#I was already to sleep and then wanted to get this one scene down on paper and that was over 2 hours ago

[peppertoastuniverse]

Hi pepper!

I have a request for a one shot Gojo x reader. that’s fluffy based off of this song called “memory lane” by aqualina

I do have a scene based off of it but do whatever you’d like. Imagine this, either reader or Gojo finds some old footage of Him, reader, Shoko and Geto hanging out in their high school years. Reader and Gojo reminisce on old memories.

omg thank you for your sweet request ! hope this one was worth the wait ✨

something good – gojo satoru x reader

contents: gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru mention, ieri shoko mention, light angst with LOTS OF FLUFF, mentally strugging softboy!satoru gojo, lots of yearning, 2 pages of making out, slightly suggestive summary: gojo uncovers hidden memories and realises that all he needs is you wc: 3.6k

spring time, second year.  “.. it looks like me and you haven’t really changed that much, hey?” he says softly, the fondness for you showing in his younger face all those years before.   even when he didn’t ask, he knew that you would always be there. you were his constant. he didn’t know when he started seeing you in everything he did, if you could see his thoughts, you’d be able to see your smile reflecting back at you.

“satoru?” still concentrating on his nintendo DS, he sighs. he recognizes suguru’s tone, it either going to be a deep question or a fucking stupid one. he rolls over with a groan on suguru’s bed to face his best friend, his book that he was reading lay forgotten on his desk. “yeah?” satoru asks lazily, eyes darting back to his flashing screen. “who do you see yourself as in the future?” oh, here we go. satoru fights the need to roll his eyes. “what do you want for your life?”  “pff, I want to just fucking beat this level.” he says aggravatingly, groaning dramatically as his character dies again. suguru laughs seeing his flashing screen, previous annoyance disappearing instantly, satoru can’t help but grin back – he always liked suguru’s laugh. 

“...don’t you ever think about it though? the future?” the future?

he blinks. blessed with great strength and power, he knew from a young age that that choice wasn’t something that he was lucky enough to have. satoru never had to worry about the future, he had his whole life planned out for him. the thought never saddened him, and why should it? he wasn’t a fool and believed that all things were equal in this world. he was the chosen one, the future of jujutsu society – that was just how life was –  another consequence of being the honoured he supposed. but glancing at suguru’s thoughtful expression, the flicker of hope and despair in his violet eyes, his rough hands winding through his dark hair, it was clear to see that this obviously mattered to suguru. satoru didn’t understand where suguru was going with this but it was just like him to worry about things that didn’t matter. satoru sighs, attention back to his game,  “i dunno, it’s hard to say when we’re already the strongest. what else could you want?” suguru scoffs, shaking his head “you won’t be a teenager forever – you’d better wake up sooner or later, satoru.” satoru jolts awake, moving his blindfold up to rub his eyes irritatedly. 

shit, for once he didnt mean to fall asleep. still feeling slightly disoriented, he hastily slides off of the couch, moving quickly to his room down the hall. groaning as he glances at the clock in the hall, he sighs hoping to ignore his slightly teary eyes. he was going to be late – you were going to kill him. 

satoru hasn’t been sleeping well lately – not that it was from a lack of effort. he’s tried melatonin pills, exercising before bed, even those sleepy girlie time party mocktails – or whatever you called them – but nothing helped. it definitely wasn’t the endless missions that the irritating higher ups were making him go on, he was used to the workload. maybe he was worried about something. walking quickly through his room, satoru wondered if you were getting enough sleep. did you have dreams too? sleep never seemed to be there when he wanted it. rubbing his face, to fully pull himself into reality, satoru could still feel the remnants of the quiet comfort produced by his unexpected dream. he felt shame at the feeling. guilt in the comfort. 

satoru didnt get a lot of sleep to begin with, but there were times where the extra hours awake weren’t all bad. he might as well be useful, which is how satoru started learning how to cook in the early hours of the morning, proudly surprising tsumiki and megumi with cute bento boxes. he would binge watch a whole tv series at once, determined to tell nanami all about it at jujutsu tech. but he thinks the best use of his time awake was when he was simply seated on the couch with you, listening to you talk about your day until the drowsiness would overtake you and he could just hold you for a little bit. he liked when you came over, tsumiki and megumi liked it too. just last week, when he saw your expression melt when tsumiki begged you to stay for dinner, giving into her like you always have. satoru remembers your grin as you sat next to silently pleased megumi, picking out the tender pieces of chicken from your plate to give him more of his favourite. when you were around satoru noticed that fushiguros were more at ease, and he couldn’t help but think that maybe it would be better if you moved in. but this was uncharted territory – a necessary boundary– protecting you from the rise and fall of his storm. his greed would have to lay dormant in his dreams. 

but the lines were getting blurrier throughout the years. satoru couldnt deny how his face would light up when you’d call him while he was on a lengthy overnight mission. concern smothering the delight in your voice that he was still awake (“satoru! what the fuck, did you even sleep today?”), he’d easy dodge your concerns, covering the fatigue in his voice with teasing remarks and crude jokes to your obvious frown.  “tell me something good, satoru” you’d say, seeing right through him like you always did, voice still laced with sweetness, wanting nothing more than to listen to him talk. 

taking wide strides across his room to throw something on, satoru rustles quickly into his closet grabbing whatever looked clean and appropriate. if he showed up in his crinkled pajamas again to a meeting again, you’d surely cuss him out. his eyebrows crease at the thought of disappointing you, he was supposed to make you smile not stress you out – he made a promise to himself to always look out for you and there you go again worrying about him. 

hastily grabbing the folded dark blue sweater at the back of his closet, blue eyes widen at a box toppling to the floor. its contents dramatically spilling across the cold hardwood floors. 

great. he didn’t have time for this. groaning, he quickly kneels down to right the box, his breathing hitches. 

strewn across his floor, he sees scenes of his missing dreams. photographs of his time at jujutsu tech as a student, his eyes taking in the many photographs that shoko had taken, moments of a simpler past. gathering the pile of photos, he slowly rifles through them – a photo of shoko and him with matching peace signs, a photo of you doing shoko’s hair, blurry photos of suguru chasing after you when you’d steal his cigarettes, snickering photos of him trying to climb suguru like a tree, a photo of you and kento sharing sandwiches. 

another lifetime ago. he picks up the slightly faded photo of himself and you, a reminder of a well loved memory. satoru shakes his head softly at the way you sat on his back while he was sprawled out on the gym mats, his glasses perched at the top of your head acting as a crown on your shit eating face.  satoru cant help but grin at his own small pout in the grainy photo. shoko always had the best timing. you had a bet with suguru that if you could get gojo’s glasses, he would treat you to unlimited free ramen from that nice place in shibuya with the fresh noodles for two months. 

satoru remembered how you’d excitedly roll off him ignoring his grumbling, “toru, you know i had to win! it’s suguru! have you seen how much sugu eats? that fucker would run me dry! but don’t worry, i’ll get him to pay for you too.” 

he never told you that he had let you win of course, not putting up much of a fight, distracted by the smile on your face – so bright that he couldn’t bear to diminish it. you must have had some sort of curse in your smile, even convincing a begrudging suguru into paying for satoru everytime, “sugu, you have to! he’s going to whine and cry, do you really want to deal with that?” 

after that month, satoru never went to back that ramen place again– too sick of it to go back. he could hear the creaking floors when the three of you would arrive,  the smell of the rich broth and the sound of suguru’s laughter when he teased you.   satoru knows you havent had shio ramen since then – you insisted on have ramen for every meal for a month to suguru’s annoyance. perhaps he’d invite you to go eat there again if it was still there. 

somewhere in his mind he thinks he hears the warm sound of your arrival, the jingling of the key that he gave you when the fushiguros first moved in. your usual light steps, heavy now with annoyance. 

“really, satoru?” you yell, annoyance dripping from your sharp tongue. “i’ve been calling you a billion times, this is an important meeting – we can’t be late again. you fucking said you’d be ready by the time i –” you see his still figure hunched at his closet. your eyes narrow in confusion, your tightened fist unclenching at the sight of his still broad back. 

“... satoru?” you call, voice softening as you notice the tension in his shoulders and the unnatural stillness of his too tall body. curiously you creep up behind him, your  slow hands feel his shoulders, the tension cold and heavy in his muscles, your hesitant hands leaving a trail of fire behind them. arms weaving their way around his slender neck, a place that you’ve been before. your eyes take in the photos strewn on the floor, visions of a past life swirling in his cluttered mind. your eyes widen. 

“..’toru?” you try again – more gently – calling him from the abyss, a light in a rough storm. eventually, you feel his large cold hand reach up to gently hold your right hand in response, his blue eyes tear away from the photographs, tousled white hair leaning against your abdomen, his tired eyes looking up at your concerned face. 

“hey.” he greets you, trying to mask his fallen expression with a hollow smile, a carefully practiced defense, something that he developed in childhood but perfected in suguru’s absence. but you knew him well. you knew how his eyebrows would crease or how his lip twitched when he was on the verge of crying.  

the dark rings around his eyes echoes you concern – were they darker than usual? you sigh as you take into account his far away stare, his icy watery eyes. crouching down, all anger forgotten, you look over his shoulder to take a closer look at the photo he’s holding. apologetically you let go of his hand in exchange for the photograph, sitting down beside him instead. you miss his eyebrows furrow slightly missing the comforting squeeze of your hand. a bittersweet smile dancing on your face, you stare at the photo, all words dying on your suddenly too heavy tongue. a photo of a past life, a happier time:  suguru’s exasperated expression contrasting his bright amethyst eyes, face fashioned in a pout as he was sandwiched obnoxiously in between you and satoru. a wild grin decorating your face, mischievous eyes closed in mid laughter at suguru’s grumbling, while satoru pulled bunny ears behind suguru.

“oh god, look at him.” you whisper pointing out suguru’s dark shorter hair when he first arrived at jujutsu tech. you almost forgot what he looked like before he – 

your eyes blink, you didn’t want to think about it. 

satoru scoffs, “i know, doesn’t he look like an idiot?” 

“remember how you’d make fun of him all the time? you were such a bully to him – he really hated you when we started.” you laugh sadly.  

“that’s not my fault, he was fucking asking for it! he kept calling me q-tip! or nepobaby!” he counters, betraying tenderness in his tone. “shut up, i know you liked it when he called you anything close to baby!” you quip back, face denouncing you in a soft grin. a heavy silence invades the intimate space between you two, his absence sitting in between you, his rightful spot now vacant.  suguru. you lean your head on satoru’s shoulder, his arm moving around you to settle at your waist instinctively. you look into his eyes reading him easily: i miss him too. 

suguru’s defection was still a sore spot in your mind. satoru still hasnt been able to say his name out loud, suguru’s name carrying too much weight. you suspected that satoru wanted to carry his best friend with him despite the heaviness, a sense of masochistic comfort. you hoped that he knew that you were always there for him when the time came, you still felt the hurt too. 

but there was a strange sort of solace that still lingered in his name. suguru’s memory was still soft if you focused but the pain caused by his name was still sharp and rough around the edges. when was the last time you and satoru spoke this openly about him?

the memory still hurt. a wound that would reopen at any given movement, unable to heal, cutting deeper as time went by. 

mercifully sensing the pounding of your heavy heart, satoru clears his throat and fishes out another photo in the messy pile. a photo of shoko and himself, a cigarette dancing on shoko’s lips, gojo looking at her in mid conversation. 

“ewww – look at you here.” you point out, wrinkling your nose, “this really wasnt your best haircut...” 

he scoffs, the twinkle in his eyes showing you his amusement.  “you’re the one who did it – ”

“oh fuck, right!” you laugh, thinking about the very first time satoru begged you to cut his hair – shoko was away on a rare mission–  yelping at you when you closed your eyes in nervousness, resulting in an uneven cut. you both remembered how shoko laughed so hard she cried when she saw him. you definitely didn’t cut his hair this time, admiring his soft locks and even trim. you move your generous hands to comb through his soft hair gently, enjoying the feeling of his undercut under your slow hands. he closes his eyes, a please sigh escaping his lips, tension immediately easing from his body.

“it’s better now though, hey? makes me even more handsome,” he teases, his eyes still closed. 

“nah, still ugly. brings out your buggy eyes. ‘m so glad you started wearing the blind fold.” you mutter, still playing with his hair absentmindedly. 

ignoring his whine, you laugh, “wow, shoko still looks amazing though.. look at her cute little cheeks! I forgot how she used to put pins in her hair like that.” previous annoyance disappearing instantly, satoru can’t help but grin back – he always liked your laugh. 

he watches while a strange far away expression infiltrates your face, picking up a photo, edges creased contrasting the vividness of his memory. shoko and suguru smiling at the camera, while you and satoru were in mid conversation smiling at each other. spring time, second year. 

