viktor expecting bad treatment due to his actions, Jayce embracing him anyway.

A lot can be said about the pros and cons of that theme (and I will do that), but there's just to me pure power in repetition and thematic congruency that just gives power and makes it hit more even for couples I don't actually like or ship all that much.

The problem is that even though CaitVi is the primary romantic couple of the show, they don't feel like they are part of this thematic trifecta of s2Act3.

CaitVi is too different to fit in, but not different enough to act as a counterpoint

From a story point of view, CaitVi could have been part of this general theme of big hearted understanding and forgiveness. I've seen a lot of discussion about has Cait apologized, has she apologized enough. I think that's besides the point.

We don't see whether Vander apologized to Silco. Jinx probably didn't apologize to Ekko and Viktor didn't in so many words apologize to Jayce. The point of this theme isn't about apologizing.

Considering the bad or misguided things Caitlyn did, she could have been part of that theme. But it would have required Vi to be a lot more horrified by her. To gulf between them would have to have been much larger so it can feel like a big deal for Vi to jump that gulf and embrace Caitlyn despite everything that has happened.

The show plays a little bit with "could Caitlyn become a monster", but in the end it doesn't go there in the way people react to her and how she carries herself. Because the show is hesitant to portray her as monster, for Vi to see Caitlyn as monster, they do not fit into the "embracing the monster*" theme that the other stories have going on. Again I speculate that that might have been intentional and that it might be their way of portraying CaitVi ultimately as a more functional couple.

There's catharsis in CaitVi's big payoff scene. But it's a different catharsis than what the other stories have going on.

Again, the theme of the other pairs is embracing the monster.

The theme of CaitVi is choosing happiness/being liberated from responsibility.

Picture a world where the themes of the other couples had echoed CaitVi? If let's say Ekko had actually felt burdened by his responsibility as a Firelight when he really wants to be with Jinx and him choosing her is about throwing away the shackles of that responsibility? If JayVik had been about Jayce's responsibility on the council and to Mel. If Vander's letter to Silco had been about "I thought I needed to expel you because people told me to, because of my responsibility to the Lanes, but I was wrong and I hate myself for it".

Can you see how if all stories, all relationships had been about choosing love over responsibility (whether it's Vi's responsibility to take care of Jinx or Caitlyn's feeling like she's supposed to live like her mother would have wanted her too), how that would have strengthened CaitVi's story. If the other stories had established a baseline how different characters deal with love and responsibility and set the baseline that this is an important topic that many people struggle with?

Or imagine the reverse, if rather than everybody joining CaitVi's theme, what if let's say rather than the relatively breezy/jokey/flirty/soft mood of the CaitVi scene pre sex had been about Cait having a full on ugly crying scene to the tune of "I'm a monster, I treated you badly, I went the wrong path, I don't deserve you" and Vi had embraced her anyway. If CaitVi had actually spelled out the implied confrontation that maybe went down or should went down between Zaundads, Timebomb, JayVik?

I'm not saying that it would have made a better show or made CaitVi a better couple. What I'm trying to explain what would have been required for CaitVi to feel like "part of the gang". And why right now they feel like the odd ones out, because the theme of three other storylines roughly match each other and CaitVi has a different theme compared to everybody else.

(MelJay is a different case for a couple of reasons)

In the end, it's not a crime that CaitVi doesn't follow everybody else's theme. I have speculated that it might have been intentional, that their theme is in the end maybe healthier/less dysfunctional from a future relationship perspective. Or maybe it's supposed to make them more special that their have their own unique theme.

IMO there's potential logic to going against the grain. But imo for my personal tastes, CaitVi not sharing the same theme would have worked better if they had actively contrasted the other stories by being completely different.

That's the problem of CaitVi being different, but not different enough. Because Cait does physically hurt Vi just not as aggressively as Vander hurting Silco or Timebomb trying to kill each other. And Cait did go down a dark path and lost herself in darkness the way Jinx or Viktor likely did. But it is not treated the same way.

The potential is there, but because the involved people react so differently to the situation it doesn't feel like it's the same theme, not "part of the gang". But it shares too many elements to feel like counterprogramming.

Again imagine a show where CaitVi are the one couple who feel full on differently. Who manage to stay sane and loving and supportive all the way through. If rather than Cait going all "Zaunites are animals!!!" and hitting Vi with the butt of a gun they had a sane and supportive breakup where Cait just tells her "I'm sorry, I can feel like I'm losing myself and I know I cannot be in a relationship now. Just go away, you probably have your own issues to handle first", And the rough corners of the plot had stayed the same of CaitVi being apart in Act 2, Vi doing her Jinx and Vanderwick arc and Cait losing herself in police work and responsibilities, but they always stay respectful and communicative with each other while all the other people around them are way more dysfunctional and hurt by poor communication.

IMO, for my taste (again as somebody who if firmly not a wlw shippers, just an occasional shipper of wlw couples), CaitVi would have resonated more powerfully if the show had gone for either option: join the same theme as the other characters (at the risk of making them more dysfunctional as a couple) or be a more aggressive contrast/the haven of difference and sanity and health in a chaotic world (at the risk of making them more boring/less melodramatic/less meatily shippy).

ETA: I hope it's okay that I tag CaitVi rather than anti. Because this is written from a place of affection, of "what could the show have done differently to make them pop more" (with the stipulation of "for a general audience" with the understanding that that might never have been the goal in the first place)

*I should probably add the "monster" here is naturally metaphorical most of the time and it's not about portraying Jinx, Viktor, Vander&Silco as monsters and more about whether you are missing out by seeing them as monsters, whether monsters like Vanderwick are actually a lot less monstrous than they might seem, that you can come back from anything etc

[atleastpleasetelephone]

Gentle On My Mind - Chapter 10

Initially set in 1967 when Elvis is filming Clambake. Feeling miserable and trapped after the Colonel banishes Larry and the spiritual texts, Elvis invites Gloria to keep him company through the last five days of filming. Gloria is an aspiring movie editor and more importantly she's a lot of fun. Will she be what Elvis needs to get him out of the depressive funk he's in?

Catch up with the other parts here.

Many thanks to @sissylittlefeather being my beta reader on this one.

A/N: My regular warning that there are still some dark themes here, please do check the triggers.

Pairing: Elvis x OC - Gloria, a budding film editor.

Word count: 3.2K

TWs: Reference to sexual assault (not Elvis-related), trauma, crying, smut, size kink.

Gloria spends a dizzying couple of days in Elvis’ suite and downstairs watching him perform. That Sunday night he tells her that he hates the fact he hasn’t been able to send her birthday gifts, but he has been buying them anyway and he presents her with an armful of dresses and shoes and jewellery. When she tells him she can’t possibly take that home and have Roger see any of it he promises to keep it in Graceland for her, stroking her cheek and telling her that it’ll be waiting for when she’s ready to live with him. She doesn’t know how to tell him she doesn’t think that will ever happen, so she stays quiet. 

He asks if she wants to come to the midnight show, after one show in the afternoon and the usual dinner one. She shakes her head wearily. 

“I’m so tired, baby. I really want to see you again, I just need to rest for a bit. I can’t get on your schedule…”

He nods a little sadly but he lets her go to bed. If she sleeps now she might stay awake after the show for the afterparty. He follows her into the bedroom and watches as she gets changed awkwardly, trying not to show him her body. 

She flops onto the bed and looks up at him, stretching like a cat. “Have a good show baby.”

“Thanks Glory, I will, I hope.” He sits down on the side of the bed and she curls herself around him, making him smile. 

“You know how usually you have people in here, afterwards…” she starts, slightly unsure. 

He nods silently. 

“You think… maybe tonight it could be just us?” 

He feels himself about to say that he likes to have plenty of people around him for company and to help him wind down after the shows… and then he realises this might be the first time she’s ever asked him for anything. 

“Sure, princess. Anything for you.”

***

Gloria manages about an hour’s sleep and then starts drinking espresso martinis that she orders from room service in an attempt to keep herself awake and simultaneously get herself a little drunk. She checks her finger and toenails for chips and then curls her hair, applying makeup carefully afterwards. Spraying a little perfume, she steps out of her nightclothes. She’s set the jacuzzi going and it’s warm and bubbly. Checking the time, she takes a deep breath and then gets in. He should be back from the concert in the next few minutes, if the other nights are anything to go by. She’s hoping and praying he hasn’t suddenly decided to bring one of the guys back with him. 

***

Elvis and Jerry are on their way back to the suite together when Elvis remembers what Gloria said and thinks maybe her request included the guys too. His bitches, she always used to call them. He chuckles to himself. 

“Hey, Jer, I think ya should probably make yourself scarce for a few hours.”

Jerry shrugs. “Sure. You got plans?”

Elvis smirks. “Glory does.”

Jerry finds himself blushing a little, thinking of Gloria getting herself all dolled up for Elvis after his show. He tries to pull himself together. 

“Have a good time!” He slaps the other man on the back and then turns and walks back down the corridor as quickly as he can. 

Elvis looks after him, feeling mildly confused. Shaking his head a little to clear it, he carries on towards the suite. They still hadn’t had sex this weekend, the combination of her shyness about her body and their inability to be awake at the same time didn’t help. But maybe tonight… 

He pushes the door open and calls her name. 

“In here, big boy,” she calls back.

Frowning a little, he wanders through the suite, listening to the sound of her voice as she keeps calling out to him. Finally working out that she’s in the huge bathroom, and then looking in to see her stretched out in the bubbly jacuzzi, a glass of wine in hand. 

He blinks. “Oh my…” His eyes drink her in, her hair piled up on the top of her head in a mountain of curls, red lipstick and smokey eyes, and obviously nothing on. Thank God he’d told Jerry to get lost. 

