#I wish I could do something else with him but there's just nothing else on offer here

[lockefanfic]

Last Chance

“Come over?”

You knew what the message meant, what she was asking for. What else could she mean, sending you that text at near midnight on a Friday night? 

The night air is crisp as you leave your friend’s apartment, where his yearly Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Years party was raging. It seemed to only get colder as you stood on the sidewalk waiting for your ride, and the Uber driver’s seeming reluctance to crank up the heat in his car meant that the ride across town to her apartment was almost equally as chilly. 

Her building was a lot warmer, thankfully, and when she opens the door and greets you with a smile she gives you all the warmth you need.

“Come in,” Chou Tzuyu says with a small wave of her hand and nod of her head. “Drink?”

“I’ve had plenty at the party,” you admit, “but wouldn’t say no to water.”

“Good choice,” she says with a sly smile, cracking open her fridge to pull out a jug. “Gotta stay hydrated.”

You watch as she pours you a glass, her back turned to you as you enter her small but nicely furnished kitchen. She’s wearing a short, tight t-shirt and what were probably the tiniest pair of green cotton shorts known to man. The fit left much of her midsection and all of her long, shapely legs bare, highlighting the wideness of her hips and the fullness of her thighs. You hadn’t thought it possible, but she almost looked as attractive with the flimsy scraps of cotton on her as she did without them.

She hands you your glass of water, tapping it with her own as you both take sips and step into her living room. 

“Had a real shitty week,” she says, unprompted, as though she somehow felt the need to justify calling you over on a Friday night, felt the need to justify what the both of you were about to do. “Kind of need to blow off some steam.”

“Fair enough. Work again?”

“Yeah,” she says with a sigh under her breath, leaning against the arm of her couch, where you join her. “Big project due next week that’s kept me at the office most nights. And…”

“And?”

“There’s this guy.”

You sigh, inwardly, hiding your reaction behind another sip of water. You feel a sting somewhere in the depths of your heart, one you do your best to keep hidden behind the barrier of nonchalance that you’d worked hard to maintain with her.

“Oh?” you manage.

“Co-worker,” she says, softly, after another sip. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘don’t date co-workers.’ But I’m pretty sure he’s into me, y’know? And I’ve been into him since, well, forever ago. But I’m so frustrated, because he won’t make a fucking move, no matter how many signals I send his way.”

“...and you’re into him?” you ask, even as the words hurt to say.

She fumbles a bit with the glass in her hand, staring down at it as though she were looking for the answer to your question in the transparent liquid that it contained.

“Well, yeah,” she admits. “I know I should really keep it professional, considering how long we’ve been working together and how much I rely on him at work, but… I dunno. I dunno what to make of it, that’s all. I just wish he’d call me or something, get it over with, one way or another. Was kind of hoping he’d ask me out over the holidays, but nothing.”

“Ah,” you admit. “Maybe he’s just not into girls that aren’t hot enough to be invited to  Inbetween-Christmas-And-New-Year’s parties,” you tease. “I wouldn’t be either, to be honest.”

Tzuyu smirks and gives you a playful swat on the arm, the smirk turning into a warm smile. “Thanks for coming over,” she says, softly. “I need this.”

“I mean, I had to leave an above average Inbetween-Christmas-and-New-Year’s party because my moderately attractive friend across town needs my dick in her so she can get over some guy at work, but sure, I guess I kinda need it too.”

Tzuyu giggles - a soft, musical sound you never tired of hearing. 

She locks eyes with you for a moment, and in that split second you feel disarmed, as though she sees right through you, right through the humor and sarcasm and other defenses you’d put up to keep her from seeing the real you. You worry, for a moment, that she sees right through your sarcastic, aloof facade you forced yourself to wear lest she see how you really felt about her.

The moment is fleeting, though, and after she takes your glass of water and places it on the coffee table next to hers, the look you find in her eyes is altogether different. There’s hunger there now, and need.

She pulls you to your feet, wraps her arms around your neck, and your heart stops beating for a moment when your lips touch. 

Gentle, soft at first, as it always was, because despite being friends with benefits for a year or so and friends for much longer you both never quite got over that initial awkwardness, those odd, clumsy moments when you both knew what you wanted but weren’t quite sure how to go about initiating the process to get it.

You liked to think it was because you were both hopeless romantics at heart, and something within you both thought that sex without the feelings was beneath you, was something only indulged in by desperate single people who couldn’t get into a relationship to save their lives. Perhaps it was because neither of you wanted to be the one to admit, at least on the outside, that this was just for pleasure, that you were using a friend for an orgasm or two and that was it, end of story, we now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

But the feeling quickly fades amidst the feel of another body pressed to yours, and soon the kiss becomes heated. Tongues dance, mouths open, your lips crush against each other. Your hands roam - yours around that tiny waist of hers, hers around your neck, fingers furrowing into the hair at the back of your neck. You pull her against you and her body molds to yours, warm and soft and pliant.

You break the kiss, eager to have more of her, your heart pounding now, so loud you fear she might hear it pounding out of your chest. She gasps as you dive into her neck, her hands weaving further into your hair, nails digging into your scalp. She tilts her head to the side, gives more of herself to you.

“Fuck,” she hisses, between gritted teeth. “Fuck. Need this.”

You devour her neck, finding and fixating on those sensitive spots where you knew she loved to be kissed. Your hands slide up her back and cup her ass and you’re thankful again that she decided to wear such a flimsy outfit that did little to hide the wonders of her body. 

She pulls away for a moment to pull her shirt up and over her head and she’s topless now, her hands working on your own clothes and divesting you of your button-up and t-shirt you wore beneath it. You come together again and the thrill of her soft, warm breasts pressing against your chest takes the breath away from your mouth for a moment, even as she covers your newly breathless lips with a kiss. The stiff peaks of her nipples press against you, tight and needy, sending a shiver up your spine.

You reach down, pick her up with your hands beneath her ass - and she giggles again as you carry her toward her bedroom. Her legs wrap themselves around your waist, her arms around your neck, but she weighs nothing against the need for her that gives you all the strength you need. She’s smiling and laughing and she’s everything you could ever want, right there in your arms.

She’s yours, and she’s not.

You drop her onto her bed, where her landing gives those small, perfect breasts of hers a delightful looking bounce. Your eyes find hers and for a moment, a split second, you’re afraid again - that she can see right through you, find the way you really feel about her beyond the hunger and lust and need. 

Because Chou Tzuyu is perfect - when she’s topless on her bed, lips slightly parted, eyes hooded, yes - but she was also perfect when you met her in your senior-level psychology lecture, perfect when you helped her move into this very apartment, perfect when you went out for dinner after she landed her first big job in her field; the very same one where she’d meet the guy she was apparently so very into, the same guy you most decidedly were not, the same guy you were apparently a substitute for on a lonely Friday night.

You need her - that perfect, tight body, the wide hips and full thighs, the round, perky breasts and the beautiful smile - but in ways beyond the physical. You need her beyond lonely weeknights and 2am weekend hookups. You need her for Sunday mornings at the grocery store where you both plan your lunches for the week, you need her for vacations in Fukuoka and Amsterdam and Vancouver. You need her for random, candid photos on your phone during a coffee date where she believes, ridiculously, that she were anything less than perfect in your eyes.

But she’s not yours - at least, not in the way you would like. She’s half-naked on her bed and you’re between her spread thighs and she’s looking at you like she wants to devour you whole and somehow, someway, that’s not enough. It would never be enough. But it’s all you have. It’s all she can give you.

You bend to kiss her, and being past that clumsy, awkward initial phase, the kiss is heated, passionate. It’s also a short one, because the rest of her body beckoned, and you didn’t possess the patience or self-control to deny yourself what was yours to take. You indulge in the delights of Chou Tzuyu’s body because it’s a distraction from the feelings that you fear might take over if you indulge them, if you let yourself dream about what your life would be like if she weren’t just a friend, weren’t just a Friday night fuck.

You kiss a path down her neck, to her sharp, prominent collarbones, each soft peck eliciting a little gasp or hiss from her lips. When you reach her breasts she’s practically begging, back arched off the mattress, desperate to have your mouth on her. She loved having your hands on her small mounds, your lips locked over her nipples, licking and sucking. Smaller boobs are more sensitive, she’d said once, only half-jokingly, and you never forgot it.

You give her what she wants - what you both want. Your mouth latches on to one breast, lips closing over her tight nipple and sucking, licking, lightly biting.