“.. it looks like me and you haven’t really changed that much, hey?” he says softly, the fondness for you showing in his younger face all those years before.  

even when he didn’t ask, he knew that you would always be there. you were his constant. he didn’t know when he started seeing you in everything he did, if you could see his thoughts, you’d be able to see your smile reflecting back at you. your presence somehow simultaneously exciting him and putting him at ease. maybe it started when you stole his glasses in first year, or the countless detentions you both got in. surely, it must have been the night that suguru left. in the darkness he wasn’t sure who was holding who, your tears mixing with his as you clung to him in your sleep.

maybe it was when you showed up at megumi’s school when he first got into a fight even though you were in the middle of a mission last month, a fire in your eyes. or maybe it was when you comforted tsumiki when she came home upset over a fight with one of her friends. maybe it was in the way you talked her through it, rubbing her back gently while you listened to her through her teary words. or when you ate all his mochi yesterday, cheekily claiming “you said you’d share, satoru!” whenever it started, he knew that something different was blossoming into maturity in the past few months – something that he never knew could be a possibility –  let alone for someone like him. 

“we should take an updated photo, we never have photos of just us,” you decide, turning to face him fully. “my phone or yours?” he asks, eyes still the photo, breathing in the way you smiled at him all those years ago. unchanged. 

“mhm, yours.” you say as he digs his phone out of his back pocket. “i want a good one, ‘kay toru?? i dont need any more photos of you sticking your tongue out..” you mutter, scooching closer to him. “oy, come closer – you’re so far,” you whine, grabbing his forearm urging him to get closer for a better photo. 

“c’mere then..” he mutters, gently shuffling you so that you’re sitting in his lap, as you hum in content at the warmth of his skin against yours. he easily drowned you, this familiar place, his familiar embrace. yet this time you felt the tide shift, something softer, vulnerable – the calm waters after a storm.  you lean your head to his as you both smile for the camera as the shutter echoes through the room. 

moving impossibly closer to you, he turns his head towards you, his phone lay forgotten on the floor. sensing his stare you turn your head to his, eyes questioning his soft gaze. as the air grows thicker bursting with the weight of years of fondness and poorly hidden desires, your eyes flicker to the curve of his lips. breathing the same air as him, you feel light headed, drunk off the very presence of him.   

inching closer he feels his soft lips meet yours, a fluttering feeling, hesitant and foreign but firm and sure. you easily wind your arms around his neck, sighing as you pull him closer, jumping into the deep end when you’ve been wading in the shallows for years. he effortlessly maneuvers you to straddle his lap, large hands pressing against your back, pulling you closer to meld his heart to yours, his hands begging to memorize the feeling of you. 

too preoccupied drowning in him, you hesitantly break away from him to breathe, only to rest your forehead on his. grounding yourself in the feeling of his warm breath on your cheek, uneven and heavy, your erratic heartbeat threatens to break the fragile silence. the air grew hot and heavy, buzzing with anticipation and nerves.  satoru bumps his slender nose with your playfully, causing you to grin. a relieved smile dancing on his face in reply, a silent conversation dancing in his eyes, a celebration of his love, a proclamation of his devotion to you, an apology for waiting this long, an admission of forever. 

needing to feel more of him, you move your hand to cup his flushed cheek, the sweetness in his skin grounds you once more – satoru was always the question and the solution wound tightly into one. confessions of the past and future swirling in his blue, you meet the weight of his tender gaze like you were carrying the strongest’s life in your very hands. his skin burning with your touch, you greedily move to kiss him to soothe the ache, swallowing his smile in your greed. 

melting with the reassurance of his lips to yours like a signature on a previously forgotten love letter, you wonder how you lasted this long without his lips on yours. you bite back a pleased smile as he reciprocates eagerly, deepening the kiss, tongues dancing, his soft lips moving in tandem with a bruising promise to always be yours if you let him. when your hands weave through his hair, a dark purr escaping his throat, reverberating through your core. his arm grips you tightly as his other hand moves to settle at the nape of your neck, feeling your heart beat in sync through his flushed skin. 

breathlessly, with great effort two magnets part, your hands loosening your grip on his soft t shirt. breaths tangling together, drinking in each other. 

still intoxicated by the feeling of you, satoru can’t help but nuzzle into your warmth, his forehead finding yours once more. his eyes still on your swollen lips, evidence of his want, his mind already on the thought of kissing you again, like he would die without the feeling. “y’okay?” you mumble, heaving chest enjoying his touch. 

he chuckles at the absurdity of your question, you should know by now that he was always okay as long as you were with him – the only time that he feels he would get better is when you were there. 

“hey – don’t laugh…” you mutter suddenly embarrassed by his stare, a deeper blush finding a way onto your cheeks emphasizing your growing pout. laughing fully now, his strong arms bring you closer as they wind around your waist sweetly.

unable to resist, you lightly kiss his jawline as his wandering hands brush some hair out of your face. “hmph, you’re such a dick and after everything i do for you too…” you playfully whisper without malice, leaning into his broad chest, rolling your eyes.

“mm.. how should i make it up to you?” he mumbles, slender hand tilting your chin up to force your gaze to look at him. as you bravely meet his tender gaze, you notice that something different was in his eyes.

“damn, i gotta help you with that one too?” you tease, giggle blooming in your throat as he kisses our nose gently. “well… i have a few ideas.” he hums, moving to kiss you fully, slow and sweet savouring you. “you always do…” you mutter, eyes on his grinning lips. 

perhaps now he could answer suguru’s question he thought as you move to rest your head on his shoulder. satoru knew he wanted you. holding you in his arms now, feeling your shy smile on his neck –  he knew that you were something good.

requests are open a/n: they did not make it to the meeting lol ngl this request was tough, but i loved the challenge of writing my first smoochie smoochie scene.

dividers by @/adornedwithlight

[eiluned]

Sweet Little Death (Lucanis/Rook; explicit)

by eiluned

Read it on AO3

Info: Explicit, Lucanis/Rook, no Veilguard spoilers, set after the romance soft lock scene. THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED.

Summary: There was only one bed. Clearly Lucanis can’t share it with Rook without losing what’s left of his sanity.

Notes: Thank you to Amanda for coming up with the idea even though she hasn’t played Veilguard yet and has just been on the business end of my hyperfixation firehose. And enormous thanks to Amanda and Trina for beta reading!

Please enjoy the fruits of my 1 am writing binge. Feedback makes me happy. <3

-

There was only one unused guest room in the House of Valor, at least according to Isabela, but they were welcome to it.

Lucanis made sure his expression was set to stony-faced acceptance and followed Rook as she led him through the warren of hallways. Taash had decided to stay with their mother, and hopefully that wouldn’t end in her house going up in a blaze of dragon fire. But sharing a room with Rook was the more pressing concern in his mind.

“Here it is,” she said, unlocking a rather nondescript door and pushing it open.

The only guest room available in the House of Valor had only one bed.

They both stood in the doorway for an awkward moment, Rook blushing slightly and Lucanis trying to tamp down a vague sense of panic at the sleeping arrangements. “Well,” Rook finally said, stepping into the room, “This is cozy?”

The room was perfectly fine, cozy even, but the fact of the matter was still that it had one bed. Just one. And clearly they couldn’t share it without Lucanis losing what was left of his sanity.

“You take the bed,” he said, closing and bolting the door behind himself. “I’ll sleep on the…”

He looked around to see a small table, two very straight-backed wooden chairs and very little else in the way of furniture.

“The floor?” Rook said skeptically, dropping her pack beside the door. “The cold stone floor? Lucanis, don’t be ridiculous. You look dead on your feet; you need to sleep. We can share the bed.”

His stomach swooped at the thought, and he felt Spite’s interest stir. “No, the floor is fine,” he said a little too quickly, and Rook cocked an eyebrow at him, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “Or the chair,” he added a bit lamely.

Rook looked from the bed to the chair to the floor and then back to him before shaking her head. “Suit yourself,” she said, shrugging and starting to remove her armor.

Someone dropped off food and ale, and they ate in a silence which was only slightly awkward. It was already late, and it had been a long day fighting Antaam on the beaches. Rook stretched, raising her arms and arching her back in a way that made her shirt stretch enticingly over her breasts.

“YES YES,” Spite rasped in the back of his mind, and Lucanis made an effort to stare at the table until her stretch was done.

“Fuck, I’m exhausted,” she said, hauling herself to her feet. “I’m going to turn in. When the chair or the floor or whatever gets too uncomfortable, just nudge me over and take your half of the bed.”

There was absolutely nothing sexual in what Rook had said, but Lucanis’s mind immediately went to skin against skin, his arms around her and her legs around him, the scent of her overwhelming his senses. He stared very hard at the table, gripping his fork so hard he thought he might bend it, as Spite started up a litany of all of the dirty things he wanted to do to Rook.

“You all right?”

He jumped at her question and found her giving him a look of concern. “I’m fine,” he replied, making an effort to relax his posture. “Spite is acting up.”

Rook gave him a little smile that made his stomach flip. “Tell him I said to behave,” she said, climbing into the bed. “Wake me if disaster strikes.”

She fell asleep quickly, leaving Lucanis to awkwardly move the chairs around so he could prop up his feet and attempt to sleep. It was a little ridiculous, how awkward he felt around Rook. He was never awkward; he strove to be cool and collected no matter the circumstances, but Rook… She was beautiful, yes, but also clever and funny and kind, to everyone but especially to him. He was used to being treated with deference or wariness or fear, but not kindness. 

And he wasn’t entirely sure what to say in response to her flirty little comments. He wanted to kiss her, to be completely honest with himself, but they hadn’t discussed their near-kiss in the pantry since it happened. He just assumed he had fucked that up and resolved to pretend it hadn’t happened. 

Of course, pretending didn’t keep him from wanting her so badly it made his body ache. 

Scowling at himself, he crossed his arms over his chest and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the chair back digging into his shoulder blades.

-

It took two hours of uncomfortable dozing for Lucanis to give up.

Rook was right; he was painfully tired after too many nights of hardly any sleep, and he would be useless in the morning if he didn’t get some decent rest. Sighing in frustration, he got to his feet and went to stand beside the bed.

It was wider than his cot in the pantry, but it certainly didn’t seem to have been built with two sleepers in mind. Rook was curled up on her side close to the far edge, and there seemed to be enough blanket for the two of them. Lucanis was a compact man, but he still wasn’t sure there was enough room in that bed for them to sleep without touching. And touching seemed… dangerous.

“TOUCH HER. WANT. TO FEEL,” Spite hissed in his head.

“Shut up,” he muttered back, lifting the blanket so he could slide under it.

The bed was made of a net of ropes tied to the frame with a mattress on top, and when he settled his weight in, everything rolled toward the middle. Rook murmured in her sleep as her body shifted, and Lucanis froze for a second, hoping she wouldn’t wake. When she didn’t, he grabbed the edge of the frame and hauled himself over, making sure no part of his body was touching hers.

“TOUCH HER. COWARD.”

He ignored the demon in his head and closed his eyes, sinking swiftly into sleep.

-

It was the best sleep he’d had in as long as he could remember. He was remarkably settled, with no nightmares that lingered.

He slowly came awake, breathing in a sweet scent, warm and comfortable, and he thought for a second about just falling back asleep and staying there as long as he could.

“SMELLS GOOD,”Spite purred in his ear. “SO WARM.”

Awareness shot through Lucanis like a lightning bolt. He and Rook had somehow rolled together during the night, and he was currently spooned up against her back. Her body was tucked against his from head to toe with his arm slung around her waist, and to his utter mortification, his groin was firmly pressed against her ass, his cock hard as a rock.

“STAY,” Spite hissed, looming over him. “TOUCH HER.”

Lucanis didn’t dare answer his demon for fear he’d wake Rook. And he did want to touch her, to keep touching her like this. It was intoxicating, the feel of her in his arms, the scent of her hair in his nose, the heat of their bodies mingling through the layers of their clothing.

But it was definitely not right to be this close to grinding his erection against her, not while she was sleeping, and despite Spite’s protests, he started to slowly disengage. But Rook sighed and caught his wrist in her hand, pulling his arm more tightly around her. He froze, and she sighed again, wiggling a little as if trying to get closer to him.

“I can tell you’re awake,” she murmured, and he could feel her chuckle when he jumped in surprise. “You don’t have to move. If you don’t want to, I mean.”

He sucked in a somewhat shaky breath, which was a mistake as it filled his nose even more fully with her scent. “Mierda,” he groaned, pressing his face into her hair. “This is a bad idea.”

Rook’s hand snaked back to his hip, her fingers digging in as she pushed herself more firmly against his body. “Doesn’t feel bad to me,” she said, and he could hear the smirk in her voice.

“You are going to kill me.”

“Mm, but won’t it be a sweet little death?”