Gloria grins. “C’mon. Get in.”

Elvis doesn’t need telling twice, shedding his clothes quickly and getting in at the other side of the bath. 

“Well I wasn’t expecting this,” he breathes, accepting the glass of wine she’s offering him. 

“I wanted it to be a surprise. I’m sorry we’ve not… it’s not like me.”

None of it had been like the girl he first met, he reflects. But that was five years ago now, and he’s certainly changed too. He smiles. 

“Well it’s a wonderful surprise,” he tells her, his hand reaching to stroke her thigh. “Don’t get much use out of this thing usually.”

“No?” She teases. “I’d have thought you’d have it full of glamorous women all the time.”

He stares at her for a moment, and then remembers that she did used to be like this. Unbothered by whoever else he might have in his bed when she wasn’t there. 

“Only one at a time, usually. I’m not as young as I used to be…” he jokes. 

She grins. “Okay, so you know what you're doing then. What's your usual next move?”

“If I've already got to the naked in a hot tub stage?” He asks. “Well, I guess I'd probably take this glass from you and kiss you properly.”

He moves across the tub, taking the wine glass from her hand and setting it on the side. His hand cups her cheek as he starts to kiss her, his body half-floating and half-pressed against hers. Her hands move to the back of his neck, fingers pushing into his hair as the kiss deepens and she thinks about how much she’s missed this. Being touched by someone who wants her. She slides a hand between them and wraps it around his dick, stroking it slowly up and down as they continue to kiss. She can feel herself getting excited but at the same time her stomach is doing flips thinking about what might come next. The last time her and Roger had sex it was quick and unpleasant. She’d just closed her eyes and gritted her teeth and waited for it to be over. The last time she’d actually had a good time with someone else had been Elvis, after the show in Frisco last year. Somehow she’d managed to be carefree then, once she’d got the fainting and the crying over and done with. But now in the hot tub she can feel herself getting tense as his hand slips between her legs and starts to play with her, and her mind is going at a million miles an hour thinking of what she’ll do next and what he might do next and what could go wrong. She’s never over-thought in her life. What the fuck is happening? 

“C-can we stop?” She finds herself asking, pulling away from him and the kiss. 

Elvis is a little shocked, and Elvis is also more than a little turned on. So he says something he shouldn’t. 

“Oh baby, come on. It’s been such a long time.”

Gloria feels herself freeze as the words echo around her head. The same words Roger used, that night when he… well. She feels Elvis’ hands on her, the hands of another man she’s frustrating, another man who wants something she’s not willing to give. And suddenly she’s gone from fright to flight and she’s scrambling out of the hot tub, knocking over the wine glass and hearing it smash on the side as she runs from the room, desperately trying to get to the bedroom where her clothes are. She can hear footsteps behind her and his voice calling out her name and it just makes her run faster, desperate to escape. She barrels into the door and almost knocks herself out when she finds it closed. Standing there, swaying, she feels arms around her waist and hears a gentle voice in her ear. 

“Glory… Glory, it’s me… shh… it’s okay.”

Her body relaxes when she hears his voice, his tone, his pet name for her. She flops against him and he wraps her in a towel and then picks her up in his arms, carrying her into the bedroom and onto the bed. He pulls on a robe himself and then sits down next to her, concern etched onto his face. 

“Baby I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to…” he scratches his head. He’s not sure what he didn’t mean to do, exactly. “Are ya okay?”

She stares back at him. She is not okay. “No… I… I don’t know.” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Sorry. This was meant to be a fun time in the hot tub and I freaked out.”

He reaches over and strokes her cheek gently. “Can I get ya anything? Anything that would make ya feel better?”

She sighs. “I knocked over the wine glass.” Looking forlornly across the room. 

“I’ll get ya some more. Hold on.”

She watches him walk away and feels her stomach knot. She wants him so much but he’d reminded her of Roger in that one moment and it had really, really scared her. He comes back with the wine and doesn’t ask any more questions, just sits with his arm around her, kissing her temple and telling her how pretty she is. Eventually they talk a little about his show and what he plans to do tomorrow, and then she gathers her courage and puts her glass down on the bedside table. 

“Can we go back to what we were doing?” She asks, her hand on his arm. “But… take it slow?”

He nods. “Of course.” His hand gently pushes her towel open and his thumb caresses one of her nipples. “Is this okay?”

She nods and presses her lips against his, her hand reaching to undo his robe. She starts to gently stroke him again, and he moans into her mouth, pulling back to look at her. 

“I’ve missed the way you do this.”

She can feel herself welling up when he says that, and she has to take a couple of deep breaths to stop herself from crying. 

“Can I touch you too?” He asks, softly, his hand slowly moving over her belly. 

“Yes please.”

She lets out a shaky breath as he runs his finger up her pussy and then around her clit. 

“Does it feel good?”

“Yes.”

He’s being so gentle and careful with her she finds herself starting to relax, just feeling the sensations in her body rather than wondering what will come next. His fingers slip around and inside her with ease as she gets wetter, and he starts to want more. He slides his leg between hers and takes hold of his dick, gently displacing her hand. Running the tip against her pussy, he hears her gasp, and then rearranges slightly so that he can rub against her without his hand being involved. 

“Is this okay?” 

His eyes search hers for any sign of fear but she just stares back at him with full-blown lust. 

“Yeah… fuck… it’s better than okay…”

She moans as he kisses her neck, one hand holding her leg to give him access to rub his dick against her pussy again and again. 

“Can I…?” He asks, a few minutes later when he’s not sure how much more of this delicious torture he can take. 

She nods. 

He presses his forehead against hers, stopping his movements for a moment. “Tell me if you want me to stop and I’ll stop.”

She nods again, then manages a whispered “I’ll tell you.”

He shifts again and starts to push inside her, pulling her leg up and over his hip as he very slowly fucks her with the tip. She whimpers. She’d forgotten just how big he was, and even this is stretching her uncomfortably. Her mind keeps slipping back to that night with Roger, when she told him no and he forced himself on her anyway. 

“Elvis I… I can’t…”

He pulls back and takes a deep breath. Fuck. 

“You can’t?” He tries to keep his voice calm and level, but it’s difficult. It’s difficult not being allowed to have what he wants so badly. 

“I want to,” she whispers. “I just… since the baby…”

Elvis tries his level best to think, rather than just act, for a change. Lately with everything that had been going on in his life, he’d struggled to do anything other than react. Which tended to involve a lot of yelling, throwing things, getting angry quickly and then apologising. But he can’t do any of that to his Glory, no matter how frustrated he might be in this moment. She seems delicate right now, for reasons he can’t understand, so he tries to treat her like an expensive china vase. 

“How about I make ya feel good, hm? And then if you want, we could try again? Ya might be a little more… relaxed.”

It’s something he’s done before with her and with other girls. They did sometimes get put off by the sheer size of him and clam up, although he’s not sure why that would happen to Glory now. 

Gloria kisses him gently on the lips and then nods. “Okay. Let’s try that.”

He gently rolls her onto her back and then settles himself between her legs. He doesn’t want to rush this, to make her think he’s just trying to get to his own pleasure. Anyway, this is his own pleasure. He loves going down on girls, sometimes a lot more than he enjoys sex. There’s always an element of danger when it comes to sex with a random girl, and although he’s adept at pulling out at the right moment, he never feels like he can really let go and enjoy himself. He can enjoy himself here though, he thinks, as he buries his face in Gloria’s pussy and listens to her moans. He can get right into the moment, whatever that moment might be. Tease and denial, romance, tongue-fucking. He’s even been known to lick an ass or two, recently, if the fancy takes him. And right now it’s a great excuse to watch her letting go too, losing her inhibitions and grabbing his head as her pussy pulses around his tongue. He kisses and licks and sucks until his name is echoing around the room, her hips are bucking up into his face and he starts to worry about clumps of his hair being pulled out. 

“Fuck. Elvis. Oh God.”

He grabs the towel that’s still on the bed and wipes his face with it before pressing kisses to her neck again, pulling her leg over the top of his and holding her body close. His dick is throbbing with need, but he just keeps kissing and holding her as she comes down from her orgasm. 

“Let me do it,” she says quietly, after a while. 

“Huh?” He feels like she’s saying yes but he wants her so badly at this point he’s starting to wonder if he’s making things up. 

“Here.”

She moves her leg so it’s thrown high over his hip, then reaches between her legs for his dick, slowly easing it into her pussy. It’s definitely not as difficult as earlier, but she’s still tight and he’s still big. She rearranges again, one hand guiding his dick as the other grips his ass, encouraging a slow rhythm, each thrust pushing him inside just a little further. She groans when she feels him finally fill her completely, her hands going to his back and the back of his head. 

He waits, with all the patience he can possibly muster, for her to tell him that it’s okay to move. She’s so tight around him he’s not sure how long he can last, even in this slightly weird position. He doesn’t know why, but he knows this is the only way she’d want to do it, lying facing one another, wrapped up in each other’s limbs. 

She looks at him and nods, only a tiny little movement, but he knows what it means, and starts to slowly thrust in and out of her, watching her and feeling her. 

“Oh Glory,” he murmurs, one hand on the back of her head, the other on her ass. His hot breath on her ear. “My girl.”

She whimpers softly at the words. She hasn’t heard him call her that for a long time. 

“You feel so good, big boy.”

He moans. “Fuck. So do you.”

He rolls his hips into her again and again, slow, gentle movements, deliberate lovemaking. It feels so good, but even though he thought she was so tight he might just come immediately, he needs more. 

“Baby, this feels so good but I really need to come…”

She nods and lets him pull her on top of him as he rolls onto his back, his hands moving to her ass to help her move faster on his dick, curses and moans falling from his lips as he gets closer. He puts his feet up on the bed so he has something to push against as he starts to fuck her from underneath, harder and faster until he finally feels himself start to come undone, grunting and moaning and holding her hips whilst he empties himself inside her. 