Tzuyu moans - a long, languid sound of pleasure, her loudest of the night. You never tired of hearing the pleasure leaving her lips in long, wordless drawls. It was like music. It was a song that only she knew the lyrics to, that she performed only for you, and you never tired of hearing it play.

Your mouth and hand swap, your lips latching tightly to her other nipple while you squeeze the other one with an open palm, relishing the feel of the soft flesh beneath your fingers. 

You spend a little longer on her right breast, because you knew it was somehow more sensitive than the other one - just another of those small things you knew about her body that no one else did. Another fact about Chou Tzuyu that belonged just to you, that you held tight against your chest and treasured greedily. You loved knowing that you knew things about her body no one else did. 

You loved knowing that you were the only one who knew these dirty, filthy little things about her, and that you were the only man on earth she trusted with them. The thought of sharing that knowledge with another man - or even worse, of losing access to it altogether, having it taken away from you by some random asshole who didn’t know these things, hadn’t worked to learn them - made you feel something dark and upsetting, something between fear and anger.

Tzuyu is a moaning and sighing mess now, her legs wrapped around your lower back, her own back arching up and off the mattress in an attempt to offer more of her body to you. Her nails dig little spikes of pain into your scalp with each suckle you draw from her nipple. Her thighs part even further and you feel the warmth between them pressing against your belly, even through the green shorts riding up her hips. She moans and writhes beneath you and if you’d spent the rest of the night with her breasts in your mouth and under your palms you would’ve been satisfied with that alone.

But she has other ideas - wants more, craves more. The fingers she’s woven into your hair push you downward. You release her stiffened nipple from between your lips with a pop, gazing up momentarily to find her looking back at you, cheeks flushed, eyes half-lidded, a sigh on her lips. Their corners perk up in a barely noticeable, shy little smile.

Her tongue darts out, moistens her full pink lips, and you catch the unspoken request.

You bend your head again, returning your lips to her skin, starting a trail down her flat stomach, taking care to press a soft kiss on that cute belly button of hers. You open your eyes to watch her abs flex with every movement, delighting in the sight and feel of the tight muscle beneath the perfect, creamy skin. Hers was a body she’d spent many long hours in the gym and pilates studio for, and you were more than happy to make sure she knew how worth it it all was.

You reach her shorts, eventually - the flimsy strip of soft green cotton that was just barely enough to provide her with some measure of modesty. You take a moment to admire the way they sat on her hips, the way her full, flushed thighs look spread beneath them. She squirms under your gaze, her hips searching for friction, begging you to get them off her.

Your patience outlasts hers, because she’s the one to reach for the buttons keeping the shorts closed. You consider stopping her and undoing the buttons yourself, but there is a part of you that needs to see her undress herself for you, needs to watch her reveal her most intimate parts to you and you alone.

Thin, dainty fingers make quick work of the button, and she raises her hips, hooking her thumbs into the waistband and pulling them off her hips. You make way as she pulls the shorts off the long, endless length of her legs. She tosses them aside, over the side of the bed, where for all intents and purposes they cease to exist.

Her thighs remain tight together for a moment, only a few moments - and in those seconds her eyes are locked on yours, capturing and holding every ounce of your attention. Her thighs part, her legs spread and allow you back between them, but your eyes hold her gaze regardless. Her eyes tell you she wants you to relish the way she looks, naked and vulnerable, her body spread and laid out for you to take, to make yours for the rest of the night.

“Fuck, Tzuyu,” you mumble, unable to really say anything more than her name.

She smirks, those wonderful lips of hers curling into a smile. Without further word she grasps your skull with her palms and gently pushes you down towards her waiting pussy.

Her cunt is beautiful, like the rest of her - flushed and pink and glistening in the soft light of her bedroom, the insides of her thighs already moist with her juices. You bend down and give her a long, slow lick from the base of her opening to the top. The taste of her floods your palette just as the sound of the gasp that leaves her lungs fills your ears - a sound that is quickly muffled by the closing of her warm, moist thighs around your cheeks and face.

You do it again, give her another lick from bottom to top, then a third. You swirl her juices around on your tongue, relishing the taste of her. She’s squirming now, writhing, waiting for you to really commit to pleasuring her, her back arching and her nails digging more incessantly into your scalp.

You take a glance up at her - a viewpoint that you were truly blessed to bear witness to - past the flat planes of her stomach, between her heaving breasts, and finally to her face, flushed and pink, lower lip tucked under teeth, eyes fixed on you. She does it again - communicates her need without words, telling you, begging you, to give her the pleasure she so desperately needed. 

And so you do, bending and closing your lips around the tender bud of her clit, your tongue darting out softly, gently, avoiding the sensitive nub and instead licking around it, tracing soft, slow circles around it, just the way you knew she liked. 

The wordless song that has been leaving her mouth all night hits a higher tone, another octave as you work her over with your tongue. Everything intensifies for Tzuyu - the pleasure coursing up her spine, the wetness between her legs, the volume of the moans leaving her mouth. Her head falls back, eyes shutting, mouth now permanently ajar.

It intensifies for you, too - the pinpricks of irritation her nails are digging into your scalp become painful nails, the wet warmth of her thighs closes ever more around your cheeks, and the slick wetness of her cunt increases, making your lips and chin slick. You continue to swirl your tongue around the tender flesh surrounding her clit, neither increasing nor decreasing in pace - simply maintaining your current one, knowing from experience what made her body work, what would give her the most pleasure.

Tzuyu becomes a mewling, quivering mess beneath your tongue. The moans and profanities leaving her lips continue unabated. She forces herself every now and then to open her eyes, glance down at the top of your head nestled between her spread legs, the mere sight of you there, in her most intimate area with your lips around her clit, enough to send yet another spike of pleasure up her spine and into her addled brain. 

“God, fuck, that feels so good,” she manages to gasp, her brain barely able to form recognizable words out of the stream of sounds leaving her mouth. “Fuck, keep going.”

You knew where exactly where she was, what level of pleasure she was experiencing - knowledge that was the product of many a night doing exactly this, pleasuring her just the way you were now. You knew that she was right there, dangling on the precipice, and that she needed just that one last nudge, one last push.

You slip your right hand from where it was wrapped around her thigh, sliding it beneath her, bringing your fingertips to her drenched opening. She gasps as she feels your fingertips at her thus far neglected entrance, knowing what it means, knowing what is about to come. You can almost feel her pussy writhe and ripple around your fingers, now a knuckle deep, urging you, begging you deeper.

“Please,” she gasps, and you oblige. You slide your index and middle fingers inside her, palm up, and the effect on her body is immediate. Her moans cut out, her entire body goes rigid for a moment, as though shocked by lightning. The silence left by the cessation of her moans leaves only the sound of her body writhing on the bed to fill your ears, along with the wet slickness of your fingers moving inside her.

Throughout it all your tongue is swirling around her clit, merciless, unwavering in its pace and depth and pressure. Your fingers are ones pushing her, upping stakes, sliding slowly deeper inside her slickness, curling upward, searching, finding, then teasing.

It takes only a few seconds of your fingertips grazing that most sensitive part of her before Tzuyu orgasms, taking herself by surprise almost as it did you. Her world explodes, her body goes stiff, her eyes shut and for a few wonderful moments all she sees is stars.

You almost have to fight to hold her down with your free hand flat on her tense belly lest your mouth lose contact with her spasming cunt. You fight to keep your tongue and fingers moving, if at a slightly slower pace, letting her ride it out, letting her feel and relish every second of the pleasure coursing its way through every fibre of her being. She’s quiet through it all, mouth frozen in a silent scream, which was rare - she was usually one to announce and talk through her pleasure, but here she was, rendered unable to even moan.

“Fucking hell,” she spits, sometime later when she is able to form words again. Her body is suddenly boneless and sinking into the mattress, utterly drained. Her thighs finally loosen around your head, much to your chagrin, because you’d grown fond of the sticky warmth you’d found between them.

She pulls your face up toward her, and you delight in the tour you’re given of her breathless, sweaty body beneath you as you crawl up the bed until you’re face-to-face. When you reach her lips she captures yours in a tight, passionate kiss, her tongue finding yours and tasting herself on its surface.

“I need you now,” she hisses, eyes boring into yours. You need her too. You always have, truth be told, but perhaps not in the same ways that she needed you. You want to say something, lying here, inches from her face, her eyes needy and vulnerable. But the words never come. The moment passes.

Before you can react any further her hands slide from your head to your shoulders, where she gives you a gentle push onto your back on the bed. She rolls atop you, straddling your hips.