Brushing her hair out of the way, he pressed his lips against the nape of her neck, tongue darting out to taste her. It was her turn to gasp, her grip on him tightening as she rolled her hips against his. “Tell me to stop,” he whispered, propping himself up on his elbow so he could better pepper kisses across her skin to the tender spot just below her ear.

“NO. DON’T STOP,” Spite growled, but Lucanis pushed him to the back of his mind.

“Don’t stop,” Rook moaned, arching in to him, echoing Spite even though she couldn’t have heard him.

Lucanis was utterly lost. His objections, no matter how logical they may have been before he was in bed with Rook, vanished into nothingness. He wanted her so desperately, and she wanted him, something that still baffled him. But she was there, in his arms, pressed against him, wanting him, and the why didn’t matter anymore.

Twisting in his arms, Rook pressed her lips to his, her hand sinking into his hair, and oh, was he thoroughly lost.

He kissed her hungrily, and she met him with enthusiasm, tilting her head to let him kiss her more deeply, hooking her leg over his hip. She arched against him when he slid his hand under her shirt and over the soft skin of her stomach, up to cup her breast. 

“Yes,” she breathed against his lips, whimpering when he rubbed his thumb across her hard nipple. 

Her own hands were busy unbuttoning his shirt, and he stopped touching her just long enough to yank it off his arms and toss it to the floor while she whipped hers over her head, leaving her hair wild around her face. The oil lamp he’d forgotten to extinguish gave off enough light for him to see that her cheeks were flushed, her pupils dilated, and he didn’t think he had ever seen anything so beautiful in his life. 

She pressed herself against him again, kissing him deeply, her hands roaming over his bare chest and down to the waistband of his trousers. Her pants and underwear slipped down over her hips easily, and she kicked them off, somehow managing to unfasten his trousers at the same time. 

His pants hit the floor, and then they were gloriously naked, skin pressed against hot skin. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his hips, pulling him on top of her, and Maker, she really was going to be the death of him.

Lucanis trailed a series of sucking kisses across her jaw and down her neck, enjoying the way she shivered underneath him when he brushed his beard against her skin. She arched when he licked at one nipple, her legs tightening around his ribs, and oh, that was a nice reaction. Closing his lips around the stiff nub, he suckled at her, and that reaction was even better; she writhed against him, her breath coming in quick gasps.

Switching to the other breast, he gave it the same treatment and groaned as she sank her hands into his hair, her fingernails grazing his scalp deliciously. “L-Lucanis,” she whimpered, shuddering when he tugged at her nipple gently with his teeth. “Please…”

“TASTES GOOD,” Spite rasped inside his head. “SO GOOD. WANT TO. FUCK HER.”

The shared thought made his cock throb, but he didn’t want to rush into that just yet. “I want to taste you,” he purred, lifting up enough to kiss her mouth deeply again. “Can I taste you?”

“I will murder you if you don’t,” Rook replied with a breathless laugh, and he grinned at her as he slid down her body.

There wasn’t enough room on the bed, so he slipped off to kneel on the floor and pulled her toward him so that her hips were right at the edge. She opened her legs eagerly for him, and he let his eyes feast on the sight of her spread open for him, her folds glistening with wetness in the lamplight. Propping herself up on her elbows, she met his eyes, catching her bottom lip between her teeth, and holding her gaze, he dipped his head and slowly licked up the line of her cunt.

He was admittedly not experienced with this sort of thing. His only real sexual experience had been a few fumbling attempts years before, and after that he had been just too busy or focused or…

“AFRAID,” Spite added helpfully, and Lucanis swore silently at the demon.

But inexperience be damned, Lucanis was observant, his attention to detail superb, his instincts finely honed. And he had read a ridiculous number of rather explicit romances, so he thought he had a good idea of what he needed to do.

Using his thumbs to gently part her folds, he licked her again, dipping his tongue inside of her, and Rook collapsed onto her back, crying out as he dragged his tongue up to lap at her swollen pearl.

His finely honed instincts told him to keep doing that.

In seconds, her body had tensed like a bowstring, her heels pushing against the bedframe, her hands coming down to fist in his hair in an effort to keep him where she clearly wanted him to be. With a hum of pleasure at the taste of her, he closed his lips around her pearl, sucking gently. She cried out again, her hips coming off of the mattress, and he grabbed her ass with both hands, holding her against his mouth so he could devour her.

“DELICIOUS. TART HONEY,” Spite rumbled, and for once, Lucanis was in complete agreement with his demon; Rook was the best thing he had ever tasted.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” she moaned, her fingers tightening in his hair, her body shaking as he flicked his tongue over the sensitive nub. “Please don’t stop, Lucanis, please…”

Looking up her body, he met her eyes, and wildly, that seemed to be what pushed her over the edge. She shuddered hard, her thighs tightening almost painfully around his head, and he sucked at her as she came against his tongue.

It was so good that he nearly came, even without a touch.

Her thighs eventually slacked and she released his hair, squirming away from his mouth with a breathless laugh. “Stop, stop,” she gasped, pushing herself back up onto her elbows. “It’s too much, too good.”

Taking a few deep breaths to get himself under control, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her inner thigh, enjoying the way she sighed, her eyes slipping shut for a second. They opened again when he climbed onto the mattress, catching her under her arms to pull her back up to the head of the bed, and she smiled up at him lazily. She was soft and pliant under his touch, her thighs parting again so he could settle between them, and she pulled him down into a kiss that took his breath away.

His cock strained away from his body, and when she hooked her heels around the backs of his thighs, it pressed against the slick heat of her cunt. Oh, he wasn’t going to last long, and he hoped he didn’t embarrass himself too badly.

“Are you ready?” he asked breathlessly.

“If you’re not inside of me in the next five seconds—” she began.

He laughed and pushed steadily into the wet, gripping heat of her.

“—oh fuck,” she finished, the word drawn out on a moan.

When he was buried to the hilt, he had to stay perfectly still for a moment. He had never imagined it would feel so incredible to be inside of her, and he really was going to embarrass himself if he couldn’t get himself under control.

“TIGHT AND HOT. AND GOOD. SO GOOD,” Spite rasped, and Lucanis buried his face in Rook’s hair, gasping when she hitched her legs a little higher on his hips.

Her arms wrapped around him, pulling him down onto her fully, and that contact nearly did him in. “Be still, mi tesoro,” he rumbled, his heart pounding in his ears.

Thankfully she mostly obeyed, just tightening her arms around him. Nuzzling his jaw, she pressed her face against the side of his neck, her own breath stuttering into her lungs as they adjusted to the feel of each other.

“Maker, you feel so good,” she whispered, her lips brushing against his earlobe.

It didn’t matter if he had himself under control or not; his hips rocked against hers, his cock slipping out and back into her. With a groan, he took her mouth in a kiss again, stroking his tongue against hers, sliding one arm under her shoulders to hold her against his chest. He cupped her cheek with the other hand, pressing his forehead against hers when they broke apart to gasp for breath.

She gazed up at him, right into his eyes, and he was drowning in her. Her hips lifted into his thrusts, her body taking him in so perfectly, and her fingers gripped his back, holding him tightly as he lost himself in her. He held onto his control by his fingernails, wanting this to last longer but hurtling inevitably toward the sweetest oblivion.

“It’s all right,” she murmured, kissing him deeply, holding him even tighter. “You can let go, Lucanis.”

He hadn’t realized he’d needed to hear that until the words fell from her lips. All of the tension in him, all of the anxiety and fear and desperation, suddenly snapped.

Throwing his head back, he shouted out her name. Spasms wracked him, his cock throbbing as he spilled deep inside her welcoming body. She pressed wet kisses against the corded line of his neck, murmuring encouragement and pleasure and sweet nothings, holding him as he slowly came back into himself. It was like dying and being reborn in a burst of fire, and he had never felt anything like it before.

They lay there for a long moment, kissing languidly, her hands caressing him so gently. He hadn’t dreamed it could be so good, nor that he needed this so badly. He needed the release of their bodies coming together so intimately. He needed the acceptance of her embrace, her kisses, her soft eyes meeting his, and her smiles and her affection. And he didn’t know if he would be able to live without it after this night.

When his softening cock slipped free from her body, Rook nudged him to roll to the side and got up from the bed, padding into the little adjoining privy. Lucanis suddenly felt awkward again; what the hell was he supposed to do? Did she leave because she needed to get away?

“STOP THINKING,” Spite grumbled. “JUST WAIT.”

A moment later, she came back into the room, still gloriously naked, her hair spilling over her shoulders and her hips swaying with each step. He gasped in shock when a wet cloth smacked into his chest, and she laughed in delight. “So that’s how to catch you by surprise,” she teased, climbing back onto the bed. “Just walk around naked, and you’re so distracted that you’d never see it coming.”

“I’d be happy to see you coming,” he teased back, sitting up.

“Oh, I see you’ve regained your faculties,” she said with a grin, unabashedly watching as he cleaned himself up with the cloth. “Should I be on my guard for more seductive banter?”

The cloth landed on the floor with a splat, and he pressed his lips against hers, loving the way she moaned and melted into his kiss.

Rook curled up against him, pulling the blanket over their entwined bodies, and she quickly fell asleep with her cheek resting on his chest. Her hair smelled so sweet, and her body was warm and soft against his, wrapped around him, relaxed and comfortable like she was at home in his arms. The demon in him purred in contentment, settled like he had never been before.

Lucanis was so lost.

But maybe he needed to be.

[moonperil6]

Blessed by a Trickster

Chapter Ten: Why on Earth Would I Want you to Obliterate my Bestie?

Prev/Next

Warnings: None!!!

Word Count: 731

“No, no, no, no!” Hermes called. “You’re doing it wrong!”

You sighed in frustration and stopped struggling against the bonds tied to your wrists. “It’s midnight!” you whined. “Can’t this lesson wait until a reasonable time? Dawn, at least?”

“No, no, no, no,” Hermes said again. “You’ll get used to it. This is how you become a real hero.”

You glared at the god as you picked the lock behind your back, satisfied when both Hermes shrunk away and the lock gave a click.

Still you squirmed, pretending like you couldn’t get out as your hand reached down to the dagger strapped to your belt.

“If you get out of these chains, then we can move onto the next- Ack!”

You lunged forward, quick as a panther, and stuck your dagger’s point beneath Hermes’s chin. You smirked at his surprised expression.

Hermes went cross-eyed as he looked down at the blade. He looked back up at you and smiled. A genuine smile, nothing cheeky about it. As he grinned, your dagger flew out of your hand and embedded itself in the railing off to your left.

You snorted and offered him your hand. He raised an eyebrow, but took it without hesitation. 

“So what’s next?” You asked impatiently, practically bouncing up and down.

“Run a lap around the ship,” Hermes answered with a wave of his hand.

You scowled. “But I’ve done that before,” you pointed out.

“We’re working on speed now. Run a lap around the ship.”

Still glowering at him, you began your lap, sure that if the men below deck weren’t awake from the sound of you struggling in chains, they certainly could hear your pounding footsteps now.

You skidded to a stop at the end and looked at Hermes expectantly.

“Not bad,” the god giggled. “But your form is terribly sloppy.”

You blinked. “There’s a form for running?”

Hermes raised his eyebrows at you. “There’s a form for everything, little lady.”

“First of all,” you started, scowling. “I thought we agreed that you wouldn’t call me that. Second, show me the form, if there really is one.”

Hermes sighed and set down his caduceus. “Alright.”

Then he was off, and your eyes were having a hard time tracking him. You saw his posture and grudgingly admitted to yourself- and only yourself- that you hadn’t been using that.

“Fine,” you said when he completed the lap. “All do it again-”

You were interrupted by Eurylochus, who came up from below deck, frowning while he rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He blinked rapidly, staring at the scene before him, and you realized how it must look; you, your hands on your hips as you snapped at a floating god- and not a minor one either. Hermes himself.

Eurylochus knelt almost immediately, for seeing an Olympian god for the first time, (save Poseidon), especially a friendly god, probably called for the exact opposite etiquette you were showing Hermes.

“Y/N?” Eurylochus asked. “What is Lord Hermes doing here?”

Said god tilted his head and turned to you. “Do you want me to obliterate him?” Hermes offered.

“No!” You cried. “No, no, definitely not. This is Eurylochus, Odysseus’s second in command and my best friend.”

Eurylochus seemed to wince at that, though you didn’t know why. Hermes’s eyes lit up with understanding.

You cleared your throat. “Eurylochus, Hermes. He’s my mentor, and he wants me to rerun all of my laps.”

Hermes gasped in mock disbelief, spinning through the air with a hand over his heart.

“Ah,” Eurylochus said. “That’s what I heard.” 

You shrugged. “Either that or it was the sound of the chains Hermes made me break free from.” 

Eurylochus whirled around, glaring at Hermes as the god flew from one place to the other. “He what?” Your friend demanded.