“Shit. Fuck.”

She falls forwards, her head on his chest, panting as he wraps his arms around her. He’s lying there, completely blissed out, when he suddenly thinks of something. 

“Fuck. Should I have pulled out?”

She shifts to look at him, shaking her head. “No. I’m on the pill.”

He frowns a little. “Thought he didn’t want to sleep with you? What d’you need to be on the pill for?”

Gloria sighs. “He doesn’t want to sleep with me. I don’t want to talk about Roger right now, Elvis. I want to lie here with you.”

Again, Elvis holds back. He thinks there’s something wrong here, she’s lying about something, but he can’t work out what it is. But this is their last night together, and judging by the other two nights, she’ll be asleep soon. He has to make the most of the time they have. 

They talk a little more, him trying to persuade her to divorce Roger and move to Graceland with him, and her explaining again that it’s not all that simple. 

“I have to find a job, my kids won’t just feed themselves.”

“What about your daddy? Surely he’d help you out?”

“My dad thinks he’s handed me off to Roger now. He’s not going to help me. This is all my problem.”

“Well if he won’t then I will.”

“No, Elvis. I can’t take your money. I’ll be fine, it just might take a while.”

“And then you’ll come and live with me?”

She rubs his chest, leaning her head against and not meeting his eyes whilst she lies to him. 

“Yeah. Sure. Then we’ll come and live with you.”

***

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[crowsofdarkness]

Arranged: Chapter Eight

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, 18+ smut(ch 12 & ch 17), angst, fluff, mentions of death and violence. I will update the warnings with each chapter.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: If anyone who is interested wants to be tagged, let me know!

The car ride back home was quiet, only filled with the breaths of Bucky and I. He had opted out of a driver tonight, saying that he wanted to drive his bride home. Despite our small fight earlier, I couldn’t help but smile. The signing of our marriage went off without a hitch, or so I thought. 

Bucky quickly signed the paper with a smile before sliding it over to me. With my own pen clutched in my hand, the tip was ready to glide across the paper but I pulled my hand back slightly, only for half a second, before I signed my own name. Now becoming Mrs. Y/N Barnes. 

I didn’t think he noticed but with the sigh that came from Bucky, I knew he had noticed my small hesitation. But could he blame me? With our fight earlier, I couldn’t help but question if this was the best idea. I didn’t care if there was an arrangement with him and my parents. 

But it was the fear of disappointing them that made the final choice for me, knowing what they had to go through in order to make this happen. 

Also, Bucky was the other deciding factor. I knew that there were going to be some disagreements between us so I could back out after the first one. He had gone out of his way to make sure I felt comfortable with everything and I’d be lying if I said there weren’t some feelings growing for him. 

“Did you tell your parents?” Bucky’s deep voice brought my attention back to the inside of the car. 

I nodded. “My mom still is upset we didn’t do a big spectacle but I think that's only because she wanted to show off to her friends.”

His flesh hand lay gently on my knee but still kept his eyes on the road. “Maybe we can have them over for dinner sometime next week?”

I nodded at his suggestion but Bucky could still tell something was weighing on my mind so with a quick squeeze of my knee, he urged me to talk.

“I know I said that I didn’t want to sleep in the same room but it is technically our wedding night so what about a movie night in bed?” 

The corner of Bucky’s lips rose. “I would really like that.” 

He brought my hand to his lips and left soft pepper-like kisses across the back of it. I felt myself melt at his intense gaze. 

We had returned back home rather quickly and as I began walking up the steps to the front door, I yelped out when Bucky had lifted me into his embrace and carried me over the threshold bridal style. 

“Bucky put me down!” I playfully smacked his chest. 

“What kind of husband would I be if I didn’t carry you inside?” Bucky defended. 

Barb had emerged from the kitchen when my giggles filled the large house and she looked at us amused. 

“Well if it isn’t the newlyweds,” she was drying her hands on a towel, “I was just about to start cooking dinner. Any requests?” 

Reluctantly, Bucky set me to my feet but fastly intertwined our fingers; my flesh with his vibranium. I gave it a squeeze, unsure if he could actually feel my touch. There were so many questions I had about his arm and was dying to know the answers. 

“Don’t worry about dinner tonight, Barb. We’re going to order in. Why don’t you actually take the rest of the night off?” Bucky ordered. 

She eagerly agreed with a fast nod, bidding us a goodnight and congratulations before she disappeared back into the kitchen. 

“So,” I began while swinging our hands together. 

“Your room. Half hour? I need to take care of some last minute calls that I missed.” 

I didn’t bother asking what phone calls he had to make, knowing that he wouldn’t divulge anything about it. 

Gaining some courage, I stood on the tips of my toes and placed a gentle kiss on Bucky’s cheek letting it linger for a few seconds. As I pulled away, Bucky blinked a few times, trying to regain his composure after being caught off guard. 

“See you soon.” 

I scurried up the stairs, excited to spend some more alone time with him. 

“Are you kidding me? That’s how the movie ended?!” I questioned, shocked. 

Bucky chuckled and gave a half shrug. “It’s a very open-ended ending. Let's decide how you think it should end.” 

We had been silently watching a movie of his choice and I stayed on one side of the bed while he stayed on the other, keeping our hands in our respective laps in the beginning of the movie. As it ended, our hands were intertwined at the fingers, his vibranium thumb rubbing mine. 

“Want to watch another?” I asked. 

Bucky took a quick glance at the watch on his wrist and nodded. “If it’s not too late for you.” 

It was only a quarter after nine and I wasn’t quite ready to have him leave yet. 

“My turn to choose.” 

Bucky chuckled and kept his gaze on me as I searched through the endless options of movies on the television. There was so much intensity behind them that I could feel it graze over every inch of my body. I chewed on the inside of my lip, feeling myself burning up the longer he gazed at me and when I felt his breath on the side of my neck, I turned to look at him. 

Our faces were millimeters apart and I swallowed a breath when he rolled his tongue over his bottom lip, so slow. 

“Y/N?” 

I hummed at the richness of his voice. My heart jumped into my throat and my palms began to sweat. There was a shock that swirled around in my belly, filling with sudden want to feel Bucky’s lips; everywhere. 

He leans in closer, so slow. I internally groaned at how slow he had decided to close the distance. We both breathed yet didn’t breathe, but our hearts were beating together in sync, so loud. Bucky was close now, I could feel his lips ghost over mine while the rest of my body was numb, frozen. I couldn’t feel anything, my fingers, or the cold breeze coming from the open window. All I felt was him, all over me, as Bucky cupped my cheek with his vibranium palm, thumb grazing over my bottom lip. 

I moaned at the feeling which caused Bucky’s eyes to flutter shut. “Y/N.” 

I let out a husky breath, hearing him say my name once again, the deepness of it causing my core to twitch with desire. In a silent queue, I kissed his thumb, hoping he understood what I couldn’t say.

Our lips were finally tasting each other. The softness of his made me melt into his embrace like butter.

Bucky pulled away suddenly and leaned away from me. “I’m sorry, I should have asked-.” 

His apology was seized as I grasped his face, crashing our lips to each other again. It was a much more heated kiss than before. That one was tender and slow while this one was aggressive and sloppy, where your teeth were smacking together and tongues were exploring every crevice of each other's mouths. We needed to feel each other, in every way. I nibbled on his bottom lip and Bucky groaned, hands clawing at my hips. My own hands slid up his chest and around his neck, fingers played with the ends of his hair and Bucky lifted me into his lap with ease. 

His vibranium arm wrapped around my back and scooted us closer up against the headboard and his large hands sprawled over my back and I leaned into him, pressing my chest against him. 

Bucky responded with a low growl and started leaving a mark in the crook of my neck. His name came off my lips in a breathy moan and I ran a hand through his hair, our hips began to move at a steady pace. 

There was a tension building low in my gut, warming the coil in my core, and I needed to let it go. 

An urgent knock pounded on the wood of my door causing me to jump slightly in Bucky’s embrace. He didn’t bother to let me go, only released my neck from his teeth with an annoyed sigh. 

“Yes?” He yelled. 

“Buck, it’s me.” 

Steve. 

A vibranium finger brushed the hair out of my face before another kiss was placed on my lips. I happily returned it. 

“This better be important, Steve,” Bucky called to the man on the other side of the door. 

“Wilson is requesting us at the lab. There was another issue with Dr. Banner.” 

Bucky froze under my touch so I placed a finger under his chin and lifted his gaze to me. 

“Everything alright?” 

I expected him to toss me off of him, muttering something about how it wasn’t my business however he kissed my forehead before softly setting me back onto my bed. 

“There’s this new tech my team has been working on and there seems to be another problem at the lab. I’ll be back late so don’t wait up, alright?” 

I nodded. “Be safe.” 

Bucky smiled. “Always, doll. Sweet dreams.” 

With flushed cheeks, body still feeling warm and reeling from our kiss, I couldn't help but worry about this last minute emergency that was taking him from me. 

[hewasverycinematic]

Psychological warfare has been committed

So in-ho is my second favourite character from S2 of squid game (After the salesman cause daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn)

anyway

he's so complex and layered so I thought I'd list all the times I noticed him just fucking with Gi-hun

Sang-woo styling

So the first one has been said before many a time and it's how he's obviously styled his hair similar to Sang-woo. This works in two ways; One being that he's showing familiarity to Gi-hun, making him instantly comfortable around him, but ALSO that he should not be trusted in the same way Sang-woo definitely shouldn't have been. But also in a way that's so subconscious to Gi-hun that he wouldn't even register it. The other way this works is that the fluffiness makes him seem literally soft just from looking at him, making not only Gi-hun trust him but the rest of their little squad. So even if Gi-huns sub-conscious kicks in with the "maybe lets not trust him, he looks like that dude who betrayed me last time and he's got that same number as someone else I shouldn't have trusted" he would look insane (Rightly so.) This also makes Jung-bae not telling him he's suspicious of 001 even more painful.