There’s a coy smile on her lips as she undoes the belt at your waist before undoing the button and fly of your jeans and pulling them down your hips. She lets out a soft giggle as you raise your hips and pull the clothes off your legs as though they were on fire. This is all a game to her, a release, a fun, if momentary, distraction. The realization of that stings a little, somewhere deep inside you, where she can’t see the hurt she’s caused to you.

When you’re finally as naked as she is, she straddles you again. Your eyes find hers, as they always did, drawn to them, magnetically, as though you could always find what you needed in them. The small moment of levity and amusement she gained from watching you desperately undress disappears, replaced again by need and desire. 

Her tongue slips out between her lips when she gazes down and sees your cock, hard and aching. Her hand reaches out to grasp it and you feel the air rush out of your lungs at this first intimate contact. She brings your tip to her entrance, dragging the head up and down through her lips, lathering it with her slick juices.

You want to say something, want to tell her how utterly captivating she looks on your lap, your cock at her entrance; you want to tell her how much you wish you were about to fuck your girlfriend or your wife and not just a friend; you want to tell her how the very thought of another man being where you are, right now, upsets you more than you had any right to be.

The moment passes - again. You slide inside her, and suddenly words don’t exist any more.

The sight of Chou Tzuyu impaled hilt-deep on your cock is like nothing else you’ve ever experienced, like nothing else you ever will. She’s feminine perfection, right here, on you, wrapped around you. 

Her head is tilted back, mouth open in a silent moan, eyes shut, brow furrowed, as though deep in concentration. Her breasts are perfect and round and her nipples taut. Her abs flex - defined, toned. And her thighs - perfect, full, flushed. She’s more than you can take. She’s more than you can keep.

It’s a feeling that is only intensified when she begins to move, begins to use those strong, firm thighs and hips of hers to move herself up and down your cock, slowly, with soft, measured movements. She lets herself get used to you, get used to that delicious stretch of you inside her. It’s painful, in a way, how slowly she’s moving - it takes more self-control than you’d care to admit not to just hold her hips down and piston into the wonderful slickness of her cunt.

But hurting her was the last thing you wanted. If only she’d known how much she was hurting you. You wonder if she would stop if she knew. You wonder if she would even care.

Eventually she ups her pace as her body molds itself around you. She’s beginning to sigh and gasp now, mostly on the downstroke as your cock slides inside her, spreading her apart and stretching her out, sending shocks of pleasure throughout both your bodies with each entry. Your hands are firm on her hips, resisting for now the temptation to reach up and play with her softly bouncing breasts, or pull her back down onto your cock with more force. You’re content, feeling her, watching her take her pleasure from you.

Watching her use you.

Tzuyu feels your eyes on her, roaming her body, drinking in the sight of her. One hand reaches up to her breasts, capturing one, teasing the taut nipple for a moment with long, dainty fingertips, giving you a show. Eventually she brings both her hands to her scalp, gathering her hair, pulling it above her head and holding it there. She’s a vision, then and there - her hands above her head, back arching, breasts bouncing wildly as she continues to ride you.

“Jesus, Tzuyu,” you spit, the profanities tumbling from your mouth before you even knew you were speaking them. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

She lets her hair fall from the top of her head in a chocolate waterfall. Her hands cup her own breasts, fingertips playing with her aching nipples.

“You like me like this, baby?” she hisses, a question she knows the answer to. “You like me like this, bouncing on your cock, all tight and wet for you?”

“Fuck, yes, Tzuyu, fuck.”

Her lips curl into a wicked smile, before her lower lip curls under a perfect white tooth. She lets something deep and guttural escape her throat behind her bitten lip.

She bends over you, hands on either side of your head, hair framing a face twisted in pleasure.

She ups her pace, riding you fiercely now, hips slamming down onto yours at a pace that is almost violent. Your hands grasp her thighs, fingers clawing into the soft flesh, feeling the muscles beneath them work to throw their owner against you over and over and over.

“Fuck me,” she snaps, and you oblige.

You thrust upward to meet her, timing each movement of your hips to match with the downstroke of hers, and soon you are slamming your bodies against each other at a merciless pace.

Tzuyu shrieks - loud, sharp. She swears and spits and she’s becoming a loud, mewling mess atop you, but throughout it all she manages to keep riding you, keep bouncing that perfect body of hers atop your cock. Her cunt pulsates, squeezes you like a velvet glove. She’s so wet, leaking with so much arousal, that every slamming of your hips against each other is muffled by the wet stickiness that has coated much of your lower bodies.

“Oh god, oh god, I-” she begins, each word punctuated with a thrust of your cock into her cunt. “Oh fuck, I, so good-”

You watch her, watch that perfect face of hers twist in pleasure, watch as that perfect body of hers takes your cock. Your brow furrows and your hips burn with the effort but you feel none of the fatigue, none of the weariness of the physical effort. All that matters is her pleasure. All that matters is making sure she-

“Cumming-” she hisses, just barely before she does. 

Her eyes shut, body stiffens, just as it did when she came on your mouth - and her cunt tightens wonderfully around your cock, pulsating, squeezing. You bury yourself inside her to the hilt, wanting to feel every second of her orgasming around you. You can feel the shocks of pleasure radiating from her, reaching her limbs, flooding her brain with sensation. 

When she remembers to breathe she lets out a long, drawn out breath. Her arms, shaky, finally give way and she collapses atop you, head next to yours. For a few long seconds she does nothing but breathe heavily against you, the gasps and sighs that leave her mouth loud against your ear. Your hands roam her sweat-slick back, fingertips tracing a path down her spine and pulling a soft sigh from her tired lips.

“God,” she says into your ear. “Fuck, that was so good, baby.”

You loved and hated when she called you that. It was a pet name for lovers - and she only used it during sex. She only ever called you by your first name anywhere outside the bedroom. Another reminder of the boundaries. Of the limits.

“You feel amazing, Tzuyu,” you say, truthfully. Her cunt is still pulsating softly around your painfully stiff cock as the last waves of her orgasm leave her body. The warm slickness of her around you made a pleasant distraction from your emotions. Pleasant, but not easy.

You feel her lips curl into that sly smile of hers again against your cheek. She plants a few kisses under your ear, tracing a path along your jaw, until she finds your lips. Her hips begin to move again, side to side - not taking you in and out of her body, but just moving you around, swirling your stiffness inside her.

“Your turn, baby,” she whispers, half-lidded eyes locked on yours. “How do you want to cum in me?”

You’d had her in every position imaginable over the time you’ve been fuck buddies. But you always enjoyed one of them more than the others.

“Want you from behind-” you begin. “-Tzu.” you finish, resisting the temptation to call her ‘baby.’ Some small, bitter part of you felt she didn’t deserve to be called that, not if she was going to tease you, hurt you with its use, make a weapon out of it that she wielded carelessly, inconsiderately.

Thankfully, she doesn’t notice your momentary hesitation - maybe she was still recovering from the high of her orgasm, or maybe she was too focused on gyrating her hips around the stiffness still hilt-deep inside her.

“Alright, baby,” she says, again, the word stinging even if it was laced with the sweet honey of her voice. The smile on her lips is proof of how oblivious she is to the damage she wreaks with each wreckless use of it. 

You didn’t blame her. How could you? How could you expect someone to know what you felt internally when you continually denied it externally?

You’d promised each other, when you first started this little arrangement, that you’d put an end to it if either of you found yourselves with anything even remotely resembling feelings for the other. But how could you end it, when you’re in her bed and you’re both naked and she’s wet and ready and on her hands and knees, looking over her shoulder at you, slick pink lips opening to say-

“Come take me, then.”

A stronger man would have ended this a long time ago. You were not that man, not today. You doubted there were many men in the world with that level of strength.

You bring yourself behind her, admiring the sight of her - perfect, as she always was, perfect in every sense of the world. She’s creamy skin and a tiny waist and those hips and thighs, my god, those hips and thighs. She’s there and wet and ready and wanting and who could say no?

You bring your tip to her opening, parting her lips with your head, swirling it, swiping it up and down her slick flesh, sending a shiver of pleasure into both of your bodies. She sighs and her back arches delightfully, the dip of her spine sharp and prominent in the low light of her bedroom. She mewls and sighs, her hips pushing back against you, needy, wanting.

“Fuck, baby, come on,” she sighs, she begs. 

You loved her voice, soft and light, like silk spun into air - but you loved it most when it was begging, needy.