“Oh, it’s fine.” You raised your hands and stepped in front of Eurylochus. “He already got his due.”

“Now, this is all good and well, but you need to get to running those laps, little lady.” Hermes flew in between the two of you, back turned to Eurylochus, shaking his caduceus at you. 

“Again with that nickname?” You groaned, but you took off without complaint.

When Eurylochus moved to go back downstairs, figuring he should leave you and your mentor to your lesson, Hermes was suddenly in front of him.

“I need to speak to you in private.”

[zeddylux]

Allright I have an attempt at something. Keep in mind these are VERY VERY rough but I need to put my drabbles somewhere or I'm going to forget them and my phones all I've got right now 😅. I'm picturing a scene after a fight that ends in a draw. Vi is not in the best mood but she and Gert are talking outside the arena. I'll take constructive criticism but please be gentle I've never done this before 😭😭

⚠️ Warnings ⚠️ - Mentions of alchohol abuse, panic attacks, and police brutality. Enjoy!

The sounds and jeers of the arena fade into the background as they walk along the side. Vi caught a glimpse through the slats in the building of some other poor sap standing alone against a massive opponent. Some might call him a fool for standing up to someone he had no chance against. But those same people probably had no inkling of what it took to survive down here. The pits had opened up after the new checkpoints made it nearly impossible for consistent supplies to enter the lanes. Food that had already been scarce became even harder to come by. But if you knew how to fight and a Chem Barron took enough of a liking to you, you could be guaranteed a meal at least. Maybe even a room if you won enough.

Vi tried not to think about her last round of the night. It had ended in a draw and the powers that be would not be happy. If she wanted to keep her shitty room and a roof over her head she had to start winning. And fast.

Gert walked next to her, excitingly talking about a rally taking place the next day. Vi was trying really hard not to think about how pretty she looked under the glow of the moonlight. Trying not to think too much about the blue and pink eye makeup or the blue in her dreads. These days Vi tried really hard not to think about anything really.

"Come on!" Gert says, slinging her arm around Vi's shoulders, "All you do is eat, and sleep and fight! Come to the rally tommorow before your next one! It'll get you in the right headspace and you'll win for sure!"

'Bold of you assume I eat' Vi thinks detjectingly. These days a 6 pack of beer was easier to come by than anything substantial and besides. Anything to take her mind of the last 6 months. Or 7 years. Which ever.

"I already told you I don't want to go. I'm pretty sure one of my ribs is cracked. I need to get some rest before I get back into the pits."

It was a lame excuse and they both knew it. Vi had fought back to back fights with dislocated shoulders, broken wrists, and bruises up and down her entire body. She had long since learned to ignore her own pain. Real and imagined it was no longer really a factor. Vi only cared about survival anymore. She couldn't bring herself to look any further than that.

Gert opens her mouth to retort but before she can a group of enforcers rounds the corner. Both of them immediately tensed and back into the shadows of the arena hoping the ramshackle structure will hide them well enough. It's close to midnight and darkness in the lanes is no laughing matter. Once the smog settles in there's no seeing what's in front of you. Only trenchers, born here their entire lives walking the same streets every single day have a chance in hell of finding their way around once the sun goes down.

Vi puts herself fully in front of Gert as they both watch the enforcers struggle along the docks. It seems like an ordinary patrol squad clad in the black armor of house Kiramman. One of them slips and partially falls into the oily water cursing as his partners laugh quietly at him.

Vi chuckles lightly and mumbles, "Serves you right."

"Shhhhh," Gert says quietly putting her hands on Vi's shoulders, "Don't draw their attention."

The patrol squad eventually moves on to the lower parts of the city. No doubt heading for the brothels and Shimmer dens to find some easy pickings. They had a quota to meet after all.

Vi breathes a sigh of relief and gently grabs Gerts hand. They peel off the wall and step more into the light. She cups the side of Gerts face gently asking, "Ok?"

Gert nods shakily and presses her head to Vi's.

"All good."

They stay like that for a moment just taking solace in each other. Enforcers had always been a terrible presence in both of their lives but never before had they been so aggressive. Ever since Jinx's painted smoke had reminded Piltover of the threat that lurked underneath topside had seemed all the more determined to remind the Lanes who was really in charge. Random frisks and arrests had become all the more common. And there were whispers of Stillwater opening up their torture chambers for the first time. With the absence of councilor Medarda and Jayce what little conscious the council had gained recently had all but vanished. Commander Kiramman had deemed them animals in her relentles search for Jinx. Worthy of neither pity nor mercy.

"There are rumors" Gert said suddenly, anger creeping into her voice. "That Caitlyn's strike team had one of ours. Someone from Zaun leading them down here."

Vi felt a jolt of panic at the bitterness in her voice. Like icy water flowing down her back. 'there's no way for her to know' she thinks frantically, 'I had my mask on until we reached the sewers, and the grey..' Guilt begins to build in her mind, self-hatred mixing with her panic in a way that makes her long for a drink. Trying to keep her voice steady she asks instead

"Thats probably just hearsay. They were all wearing masks nobody would even know what they looked like," she says nervously trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

Gert looks at her with a wry smile. "I dont think it's just people talking. They got down here way to quickly and easily for someone who didnt have help. They say the one who lead them had pink hair but nobody got a good look at her face." Venom creeps it her voice as she straightened up to look at the faraway skyscrapers. The lights of Piltover just visible in the distance through the smog, "They say that coward helped Kiramman with the ventilation system. Released this crazy smog called the Grey to poison us." Gert turns to Vi and cracks her knuckles, a cold look on her face. "If I ever get my hands on that traitor, not even her friends up top would be able to save her."

Vi feels the panic begin to build in stomach, her vision briefly blacking out as her breaths turn shakey. She frantically tries to draw in air but it's like it can't reach her lungs. It's a feeling she's become familiar with over the years but now there's no one to turn to. Caitlyn had abandoned and betrayed her. Her sister hated her and Ekko was still missing. And Gert. If she ever found out what Vi had done, who could blame her for walking away too?

Vi leaned heavily against the wall of the arena fighting to catch her breath as images began to flash through her mind. Vander, Powder, Ekko, Milo, Clagger. And Caitlyn. Gods who was left? Vi had always done whatever it took to keep the family together. Sacrificed whole parts of herself, betrayed her people and for what? To end up with no one and nothing.

Gert looks completely taken aback, rushing over to Vi and cupping her face gently.

"Vi! Vi are you ok? What happened?"

But it's too much. Too many things had crowded Vi's mind. Another girl in another life cupping her face like this, back when Vi still had hope that things could still be fixed. That they could go back to the ways things were.

"I, I have to go," Vi said straightening up and gently pushing Gert away ignoring the concern in her eyes. She has to get away before she hurts her. Like she did with Powder. Like she did with Jinx. There's no telling what might happen when she gets like this. "I'll see you at the fights tommorow."

"Vi wait," but Vi's already turned to go.

She leaps down from the ledge they were standing on to the docks below and starts running. Fleeing really, heading for the ramshackle apartments that house the fighters the Chem Barrons deem worthy enough to keep around. She thinks frantically of the brand new bottle of whiskey Loris had gotten for her. Top of the line. "Piltovers finest," she thinks bitterly. She'll have to explain tommorow but for now. She has a date with a bottle of hair dye and another bottle of whiskey. If she plays her cards right maybe she'll get some sleep tonight. And maybe she won't hear the sounds of her sisters laughter ringing in her head.

[cosmowgyral]

Jude's Main Story

Chapter 20 Snippets

Reports of the death of a Privy Council member had reached the palace, Vogel included. While Rin was curious as to who did it, Nica just began to talk to him about the tale of Sleeping Beauty.

MC and Jude flee London on a train. While on the train, she passed him the document that proved the collusion between the British army and Privy Council. Jude remained confused about why she would go to such extremes for him. To that she replied that while she has several reasons, the primary one was her desire to prevent his ‘promise’ from being ruined by such an incident. They opted to lay low for a bit before presenting the document to Victor once the situation in London calmed down.

A flower vendor on the train accidentally dropped his coins, and MC helped him in gathering them. As thanks, he told MC of a harvest festival happening in a coastal town close by. Jude and MC visit the town and Jude accompanies her in the bustling festival, participating in contests and indulging in eats.

They come across a drunk man who asked MC about the time and she pulled out her robin-engraved pocket watch. Afterwards, she proceeds to give it back to Jude but he said that he bought it for her. Why? Because she was eyeing his pocket watch the other day and that made him feel she would probably steal it from him/someone else. (boyfie can’t even acknowledge a gift he wanted to give)

(Also I forgot to mention it earlier but the watch Jude always carried around with him was the very first thing he stole from a noble out of desperation for food. But it unfortunately turned out to be fake. Curse that a-hole who got my poor baby in that situation)

MC then said that she wanted to stay with him forever like this. Having already engaged in the act of stealing documents, she has become a villain like him. The pocket watch she now possessed served as proof that she was his accomplice. Jude is pissed hearing that.

"Jude gently pinches my cheek."

"Jude: Bad people don't smile like that."

He then tells her that he is going to terminate their contract at this moment. He doesn’t want anything to do with her and she should just get away from his sight. When she refused to do so, he used his cursed ability on her.

"It wasn't bad to be liked, regardless of the profit or loss."

"---Goodnight, princess."

(I almost teared up at this scene.)

[laswells-ashtray]

Can we get some Kate and Boris interaction that later gets sent as blackmail to John? I think Sarah and John team up to torment Kate as much as possible.

"You have to."

"No, I don't. In fact, John, out of all the people who have to do it, I'm the one who has to do it the least."

"That's not- Right, Kate, you have to. Sarah said you're not busy for the night."

Kate internally curses out Sarah and her fucking mouth, what kind of woman teams up against her wife with a British man?!

He'd asked her to attend an event with him, Nikolai was busy and he hadn't wanted to ask any of the lads. Kate was good at talking bullshit, as was John so they could talk the people around them in circles. And she knew they'd be entertained. Gaz had once described them as bitchy, Kate liked to think they had certain descriptive skills.

"Okay, I wasn't going to do it but you're giving me no choice."

"Oh? Do what exactly?"

She watches as John pulls out his phone and types in his passcode, it's Nik's birthday backwards and it's obvious, or at least to those that aren't fucking idiots.

He fucks around for a minute with barely concealed amusement and Kate almost feels herself smirk until he turns the phone to face her. She recognises the scene before he even presses play. It's her talking to Borris, the scruffy old man who "mrowed" his way into her heart.

He presses play and for a split second Kate swears she's going to break her wife's phone.

"Mrow."

"No."

"Mrow-ow."

"No. You can't sleep on my laptop no matter how badly you want to nap. Oh, don't look at me like that, if you wanted gentle parenting then you would try to sleep on Sarah's laptop."

The black and white cat is lying on her closed laptop and Kate is standing in front of him, hands on hips as she scolds him. The cat. She's scolding the cat.

"Don't give me those eyes, I'm not your Mommy and I won't fold."

"Mrow."

"You're right, that was insensitive. Your parents are probably dead, as are mine. But I don't go around lying on the laptops of people who need to respond to e-mails."

She watches the smaller version of herself on the screen sigh and step forward to scratch behind Borris' ears as the old man purrs back at her.

"You think he'll respond?"

"Fuck- Sarah, put your phone down."

"I'm sending this to John."

"You can do that when you spend your night on the couch."

"Shit."

The video ends and she glares at John, resisting the urge to smack the positively gleeful look off of his face.

"You're gonna do it or I'm gonna send it to the lads. Nik's already seen it."

"Your threats don't scare me."

"You're right but Soap will send it to Rudy and then Alejandro will see it. And God forbid Gaz shows it to Alex, he's always thought highly of you. More highly than he thinks of the rest of us, Farah excluded."

Sarah was back on the couch for the night, maybe even the week. Her conversations with Borris were private, he was her little old man.

"When does it start?"

"Good choice."

"Your hair is thinning in the back."

[snwusberry]

pairing: jongho x reader

genre: fluff

warning(s): none

wc: 1162

reader pov

the loudest sound comes from jongho's phone which pierces through my ears and wakes me up a little too early for my liking. i stretch with a groan and turn to see jongho still sound asleep next to me.

it's 5am so its still dark outside, the only light coming from the bathroom door that's stayed open all night, casting long shadows of the vanity and the mini potyed plant near the entrance onto the floor.

without any fuss, i get out of bed and turn the alarm off before tiptoeing to the bathroom so i can start getting ready.

we have to wake up early, my ass. he's still sound asleep looking peaceful as ever, so i do the responsible thing.

i jump on the bed.

"wake up, wake up, wake up!" i chant as i jounce up and down, the movement serving its purpose in waking the sleeping man up. when he finally sits up i stop jumping.

"just why?" he asks, his groggy from the sleep and he rubs his eyes.