Mingle

Then grabbing his best friend in the mingle game. Not much to say on this one, I originally thought it was odd bc why Jung-bae? It makes itself clear by the end of the season that he needed Jung-bae to stay alive for the gut punch at the end. It's also very clear, however, that Dae-ho would 100000% have paired up with him, so why did In-ho need to take him specifically? Well, he knows there's not being enough rooms for everyone. So he knew he would probably have to kill someone and this also makes sure Gi-hun doesn't see this side of him and cause tension/distrust early on. (He saw his reaction with Sang-woo and the glass bridge remember)

X O

He originally votes to continue the game, telling Gi-hun that he did it because of him. This really is a double blow, because he's basically shifting the blame of the games continuing onto Gi-hun. If he hadn't been there to give faith to "Young-il", he possibly would've voted X and this set of games would have ended. But he's also, once again, makes Gi-hun believe he has the power to make change and help people. The tone in which he speaks to him, whilst also being a bit told off, makes him come across as meek and clueless i.e. harmless. He does this alot in front of Gi-hun, the amount of times he apologises and says he must've misunderstood or didn't know adds to this.

The second time he votes, he changes to X. And, again, says it's because of Gi-hun. Repeating the same steps as before backwards, but getting the exact same result. Gi-huns ego is boosted (literally showing he can change O's minds) and appearing powerless as a follower.

Late night talking

Narratively, I love this scene, we get to hear directly from In-ho his motivations for going into the first game. But we also get to see how messed up he is that he's lying about something so deep and personal. Using it as a way to get closer to Gi-hun, appearing to let his guard down, I honestly think In-ho needed that conversation as he seemed to have disappeared to Jun-ho before he could properly grieve and process. Then again there's a gap in his history that we as the audience do not know about. After he won and before becoming the Front Man (I'll probably make another post on my theories for S3) In terms of Gi-hun this conversation is probably the one which solidifies his trust in 001 as he's showing he does care about someone so much he is willing to risk his life and ensure others death. The reasoning mirroring Gi-huns in the first series, they are one and the same in that aspect. But it's so evil because In-ho knows all this and uses their shared grief against him.

"We'll have to hope more of the other side died"

After the Mingle game, Gi-hun suggests counting how many people are left on each side, and In-ho responds with "We'll have to hope more people from the other side died". This instantly made me think of the scene in the first season where Ji-Yeong is mock praying that they can send more people to their deaths for their own survival. This is so on the nose that I'm surprised Gi-hun didn't pick up what In-ho was putting down. He's slowly drip-feeding into Gi-hun that he's thinking the exact way the hosts want them to. Us vs. them as opposed to us vs. the machine, which is a direct link to when the frontman tells Gi-hun that the games won't change unless the world does. He's also got a slight smirk in his eyes which is essentially him internally going "I told ya so"

"Is that really what you want?

Before the third vote Gi-hun & co are discussing how to make sure they win the vote. Whilst Gi-hun wants to go over to try and persuade them to change from O to X, In-ho says "If we provoke them now, we may end up in a big fight before we even get to vote. Is that what you want Gi-hun"

And then after the tied vote and during the conversation of The Plan™ Gi-hun asks "Are you going to kill each other all night and hope you survive? Is that what you want Young-il?"

This is so ironic because they're saying the exact same thing back to each other "Are you sure you want to fight?" Which has sooo many layers. Yes, they're talking about the players being split into X vs. O but what Gi-hun doesn't realise yet is that he is the O (player) and In-ho is the X (host). As In-ho says as the frontman, the games only work if there are players. And the games stop if there's no one to host (If society changes and there's no wealth disparity making VIPs obsolete).

And that's just the literal meaning of what they've said. The fact that this is the first time Gi-hun has repeated In-hos' behaviour, in a somewhat catty way and not in an "I'm just like you, you should trust me" way. It still shows how similar the two are. I think this is why people theorise that Gi-hun will be the next front man. I think the point is that during the rebellion, he already is the frontman, just to the players following his orders.

Also, can I just add the cinematography of the beam separating the two is *chefs kiss*

Repeating Jung-bae

So we all saw the jealous look In-ho had when listening in to Gi-hun and Jung-baes conversation. I, actually, think he saw it as another way to toy with Gi-hun later on as we see. In the conversation with Jung-bae they're laughing about how much of a cheapskate Gi-hun was when they were friends. In-ho is in a totally non 457 way showing he can be the same as his best friend, but with it being such a common thing to say, if this wasn't a show it'd be something to easily overlook. With it being a show, I cannot overlook the parallel.

Rebellion things

Smaller things I noticed:

When discussing the special game he only said "you" instead of "we" - "How are you going to get the guns" etc.

Until he says "Small sacrifice for the greater good? In that case, I'm with you" - Further pointing out how similar they have become.

He didn't shoot the guards when they were in the stairwell/corridor unless he was speaking. Possibly to cover up the fact he wasn't shooting - Was he saving ammo? Doubt it - Says he's nearly out of ammo without checking - Not wanting to be hit in the crossfire? Maybe

Saving Gi-hun

So he saves Gi-hun twice, once when he's about to be shot and again when he shoots Jung-bae instead. I don't believe this is just because he's grown fond of him but because, as Gi-hun said in the limo, the games are so much more entertaining for the VIPs with him in. Unfortunately, I have to speculate that him being in there has caused more money to be donated by the VIPs, further upholding the games. The reality is Gi-hun was never going to be killed. He has plot armour both for us and the VIPs watching.

The final fuckery from In-ho as Young-il is the "Are you sure" with the most suspicious look on his face. People kept saying that that was the ammo that shot Jung-bae, but it wasn't, it wasn't even the same gun. It was really the last of the ammo they had, and giving it to In-ho was just leaving them defenceless, being the catalyst to the retreat and end of Jung-baes life.

Other sass

Joking about the umbrella dalgona as if he wasn't watching

"Besides, we've got a previous winner with us" as if he wasn't also a winner

Making dad jokes about his name

Disappearing in mingle to reenforce to Gi-hun that he cares about his wellbeing

unrelated note: people saying why would he kill his own guards, as we see with no-eul, they're seen the same as the players. (trash) he doesn't care about them either

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Primal

I was thinking one where Janus believes the others have only excepted him/like him as his function of self preservation not as Janus the person? And because of that belief he is failing to care for himself as he needs. Pushing to do more for the others and masking his own feeling untill he can't anymore and the others take care of him and assure him that is not the case? Bonus for Janus having chronic issues either snake related or other. – ultrageekygirl

Had the thought of neurodevelopmental disorders showing up in the sides as physical disorders or disability. A side trying to hide a flare-up or otherwise bad day believing they wouldn't be helped, only to be found and promptly (affectionately) smothered? – diamond-blade

hi! i love your fics!♥️ my fav is the wings one and it got me thinking and search and i found that you already did one with naga janus (didn't read it yet. but i will!♥️), but i think naga janus is awesome. could you do something do with him? like a protective parent with his adoptive only child Virgil? make some drama, like They lose Virgil or Remus doing some usual bullshit or the light sides do something and get scolded or something of your liking. just please make Janus a Naga. i need my snake boi to be snake. – anon

Writing prompt if you're accepting them!: one of the sides for some reason grows up thinking he doesn't have or doesn't deserve a human name? Maybe Virgil would work best. ^-^ – anon

Random idea I just had, you can do what you will with it: something in the style of your Green Kitty Cat, where Janus is campaigning heavily for lying in a situation where that would clearly just make it worse, and Thomas ends up having a Talk with him about how he's thankful Janus is looking out for him, and it's okay to be scared, he gets it, but they're going to be Okay. <3. – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: none

Pairings: none

Word Count: 3836

There are differences between the Light Sides and The Dark Sides, but they aren't as…black and white as they seem. For one, there's no abject morality—if you'll forgive the wordplay—to being on one side or the other. Fear can just as easily be a key component of survival, as can Doubt, as can they be things that hinder you or hold you back. There is nothing keeping the two factions apart from that perspective, and so we must examine things a little more closely.

Namely, at the root of their core concepts.

Fear, as many will tell you, is primal. As is Self-Preservation, as is what is commonly referred to as Thought. Those who would tell you that there are different types of Thought would be willing to Split them, hence the two Sides of Creativity. But one of those is far more conscious than the other, is it not? Oh, obviously there are parts of Fantasy and Romance that cannot be so easily corralled or called upon as other Thoughts, but there are those and then there are the ones that drift around and careen into each other solely unbidden.

So. What do we do, when we are young and still learning how our minds work, but associate those things that are far more primal with animals?

Lies. Deceit. Doubt. Selfishness. A young Side waking one morning with a deafening scream trapped in his throat when he's greeted not to the soft comforts of his bedsheets, but instead the rippling coils of a massive snake. He thrashes, trying to get away from the terrifying creature, only for the coils to slip over and over and over until he realizes that it's him.

A child, shaking and shivering in the sudden cold of his room, his remaining human-like limbs growing sore as he tries to wrestle his uncooperative snake tail into some semblance of comfort. Growing at the speed of Thought, learning how to use his transformation abilities himself, learning how to care for the scales that grow up one side of his body, learning how to manage his internal temperature by wearing layers and layers to keep himself warm by force. A Side coming into his own with a silver tongue and golden eyes, learning how to hide the parts of him that he would rather the world not see.