Her hips continue to push against you, the round cheeks of her ass pressing against you, trying to pull you inside her herself. “Please,” she continues, airy and breathless. “Put it in me. Don’t you want my pussy? Don’t you want me?”

You did. You wanted her, but in more ways than this. Chou Tzuyu is on her hands and knees in front of you and she’s dripping wet and begging and somehow it’s not enough.

One of her hands slides down her body, and her fingertips part the slick lips of her pussy. She’s glistening and pink and pure distilled need, right there, right here, ready for you to take. 

And she doesn’t give a damn about your feelings, is blissfully oblivious to everything but the emptiness between her legs. All she wants is a fuck. That’s it. That’s all you are. You’re everything and nothing, all at once.

“Look how empty I am without you inside me, baby. Come fill me up.”

You slide inside her - how could you not, after hearing that? She’s so tight and hot and wet, and you forget, momentarily, everything other than the feel of her cunt wrapped around you.

You fuck her - hard, firm, your pace fuelled more than you would care to admit by a darkness inside you that you weren’t proud to admit to. Jealousy, of some man you’d never met, some man who made her feel like you never could? Anger, at her, for not seeing how you felt about her, how amazing you could be together?

Whatever it was, it was ugly and came from a dark place, and you didn’t want to acknowledge it. But you fuck Chou Tzuyu with it running through your veins - fast, hard. And she sighs and moans and thinks you’re just especially turned on today, want a harder fuck than usual. She doesn’t know any better. Doesn’t know that you’re using her body the way you are, as an outlet for your frustration and anger as much as an outlet for your pleasure.

You reach forward, running your fingers through her hair with a surprising gentleness, even as your cock hammers in and out of her body, rocking it, pounding her.

Then your fingers close, pull. She yelps, gasps.

Her spine arcs sharply backward as you pull backward on her hair. You use her hair like a leash, pulling back as you thrust forward. Tzuyu can do nothing but take it, her body given to you fully. The spasming and quivering of her cunt around you is evidence of her acceptance, her submission. 

Your hips slap wetly against her ass with each hard thrust you make into her tight, slick pussy. The bedroom fills with it - flesh hitting flesh, wordless sighs and moans that turn into begging, profanity, name calling - the lewd soundtrack of sex.

“Fuck, fuck,” Tzuyu manages, “You’re so fucking deep, fuck, more, fuck me more-”

You shut her up. The hand pulling her hair wraps around her scalp, pushes her face down onto the bed. You pin her down, your palm flat against the back of her neck and upper shoulders. Throughout it all you are fucking her, using her, just as she uses you, even if it’s for different reasons, with entirely different depths of emotion.

Her mouth muffled against the bed, she’s unable to say or do much more. And you prefer her this way, because every word she says - even the ones that spur you into fucking her harder, faster, deeper - will only make it harder to leave her when you’re done.

Not that you needed much motivation to fuck her the way she liked - hard, deep, but not wild or uncontrolled. You maintain your pace, enjoying the way her cunt squeezed and tightened rhythmically around you. Tzuyu knew how to communicate with her body, knew how to tell you exactly what she wanted without words.

You watch her beneath you, relished the sight of her helpless and unable to do much of anything but take your cock again and again. Her moans and sighs are muffled by the cotton of her bedsheets, but you heard enough of them to tell you you were hitting just the right spots inside her. She’s under you and she’s yours and you do your best to stay in the moment, enjoy the feeling of her wrapped around you.

You feel that feeling in your core, the telltale building of pleasure in your gut that heralds your impending orgasm, tells you to fuck her harder and deeper and bury your cum inside her. She must have felt it too, somehow, in the slightly more erratic rhythm of your thrusts, or the tighter grip of your palm against the back of her neck.

Tzuyu turns her head enough to clear her mouth of the bedsheets, despite your palm on the back of her neck.

“Fucking cum in me,” she hisses, “Please cum inside me. Make me yours.”

The perfect words, on any other night - but on this night they only hurt you. 

Because she isn’t yours, might never be. Tomorrow, she might be another man’s. Even as you thrust harder and harder and your orgasm comes closer and closer all you can think of is how empty this feels, how even if she’s under you and taking your cum she’s not what you want her to be, what you need her to be.

But for a moment, a fleeting, blissful moment, you forget all that. Your hand leaves the back of her neck to join the other one at her hips, pulling her hips back against yours as you crest your peak, burying yourself inside her and letting go.

She moans as she feels you pulse inside her, each movement of your cock signifying another rope of warm, thick cum that fills her thirsty, needy little cunt. You give her a few more short, sharp thrusts before you bury yourself inside her for the last time. She’s so fucking full of you that your juices begin to overflow from her stuffed pussy, around the lips still tightly wrapped around your shaft, down your balls and her flushed thighs.

Time freezes, becomes irrelevant, and for a few blessed minutes you forget everything about the way you feel about Chou Tzuyu.

When your senses return and your brain has recovered long enough to process thought, the first thing you’re aware of is her voice.

“Fuck,” she’s saying, “God, that was… god.” And then she’s saying your name, and it makes you wince, as though hearing her say it caused you pain. 

You slip out of her, and she winces herself - although hers is borne of the emptiness you’ve left inside her and not out of any deeper emotion. She makes no effort to get off her hands and knees, staying frozen there, her ass in the air like some lewd testament to the sinful acts you’ve just committed. You watch, absent-mindedly, as your cum drips from her well-fucked cunt, down her thighs, staining her bed.

Eventually she falls onto her side, facing you. You’re sitting there, on your knees on the bed, watching her. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are glassy. She’s so perfect, so desirable - and you curse yourself for the millionth time that night that you lacked both the wisdom to find the words to say and the courage to say them.

But it doesn’t matter, because you’re not the guy she wants, not the one she’s waiting for a call from. And that’s when it hits you, dark and ugly and painful - you wonder if she were pretending you were him this whole time, pretending it was his cock fucking her, making her cum, cumming in her, using you like some fucktoy replacement for the real thing.

You turn away from her, as though the very sight of her were somehow painful to you, despite the fogginess of your post-orgasm haze. Before you know it, you’re climbing off the bed, finding your pants on the floor, throwing them on.

“Are you-?” she begins, her words soft as you find your t-shirt and button-up, throwing them on.

“I, uh, I have to get back to the party,” you stammer, hoping she would buy your flimsy excuse for an exit. But you had to leave, had to do anything to get out of that room. The thought of losing her, the thought of this being your last time together - it hurt, it was too much, and every fibre of you screamed to get away from it.

“Oh,” she says, softly. You turn to find that she’s sitting up on the bed now, her arms wrapping around her knees.

“There’s, uh, my friend, he, he introduced me to this girl,” you mumble, fabricating a story, trying to come up with some way to hurt her, just as she’s hurt you. “I told her I’d, uh, get back to the party. She likes me, I think,” you add, the words tasting like ashes in your mouth.

“Right,” she says, surprise and something else in her low voice. Her knees come up closer to her chest. “So, um, hey, about that guy-”

“Good luck with him,” you spit, cutting her off, afraid of what you might hear if you let her continue. “Uh, let me know how it goes.”

There’s a short silence, one that drags on for longer than you’d like. You don’t look up at her, unable to muster the courage to do so. You fumble with your shirt buttons, fingers numb.

“Sure,” she says, finally. “I… I think I’m going to call him tomorrow.”

“Right. I, uh, I should go. I’ll. Uh. I’ll talk to you later,” you say, as you turn towards her bedroom door.

You think you hear her say something, a couple of words.

Your eyes finally look up at her, but she’s looking away. You look for confirmation on her face, but she’s turned away from you, and her expression is unreadable. She suddenly looks small and vulnerable.

“Did- did you say something, Tzuyu?”

“Nothing,” she says, a hand pressed against the side of her face, her eyes shut, as though she were suddenly fighting a headache. But just as quickly it appears, it’s gone, and Tzuyu manages a weak smile, even if there’s no happiness or mirth in her eyes. “It’s nothing. Be safe getting back to the party, okay? And don’t forget your jacket - it’s cold outside. Let me know when you get there.”

“I, I will, Tzuyu,” you say, words shaky, unsure. “See ya.”

You leave her, leave her hot, stifling apartment.

The night is cold.

Author’s Note: High five to you if you guess what she said.

[ofbatsandballads]

please take this. I made myself cry writing it and I have nothing to say except that putting ya’aburnee and darling by halsey on my jason playlist was a brutal choice. also look up flower language if you want additional feelings.

There’s so many things you want for Jason Todd.