"it's time to get up."

he pulls me down by my hand so i'm sitting om his lap which makes me smile and brush his messy hair out of his face and his hands rest around my waist to keep me steady. he's not really the biggest on showing affection so i need to savor this moment.

"morning sleepy head."

"good morning baby." he says back with a smile resting on his lips.

"we have to get ready."

"hmm. let's go."

with that, we stand up and make our way to the bathroom where we start preparing. mornings like this one are something i cherish the most because it's not too often that we have the chance to have a nice slow morning where we can enjoy each other's presence while preparing for the day.

we're going to a tree farm to pick out a christmas tree. we've decorated the whole house already but jongho decided to be different this year and get a real tree. don't ask me why, he just does.

after we finish getting ready and we've eaten, jongho grabs the keys and we leave, heading to the tree farm.

i look out the window and watch the trees outside pass by and take in the beautiful winterscape. this weather makes me wanna sit in front of a fireplace, wrapped in a thick blanket, with a mug piping hot, hot chocolate warming up my cold fingers. we dont have a fireplace but when we get home, nothing will tear me away from the cocoa powder.

when we arrive, jongho parks the car and we head into the small little building where the reception is. the place is secluded and quiet, the only sound being from our boots tapping against the concrete ad we walk to the little cabin.

there behind the desk is a friendly looking man with a kind smile on his face upon seeing us.

"hi, we have an appointment

under choi jongho." jongho kindly says, returning the man's smile. it's nice and warm in here.

"ah yes. 9 o'clock?" he asks and jongho nods. "right this way."

he leads us outside the shed and we walk down a pretty far distance amd i see a small café on the far end of the large plot of land covered in rows of trees.

"okay here we have 3 types of trees." the man says before turning to the trees behind him. "this section is the pine trees, at that end are fir and all the way at the back are spruce. would you like to tour them all before coming to a final decision?"

jongho and i look at each other briefly and he gives me that look he usually does when be wants me to answer or do the talking.

"i say we tour them all. no harm in that right?" i answer and the man smiles.

"great choice. follow me."

we start off with the pine trees, walking along the paths, looking at the tall trees. it is shaded under the large mass of trees, making the place look colder and more eerie, like a woodsy scene out of a horror movie. the weather doesn't help, with the snow adding to the scene.

"looks like the perfect place to lure someone in and kill them" i say subconsciously due to my prior thoughts.

"don't get any ideas." jongho says jokingly making the man laugh along with us.

"the hiding spots are endless too." he adds.

"i actually don't feel so safe here.

we walk around looking at the different trees as the guy tells us little facts about the different trees. it's insightful but ny feet are starting to hurt so i'm onky half listening. thank goodness we're halfway through the last section of the tour. they've marked which ones we chose before we choose the final one.

"okay so. which one would you lovebirds like?"

this time i look at jongho, waiting for him to decide since he was the one who wanted to do this whole thing in the first place.

"what are you looking at me for?" he asks me and i just smile sweetly at him.

"this was your idea, no?"

"yeah okay."

"i think we liked more pine trees, let's go with that." i suggest and he nods.

"lets look at the pine trees."

"good choice. let's go."

i dont know how this man continues to be so energetic when we've been walking around for over two hours straight. it's definitely not something i'm used to, jongho doesn't let me lift a finger.

we walk over to where we started which is not a short walk and it seems jongho can see my discomfort so like the gentleman he is, he offers to give me a piggyback.

we weave through the trees, shortlisting the ones we liked before coming to a final decision on one.

"alright. you guys can go cozy up in the café while we get your tree ready. m" the man says, smiling like he has the entire time.

"thank you." we say to him and we walk to the café we saw earlier where we order our respective drinks. a mocha macchiato for him and a cinnamon matcha latte for me.

"aren't you happy we did this?" jongho asks, looking unphased as ever. maybe because hes fit and walking like this isn't a big deal for him. i just give him a deadpanned look in response. "that's not very festive of you."

"my feet are swelling in my boots." i complain.

"boo hoo."

"bitch."

"hey."

there's a quick moment where none of us say anything before we start laughing. i love these moments with him, when it's just is, out, having a good time together, even when i'm cold and really tired.

"hey, we should do this again next year." he teases.

"you coming here alone?"

"point taken."

mom, i love him.

[buckydeservesthebest]

The difference between Comic Bucky and MCU Bucky is something that I always felt like fans haven't fully understood. Not just because of his character development but because of the very way HYDRA turned him into the Winter Soldier.

Comic Bucky does fall into the category of someone who was indoctrinated, HYDRA remolded and shaped a man with amnesia based on their ideals, turning him into an agent loyal to them, so there was no need to take away his agency and autonomy. Comic Bucky, as the Winter Soldier, had enough sense of self to have a clandestine affair with Natasha, even when it went against the orders of his superiors.

MCU Bucky is totally different, he not only had his memory and therefore his identity taken away, but HYDRA didn't give him a new one. There is not a single hint to show that he would even associate himself with the name of the Winter Soldier. He was only responding to the orders of whoever at the time was his handler.

The Winter Soldier had no emotions, desires, motivations, values, likes or dislikes, beliefs or thoughts of his own, none of the defining characteristics of a sense of self. The Winter Soldier was the remnant non-person left once everything that made Bucky himself no longer existed.

From the pure script of CA:TWS, before the idea of the trigger words was developed, the idea that as the Winter Soldier, Bucky was NOT in control of his faculties, was already clear. The Art of Captain America: The Winter Soldier book itself literally says so.

This refutes the idea that not only did Bucky not exist while the Winter Soldier program was activated, but that the Winter Soldier himself was a tool with no will of his own and no autonomy and was only programmed to follow orders, just as The Wakanda Files book, which is recognized as canonical, describes his mind control as a sleep-like state trance.

Members of Marvel's own production have themselves acknowledged on numerous occasions that as the Winter Soldier, Bucky had no control over his actions, and that the idea of decisiveness and self-determination was taken away from him, and that the Winter Soldier's activation was a kind of autopilot devoid of any kind of humanity.

I think in addition to the scene where Pierce mocks the Winter Soldier's literal lack of ability to make decisions, with the sarcastic question about whether he wanted milk. The Helicarrier crash scene, also implies the Winter Soldier's inability to do anything more than what his handlers order him to do, as he stayed to fight Steve even though staying in a giant flying ship that goes down puts his life at risk.

My theory is that the order Pierce gave him was to try to kill Steve if he tried to make him remember, which is why the Winter Soldier maintained more of a defensive approach to protect the success of Project Insight, which involved stopping Steve, but he didn't try to kill him directly. The Winter Soldier did not take a more violent approach until Steve told him "you know me". (the analysis of this scene deserves a whole thread, surely there are already several, but I'll do my two cents worth later.)

My point is that staying in the Helicarrier that is about to collide makes no sense after the failure of Project Insight, coupled with the fact that it defies anyone's survival instincts, and would make no sense unless the Winter Soldier was forced to stay there to accomplish the secondary mission which would be to kill Steve for his attempt to make him remember.

I think the Winter Soldier's rampage in CW is also clear evidence of more robotic/programmed behavior than a series of actions coming from decisions.

Apparently the mission Zemo ordered him to do was to get to the roof, take a helicopter and escape, and neutralize anyone who tried to stop him. That is why the Winter Soldier mainly returned fire from his attackers, but when the way was clear he continued on his way to the helicopter, which was his mission, and did not focus on definitively eliminating his enemies.

Also, the way in which the Winter Soldier held Steve in a chokehold while he was still inside the helicopter that was beginning to fall off the edge of a building, is not an action that someone who is capable of making his own decisions would do, because clearly he is putting his life at risk for no benefit, and if it were not for Steve, he probably would not have survived.

The Winter Soldier did not have the ability to make decisions of his own that were not directly related to an order he was previously given, he did not even speak unless his handlers asked him to provide certain information.

If the Winter Soldier did not have the capacity to even reason the sarcastic question Pierce asked him about whether he wanted milk, much less could he reason the "speech" he gave him about "HYDRA doing some good." Because having none of the characteristics of the sense of self, the Winter Soldier could not reason the moral nature of the acts, nor come to the conclusion that he is doing any "good".

It always seemed to me that that speech, is nothing more than what Pierce is used to doing as a corrupt politician, manipulating people by selling them a false version of reality. That's why Korpov was never seen trying to give speech to the Winter Soldier to "secure his loyalty" or anything like that, because:

a) it wasn't necessary as the sleep-like mind control already stripped the Winter Soldier of his ability to control his actions.

b) the Winter Soldier simply didn't have the mental capacity to reason out any speech as he had no sense of self.

I've seen a lot of differing opinions on how aware Bucky was as the Winter Soldier under brainwashing. Some say he was fully aware but just indoctrinated into wanting to follow orders, while others say he was a programed machine with no control basically.

I just wanted to ask what your opinion on that topic was. I love your other metas btw 💕

Sorry for the late reply! I’ve been somewhat away from Tumblr and I’ll try to work through the bunch of asks that I’ve missed.

The theories that say Bucky was aware and simply indoctrinated tend to be based on his comics origin. I haven’t actually read Brubaker’s run myself, but my understanding is comics Bucky was far more aware of his actions. While I think he still didn’t know his true identity because of his amnesia, he had far more self-awareness and independent thought.

For me, MCU Bucky is not someone who had the capacity to make his own decisions. The fact that the “wipe” manages to deprive him of every frame of reference including even his most recent memories of his missions means he simply doesn’t have the understanding to make judgements. It also seems to me that they erase his sense of identity - comics Bucky may not know his true identity, he at least had an intact sense of self, while MCU Bucky has a robotic, impersonal demeanour when he’s freshly wiped and in mission mode (both the Helicarrier scene and the Civil War activation scenes show Bucky in this very mechanical, depersonalised state). Certainly both of those scenes suggest Bucky doesn’t have much contextual awareness of who and what he’s fighting for. In particular in the Civil War scenes, it suggests that voluntary thought was stripped from him when he’s “activated” by the code words. He doesn’t respond to Howard calling his name, nor does he recognise Sam and Steve later when Zemo activates the Soldier.

I think a lot of the early meta (from 2014) theorised that maybe he was only brainwashed because of that grand speech Pierce gives him (“Your work has been a gift to mankind. You shaped the century. I need you to do it one more time”). He seems to be appealing to the Bucky that we remember from CATFA, who would’ve stepped up at the beckoning of a greater cause. But to me, that scene was…maybe a bit of Pierce’s mockery and also his manipulation. He refuses to tell Bucky who he’s actually fighting against, and speaks in vague terms about what Bucky’s mission was for. We never see any hint that Bucky knew or understood what cause he was fighting for. As soon as Bucky asks who Steve is, Pierce first minimises and then shuts him down swiftly with the wipe. Bucky also doesn’t respond to Pierce’s pontification — we could either interpret that as him being distracted by his memories of Steve, or that the preaching was just performative on Pierce’s part because Bucky had no idea anyway.

[air--so--sweet]

I was getting my sleep schedule back on track...and then I got a strike of inspiration for my fix it fic...and now it's 3am...

[asummersday]

clearly the only way im getting chapter 2 out is by being more stubborn than my procrastination. i've decided that i WILL post it tonight.

i am very good at being stubborn. it's also 11pm and i have uhhh ~3 (??) scenes to write. plus editing. current WC is 5k.

[eupheme]

— trouble will find me

[part ii | masterlist]

bodyguard!logan x mobster’s daughter!reader

rated e - 3k

tags: 70s era, dofp/bonedaddy!logan, bodyguard!logan, reader is the daughter of a mobster, reader is shorter than Logan, club setting, use of alcohol, cigar smoking, mutual pining, flirting, light brat taming!logan, references to violence, competence kink, semi-public vaginal fingering, kissing, forbidden relationship

a/n: I can’t stop thinking about dofp!logan sleeping with the girl he’s guarding, this is inspired by that scene! huge thank you to @pr0ximamidnight who let me chit chat about this little idea. you are amazing! 💖💕

His eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip, “‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You hum, “But what if I want a little in me?”

You can feel his eyes follow you.

Which shouldn’t really be surprising. It's his job, of course. Keep an eye on you, keep you safe.

But there’s something in the way he watches.

A curl of smoke from a lit cigar. Fingers tracing the rim of a half-downed whisky, a worn leather jacket thrown over a broad shoulder. The tilt of his chin when your eyes meet his - dark and narrowed, missing nothing. Slipping over you like the soft silk of your dress.

Indulging, almost. Unashamed.

You might have a crush.

You're trying not to think about it too much.

Tonight, you're just trying to enjoy the after-party.

It's all bright lights.

The room is bathed in pinks and yellows and flashing red. Disco club music pumped through the speakers, the panels of the floor flickering to the beat. You've been here for two hours already. Nursing tequila sunrises and pink squirrels. Sweat sticking to the nape of your neck, as the minutes tick by, bleeding past midnight.