Humans learn things at different rates. Lying comes easily after you've done it so many times, but we can never truly master what it is to be afraid. It makes sense, after all, we are not meant to immerse ourselves in Fear. It's a built-in alarm system, designed to make us flee from danger and get somewhere safe. And so, is it any wonder that Fear would take longer to grow into itself?

Janus has two little ones with him in the Dark. The first, another child that shivered in the cold and whispered about what could be hiding in the shadows with him, clutching onto his sleeve and trying to warn him about what might be lurking around the corner. This one stayed a child for a long time—but what else could Fear do as it tried to figure itself out? The unknown is terrifying, after all, and who could begrudge a child comfort? It made sense to be little for so long, it was a far simpler way to feel safe. But we learn, at our own pace, how to manage our fears, how to live with them, how to name them.

If only it was so simple a process for Fear itself.

Janus spends many nights soothing the little bundle with cuddles and warm blankets, whispering that it was alright, finding your own shape takes time, but you should still figure it out because it was you, and there was nothing better to be than yourself. Fear resisted for a long time, arguing that he wasn't something good, he shouldn't be himself, he shouldn't be named. It grew worse when thick furry legs began to appear on his sides, crawling and twitching of their own free will. Janus would pull the spider child into the warmth of a heat lamp and massage his pained limbs, trying to calm him down just enough that he wouldn't smack himself in the face with them.

It's alright, he would whisper, letting his tail wrap around the two of them, it's alright, it's only me, it's only you. There's nothing wrong with either of us, see?

But Fear could be stubborn, as young children are wont to do. I don't deserve a name. I'm bad, I'm not supposed to exist!

Fear keeps us alive. How else would I know what to do? You tell me everything, you tell me how best to keep us safe, what is more important than that? Janus runs his hands over the limbs, teaching him how to feel them, how to accept them, and more importantly, how to hide them when he needed to. It's up to you to control it, it's a part of you. You can do it.

Slowly, Fear learns. Fear becomes Virgil, spider legs hidden under massive baggy hoodies and sweatpants, curling up around Janus to keep warm and keep safe.

The other child takes much longer to even settle on a form to begin with. Thought races around with all the malevolent glee of a sprite, upsetting things and causing chaos and leaving the echoes of gleeful cackles wherever it goes. But something ephemeral cannot be held, cannot be comforted, cannot cause a certain type of chaos, and so a blob of a child forms with its skin pulsating and roiling with all the madness of a storm at sea. Janus would curl his tail around the blob, feeling it thrash against the confines until it settled into something more tangible. A child with black tentacles, with a bright streak of white in his hair, a manic grin on his face. Remus, the one who darted about with all the subtlety of a hurricane and left just as much carnage in his wake.

Thoughts are meant to be together. When Remus discovers that half of him is missing, he screams.

Shh, shh, Janus hushes, pulling him and Virgil into a cuddle in the warmth, don't fret, don't fret, there's nothing wrong with you.

He's gone, Remus wails, lamenting the loss of a brother he'd never truly gotten to know, he left me, he left me all alone!

Then that's his loss. You are worth just as much on your own, we would not trade you or bargain you away for anything. You are ours, just as we are yours.

I can't stop them, Remus sobs, hands hooking into claws only for Janus to tut and use two more hands to pull them away from his face, I can't control them, I can't—I can't do anything right!

You can be yourself. You can be yourself because it is the best thing you can ever be. You can learn to harness the energy, put it where it needs to go. Control it, use it, it's yours.

They grow. They learn. They control their more animalistic traits and by the time they are all round about the same age, they can hide them completely.

***

When Thomas learns of his Sides, there isn't a way to differentiate between Light and Dark. After all, Roman hasn't come up with the name yet, and he isn't aware that Janus and Remus exist yet. Or rather: Deceit keeps things hidden and Thomas still believes he has one Creativity.

At first, he worries. Virgil is by far the most sensitive about his status as a Side, but he could no more keep Thomas's Fear from him than he could eliminate it entirely, and so…Virgil it is. His little spider has developed quite the sharp tongue over years of dealing with him and Remus, and so he watches with no small amount of glee as Virgil holds his own against Logic, Morality, even Creativity. Certainly, watching Roman puff up like a proud peacock ready to be plucked—he blames Remus for that one entirely—is reward enough on its own. But there's a reason Fear is present in these conversations as Thomas tries to work through his issues, and more often than not, it's to be put back in its place. No one handle being cut down to size over and over and over with no respite.

He lets Virgil snuggle up to him in the warmth whenever he needs to. Strokes his hair and whispers that it's alright, still, he has his place, he's still useful to Thomas even when it feels like he isn't. His chest clenches when Virgil confesses his childhood worry that this would all be better if he wasn't here, that it might just make more sense for him to duck out. Nothing has him as terrified as when Virgil actually does it, not since he woke up twisted in his own tail. He hammers on Virgil's door, calling for him, trying with Remus to break it down when they don't get anywhere.

But then the Light Sides show up. With Thomas. And everyone can breathe again.

Virgil becomes…well, not a Light Side, but he becomes one of them. He shows up to their meetings, he helps them with their issues, and he…starts to join them. For things like dinners, movie nights, things that aren't about helping Thomas, but just about them as the Sides. Remus doesn't take it well at first, screaming that Virgil's leaving them just like Roman did, but Virgil points out that it wasn't Roman's fault they were never together in the first place, and, well, things don't go well.

Virgil leaves, because he can go to the others now. They understand that Fear is necessary sometimes, and so they let Virgil be around them. For Janus and Remus, well, they have always been at home in the shadows, and so Janus curls his tail around Remus's thrashing form and whispers that they'll be okay.

You're safe, little Kraken. It's okay. It's all going to be okay.

How is it going to be okay? They're never going to accept us! They hate us!

They don't know we exist, sweetie, that's not the same thing.

Why? Why can't we show them who we are?

And Janus, who has spent years managing the cold and the pain that comes from being half snake, just holds him tighter. It took them this long to realize that Fear is useful. I don't…I don't know how long it will take for us.

Remus perks up. But we can try?

But we can try.

Janus does try, for Remus's sake, because he can see how much Remus misses not one but two brothers, but if he doesn't give it 'the old college try,' Remus doesn't need to know about it. The longer it goes on, the more he resolves not to tell Remus the truth about what exactly goes on at the meetings, not when he sees how the others actually treat Roman.

He's heard enough of Remus griping that his brother's probably the more beloved one since they were old enough to have such sibling rivalry, but he hadn't truly put it together why Virgil stopped weighing in on those after he started regularly seeing them. It wasn't because Virgil was growing to prefer Roman, as he and Remus had feared, but instead because it simply wasn't true.

Roman was…treated badly, to put it mildly. Roman was treated like a work horse. An idea factory. A convenient excuse when things went wrong and a shiny accessory when things went right. He was so willing to listen to a kind word or a touch of praise that it made his initial foray as Patton the easiest trick he'd pulled in decades. And even when the masquerade had been revealed and Thomas learned of his existence, Roman was still there accepting his sarcastic compliments as though they were real.

He tells Remus his brother doesn't miss him. It's the first time he's not sure who he's lying for.

Things get worse before they get better. Far worse. Worse enough that he's not sure if any of them will actually recover from it, not when Thomas is closer to a genuine breakdown than he's ever seen, not when Patton is shaking and shivering from turning into a giant frog, not when Roman sinks out and a genuine stab of Fear makes him think they might just have One Creativity after all, worse enough that for the first time in years, his control over his snake form trembles.

Roman falls apart. He locks himself in his room and refuses to let anyone in. Not for the first time, Janus wonders if he's done more harm than good, lancing open the wound to purge the infection, but at the cost of causing Roman pain. He doesn't regret what he's done, not when it's gotten Thomas to take a good look at himself, not when it's begun to bridge the gap between Light and Dark, but poor Roman is the lynch pin to be sacrificed for the greater good.

The heroic sacrifice that he's sure the Prince would be happy to make, but he hadn't made the choice himself.

He worries that Roman might be alienated entirely. After all, he's no longer being useful. He's drowning, spiraling, drifting further and further away from anything that could possibly be productive, and none of the others know how to reach him.

Then Remus smashes through his door with a Morningstar and tackles his brother into a bear hug.

Janus watches, spellbound, as the others converge on Roman, wrapping him in their arms and whispering comforts. A foreign sight, a familiar sight, except they aren't saying the things they should be. They're not offering encouragement, ways out of the Dark, they're telling Roman how much they love him. How much he's important to them not as Creativity, but as Roman. Remus vows never to let his brother forget how much he loves him and Janus can only blink in surprise—last they spoke, Remus hated Roman, how did it come to this? How much has he missed?

He's missed a lot, it seems, as he watches Virgil be just as active a participant in comforting Roman as the others. He watches Logan and Patton pull Remus into their group hug without a second thought. He watches Roman's tearful face go from scared to relieved over the course of that hug, watches him relax into the embrace and drift off into an exhausted sleep. He feels a twinge of pain in his scales and forces a smile to his face, teasing the little prince ever so gently before sitting on the edge of the hug.

That must be another difference between Light and Dark, then. The Lights are more than just their functions to each other.

***

Thomas is…confused, to say the least. At least he's not alone. The others are also staring at Janus like he's just sprouted another head. Granted, that's slightly more Remus's territory than his, but Thomas wouldn't put it past him.

"What are you looking at me like that for?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because you're suggesting we do something really, really stupid?"

"We've already vetoed Remus's ideas, actually."

"First off, ouch," Remus grumbles from Roman's side, "and second, you know damn well that's not what we're talking about."

Janus scoffs, crossing his arms and examining his gloves. "I really don't know what you all are so ticked off about."

Logan takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Janus, we've been over this. There is no point to lying about why we are attending this art show. We gain nothing by deceiving our friends."