You want him to get a good night’s sleep for once. You let him close his pretty seafoam eyes and lay his head in the crook of your neck as you scratch gently at his scalp. It always calms him down, grounds him in the here and now. Your arms around him, your fingers carding through his hair, the rise and fall of your chest that’s synced with his–it all reminds him that he’s safe, that he’s home. You want that feeling to follow him into his dreams, to let him find true rest. So when his body goes tense and his breathing gets labored, you hold him closer and hum gently into his ear until whatever haunts him in his sleep is chased away by the comfort you bring.

You want to make sure he’s protected. You wish you could deflect every hit, blade, and bullet away from his body. You wish he would see his body as something worth protecting. He would stop if you asked, would settle into a normal life as best as he could. You would never ask because to do so would be to deny the part of him you love most: his heart that beats to help others. So you protect him in the ways that you can. You stitch cuts and treat burns, you mend his jackets and help clean his guns. More than anything, you guard his peace of mind like it’s the most valuable thing in the world. You’re never cruel to him, never scream vicious words or toss him out into the cold night. You call Bruce and thank him for the first edition Jane Austen novels that arrived on your doorstep on August 16th when Jason just…can’t. You let him grip your hand brutally tight under the table when you go to the manor for Thanksgiving for the first time. And when it gets really bad? When he feels the burning of green waters that breathed life into him that he didn’t want, when hideous laughter echoes in a place it’s never been? You do something no one has ever done for him. You wait. You stay. You stay by his side until he can breathe again, until dawn breaks and he can see the light again. And always, always you, haloed in it like an angel he doesn’t think he deserves. He does.

You want him to have a good cup of hot chocolate. He told you about it once when he came home after a long winter patrol. Half delirious from exhaustion, he reminisced about how Bruce would make them both a cup of hot chocolate after particularly rough or successful patrols in December. How this specific hot chocolate had no equal—even Alfred couldn’t replicate the richness and warmth. You noticed the fondness in his voice, the longing so intense that it still makes your heart ache for him. So you do some light stalking and hunt down Tim Drake, demand that he give you the information you want or else you’ll disclose how he really lost his spleen to Bruce (why he was dense enough to tell Jason, you’ll never know). And that is how Bruce Wayne, billionaire philanthropist single father and the Batman, receives an email with the subject line “URGENT: Recipe Request” that reads as follows:

To whom it may concern,

I have been made aware that you have a remarkably compelling hot chocolate recipe that is hitherto unparalleled by cafes, franchises, and butlers alike. I am emailing you to inquire about my being sent this recipe post-haste. This is less a request than a demand. I will do my best to ensure that you, at some point in time not specified (it will take great effort on my part), are able to witness the consumption of the hot chocolate by the individual that will be receiving the product of the recipe.

Best regards,

Someone who loves your son.

Bruce sends the recipe the second he receives the email. He has to sneak his phone under the conference table at the Wayne Enterprises board meeting to do it, but he still manages to reply in two minutes and forty-seven seconds. And you make good on your promise. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Jason shine as brightly as he does that Christmas, lit up by the lights on the twelve foot tree as he sips his hot chocolate from the same red mug that’s been sitting in the kitchen cabinet since he last drank from it. The matching black mug is clasped in the hands of the hot chocolate connoisseur himself, who smiles softly like the magic of the season has returned to his life for the first time in ages.

You want him to heal. It’s a big ask; you know that. But you’ve never been one for giving up hope, and if anyone can manage to achieve the impossible, it’s Jason. So you tell him it’s a great idea when he jokes about getting a therapist. You wait for him in the car the first time he goes and you let him open up to you in his own time when he comes out of the appointment body tight as a bowstring and eyes bloodshot. You watch quietly and celebrate the little victories you see him win. He can call his father first now; he doesn’t do it often, but he can. He can talk to his younger brother without hating his hands and the blood that’s been spilled on them, without going out on patrol and intentionally letting all the worst hits make contact. He can go out to lunch with his older brother and his youngest, can laugh with them over that ridiculous thing Bruce did at a gala once to make them all laugh. He can bear his birthday a little bit better now, can accept the cake you bake and actually make a wish when he blows out the candles. But you’ll never know about the moment that you start to get what you want. Jason goes to visit his own grave on the anniversary of his death and finds a bouquet of red carnations, baby’s breath, and honeysuckle with a note in your handwriting that reads “Someone told me once that you were magic, that that was the best thing about you. I think it’s far more important that you were loved. I don’t know what you could’ve been. I don’t wonder about it like those that loved you did because all I know is who you became. He’s wonderful. He’s still magic. I think you’d be proud of him. I’ll do my best to take care of him for you.” He sits there for an hour in tears. Then he takes one bud of each flower and the note, goes home and presses them into the pages of his favorite book. He holds you in his arms in bed that night and feels, for the first time in a long time, a sense of peace down to his very bones.

You want—above all else—Jason Todd to feel loved. You want him to feel so cherished and wanted that he cannot possibly look at himself without realizing that he is something precious, something beloved. So you tell him that you love him and you accept his warm embrace as his way of saying it back. You make him chocolate chip cookies and sneak one into the pocket of his tactical pants when he goes on patrol (they’re soft, they don’t get crunched when he’s thrown from a roof). You read his favorite books to understand what he’s saying when he goes off on tangents about class and social hierarchy and how they governed life in the 19th century. You trace his scars and kiss away his tears when he can’t believe that he could be transformed from a being marred by brutality into a man revered with gentleness. You will love him until the day you both die. You will love him in death, until whatever atoms made up you and him come together again. You will love him until everything that ever is or ever was ceases to be in a supernova of light. And maybe, just maybe, you’ll love him in whatever is born after.

[occamstfs]

Conjuration: The Call

Ozzie begrudgingly plays a thinly disguised trading card game and finds some fun teaching his meathead friend a lesson.

Something between a role reversal and devolution! Jock -> Twink and Nerd -> Brute! Hope you enjoy this tale of a wishful role-player growing to dominate a try hard, Best! -Occam

Ozzie absolutely hated trading card games, he missed the boat and loathed being made to feel stupid like they always end up doing. Perhaps some self-reflection could see him giving Conjuration: the Call a fair shake, when a game of CTC was thrust on him instead of the DND session he was coming to play, the man was in not so charitable a mood.

Prepped to play his Druid all night, Ozzie is sulking in the kitchen when his friend Lily, patient zero of getting their group playing CTC again, brings over a proxy deck she made for him. “Heyyy babe~ Sorry about the bait and switch, I thought we were going to play DND too but apparently Mark’s sick and Alex thought this would be a great chance for you to learn how to play!”

His scowl quickly shifts between Lily, her half-hearted olive branch, and their friend group’s surly Adonis, Alex, who winks before returning to set up the table for their game. Ozzie sighs, not wanting to make a scene, he reaches out to inspect the printed deck in her hands. She perks up, “perfect! You’re gonna love it I swear!

The hitherto hater sighs, “ughh. You guys are just going to steamroll me like always! Is the deck too complicated to learn on the fly?” Her eyes glimmer as she slyly makes sure Alex can’t hear, “Not at all! I’ll be right there if you need any help and-“ 

Before she can explain, the man at the table interrupts, “you ladies done yet?” In their running campaign the impatient Alex plays a barbarian which mimics both his stature and nature out of game quite well, in Conjuration however he’s emerged as quite the rival to Lucy. Which Ozzie knows as she begins to explain, now at a whisper, “okay so it’s actually a deck to counter Alex’s.”

She immediately goes to defend her ulterior motives as Ozzie’s scowl returns with a vengeance, “oh c’mooon Ozz, I made this whole deck for you! I found the commander in the bulk bin and thought it sounded like your thing!” Shuffling through the box he checks it out, Loggan the Brain, nice and holographic. He pauses to appreciate how it feels in his hands, heavier than expected and almost warm to the touch. After a moment he looks up to find Lily has already gone to join the rest of the party at the table.

Finishing up his huffing, Ozzie sits opposite Alex who performatively flexes as he shuffles his deck, “Ready to get schooled by the man?” They’re friends at the end of the day so Ozzie doesn’t try to hide his irritation as he responds, “oh I’m sure there’s nothing you love more than beating newbies huh”

Alex takes a few seconds trying to think of some clever reply but after a few playful jibes from Lily and Tim, their fourth player, he decides to save any further taunts for the game. It’s not Ozzie’s first time playing Conjuration, how else would he hold it in such blatant disregard. Resolutely he refuses a tutorial from Alex and Lily. The pair make eye contact as they try to push down the urge to take candy from the new player and instead scheme how they can both use his inexperience to their advantage.