He's not going to stop you, just yet. You can have your fun tonight - sway to the beat of the music - as long as you play by the rules.

Logan is so different from the ones before him.

Tripping over their feet to check on you. Breathing down your neck, with their padded-shoulder suits smelling like cigarettes and cheap cologne. Too afraid for themselves, of your father, to actually do a good job of protecting you.

Stifling and all too willing to tell you yes to anything.

It was exhausting.

Logan had come recommended - an acquaintance of a friend. He'd 'get the job done' from what you heard. Motivated. Needed the cash and would listen, no questions asked.

Just the type your father thought he could sway - a half-wild guard dog, his salary a leash. Heeling at the click of a tongue, the snap of fingers.

It's not how you saw him, though.

His silence was not obedience. There was nothing bought about this man - watching you from the line of leather booths along the wall.

You've wondered if maybe - you're just desperate to find some form of kindred spirit in someone. Too used to feeling like an accessory instead of a person. Your appearance at your father's events drove home his image. The good, family man who was oh so generous with his time and money.

Articles were written weekly about how philanthropic he was.

You had no idea if anything ever came from the numerous events you hosted - an attempt at doing something with your education. How much was skimmed off your blood, sweat, and tears, funneled back into what he did best.

Maybe you both saw through the bullshit.

He'll last longer than the others, at least.

More than once you've been halfway out the door, headed off to East Village or SoHo, only for him to catch you by the scruff of your sweater - whisking you back inside or into the Lincoln Town Car before you realized what happened.

An angry fist connecting with the nose of a man who had gotten too close at a gala last week. Cornering you in the coat room. Logan, charging in like a snarling beast when you had whimpered his name - red dripping down to stain the pressed white collar as the man was hauled away.

You’ve been thinking about that for days.

There was no sucking up. No flashing of a holster under his arm, some grandiose promise that you don't need to worry. You've never even seen Logan near a weapon but somehow, you feel more safe with him than you ever have with anyone else.

But this bit of internal tenderness that has sprouted, paired with his competency, has been seriously cramping your style.

It’s been enough that he's been hard to get out of your mind. Two weeks of teasing and poking at the limits set. Never giving you much, with that glare - thick arms crossed over his chest. A little thrill rippling up your spine, when his voice goes low and gruff.

The lights go dim, as the music begins to slow.

With the way your eyes wander, you know he sees you when you pick up a partner.

A man that moves with you, peeling off to crowd your space after your hips swivel with the hustle. His hand dipping low from where it rests on the small of your back.

Bold, when he bends to ask you 'if you'd like to get out of there'.

You meet Logan's eyes when you tell him yes.

Telling yourself that it's just to forget him. Definitely not because you're desperate to see the look on his face. To hear that tone he takes when he's pissed off.

A way to ascertain if you've taken root in his mind, even for just a moment.

There's zero chance Logan heard you from across the room. But it doesn't stop him from moving. Pushing to his feet, cutting straight through the crowd to wrap a hand around your bicep the second you start peeling off with the stranger - heading towards the side door.

"No fucking chance." It's gritted out, as he yanks you to him. Your shoulder collides against his chest as he steps between you and the man.

A sloppy hand pushes against his arm. The man's eyes are hazy under the neon lights as he makes a grab for you.

"Come on, man. I saw her first."

Logan pivots you away with a snarl, "She ain't leaving with you, bub."

Another sloppy shove, glancing off the brown leather jacket.

"You're really starting to piss me off." Logan's tone drips with warning, with knowing, "Gonna regret starting something in a room full of people like this."

And it's now that he takes in how big Logan is. The flex of splayed-wide fingers, knuckles curling into a clenched fist. A look in his eye that says that punches won't be pulled - not tonight.

The stranger takes a step back. It's enough.

You're already getting hauled away before they can answer. Guided into one of the many VIP rooms. A snarled "get the fuck out of here" to the attendant, before Logan's crowding you against the bar - hands bracing on his hips.

Fuming, you push yourself up to sit on the top - an attempt to get closer to his height.

"What was that about?" Your chin lifts, as your arms cross.

His eyes flash - a curl of his lip, "Can't you make my job easy, kid?"

Kid. It always makes you bristle. So far from that, and it's the way he says it. That dripping edge, like he knows something you don't.

"Maybe he was a friend." You deadpan.

"Yeah. Real friendly," He scoffs, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose, "You think your daddy is gonna like you going home with a piece of shit like that?"

That makes your teeth clench - a glare sent his way, "I don't think it's any of your business."

"It's literally my business, sweetheart." Logan huffs. His hands curl around the edge of the bar, braced on either side of your knees.

Your breathing hitches, for just a second. The soft name is ground out between his teeth, but it still shoots straight to your pussy.

You haven't been this close to him before. Enough to see the bleed of brown to green in his hazel eyes. The sharp mark between his brows that you want to press your thumb against.

The shorn-down hair at his chin, before it grows thick across his cheeks. Handsome in a way that makes you ache, your fingers curling into fists to keep from touching him.

There's been moments alone - car rides, lounging in the armchair in the corner of your room when he barks at you to hurry up.

But it hasn't been like this.

Maybe it's the opportunity. Maybe it's the amber glitter of tequila in your veins, but you let your palms press against the shining wood. Your knees inch a little further apart, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs.  

"That the only reason you whisked me away?” Your eyebrow lifts, "Kidnapping, if I recall, is one of the things you're supposed to be keeping me safe from."

"You are safe." He deflects, "'s not kidnapping when it's me.”

Those eyes are still on yours. Not dropping to where his hips nearly press against the edge of the bar top.

You break the eye contact first.

“Well, it’s fine.” You sniff - as if his actions had been your idea, “I didn’t want him anyways.”

Logan grunts. There’s the slightest brush - the flex of his thumb at your thigh, where your dress rides up. A long look before he’s pushing back to step away, but your fingers reach out, catching on his white shirt.

“Are you going to ask me what I do want?”

There’s the slightest twitch of his nose. Lips parting to show the peek of a tongue, caught between teeth. The briefest dip of his eyes. Down to the shadow between your breasts, pressed together as you lean forward to catch him.

“I know what you want, sweetheart.” He rasps, “Not gonna happen.”

The rejection stings, and you pout, “What isn’t?”

A sigh, and he’s stepping back into your space. Your hand flattens against his stomach, hard muscles beneath as his head tilts.

“You want a man to take you home. Treat you nice.” Logan’s eyes burn into you. Wide hands curving around your knees, thumbs pressing into flesh, “I’m not that guy.”

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat. How it thunders to the beat of the music muted outside this room. Dropping down to pulse between your thighs.

Wondering if he’s thought about you, the way you have him. How he could both see and miss so much at once.

“You’re wrong,” Your head shakes, “I don’t want that.”

A breath, before you’re confessing, ”I want you.”

Logan's eyes darken. Fingers pinching against your skin, as he adjusts his grip.

“‘s a bad idea, sweetheart. Supposed to keep you out of trouble.”

Your hands skate lower, fingers tracing the edge of his belt buckle. His nostrils flare - a warning, though he does not move.

“Supposed to keep me out of trouble,” You echo, “But what if I want a little trouble in me?”

The smile you give him is sweet, a tilt of your head as he catches your hand. Thick fingers curl at your wrist, holding your hand in place. A thumb pressed up against your pulse.

“You wouldn’t know what to do with me.” He rasps, voice low.

You’re undeterred.

“Could get on my knees.” You coo, “You could show me. Would you like that?”

Logan’s jaw grits. His grip loosens just long enough to feel your wrist flex - before he guides your hands, pressing your palms flat against the polished wood.

“It’s not going like that,” He husks. The tone is the same as when he’s ordering you around, one that makes your back go straight, “Those are staying right there. Got that, honey?”

All you can do is nod, as his hands skate up your thighs. Fingers massaging into flesh, soft and smooth as he eases them wider apart. Fitting himself closer between them.

The way he looks at you now is the way he did before.

Focused, as your dress inches higher. The fabric pooling at your hips as they tilt toward him, the pretty lace between your thighs now on display.

“Look at you,” His tongue clucks. A finger tracing the elastic edge, as you clench in anticipation, “Need this, don’t you?”

Drifting across, a thumb pressing against the fabric. It sends a jolt through you, your fingers almost reaching for him before you remember.

“Good girl.” He muses, as your hands flatten again.

The slightest pressure as the pad of his thumb slips up. Nudging against your clothed clit, as you inhale a sharp breath.

Pressing, and circling. It’s agonizingly slow, his eyes flicking up to watch the way you bite back a whimper. Your hips flexing into his touch, aching for more.

It lifts, so he can see how the fabric has dampened. Clinging to your skin, his knuckle tracing your seam.

“Making a mess.”

You can only whine in reply. Afraid that he’ll stop if you make too much noise. If you move - he’s made it clear he’s in charge here, and for once you’re willing to follow.

The pad of his thumb pulling back, a faint shine in the neon-bathed room.

“That for me?”

Your head nods, “Logan, please-”

There’s a sharp flash of teeth. Fingers pressing low, fitting against you, “You want me here?”

“Yes.”

You need him. Need anything he’ll give you, the sharp pinch in your palms where your nails bite into flesh.

“Ask me.” He coos.

“Please put use your fingers,” It comes in a rush, “Want you in me-”

Logan smirks, as his fingers slip beneath the waistband. Air sucked through clenched teeth when he meets slick, soaked skin. A teasing swirl against your clit before he’s parting you.

The tip of his middle finger tracing your hole, before it dips inside. His hips flex against the wooden edge, when you clench around him immediately. Trying to draw him deeper, as he works himself further in.

His fingers are much thicker than yours. A second already tracing where he opens you up. Teasing the tip in as his hand flexes, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit.

Your head tips forward. Each breath growing shorter, as you’re stretched around him. That slight ache unfurling into pleasure. Panting, as the pump of his fingers grow louder - the muffled cadence of skin against skin each time his palm collides with your cunt.

The fabric strains against his hand, his knuckles pressed against the soaked fabric.

Something bright burns in your belly, as your knees press into his hips. It makes you break the rules - a hand grasping at his arm. Anchoring yourself with your grip.

“I wanna watch. Let me see you.”

He lets you. A tap against your hip so you can lift. Carefully pulling your underwear down, easing them over the heels of your boots.

The lace disappears into his jacket pocket. His palms against your inner thighs, spreading you open. A throaty groan when he sees you, one that he can't quite manage to bite back - the rough sound shooting straight through you.

You both watch, when his fingers fit inside you this time. Two sinking down to the knuckle, slick and shining.

Unable to bite back the moan this time, though he does not shush you. His eyes fixed on your face instead, watching how your brow pinches when his fingers crook deep inside you. Searching.

The way you go jolt and then go tense when he finds it, a soft cry loosening.

“You been fucked like this before?” Logan growls, his fingers dragging against that soft spot inside you with his emphasis.

Your head shakes, when he does it again. Eyes dropping to watch his how hand looks, how you wrap around his fingers. The slick shine as they pump a little faster.

His other hand taps against your thigh.

“Words, sweetheart.”

“No,” It comes out hushed. Needy. “Never.”

His lips part with his groan, baring his teeth. With the way he touches you - his thumb moving to rub circles against your clit - it’s not long before he has you close.

A swiftly building pressure in your belly. That space between you eases as your knees close around his hips. His head tilting until his nose ghosts against your cheek.

Breath hot against your neck, as he inhales you. The slightest scrape of teeth that makes you bear down on his fingers - so careful not to leave a mark behind.

“Logan,” You pant. “That feels, ah, I think I’m gonna come-”

He groans against your skin, keeping the same pace. Feeling how you forget yourself - grasping at him, arching into his touch. Your muscles going tight as your breath grows short - panting.

“Give it to me,” Logan growls, “Come on my fucking fingers, baby.”

It’s impossible not to listen. You come, with his thumb pressing against your clit. His fingers notched deep inside you, as he feels your pulse racing beneath his lips.

The moan that rips from you pitches up, and then goes silent.

It leaves you breathless. Deep waves throbbing inside you, as you dampen his palm. Washing over and pulling you under, as your vision darkens.

“That’s fucking it. Come on, honey.” He coos, “Just look at you, so fucking pretty.”

The pump of his fingers goes still, the tips still crooking, as the tight pulses wane. The air comes rushing back into your lungs as you come back to yourself, your hands fisted in his jacket.

His chest heaves. Eyes hungry, when he slips from you. Slick clinging to them, webbing between his fingers as he pulls them up to the light.

Before he’s focusing on you again, his other hand thumbing at your lip.

“Open.”

They part automatically. Closing around the fingers he feeds you. The salt of his skin pairing with the sweet tang of your release, too blissed out to do anything but suck them clean.

“Good girl.”

It’s soft, as his fingers press down. Spreading, until you’ve cleaned yourself from them. Only when they slip from you, does his head dip.