"And we gain nothing by having them figure out where we are actually going and guessing that we're getting them a present that they specifically told us they do not expect."

"Yeah, which means it'll be a nice surprise!"

"Patton's right—" and wow, Thomas never thought he'd hear Remus say that, and judging by Patton's expression, neither did he— "besides, you know how important trust is to Addie, we can't just lie to them and expect it to be fine!"

"What they don't know won't hurt them."

"Okay, now you're not even trying—"

"J, I swear to God—"

"That's not true and you know it—"

"Temper, temper," Janus drawls, raising his hands like he's some overdramatic villain about to be executed, "aren't we all a little uppity today?"

"What the fuck is going on, J?" It says something that Patton doesn't call Virgil out on his language. "You've been pushing this sort of thing for weeks now. What's wrong?"

"Why would you believe something's wrong?"

"You've been trying to get us to make decisions that are objectively worse for us, despite your role as Self-Preservation," Logan lists, a furrow to his brow too, "you've been antagonizing us significantly more than usual, and you've been avoiding us outside of the meetings."

Thomas blinks. That's new. Sure, even he knows Janus isn't the most social of Sides, but missing things like their movie nights? The one time where all of them agree to be civil and get along for one evening? Yeah, no, something is wrong.

"—think you're all overreacting."

"We're not overreacting, buddy, we're worried."

"Same thing."

"It is not. You are clearly upset about something—"

"Oh, well, if you believe I'm upset—"

"That's not what he meant, kiddo, and you know it."

"Guys," Roman says, "I don't think trying to do it like this is gonna work."

"You should listen to Roman," Janus says, and Thomas winces at how sharp it's become, "you'd think you'd have gotten better about that."

Roman flinches, Remus glares at Janus, and Thomas gets it.

"Janus?"

"Yes, Thomas?"

"It's okay to be scared. We are too. But trying to push people away isn't going to work."

Janus freezes. Full deer-in-headlights. Distantly, he hears Remus and Virgil make noises of realization.

"It's hard, right? Trying to figure out how to manage it? But it doesn't have to come at the price of us being happy around people. We don't have to hide everything."

"Of course we do," he hisses, and it actually does come out as a hiss, which—he admittedly didn't see coming, "haven't you learned that by now, Thomas? People aren't kind about things like this."

"Like what?"

Janus stumbles, as though he hadn't meant to say that. On one side, Remus wraps an arm—oh, shit, that's very much not an arm. That's not an arm, that's a tentacle. That's definitely a tentacle. In hindsight, it's probably obvious that Remus had tentacles or was capable of having tentacles, but still.

"You're an idiot," Virgil huffs, but it sounds more affectionate than anything else, "you haven't let yourself shift since you started coming to movie nights, have you?"

"Excuse me for being polite," he bites out and Remus flicks his ear.

"You can just say you didn't feel comfortable doing it."

"It's private!"

"It's hurting you."

"Whoa, wait, what?" Patton steps forward. "Janus, you're hurting?"

"They're being dramatic, I'm fine. I'm—oh, for crying out loud—"

Remus had wrapped his arms around Janus's waist and squeezed tightly, just as Virgil comes up to his other side. "Sheesh, Snakey, you're freezing. Why didn't you tell me your heat lamp was out of batteries?"

"It wasn't important!"

"Of course it's important, it keeps you warm."

"Janus," Logan asks gently, and even Thomas gets a lump in his throat, "why haven't you been taking care of yourself?"

"Yeah, isn't that like, your thing?"

Janus looks around and seems to realize that he's not getting out of this anytime soon and huffs. "You don't keep me around for that, you keep me around because I'm useful."

"I feel like we went over this," Roman teases, going to wrap his arms around Janus too. Thomas chuckles at the muffled how are you so warm? "You're not an exception to that rule either."

"Thomas?"

"Yeah?"

"You wanna join us for movie night?"

"Sure."

"Wait," Janus mumbles, flailing a little in the twins' grip. "What about—we need to decide—"

"Oh, we have time," Thomas grins, sitting down and watching Janus get man-handled into sitting too, "and you need to warm up first."

Janus lets out an affronted huff but lets himself be cuddled on the couch. He glances at Remus, who nods—they'll have a talk about Janus later, he's sure, but for right now, he settles back and watches Logan and Roman fuss over the movie selection.

***

"Hey," he whispers when the other Sides are asleep, "is everything okay? Really?"

Janus looks at him, and for a moment, he looks like a lost child. "Are you sure I'm…okay? Really?"

Thomas grins, opens his arms, and pulls him close. "Promise."

He feels a cold snake tail wrap around him in the dark and kisses Janus's forehead.

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[born-to-lose-writing]

Cheering Up

Pairing: John Entwistle x trans male!reader

Requested by @johnentwistlesbassguitar

Summary: You've been feeling insecure, but John does what he can to cheer you up and make you eat.

Tags: fluff, some angst, implied eating disorder, implied transphobia

Words: 849

A/N: A quick emergency fic, hope you like it! 💖

You had been feeling sad and insecure lately and although you stopped whining to John as much because you knew he already had a lot on his plate at the moment, it was no secret you weren't feeling good. Some days you felt like a burden to him, but whenever he noticed, John made sure to reassure you that he chose you and taking care of you during your bad periods wasn't exhausting.

Today was one of those days and soon after the dog started barking excitedly, John came into the bedroom where you were staring at your reflection in the mirror, huffing at the features you didn't like – or rather the features you would have liked if it wasn't for other people perceiving you the wrong way.

You didn't realize he had come upstairs until he tightly wrapped his arms around you from behind, kissing your cheek and neck. “You're so handsome,” he murmured and intertwined his fingers with yours.

“You think?” You didn't believe him, even if his compliments were always genuine.

“Of course, why else would I feel the need to show off my gorgeous boyfriend on any given occasion?” John replied, spinning you around and pulling you close by the back pocket of your jeans. You hadn't felt like smiling the whole day, but his adorable toothy smile was contagious.

“Speaking of showing you off, there's a record label event happening next Thursday. Karen, Heather and Annette are going too, so will you be my plus one?”

“If they're taking a group photo of the ‘Who girlfriends’, no thanks,” you sighed and plopped down on the bed, angry at the memory of the last formal event you had attended together. “That reporter congratulating you on the pretty girl on your arm was enough.”

John didn't let go of your hand and sat beside you, combing your hair back to look at you properly and giving you a sympathetic smile. “I verbally kicked that guy's ass after you ran off. And I'll do the same with anyone else who ever makes you feel like shit, though I can't promise I won't beat them up.”

You appreciated his offer and now that he mentioned it, you did remember John immediately switching to his spiteful tone when you had excused yourself at said event. One of the many things you loved about him was that he wasn't afraid to stand up for you when the situation required it. You really got lucky with him.

Not knowing how to respond, you shifted to lie down and rest your head on his lap. You loved using his big thighs as a better and softer kind of pillow. In this moment of silence, your stomach rumbled.

“You shouldn't starve yourself, you know?” John pointed out, raking his fingers through your hair.

“I just don't feel like I deserve to eat,” you mumbled, ashamed of not eating anything all day despite usually liking food and cooking.

“Could I get up for a minute?” he asked gently and you sat up, letting him stand up and leave the room.

A short while later, he came back with a big plate of sandwiches and a wide smile on his face, still wearing his silly naked woman apron. You couldn't help but laugh at the sight and assume he didn't take it off on purpose. “I’m sure it helps if we eat together, right?”

John got into bed with his back against the headrest and you sat next to him, crossing your legs over his. “Open up,” he said as he held a sandwich up to your mouth and started feeding you, taking turns biting into the bread.

“This is so good,” you said, pouting when he took the last bite.

“Thank you, not as good as your meals, though,” he kissed your forehead and chuckled, “Alright, now we each get our own sandwiches before I eat all of it.”

At some point, he did take off the apron because it was getting too tight. You laid your head on his squishy belly and blew raspberries on it, which made him squirm and laugh, begging you to stop. Eventually, you stopped to continue eating while John used his free hand to play with your hair, twirling some strands around his fingers.

When you finished the last sandwich, you were almost sad they were gone so quickly because they just tasted so good, but you felt a lot better now that you were full and John did his best to make your worries disappear, even if only temporarily.

Still chewing the rest of his snacks as he had stopped eating to feed you, he reached down to rub your tummy and smirked. “Good boy.”

You looked at him and smiled, stretching a little before straddling him and cupping his face. While you loved his beard, it was a pity that it hid his chubby cheeks. “I love you,” you said and kissed his nose.

“I love you too, my love,” John murmured against your lips, putting his arms around your middle as he kissed you deeply.

[tvchi]

Disclaimers: DO NOT COPY OR REPOST MY WORK. DO NOT TRAIN AI WITH MY WORK.

Warnings: You are in charge of your own experience! Mature Audiences ONLY: 18+, Minors DNI- SMUT, Nudity, Female receiving fingering, Oral Sex, Anal play, Profanity Pairing: black male x black female Words: 4,420k

A/N: Hey yall! Since I'm committed to finishing a series or two that I've started here for 2025, I am back with Part 4 of this series. I have been feeling a type of WAY, not sure if I'm ovulating or what, but this was what came out, and I hope you enjoy it. For all of my smut bunnies that have been patiently waiting for something kinky to pop off since Part 1, welcome back! Lol. There are some flashback scenes here that are Italicized.

Summary: Adrian is grappling with a myriad of things including why Y/N (aka Alana) isn't responding to him, meeting deadlines for a demanding boss, his own hidden agendas within the company, and possibly the police? See what happens on this installment of Veiled Intentions.