The first couple rounds go by in a flash, the other three begin setting up decks they are clearly incredibly familiar with while Ozzie races to read the little cheat sheet Lily made for the deck before performing a decent opening few rounds himself. Ozzie figures Alex must be running some kind of counterspell deck as Lily’s notes make it very clear that this proxy is a counter-counterspell deck, as it were. 

Lily would never be able to play this deck as it relies on someone counterspelling the Loggan the Brain without checking the specifics, and Alex would never do so to someone with as firm a grasp as her. When Ozzie goes to summon his commander though there's a glimmer in the jock’s eyes as his fingers go to counter the summon before Ozzie even announces, and in doing so he falls into the trap of the deck. 

Alex reaches over to push Loggan back off the board only to be stopped by Lily, almost shaking from excitement as she bursts out into laughter and explains the situation. She points to the ability text Drain: Start of the round gains one “Devolution” spell card. When “Devolution” is used to counter an offensive spell on yourself, put a token on Loggan the Brain. After ten tokens are placed on Loggan the Brain, replace him with Ogg the Brawn.

Hearing his opponent groan from an easily averted own goal he finishes his turn to see Alex scratching his chest and complaining, “I’ve never seen these stupid cards before, are you sure these are legal?” His eyes narrow at Lily who shrugs and tries to taunt him into casting a spell at Ozzie, “Who knows man, maybe it’s not even that good? You should cast a spell at him to see what it does!” With a wry grin she meets Alex’s scowl. For now he stills his hand as they prepare to deal with the quiet Tim as he quickly becomes the biggest threat on the board.

When it comes back to Ozzie’s turn the fun begins at last, launching a spell at Alex who has no choice but to counter, which is of course met with the new player’s own “Devolution” counter. Ozzie and Alex both open their mouths to complain, about the game being convoluted and unfair respectively. Before they can lash out however both men see a token appear on Loggan the Brain without anyone reaching to put it there. 

Only Alex and Ozzie seem to notice the board changing without any human aid, before they can react however they are both filled with an alien warmth. Alex’s hands shoot to his crotch and his face flares with embarrassment. All eyes fall to him as he almost squeaks as his meaty hands struggle to hide the fact that he’s getting obscenely hard at the CTC table, “GrheEEK! AH- hEM” the macho man tries to hide the voice crack from the table, failing to do so they all incredulously stare.

“Psh jeez- can’t a dude sneeze? Fuck!” Knowing they have most of a game still ahead of them no one goes in too hard on Alex, even as his complaints sound decidedly whinier to their ears. Were they to look even a smidge closer at the sscowling man’s face they’d surely see its hard edges begin to soften as his scratchy perma-stubble starts thinning. Alex flips through his bulky hand wondering how he’s going to overcome the pair of opponents, ignorant as his arms are slowly drained of the strength he has honed for over a decade at the gym.

oes Ozzie fail to see how he too begins to shift over the next round. When all hands go to counter a spell cast once more the situation ends once more with Alex being rebuffed by a Devolution card Ozzie drew. Thin fingers go to cover his mouth as he tries to quiet his laughter at Alex’s lips pulling into a pout, looking plumper than usual. Ozzie ignores the flitter at finding that exciting to instead taunt the man looking mousier but is distracted as he scratches his cheek, “Ah c’mon there Aluh- hm.” 

Ozzie pauses as he hears his fingers scratching at, well it sounds like stubble? After a few more strokes he speaks up again, “Uhh guys did I need to shave when I came in?” The party is focussed on his question so they take no heed of his voice sagging deeper with every word. Instead they narrow their eyes at his jawline. It takes him quite a while to grow any kind of facial hair so it’s not like it just sprouted up all of a sudden? Right? Alex laughs and rubs his own face, “Ah Hah! Followin’ the lead of your favorite role model huh! Heehee! Er-”

All laugh as Alex giggles uncharacteristically, cuing him up to go all out and defend his fragile masculinity. Ozzie sits back and watches as him and Lily tag team their fourth player into an early knock-out. All the while though he begins to feel odd? His palms are sweaty, upon closer inspection he realizes his whole form is sweaty. 

Eyes off him he airs out his chest and yelps as he accidentally grabs a tuft of chest hair. He looks down his shirt, slightly obscured by a stubbly little mustache poking out of his upper lip and barely quiets a gasp from shock as he sees a few curls sticking out the center of his bony chest. His inspection then falls onto the hand still grasping at his tee, almost imperceptible blond hairs that have humbly decorated his wrist have lengthened, darkened, and spread into a truly thick jungle on his forearms.

Needing to draw a few more cards to get his target out, Alex can’t help but shoot a couple more spells out at Lily who then redirects them to Ozz. Returning his focus to the board he grunts and prepares to take the hit before checking his hand to find two more copies of Devolution in his hand. He tosses them clumsily on the table and guffaws and shouts in his gruffer voice, “Hah! When’re you gonna learn to not target the man, fucker!” Ozzie reclines once more as Alex ignores his taunts and continues to take his turn.

Half-way to switching out his commander for a card he hasn’t read yet he tugs down his shirt as he feels a breeze on his exposed midriff. There seems to be a volley of new curls stretching above his waistline, briefly making sure no one’s watching he scratches at the pubes slowly inching into a dense treasure trail and almost moans at the distracting pleasure. With each quivering new sensation the blonde curls he has long been proud of darken and recede to something choppy and brown, shrinking back as from every inch of his form curls of the same pervasive brown race to assert his primal masculinity.

With each drag into the growing garden of hair on his waist the urge to vocalize his pleasure grows more difficult to ignore. The stubble on his face continues to thicken, growing into something more than five o’clock shadow that would put Alex’s to shame at its best. Speaking of, as his usual ungroomed stubble continues to fade and shrink into a face shifting as smooth as porcelain he can’t help but stare at Ozzie’s face with jealousy, his cock pulsing once more in his gym shorts and he grits his teeth, forcing himself to focus on the game and not on how Ozzie’s sleeves almost seem to be hugging his arms.

Ozzie similarly doesn’t see as his eyes are closed to be almost obscenely lost in the fulfillment of scratching his itch. Though he feels it. His arms slowly edging larger, straining his sleeves almost to tearing with each meagre movement. He feels stubble slowly growing up past his neckline, giving him a few stray curls that would need a turtleneck to hide as his chest begins to amass new weight and muscle itself.

In his death throes Tim follows Lily’s lead and forces Alex to toss a few more spells that will hopefully be blocked at Ozzie. Still lost in the reverie of his changing form, Ozzie doesn’t even check his cards as his hand quickly shoots up from his crotch and tosses two cards onto the table. Without looking two more tokens appear on Loggan the Brain and both Alex and Ozz clench the table as they are struck with another wave of changes. 

The other two players at the table are suddenly engrossed in checking their hands, as if compelled to not notice as Alex is suddenly swimming in clothes that he chose explicitly to highlight how built he was looking today, his neckline droops low enough that it should expose his burly-hair covered chest. The only thing it shows now however are two spray-tanned pecs that seem to be shrinking.

Alex doesn’t notice as his shoes almost fall off of his feet as they drop a few sizes, no instead he bites his lip and stares hungrily at the man who was supposed to be his quarry. His cock feels wanting his balls blue, more than that though for the first time in his life his ass almost feels empty, in need of something- or someone. He doesn’t put two and two together as he continues to stare at Ozzie growing hairier. 

The once mousy man finally fills his nerdy tee enough that it begins to fray and tear. Similarly do the slacks he threw on for game day find themselves more than filled with meaty thighs and a package that has blossomed into an absolute veiny beast. His eyes widen in wonder as he takes it in for the first time. His thicker, rougher hands reach downward and with the slightest touch his hips buck and his zipper blows out as his cock strains it to the breaking point. Barely contained in his briefs Ozzie has to ignore the wet patch of pre staining through them and put all his energy towards not cumming then and there in front of his friends as the game remains ongoing.

While the two were distracted by their changing tastes and bodies, Tim was officially knocked out of the game leaving everyone worse for wear. Though after another couple rounds it becomes clear that Alex is very much off his game. His white teeth continue to chew at his plumper lips as he’s lost in thought. 

Ozzie similarly chews his lip, champing at the bit as he stares at the shrinking man. Fuuuck, he’s real cute when he works himself up. His inner monologue sinks deeper in tone to match his new voice as his thoughts grow rougher, simpler. Under the table his hand can’t help but go to his crotch as images of some massive beast of a man dominating the twink push to the front of his mind. Drool dripping from teeth bared onto Alex’s back as he arches up into heavy pecs, as if he were made to be under the man, if he were made to be under Ozz- Fuck.