A soft sound as his mouth presses against yours. There’s the sweep of his tongue against your lip, needy and insistent. You part for him, swallowing the moan as he tastes you. Teeth and tongue - deepening the kiss as his hands grip at your waist.

Letting your hands grasp at his shoulders. Tug at his hair until you’re pulled flush against him, your tits crushed against his chest.

Hungry, threatening to devour you, until you mumble his name.

Bringing him back to himself. Sharing a breath, Logan’s forehead pressed to yours when he pulls back. Those spit-slick fingers dropping down.

Palming himself roughly, where his cock strains - thick and hard against his jeans. A bitten-back groan, the word “fuck” rumbling deep in his chest as his hips flex into his hand.

“You going to listen now? Get that out of your system?” It comes out ragged, and you’re nodding.

All your sharp edges smoothed down. Blissfully complacent, as his fingers get a better grip on your waist. Bringing you down to the floor with wobbly legs, his hand coming to grasp at your upper arm.

“Good.” He growls, “Come on.”

A sharp tug, and you almost trip over yourself to follow.

“I’m taking you home.”

ahh I had the idea for this and had to jot it down! and I do know he goes by james/jimmy in the 70s because it’s pre-weapon-x, but I'll be keeping it as logan for this. (And I am thinking this will be a two-shot - give her a chance to get what she wants 😏💖)

[ccsainzleclerc5516]

His Pumpkin

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Warnings: none, pure fluff, dad Lando

“Lan..” You sighed exhausted opening the door of Lando’s gaming room. On your hip, you hold your little girl Isla, who cries inconsolably and keeps rubbing her tired eyes with her little hands.

“Hold on, Max” Lando says into the microphone, removing the headphones from his ears and turning his gaze from the monitor to you and Isla. “Hey, baby. What’s wrong?” He asks getting up from his chair and walking up to the two of you.

“It's long past her bedtime and she just doesn't wanna fall asleep.” You say, already too tired and too pregnant to have any strength to spend another hour putting your three-year-old to sleep. “She is so tired she can barely keep her eyes open. I don’t know what to do anymore. Can you please take her over?”

“Of course, come here” Lando takes Isla in his arms giving her a kiss on her cheek to calm her down. “Are you okay?” He asks you.

“Yeah, I’m just exhausted. I’ll finish the laundry and then I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, baby. I’ll be with you when she’s asleep.”

You leave the room and Lando walks back to his gaming chair with Isla in his arms.

“What’s wrong, pumpkin? Why are you crying and not sleeping? Hm?” He asks Isla sitting down with her and removing her curly hair out of her face.

“I don’t wanna go to sleep, daddy” She sobs.

“But it’s almost 11 p.m., baby. It’s way too late. You wanna lie here on daddy’s chest until I finish something with uncle Max?”

“Okay”

Lando being Isla’s favorite place to sleep on, immediately gets her to agree with his suggestion. She nodds and takes her position laying her little head into the crook of his neck while the rest of her body clung to Lando’s chest.

“Okay, pumpkin.” He places another kiss on her cheek and starts rubbing her back with his hand while with the other he puts his headphones back on. He wasn’t actually gaming, he was doing something with Max for the new quadrant video so he wanted to get that done as soon as possible.

It took them another 45 minutes to finish what they were working on and when Lando looked down to his daughter he smiled when he saw her fast asleep with parted lips. Poor thing was so tired that as soon as her head hit Lando’s chest, she drifted off to sleep.

However, when Lando got up from the chair with her and started to carry her to her room she startled and woke up again. Realizing he was putting her down in her own bed, she just started crying again.

“Shh, it’s okay, it’s okay” Lando cooed her as she clung onto his arm.

“With you and mommy” She cried not wanting to sleep alone in her bed.

“Pumpkin, you know you can’t sleep with us while mommy has a baby brother in her belly” He explained to her God knows how many times already.

Considering that Isla is very restless when she sleeps and keeps tossing and turning throughout the night, Lando was more worried than you that she would kick you in the stomach, so he himself made the rule that she cannot sleep with you until you give birth.

“Daddy will lie in bed with you here, okay?”

He had planned to wait until she fell asleep again and slowly creep out of her bed and get back to you, but that went out the window when Lando doze off and ended up sleeping with Isla in bed.

When you woke up in the morning and realized that Lando wasn't next to you, you immediately knew what was going on because this wasn't the first time he fell asleep with Isla while trying to put her to sleep.

You slowly and quietly opened the door to her room and put your hand over your mouth, holding back from bursting out laughing when you saw the scene in front of you.

Lando was lying on his back with his head between lots of stuffed toys, two of them even falling over his forehead while Isla was sleeping peacefully with her back turned to Lando.

“Baby” You laughed softly slowly shaking his arm.

“Hm?” He raised his head looking around through one eye completely out of it wiping the drool from the corner of his mouth.

“There’s a slight possibilty those stuffed toys might suffocate you” You chuckled quietly. “Wanna go to our bed?”

“Yeah, let’s go” He mumbled tiredly getting out of bed.

Once you got to your room he took off the clothes he fell asleep in the night before and got back into bed with you. He kissed you a few times before lowering his head to the level of your round pregnant belly and left a couple of kisses there too.

“Thank you for last night, I was really tired. I love you.” You said running your fingers through Lando’s curls same as Isla’s.

“No need to thank me, baby. Just please remind me that we don't buy any more stuffed toys for pumpkin. I'm kinda running out of space in her bed.”

“Okay, baby. I will, don’t worry.” You laughed as he nuzzled his head into your neck and closed his eyes to get some rest before pumpkin is all ready and awake to start her day again.

[masterhallmark]

Rant incoming

I feel like the problem with a lot of Disney's live action remakes (and arguably Wish) is they're trying to appeal to a crowd that no longer exists, namely the people who used to claim that the Disney Princesses were sexist.

All the interviews tend to include, "Well she's not chasing a MAN anymore" which...almost no one sees the princesses like that, anymore. Virtually NO ONE still believes the princesses are man-chasing sexist caricatures of women.

Cinderella is now hailed as an abuse victim who stayed strong long enough to get help to get out of her situation. Anyone who says she should have saved herself is basically regarded as a victim blamer. And it's very clear in the film she wasn't looking to marry the prince, she just wanted a night off. She was the only one who wasn't in line to meet him. She didn't find out she met the prince until he went looking for her!

Snow White is now hailed for her negotiation skills, ability to calm down after extreme stress (she had a moment of panic and had to cry for a bit, but who wouldn't after finding out The Queen hired someone to kill you?), and ability to take charge of a house of adult men. And again, she was an abuse victim, this time trying to escape ASSASSINATION ATTEMPTS. While she dreamed of her prince, it was secondary to her main goal of SURVIVAL. There are also entire video essays about how Snow White gave hope to people during The Great Depression.

Everyone acknowledges that Ariel wanted to be human BEFORE meeting Eric. We all know she was a nerd hyperfixating on humans, and also standing up to her prejudiced father.

We understand Sleeping Beauty wasn't the main character, the Three Good Fairies were, AND PHILLIP WOULD NEVER HAVE BEATEN MALEFICENT WITHOUT THEM! He literally depended on them! WOMEN SAVED THE DAY! But even then, is it really such a sin for a girl to fantasize about romance and fall for someone with corny pickup lines?

We all understand Jasmine just wanted someone to treat her LIKE A PERSON. She rejected every Prince before Aladdin because they treated her like a prize. So why did they need her to want to be Sultan? How did that make her more feminist when she already wanted to be treated like an equal and have a say in her future? Is it only empowering if you want a career in politics?

We admire that Belle, despite living in a judgemental village, was kind to everyone (even though she found the village life dull), and her story teaches girls that the guy everyone else loves isn't always a good guy. What's sexist about teaching girls about red flags? And she didn't start being nice to The Beast until he started treating her with respect and kindness.

Do I really NEED to defend Mulan or Tiana? I think they speak for themselves.

Rapunzel was yet another abuse victim who just needed a little help to get out of her bad situation. In this case, she also needed to learn that she was an abuse victim, and that what Mother Gothel did WASN'T normal, much like many victims of gaslighting.

And don't get me started on the non-princess animals.

Perdita had a healthy relationship with Pongo to the point she was open to express her pregnancy fears to him, and was ready to TEAR APART Cruella's goons for daring to touch her puppies as well as adopting the other puppies. Like, she was so ferocious the goons mistook her for a hyena! She's basically that "I AM THAT GIRL'S MOTHER!" scene from SpyXFamily if Yor were a dog. She and her husband were a TEAM.....but they made a Cruella live action to turn her into a girlboss?! The literal animal abuser!? THAT'S the woman you wanted to put on a pedestal when Perdita was RIGHT THERE!?

Duchess kept her kittens calm after they had been catnapped and was classy as heck. Nice to everyone regardless of social class during a time period where that was uncommon.

Lady stood up to Tramp when she believed he had abandoned her and didn't really care about her. She found out he was a heartbreaker and was like, "Nuh uh. No. You are not doing that to me! You put me through enough."

Miss Bianca from The Rescuers was IN CHARGE the whole movie, and was willing to risk life and limb to save an innocent child. THAT TINY MOUSE TOOK ON ALLIGATORS! And she picked Bernard to accompany her because he was the only one who wasn't ogling her. And then in the sequel SHE DID IT ALL AGAIN! I wish I were as brave as her.

Like, the public haven't accused these ladies of being sexist caricatures since 2014 (Actresses and actors don't count, they're out of touch like the rest of Hollywood) yet Disney is operating under the assumption that the public still thinks that way, hence all the "sHe'S nOt AfTeR a MaN iN ThIs VeRsIOn" talk.

The live action remakes are trying to attract an audience that doesn't really exist much, anymore, and back when it did exist, was comprised mainly of people who didn't actually watch the films. The Disney princesses are no longer seen as sexist, and feminine qualities are no longer seen as weak or undesirable.

[garoujo]

✩ ˛˚ . GOJO SATORU — you know as soon as you get out of bed, satoru isn’t going to be far behind you, especially when you’re draped in his shirt.

ஜ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ warnings! f!reader, insatiable satoru :3, mostly teasing, some morning scenes as he tries to drag you back to bed, you’re in his shirt, he lifts you up at the end. ♡ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ note! i am so very obsessed + crazed, i can’t stop <3

it’s still early, barely light outside as you stand in the kitchen of your shared apartment. you’ve left your boyfriend gojo still in bed, you felt a little bad waking him up when he always looked so peaceful, probably tired out after the night he’d given you lastnight— the evidence of his efforts still burning on your skin where he’s left his mark.

but it had still been an effort to peel him off of you no matter how soundly he slept, having to pull yourself away from the warmth of his chest— his arms were like a puzzle with how tightly he wraps them around you, but you thought he’d appreciate waking up to some coffee and breakfast on his day off.

the air in the kitchen is still cold, something you’ve put down to the early morning— the roads outside are still quiet but there’s a slight breeze along your bare thighs when you move. the rest of your body is fine though, draped comfily in one of satoru’s ridiculously huge shirts, the perks of your boyfriend being over 6’3 ofcourse—plus he always payed such expensive amounts for his clothes, it was almost guaranteed they were gonna be comfy.

you giggle as you scoop a ridiculous amount of sugar into your boyfriends coffee cup, the ceramic identical to yours— his idea when he started coming over more often, but you still thought his sweet tooth was adorable.

“oh? good morning to you too, sweet thing.” your train of thought is interrupted by the smooth, still sleepy drawl as you shoot a quick glance over your shoulder to see gojo already approaching you. he couldn’t be apart from you too long afterall— it’s like his soul was tied with yours. he’s still shirtless, his hair is messy from sleep— snowy peaks framing his features while his sweatpants rest dangerously low on his hips.

“you’re awake early.” you sigh out, dreamily as you feel your boyfriends chest press against your back, his long arms circling their way around your waist from behind as he rests his head in the crook of your neck.

“mhm, how my supposed to sleep without you, hah? so cruel.” there’s a slight whine to gojo’s words, you can still hear the sleepiness in his tone but it makes you smile when it’s followed by a smeared kiss along your jawline. you roll your eyes before you lean into him, feeling his fingertips trace along the hem of your shirt, his shirt that’s hanging around your thighs before he speaks again.

“you teasin’ me?” his words are lower this time, a little more than a growl as he plays around with the fabric between his fingers— grumbling before he’s deliberately pressing his hips into you from behind. he’s close and warm, making sure you can feel the problem you left him with this morning when you got out of bed without him— straining against the fabric of his sweats.

“‘toru, it’s 8am. you’re insatiable.” you giggle out, a sweet little sound so early in the morning and it only seems to draw gojo in closer to you— smiling into his next kiss along your throat as he rolls his hips into you.