----------------------------------------- Adrian

She’s dry and became startled at my touch. As much as she tried to play it off, something had shifted. Either she knows or something is going on, and I have a feeling it has everything to do with that nigga. I had two jobs when it came to her. The first was to keep her happy and have her thinking that she had some semblance of control. The other was to make sure that my affairs were private.

I contacted some of my eyes on campus, and no one seems to know who this light-skinned nigga is or what department he belongs to. He’s been seen leaving that library with Alana one too many times for my liking, and they seem to be…familiar.

One of the videos I received of the two showed that they exited the building seconds apart and at a reasonable distance, but she had that look on her face. The one where I can tell that she’s pissed at me but is trying to parse through her emotions and thoughts to deliver a sound explanation for the way she feels while conjuring the receipts to back it up. I’ve only seen her have that look on her face when she’s studying, arguing with one of her annoying colleagues at the department or into it with me. 

I’m not sure when this thing between Alana and I bloomed into what it is now, but I was all in. After that night at the gallery, I became increasingly drawn to her. She popped out of nowhere and right into my lap with the witty sarcasm of someone not phased by glitz and glamour. The kind of someone who could fit into any crowd but had an air of sophistication about her. Someone who could help me run an empire.

Outside of knowing that every eligible bachelor would want a piece of her fine ass, she was also an art history professor. Our paths couldn’t be more aligned. I knew I was gone when I asked her to move in with me just after a month and a half of us dating. She hadn’t given me any yet, and I was still fucking Tara, but I ended all of that on our fifth date. I wanted Alana around me all the time. I wanted to be in her skin if I could. While I believed in marriage, I also believed in taking my time in getting there. Something about her made me reevaluate my timeline. I needed her.

The first night we fucked, everything in me unlocked. I felt it would be worth the wait, but I had no idea how much. Our bodies were in sync from the first night. 

---------------------------------

It was the way her eyes begged for more as I kissed her. Savoring every bit of the champagne that was previously on her lips, I poured some down her chest and began to lick slowly. I didn’t typically like playing with food, but she seemed like the perfect meal and plate. Edible dining ware was what she was.

I licked every single drop off of her while her nipple pebbled. Her areolas were the perfect shade of dark chocolate. I took them into my mouth one by one, then together. Wondering what it would be like to slide my girth in between her tits, I hardened. She moaned. The sounds she would make could make a dead man rise. They made you want to learn about her body and find out how many different ways you could bring her pleasure just for a chance to hear her sing.

I trailed kisses down her stomach to her belly button and drank the pooling liquid from there. I wanted to experience every curve and crevice. I finally reached her mound. Smooth, fresh, hairless. She knew tonight would be the night, making me want her even more. I ate her like she was my last meal.

Her climax trickled down my goatee and mustache. I kept going, introducing fingers into her warmth and into her ass. Her eyes bulged and rolled to the back of her head. I needed a couple more standing O’s for my work before I introduced her to my throbbing dick. She came again.

She lay on the bed, almost lifeless, when I came out of my clothing and used the remnants of her organism to coat my shaft and enter her. She gasped as I stretched her. I’m not sure anyone has had the honors in a while because she winced in pain. I slowed my strokes, letting her adjust to me. She cried out to me, saying my name. It was then that I knew I would paint the city red behind her. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I gotchu.” “Too. Much,” she let out in a staccato. “You’re a big girl. I know you can take it.”

She cried and moaned. 

“You want me to stop?” “No. Fuuuuck, Adrian. No. Fuck meeeee” “Anything you want, Mami”

I drilled her until she gasped for air, and tears streamed down her face. It wasn’t long before we both climaxed. Round two went a lot smoother. She was still getting used to me; her movements were slower, but she rode me like her favorite horse. The views from the back sent me into orbit. Riding my dick, she palmed and massaged my balls, sending me to heights I didn’t know were attainable. 

“Alana, I’m gonna c–”

Right before I finished my sentence, she lifted off of my dick and began to take me into her mouth. She used her right hand to apply most of the pressure around my shaft and proceeded to take my balls into her mouth.

“Alanaaaa” I grunted. This was a sound unfamiliar to me. She stopped abruptly and looked up at me. After a second, she said, “Cum for me,” as she stared into my soul and proceeded to stroke my dick, suck my balls, and massage the saliva dripping down her mouth into my tent and ass. I busted immediately. 

“Oh, fuuuuuuuck!” I couldn’t help it. I screamed, my cream coating her face. She straightened her posture and licked the cum off of her lips with her tongue. She took her index finger and wiped her eyes next.

“Good boy,” was all she said in a sultry tone. Then she sauntered off into the bathroom.  When she reemerged, evidence of my lack of control was wiped from her face. She cleaned me off with the warm, moist rags. Slightly embarrassed, I attempted to apologize, but she cut me off.

“I know you’re not about to apologize for doing something I explicitly told you to do?!”

“I wasn’t trying to disrespect you by bussin’ on your face. I was trying to control it. I didn’t think you were going to–”

Her index finger pressed against my lips. “I don’t feel disrespected. I feel like I own you now,” she replied as a wicked grin stretched across her face. She had no idea how right she was.  -----------------------------

Tearing my thoughts away from that night and back to the footage before me, I thought back to this particular day. She wasn’t supposed to be on campus the day of this footage. She told me that it was going to be a maintenance day. I remember because I slid her about $500 and told her which color I wanted on her nails and toes. She looked at me with those bright golden brown orbs, and the corners of her mouth curled up the sides of her face, almost reaching her eyes. Thank you, baby. That was what she could manage before skipping out of the door.

When she returned, everything was done, but not before she went in to work on her day off—something she rarely did. Something was off. I called in a few favors and put a tail on this new guy. He looked like a cop or military officer, and if they were trying to get to me through her, I wanted to be the first to know about it. It’s nothing to get him sent for. If Alana was turning on a nigga, I needed to put her down too. 

I left the apartment and headed down to the museum. I had an important meeting with the head of Consortium, and from what I gather, he doesn’t take too kindly to waiting. Once I arrived, I greeted West and Rich. They gave me today’s itinerary, inventory, and any events that may be hosted today. I thanked them and headed to my office.

I retrieved my laptop from the secure safe and began typing in my code. From this computer, I could monitor all the cargo routes, see the merchandise in transit, and monitor goods from each warehouse. It was safer to track this here than it was at home. I couldn’t risk Alana stumbling upon this and asking all kinds of questions she wouldn’t get the answers to.

There was a big set of morals on that one. She didn’t dabble in the grey. It was one of the first things I learned about her when we were dating.

---------------------------------

“I don’t think anyone should withhold aid just because other people take advantage of it,” she said sternly. We walked past a homeless family with three kids sitting on the street. One of the kids had come up to us asking for money. Alana reached down in her purse, pulled out three ten-dollar bills, and gave one to each kid. She looked at me, waiting for me to contribute, and when I never did, she flashed a faint yet disappointed smile to the kids and bid them a good day.

She started admonishing me for my lack of empathy, chastising me for buying her lavish gifts but not giving to those in need. This sprung into a debate about the begging industry.

“So, you are aware that a lot of these people choose to stay poor to take advantage of your sympathy, using babies and children to do it. Some of these people, especially in foreign countries, maim their own kids, forcing them to be crippled their entire lives just to give the money they get from you to thugs. It’s an entire industry. Look it up,” I said intently.

“It’s not that I’m not aware of the disgusting side of poverty and how some of these people have to do disheartening and strange things for shelter, protection, and food. But if they don’t produce, then what? They end up dying.”

“And what if I told you that for a lot of them, death is inevitable, and your $10 isn’t going to do anything but ease your conscience.”

“You don’t know that! If it was you, would you want someone to help?”

“Of course, they all do. The way this society works, or any social and political caste system for that matter, there needs to be systemic help to bring them out of their situation. Because capitalism always needs to use someone’s neck as the first stone to climb the ladder of hierarchy, you won’t change anything, and neither will the political system. You’d do better donating to HBCUs, school libraries, or local art museums and programs.”

“Yeah, but who remembers them?” she asked, referring to the family she had just helped.

“No one”

“That’s just not good enough.”

“It shouldn’t be, but that’s the way it is,” I declared in finality. 

She eyed me curiously, probably trying to decipher how I knew so much about how the underbelly of society operated or how I’d formed such a crass opinion about society. She didn’t need to know any of that. I wasn’t trying to reopen those wounds for anyone, especially not her. 

--------------------------------

Someone opening the storage room on the eastern dock brought my mind back to the present. I peered intently at the unfamiliar face. He opened the doors wide, blocking the line of sight of the camera I was looking at, so I turned to look at another camera showing a different angle.

The man was tall, muscular, and wore a snapback cap with an arch in the brim. His entire outfit was all black, topped with a black slender puffer vest. He moved like he knew his way around the docks and our containers. I watched him picking up items and placing them back down. He marked things off on a piece of paper attached to a clipboard.

Working diligently, he moved deep into the depths of the shipping container until I could no longer see him or what he was doing. After a long while, he resurfaced again. Shutting the container doors, he locked it and proceeded to head to another container and do the same.

At first, I didn’t think anything was strange outside of the fact that I’d never seen this particular dock worker before, and I personally handed out payroll to each and every worker on the dock. He may have been a new hire, but I would meet him soon enough. It wasn’t until he left that I noticed something small yet odd. 

“Adrian, Lucien is in the conference room waiting to see you,” my secretary Octavia said. I kept the anomaly in mind as I gathered the documents I needed to present.

“I’m coming”

“Those are words I haven’t heard in a while,” she cooed. I paused and looked at her as she flashed a devious smile. 

“Mhm” is all I managed before I followed her down the hall. 

She was a very attractive woman. Caramel complected, cinnamon and vanilla scented, and soft-spoken, she had all the right weaponry when it came to her curves, and her slanted, hooded eyes looked at you like she knew.