Alex shivers as the table shakes from Ozzie rutting into it, gasping as his own ass fills out. He’d never really spent dedicated time crafting the perfect butt, or no- is that true? His phone suddenly fills with nudes taken of his sculpted, smooth butt and sent to- Ozzie’s bearded face forces itself to the front of his mind. Alex can almost feel his sweaty muscular chest against his own, his fingers curling around hair that inches up from his ass and down from his shoulders. He can almost feel the phantom cock he’s bouncing on before across the table the only player not lost to their lusts clears her throat.

“What is up with you guys?” There’s forced confidence but something is clearly throwing her off her game. Something’s not right. Is it? Oggie- Er, Ozzie? He’s always been a tank, it’s why he’s been so against playing right? And Alex, well shoot that twink is obsessed with Conjuration since it’s the only game or sport that he can beat his- She clenches at her head as she’s seized by a migraine. Perhaps that’s how she falls into the trap that Alex has been setting since turn one.

“Ah HA! Finally biitch! You played right into my hands!” His voice cracks higher, something in the back of her mind swears she’d never let Alex call her a bitch but as she looks at the twink she can’t imagine why. The cocky sneer remains on Alex's face as his hair lengthens into a floppy garden of dirty blonde curls, after looking at the board it fades a little as he struggles to recall how exactly he’s supposed to finish her, “Uhm?”

He scratches at his head and the sleeve hanging on his thin bicep slides back, revealing his pit as the last few hairs remaining of his once proud tuft fall away, leaving behind a fruity scent that will never quite fade instead of the heady musk that could never be quenched. Ozzie didn’t realize he was staring at the twinks pits as they finished smoothing. Looking to his own pit stains on a shirt that seems moments from bursting off his form, he grins toothily and figures he produces well enough stink for the both of them. His canines almost feel larger in his mouth.

 After the song and dance of Lily walking Alex through her own defeat, accompanied by a fair share of giggles from a man who wouldn’t be caught dead speaking even vaguely ‘like a chick’ before the game, Lily heads off with Tim to go grab pizza before the next game. Leaving behind Alex and Ozzie as the game nears its close. Both men struggle to decide on their next moves, or rather if they care enough to even make them, as the other players depart. Ozzie scratches the back of his head like an ape, apathetic to his arm finally bursting free from its sleeve and exposing a hairy pit that Alex eyes hungrily. 

Drooling and wanting to be done with the game as soon as possible the once jock eyes his hand filled with spells and wonders why he has so many? Was there a reason he wasn’t using them? He hesitantly throws one down and is immediately met by a counter. Ozzie grunts as his form bulges larger, brow jutting slightly over blue eyes that don’t quite look so bright any more. He tears off his shirt with one meaty fist before moving to scratch at the carpet of hair covering his torso as if it were a shirt itself.

Ozzie’s own eyes glaze over as he drops his cards on the table, he want game over. His underwear is filled to breaking and he grimaces before going to tear them off just like his shirt. Grunting he punches the table in shock as the elastic band snaps back against him. Veins bulge everywhere across his form as rage fills him enough to rival his hunger for the twink sitting across from him. Struggling to control his breathing as he sits stewing in lust and anger he speaks in a gravely town as his stomach begins to bloat, “Your turn,”

Alex similarly is lacking the focus to continue the game, tossing his hand down his eyes flash as the remaining tokens stack onto Ozzie’s card. Neither man notices as a final line of text appears at the end of the dense paragraph, “If you lack a copy of Ogg the Brawn in your deck, become one.” He doesn’t read the card of course, nor will he chase the urge to read much of anything anymore, but as the ability is activated OzzOgg obeys the instructions to a tee.

Spit drips between gnashing teeth as Ogg stands to his new height. Waist filling out as he pounds onto the table and he grows into a true brute. The elastic band digging into his waist acts like a flank belt as he glowers at Alex and bucks into the table, making a mess of the organized decks as he feels his mind unable to focus on any pursuit other than chasing his hunger.

Alex stands and his pants fall to the floor, unable to remain on his thinned waist, “O-Ogg?” he squeaks out, what was was a tight muscle tee now hangs off a shoulder, perfectly framing a hard nipple and hiding the noticeably smaller bulge where his dick must be. Ogg knocks the table over and tackles the twink with power he never imagined or desired to have. 

Grunting, Ogg can’t control his hips as they continue to rock and thrust as he struggles to position his twitching cock over Alex who endeavors to roll over and present his perky ass. Ogg forces his face down into the nape of Alex’s neck, breathing in his scent, magically alluring and the diametric opposed to the bestial musk that steams off the man whose eyes dull to a dark brown as his stomach bulges into a massive muscle gut.

Underneath, the twink’s mental faculties grow similarly vacant as he feels the hairy stomach scratching against his back, as Ogg’s massive cock finds purchase and fills him with far more powerful pleasure than what Alex has inflicted on many a partner throughout the years. His moans fill the air, rivalling Ogg’s grunts as the pair leave sweat and cum stains on the cold tile. 

The air of the apartment is filled with Ogg’s primal, almost proto-human musk which only makes Alex hungrier for the man he is evermore to be obsessed with. When his face is shoved into Ogg’s jungle of pit hair he wonders how he lived before now as his cock is pressed up against Ogg’s bulky, curl-covered torso.

Eventually their preternatural lusts absolve themselves and in a brief refractory period Alex rushes to clean up the worst of their mess before the other two return with pizza. Ogg of course is no help as he throws on a pair of boxers Alex would’ve sworn were his own and goes to sit on the couch, arm behind his head to air out his steaming pit and continue to rile Alex up. After righting the table and wiping away all the stains he could see the twink indeed goes to nestle up alongside the man on the couch as he throws on some nature documentary.

Alex doesn’t notice as his head finds itself almost immediately in the man’s crotch as his cock starts to poke out the leg of his boxers. Well, when in Rome- Before they can get up to too much fun, they hear the door being jostled. Alex jolts up and swallows the pool of pre-cum filling his mouth before doing a poor job of hiding the rock hard rod in Ogg’s boxers. The brute grunts in irritation and grasps at his needy balls, apathetic to the return of the other platers.

Setting down the pizzas Tim looks over at the clearly worked up pair and rolls his eyes as if this is normal, “Well are you two horndogs up for another game?” Eying both Alex and Tim something besides the Id in Ogg rears up, still seems like there’s a lot left he can drain from the two men. Bulge already inching larger, he stands and goes to pick up Loggan from the floor. Time for round two-

[keepingitformyself]

older (and wiser): i

synopsis: in which time could have never undone what she left.

A/N: FIRST WANDA FIC!!! had this idea long ago when i was crushing hard on this girl from the theatre program at my uni; around that time i had also seen ‘past lives’ and i wanted to do something similar with that film. also at my core i know wanda maximoff would’ve totally been a theatre kid, this is me paying ode to that. while this specific part doesn’t go into that, i am gonna work on a sort of prequel to this Short Series…anyways enjoy!!!

pairings: wanda maximoff x reader

genre: angst?

warnings: it’s sad. but it gets hopeful…

MASTERLIST

please do not repost my work anywhere for any reason at all. if you do see this happen to any of my stories, please let me know. thank you x.

it had been years.

wanda had finally decided to take a breather. she’d been working non-stop ever since she left for work all those years ago after college.

she didn’t think she’d get so lucky off that one job, that it’d immediately get her into another, or another, and so on and so forth.

she loved her work, sure, but now it was catching up to her. everyone in her life, her manager, her agent, her family had all begged her to slow down.

“take some time off, wanda.” her agent, daniel had said to her during a meeting. wanda’s eyes traveled between daniel and her manager, samara.

the meeting had all been a set up. what wanda thought was supposed to be a discussion on a new project, was actually a ploy. she had no idea the meeting was meant to convince her to take a break.

“yeah right.” she scoffed. not believing in what they were saying.

“we’re serious, wanda.” samara stated, her eyes stern but with genuine care. “when was the last time you had time for yourself?”

wanda remained silent at the words. all of a sudden she felt like a kid being scolded by their parents. and she wished to be anywhere else but in the room with them.

“really.” daniel starts. “go be a real person. smell the flowers, meet people, fall in love, take in the view—”

“i meet people all the time, daniel.” wanda quickly cut in.

all daniel could do was shake his head, a sigh escaping his lips as he tried his hardest to make the woman in front of him understand.