“oh, but you left me cold and alone, i think you gotta make that up to me, no?” he’s teasing you, trying to lure you back into where he wants you most— not that he wouldn’t have you anywhere, he’s already had his way with you around this whole apartment. but he wants nothing more than you between the sheets right now, wrapped up in him and the plush mattress beneath you both.

“i’m literally making you a coffee. you needed the rest.” you try to argue but you should know that gojo’s never one to back down. you feel his fingers trail slowly underneath the hem of his shirt, before he sighs with the first teasing swipe along the inside of your bare thigh, so dangerously close to your folds that you shudder. no panties either? you really were teasing him.

“hah? but i feel better than ever.” he tries to argue, oh so convincingly before he’s turning you to face him— peppering sweet, ticklish smooches along your features until you’re arms are wrapping around his shoulders and your eyes are finally on him.

“oh, i’m sure~” you grin, his crystalline gaze is sleepy as you brush your fingers through his bed head— scratching at his scalp before he’s sending you a lopsided grin, followed by a quick peck against your lips.

“got no choice. you need a demostration? let’s go, sweet thing. only one way to show you.” is all you hear from gojo before he’s suddenly got you thrown over his shoulder, and you truly forget how strong he really is until he’s handling you with such ease— holding you with one arm like you’re as light as a feather.

“satoru! what about breakfast?” not that you’re putting up much of a fight, you can basically feel the smug look that’s on his face already as he turns to drag you back to bed. you grumble, defeated but it quickly turns to a shriek when you feel your boyfriends free hand come down sharply on your ass as he chuckles.

“hm? don’t mind. i’m hungry f’ somethin’ else right now, baby.”

© 2023 GAROUJO. please do not copy any of my layouts or writing and translate or repost onto any other sites.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 8,520 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

11/30/24: **This chapter has been edited and rewritten from its original version**

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts. 

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light. 

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there. 

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.” 

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you. 

Nightmare. 

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them. 

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you. 

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that. 

Maybe someone was, but not in reality. 

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures? 

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest. 

He’s crying. 

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing. 

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them. 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyle. 

His sweet Kyle. 

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team. 

What a failure he is. 

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing. 

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly. 

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half. 

How he’s missed this. 

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny. 

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds. 

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I full-heartedly agree.” 

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door. 

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.” 

John clears his throat. “How is she?” 

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair. 

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks. 

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks. 

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says. 

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.” 

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own. 

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier. 

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha. 

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can. 

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs. 

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take. 

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage. 

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about. 

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next. 

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can. 

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger. 

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again. 

But what comes next? 

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you? 

Could they leave you alone again? 

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs. 

They have time. 

He has to make sure you’re okay first. 

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay. 

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room. 

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them. 

You hate it. 

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything? 

They left you. 

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do. 

You’re not them. 

You don’t want to be like them. 

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first. 

Fuck them. 

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection. 

Or worse. 

You’d get picked up by someone else. 

Graves. Shepherd. 

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead. 

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass. 

You still haven’t spoken to them, though. 

You can hardly stand to look at them. 

Fuck them. 

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream. 

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything. 

You hate it. 

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them. 

It makes you want to scream. 

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again. 

Fuck them. 

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do. 

Fuck. Them. 

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore. 

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there. 

You were tortured there. 

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you. 

Dr. Keller cares. 

It’s her job to care. 

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive. 

She’s the only one you want to forgive. 

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world. 

You should have been their world. 

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first. 

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change. 

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first? 

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass. 

You thought you were dying the first time. 

You could only be so lucky. 

The bond. 

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t. 

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first. 

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain. 

Fuck yourself. 

Fuck your omega. 

Fuck your pack. 

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more. 

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass. 

Fuck them all. 

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side. 

Fuck. Them. All. 

You don’t want him here. 

He does it now, usually in the mornings. 

You hate it. 

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort. 

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain. 

You don’t want to. 

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it. 

The sea. 

They brought you to the sea. 

John remembered. He did it for you. 

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger. 

You hate it. 

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her. 

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you. 

You don’t want them. 

Fuck, you desperately need them. 

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t. 

You can’t reach out. 

You can’t take his hand. 

How desperately you want to. 

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch. 

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.” 

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie. 

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness. 

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore. 

You don’t feel like anything anymore. 

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever. 

That will certainly make things easier. 

But will it make things better? 

No. Probably not. 

It’ll make things worse. 

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now. 

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted. 

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing? 

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now. 

How badly it would destroy you. 

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close. 

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally. 

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing. 

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it. 

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.” 

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says. 

“She needs her alpha.” He argues. 

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.” 

“I can’t give her that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now. 

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it. 

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.” 

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost. 

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head. 

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight. 

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again. 

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t. 

To the beach and back, then. 

She’s like an angel. 

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is. 

The Garrick beauty is genetic. 

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her. 

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.” 

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever. 

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?” 

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit. 

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do. 

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed. 

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks. 

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books? 

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure. 

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.” 

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you. 

You want to do it. 

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller. 

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe. 

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger. 

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more. 

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.” 

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now? 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time. 

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.” 

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US. 

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.” 

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long. 

She’s funny too. 

Stinky men. 

They are that. 

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement. 

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller. 

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.” 

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile. 

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered. 

Oh. 

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered. 

Oh. 

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller. 

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her. 

That’s not possible. You know it’s not. 

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.” 

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.” 

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say. 

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter. 

Another smile tugs at your lips. 

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to. 

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be. 

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here. 

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable. 

You hate it. 

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.” 

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better. 

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.” 

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology. 

It shocks him to stillness and silence. 

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you? 

He never existed. 

He left you behind. 

He never cared. 

Anger begins to bubble within you. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop. 

They’re all listening. 

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to. 

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!” 

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too. 

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation? 

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump. 

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt. 

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it. 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly. 

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue. 

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels. 

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!” 

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all. 

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.” 

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all. 

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” 

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it. 

The bond. 

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all. 

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

John stares at the wood in shock. The slam of the door still echoes in his ears as he stands there, frozen. He knew the chance of a negative reaction was high, but something like that? Something to that magnitude? 

Your words cut into him like a knife, searing his skin and leaving blisters behind. 

Hands push him out of the way. He stumbles to the side, his brain still catching up to his body. 

“Sweetie, I need you to open the door.” 

The words are muffled from the ringing in his ears, the ringing of your screams as you cursed his very being. 

Liar. 

His legs are shaking as he turns, his body moving automatically towards the door. The other three members of his pack are frozen, watching him as he crosses the living room, as he wraps his fingers around the handle of the sliding glass door, as he pushes it open just wide enough to slip through. 

The thud of it closing feels like a seal being stamped. He’s cut himself off, fraying that bond forever. 

Your words still ring in his head as he stands in the middle of the porch numbly. 

Liar. 

He is a liar. He made a lot of promises that he couldn’t keep, promises that he broke because of his decisions. He should have made you feel comfortable enough to reveal those cameras right away. He should have gotten you off base as soon as you revealed them. He should have never trusted Shepherd, or even Kate in that moment. He should have fought harder, he should have sent you away from base as soon as he made that decision to leave. 

So many things he should have done differently. 

You can’t change the past. 

Liar. 

He left you when you needed him most. He proved time and time again that he’d always choose the job over you, no matter what he promised. You’re not a soldier. No matter how much he tried to prepare you, train you, you’d never be able to fight like them. 

Not without taking drastic measures. 

He saw the blood. He saw the bodies. He saw the proof of an omega pushed too far, an omega forced into its primordial state. 

You did it because they left you. 

You did it because you thought the abandoned you. 

Those words ring out the loudest in his mind. Above all the others those words linger, replaying over and over again. 

‘You let me be tortured.’

Christ. 

He runs a hand over his face, the realization shocking him as a cold chill settles under his skin. There’s a weight dropping in his stomach, threatening to sink him straight through the planks of the porch and into the ground below. 

You think they left you. 

He turns on his heel, shocked to find Simon standing behind him. He can’t read his face, hidden behind the mask that hasn’t come off since they arrived at the cottage. He doesn’t need to see his face to read the giant alpha. He’s known Simon long enough to be able to read him just based on his body language. 

He’s angry, frustrated. John half expects him to start yelling too, but that’s never been Simon’s style. He only gets loud when he needs to. Instead he’ll stew and glare and darken the room with his rage. The target of his anger will feel it and know, and that’s almost worse than if he’d express that anger through words. 

Despite the cold chill of Simon’s stare, John’s mind is reeling too much to care. It all makes sense now. Your distance, your turmoil, your own anger. 

“She thinks we left her.” The words come tumbling out before he can stop them. 

“We did.” Simon says, the words short and sharp. 

“No, no,” John shakes his head. “She thinks we left her with Graves.” 

Simon shifts on his feet, the planks of the porch creaking under his weight. 

“Of course Graves would fuck with her head, make her feel like she had been abandoned. It was never about following orders for him. He would have tortured her no matter what.” Anger burns hot in John, at himself, at Graves. Of course you’d assume the worst, of course you’d believe Graves because he was playing on your own doubts. 

They left you so easily at the barracks, of course they’d leave you to be tortured. 

“She’ll never believe you.” Simon says. The squaring of his shoulders has deflated a bit. 

“No, she won’t.” John shifts on his feet, staring straight at Simon. “But I’m not going to be the one to tell her.” 

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary. 

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll. 

It was necessary, but at what cost? 

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress. 

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate. 

But how? 

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer. 

You need someone, and it can’t be her. 

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing. 

You need someone. 

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win. 

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can. 

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.  

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away. 

Just in case. 

One can never be too careful. 

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her. 

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe... 

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.  

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later. 

NEXT ->

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[spideyjimin]

Wait for your love | jjk (teaser)

—  pairing: firefighter!jungkook x female reader 

—  genre: kind of exes to lovers, parents au, angst, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: sixteen years ago, your life was turned upside down when you surrendered to the temptation — none other than jungkook, the star basketball player on your school’s team. today, after all that time, you reunite under tragic circumstances; a car crash where he saves your life.

—  words: 577

—  author’s note: here you have the teaser of the fic i’m currently working on 🤗 you have a tiny little teaser below & i hope you’ll enjoy it ❤️

—  tag list: let me know in any way if you want to be tagged when i post this and if you are part of my permanent taglist, you will automatically be added ✨

Jungkook and his team got called for a car accident involving several cars, and when they arrived, the scene was horrific.

There are probably five cars pressed and smashed one against the other. There are people injured and bleeding walking around the scene. Paramedics are already taking care of them, but Jungkook is walking to the cars to retrieve the people stuck inside. His captain screams orders and tells him which car he should go to.

His eyes look around, his heart breaking when he sees everyone involved and still stuck in their cars. Visions like this are quite common for him, it doesn’t happen all the time but it’s still recurrent. At the end of the day, his job is to save people in this type of situation.

When he reaches the car, he was assigned to, he takes a look at how many people there are inside. There’s just one person, a woman behind the steering wheel. She has her hand on her head, clearly showing that she might have a headache. She doesn’t really move. Instantly, Jungkook tries to open the door, but it’s showing a bit of resistance.

It feels impossible to open the door, but Jungkook sees the woman’s head falling. He’s getting worrier; she’s slumping into sleep which isn’t a good sign as she was holding her head barely seconds ago. He then proceeds to break the window so he can try to open it from inside. There are other possible ways, but it would be harder and more dangerous to get her out of the vehicle.

“Ma’am,” he says with urge.

Eventually, he manages to open the damn door from the inside. A good part of the car’s front is crashing into her. Before even thinking of taking her out, he places a cervical collar to protect her neck and spine.

“Ma’am,” he repeats. “Can you hear me?”

She doesn’t answer at all. Jungkook gets closer, his fingers brushing the hair from her face, but when he finally gets to properly see the woman’s face, his heart skips a beat. This woman is none other than you. His mind can’t start to get lost in the past right now. He needs to focus on taking you out of the car.   

You’re in pretty bad shape.

There’s blood on your forehead, you most probably have a wound on top of your head. There’s also blood at the level of your stomach, turning your green shirt into a very dark color. He can distinguish a big fragment of glass shoved into your belly. It doesn’t look good. Your legs are also completely smashed by the front, causing the steering wheel to be very close to your body.  Hopefully, your legs aren’t too injured. He doesn’t even want to start thinking about all the bruises on your body.

Slowly, he places one hand behind your back while his other hand slowly pushes your legs. He’s trying to be as careful as possible to avoid causing any other injury.  His strong arms hold you once he manages to fully remove you from the car. His eyes look down at your face with evident pain. He notices how you’re trying to open your eyes which makes him think that you’re trying to fight the urge to fall asleep.

“Yn,” he says while walking to an ambulance. “Please, stay with me,” he whispers with despair. “I’ve finally found you, and I can’t lose you right away.”