I tried my best to avoid her, only speaking with her about projects and schedules, but she made the task impossible. She lingered a little too long, got a little too close, and was always a little too attentive. On some nights, when there were events at the gallery and Alana couldn’t make it, she often accompanied me around the room. People easily mistook us for a couple, and I had to correct the mistake that she didn’t seem to mind. 

----------------------------------

One particular night, at the Red Dragon Gala the museum hosted for the Chinese New Year two months ago, I went to my office to retrieve some bidding cards. We had run out downstairs, and there were way more investors than anticipated. That shit blew me because I always made sure that the list wasn’t too big as to draw attention to any particular event they were hosting.

I knew that my coming down here from the city had me pinned as the curator extraordinaire, but 30 big wigs in one small-town museum event for a heritage event was a little suspicious even for me. Our Chinatown wasn’t even that populous. I knew it wouldn’t make sense for anyone looking in, especially law enforcement, but nothing could be done about it. Everyone was already here. As I retrieved the last of the cards, I heard a set of heels behind me. 

“There you are,” she seductively beamed. “I was beginning to think I would have to send a search party for you.”

“No need. I was getting a few more cards for the auction. I didn’t know that so many people would be joining us tonight. I remember making that list and a lot less names were on it. A lot less invitations were created too. Any idea how this happened?” I inquired.

“Well,” she started, looking up at me with apologetic eyes. “Don’t be mad, but a couple of people on the original guest list wanted to bring plus ones who were interested in our events. I didn’t want to say ‘no’ and risk losing them as clients, so I obliged. Names on the guest list kept growing each week, but only those on the original list received formal invitations. I’m sorry,” she ran her fingers up and down the length of my arm. Her eyes never left mine.

“Next time, you come to me if you have issues with these assholes. You hear me?”

“No, I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear that. Couldn’t say that again,” she said, walking right into the space between my legs, lips at my left ear, and her right hand now caressing the sword underneath my slacks.

“Whoa, Oct—”

“That wasn’t what you were saying,” she continued, cutting me off. “I asked you to tell me what you said.

My breath became shallow, and after repeating myself, she unzipped my trousers. Reaching inside, she set my dick free and began to massage it.

“Nothing turns me on more than a man who protects. It makes me want to…give him things.”

“Like what?” I inquired, trying to even out my tone and steady my breath.

“The stars,” she replied, guiding me onto the floor by my member. 

I lay facing her as she lifted her skin-tight, floor-length dress and moved her thong to the side. She lowered herself onto me and, without hesitation, guided my dick into her warm walls.

“Shiiiiiiit,” he moaned.

With a salacious grin, she began riding me. Her even tempo allowed me to regain my composure because I was sure if she went any faster, I would be done for.

“You feel so good, Adrian. Is this what she’s getting at home?” Her alluding to Alana while bouncing on my dick didn’t sit too well with me, so I hoisted her up and changed positions. Turning her around, I placed an arch in her back and entered her from behind, snaking my hand around her neck. 

“Anh auh, we don’t talk about her,” I stroked, pounding my annoyance into her. As I proceeded to wreck her, I noticed that she had multiple tattoos of stars and planets on her ass, resembling a galaxy of some sort. It was the most intricate ink I had seen in a while.

“UUuoouuu, Adrian,” she yelled. I covered her mouth with my other hand, muffling her screams. Picking up on my rhythm, she started throwing it back. Matching me stroke for stroke, retreating and slamming into my center as I rammed into hers. The sounds of her creaming pussy and my hungry dick filled the air. 

I lowered myself just enough to whisper in her ear. “Don’t scream.” Then, I removed my hand from her mouth. I moved her legs together and pulled her arms back, using them as reigns. I entered her again. Her muffled cries ignited more fire in me. She tightened around my dick, threatening to explode.

“You better not fucking cum unless I tell you to. You fucked up once, don’t fuck up again,” I scolded.

“Please, Adrian. Please, baby, let me cum”

“Uh uh. You over here sending invites I didn’t tell you to send, then grabbing dick that ain’t yours. You must think you run shit around here.” The more I spoke, the rougher I became. I pounded her pussy until she almost collapsed. Her walls convulsed.

“Adrian, please. I’m going to come,” she gasped, tears streaming down her face.

“Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry, Adrian, please.”

“Sorry for what?”

“I’m sorry for sending those other invites. It won’t happen again, baby, please.”

I was reaching my peak and knew I could not hold on any longer. My balls were pulsating. She must have sensed that I was there because she tightened her pussy around my dick.

“Fuuuuck!”

“Let me cum”

“Let me see you. Rain all over this dick, bitch”

She let go as I continued to pound. A shower emanated from her, wetting my legs, shaft, and the tops of my pants.

“Damn, that’s some good pussy. I’m finna bust.”

“Mmmm cum in me, Adrian. Cum inside of me”.

I growled. Her pleas set me off as thick cream shot out of my tip. I pulled out a second later, stroking the rest of the hot substance out onto her ass and back. I closed my eyes briefly, trying to regulate my breathing and regain composure. She wiggled her ass, causing some of the cream to slide down the curve of the tattooed ring of one of the planets inked on her ass, hitting the nearby star on the way down her leg. 

“Damn”

“So, did you see them? She asked. I looked at her in confusion. “The stars,” she finished, chuckling. -----------------------------------

She turned around as she opened the door to the conference room, a knowing smile dancing across her face letting me know that she could feel my eyes dancing over her ass. 

“Let me know if you need anything,” she said as I walked past her. She closed the door behind me and sauntered off. I had no time to think about all the different ways she could wet my dick. Plus, I wasn’t going to risk losing Alana for her. She had amazing pussy, but she was no Alana. I settled my thoughts as I walked over to Lucien. I extended my hand over to him, and he took it. We both sat down. 

“I know you’ve come a long way so I won’t waste your time with pleasantries. I see that my secretary has gotten you some pastries, coffee, and your favorite drink, so I’ll dive right in.”

“Man after my own heart,” he said, smiling while his entourage chuckled. 

I started delving into the presentation. There were three areas that connected our operation. I went through all the inventory we’ve been getting worldwide and on U.S. soil. All the merchandise that we housed totaled up to eighty million dollars.

Then, I presented an active list of everyone who was interested in clientele. To date, we had about three hundred and forty-seven active buyers and a couple more on the waiting list that had substantial capital.

Lastly, I reviewed the brick-and-mortar locations, land, and charities we owned and supported. I gave them an estimated time on when we could realistically expand operations at this location without raising too many eyebrows.

“All those years ago in Santa Monica, when you barged into my office, I knew you were the man for the job. You were dingy and straight off the street, but I knew you were different. No ordinary beggar, drunk, or gambler could leverage their debt into a million-dollar scheme like this,” he started. One thing about the threatened and wealthy is that they always try to remind you of your place. Beneath them.

He turned to his right hand, nicknamed Cain, and said, “I fucking told you. You told me not to trust him, and I said this one is a spitfire. And he��s good-looking too. He’s black and spic, but I bet you he can get people to listen to him. Didn’t I say that?”

“Yeah, boss,” replied Cain.

This is the part of our interactions where it starts getting racist and I start to tune out. They all knew that I was more than qualified for this endeavor, and if another person could do the job, they would’ve found them already. They’d take anyone over a nigga.

My returns did not lie; in 2 years, I had made them even more prosperous than they’ve ever been.  I united worlds that generally had nothing to do with each other, kept peace, and ensured everyone got paid.

Most importantly, they didn’t know how. A couple of months in, a couple of Lucien’s guys were following me, trying to uncover just exactly how I did my shit, hoping to mimic the system and cut me out completely. They should all know that niggas are used to getting fucked over, and by now, this nigga would have come up with a foolproof way to remain the plug. Once Lucien made good on paying off all of my debt, that’s when I really started escalating the business. 

“I need you to run by the museums on Pinehurst and make sure everything is ready for the event in two weeks. As you know, there will be a lot of A-listers present. I need everything to run smoothly,” his tone changed from lighthearted to firm.

“I’ve been going there twice a week since it was announced, and I’m already set to head over there tomorrow. Everything will go as planned,” I replied, insulted. I’ve been doing this for two years, and he hops on a plane to tell me how to do my job.

“Good. Well then, I’ll leave you to it then,” he said. “Oh, I’m sure you already know this, but there has been increased chatter about what we do here. A lot of curious minds want to know why there is a sudden interest in Harborview. Many of them think something fishy is going on and want to join the party. I would expect that you keep that girlfriend of yours close and your friends at the precinct closer,” he tossed over his shoulder while eating a toasted croissant. 

I packed up my things and headed to the conference room, leaving them to the snacks and drinks on the table. I didn’t have time for a dick-measuring contest. I still needed him, and he knew that. He was a wealth of information, and I still had to be tapped in to finish this phase of the program.

I wondered what he meant by “keep Alana close.” It only fueled the doubt growing within me that something was going on with her, and I needed to know what. Once I made it, I scanned the security camera around the building. A habit I indulge in twice a day during the work day and once more in the evening.

As I looked at the corner of the screen, I noticed a navy blue car that looked like it had been parked there for a while. I didn’t remember seeing it this morning when I pulled into the side entrance. Something about that car looked very familiar. I tapped into the other camera on the street, which was placed there by some of Harborview’s finest for extra security, and I could see some of the time within the car.

I zoomed in to see some of the items. There were two soft, small stuffed animals at the back of each headrest, and there was also a leather satchel with braided leather tassels that rested between them. I recognized that satchel after staring at it for a couple of minutes. What is she doing here?

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As always, I am so thankful that you made it till the end. Please comment, reblog, ask questions, and throw in some suggestions of what you may want to see next. I had fun writing this one and I thought it was about time that we heard from Adrian! CATCH UP: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

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