“you know that’s not what i meant, wanda.” he gives her a pointed look.

with a jaw clenched, she crossed her arms over her chest and looked off to the side. the windows overlooking los angeles now seeming more interesting than this conversation.

“we know how much it means for you to work, we know how much you enjoy it, but you’ve been doing it for so long. we just want you at your best.” she hears samara say. and as much as she hated to admit it, daniel and samara were right.

wanda hadn’t stopped working since she started. in fact, it’s all she can think to do. she didn’t have anyone outside of work—no partner, no obligations except to her family. why stop when there was nothing waiting for her?

wanda knew the answer but wouldn’t admit it. she might as well never have fully faced it.

the truth was, she’d loved someone once. she’d loved you. and no matter how much time had passed, the thought of you still gnawed at her.

though everything was perfect for a while, her career was well off, she was successful, and her family was proud.

but wanda couldn’t help asking, is this really it?

of course, she tried meeting people. she really tried. she didn't like being miserable over someone she hadn't been in contact with for years. but even that wasn't enough. it was honestly a bit pathetic. it had happened years ago. four years, to be exact. wanda should’ve been well moved on by now, but she isn’t. at least not entirely.

so, she poured everything into her work to distract her from that gnawing feeling inside her. the one that had been lit up all those years ago. the one that was tamable with you around.

but you’re not around, and wanda couldn’t help but throw herself into more work hoping she could get rid of it, get rid of you. but she hasn’t.

“listen, wanda,” daniel cuts her train of thought. “your work is important and people need it, but to keep it up to that degree, you need to go out and just be a human.” he finishes.

wanda sighs. she leans forward on her knees and drops her head into her hands. daniel was right. they were both so right.

wanda never properly dealt with things. maybe it's time she finally did.

she looks up from her hands, a look of defeat yet understanding, with pursed lips she finally says,

"fine."

and now, two months later, wanda finds herself back in los angeles, in an empty home, eating expensive sushi.

she had gotten off the phone with her brother, pietro, who had just joined her on the recent trip she’d been on.

a trip that he insisted he’d join her on to make sure wanda would do all the resting and touristy things she should.

she had done all the traveling she could do in the last two months, jumping from plane to plane. talking to strangers, being a tourist in european cities, and befriending random people in planes.

now, wanda actually had time for herself, time with her brain. a thing she honestly didn't want to face. because even thinking about anything made it even more real.

but now wanda was bored, and the movie playing on her eighty-inch television wasn't doing much to entertain her. and it also didn't help that it was eleven pm on a thursday night and all wanda could do was feel bad for herself.

so she does the next thing she had been really trying to avoid,

stalking your social media.

wanda herself wasn’t much active online these days. she had much to do day-to-day and week-to-week, rarely would she ever have the patience to sit down and scroll through her phone much. that and she honestly tried to stay off of it.

but now she has the time. and the patience. and honestly, she’s a little scared at what she could find.

she tells herself it doesn't have to mean anything. just a little check-in to see how you were, after that she'd really work on trying to forget about you altogether.

and with the simple type in of your name, wanda finds your instagram. your profile picture, a professional headshot of you, and a bio that reads,

editor in chief.

New York Times contributor.

something that shouldn't have made wanda's chest burst with joy, but it does. and as she scrolls further and further, she finds that you now reside in new york city, that you've moved on well without her and that you have a cat and a boyfriend.

boyfriend.

she shouldn't care so much, but she does.

you were living your best life. the one you had always wanted.

just not with her. not with wanda.

but she doesn't stop there, and she ignores the lump in her throat as she exits your profile and searches for your mother's name.

and maybe she feels her heart break a little when it turns out the boyfriend you had is actually your fiancé. she finds out through a photo your mother posted.

the picture shows you, and a handsome man next to you. you’re both sat outside some restaurant in the city, his arm is thrown over your shoulder while your right hand clutches his left, and there it is. in all its glory—with the diamond on it catching the suns light perfectly. the ring on your finger.

it doesn’t help that he looks so in love with you.

out for lunch with y/n and paul again! i promised them an engagement lunch and we were NOT disappointed. make sure you try Jack’s Wife Freda if you are ever in SoHo!!#motherinlaw #NYC #loveinnewyork

is what the caption reads.

wanda freezes at the fact and immediately throws her phone on the empty seat beside her. she stares at it like it had just offended her.

many things go through her brain. how did you meet him? was it shortly after you broke up? was it really him you wanted to spend forever with? how long did it take for him to ask?

wanda had always loved your mother. a sweet woman who always had your best interests in mind. she had always pushed you to do what you loved. and wanda had always seen that some of her favorite traits of yours had come from her.

after the break up, your mom made sure to check in on wanda. without you ever knowing, wanda and your mom kept in touch, until eventually wanda had cut her line for the sake of fully moving on.

though, she never really fully did.

wanda evaluates what to do next. was this her sign? she doesn’t want it to be sign.

wanda doesn’t want to admit that it seems like you had moved on so completely.

on impulse she looks up your fiancé’s name. “paul” is all she had to type out in your mother’s following before she found his account.

she finds that paul is just as successful as you are. he’s an investigative journalist, born in ireland. he briefly worked at a publication in london but transferred to a firm in new york after a year.

he’s gorgeous, she thinks. he has blue eyes, a kind smile, and he has an accent. it would make perfectly good sense why you would choose him.

wanda’s stomach twists with a mix of happiness and regret.

“fuck!” She whispers to herself.

“of course, you’re happy. of course the man you’re engaged with is actually a decent man! fuck.” wanda says to no one in particular. in frustration, she burries her hands in her hair.

wanda is annoyed at herself.

“i need a drink,” in an instant she’s on her legs making her way to the kitchen. she finds a bottle of wine that has been kept cool in the fridge and she wastes no time in popping it open, she pauses briefly, debating on whether she’d need or glass or not.

to hell with a glass. she thinks, and makes her way back to the couch, she holds the bottle by its neck and takes a long swig from it.

it’s all so perfectly miserable. wanda maximoff stalking her ex-girlfriend on social media while she gets wasted. the self loathing has got the best of her. she finds it all ironic.

wanda maximoff could have anyone she wanted. she knew this. she has everything she could ever want or need. she has credibility, a nice home, the luxury of traveling at any moment she wants.

yet, her mind kept coming back to one thing. the one thing she’d decided she’d leave behind all those years ago. it isn’t fair, she thinks. wanda was young and stupid back then, but she was so so in love. she knew that for sure.

but sometimes…sometimes she really wishes she had fought harder.

briefly, wanda wonders if your number was still the same. if you had ever changed it or at least tried calling her. she wouldn’t know, she had changed it years ago once she started getting more attention for her work.

wanda was really drunk at this point. her better judgment had gone away as soon as she’d picked that bottle out the fridge. there was no better time than now.

she taps on her phone until she lands on the number keypad. her fingers hover over it, would she regret it if she didn’t? probably. would she regret it if she did? probably.

but if there was one thing wanda had, it’s that she’s got nerve and audacity.

so she types in the number that she doesn’t think she could ever forget, and lets it ring.

your fiancé answers the call.

“hello?” an irish accent sounds through the speaker. paul. wanda’s blood runs cold and she stays silent for a moment. all of sudden she feels incredibly sober and regretting making the call.

“hi.” she pauses. “uhm, i’m looking for y/n?” wanda manages to squeak out.

“right! who is this? your number isn’t saved.” paul says,

“an old friend. i changed my number a while back.” wanda replies smoothly.

“oh! let me pass her to you, she’s just in the kitchen.” the line goes quiet for a few moments, and she’s able to hear a few words exchanged between you and paul.

“hello?”

wanda freezes again, a hand covers her mouth as she tries not to shake at the sound of your voice. it’d been so long. she grips her phone tighter.

“hey…” her voice shaky and unmistakable. you know it’s wanda.

“wanda?” your voice betrayed the surprise you felt. from the couch paul caught your eye, a raised eyebrow on his face. everything okay? he mouthed.

you shook your head.

“i wondered if your number was still the same.” wanda says after a moment. her tone light, but with an undercurrent of something else.

your mind raced. why was she calling you? why now? your fiance was in the other room, you were getting married soon. you’d built a life perfectly fine without her in it. so why was she calling you now?

“how have you been?” her voice cuts through the line again. wanda holds the phone close to her ear, wanting to make sure she could hear every word you say.

and all you can think of is how confused you were.

“i- i’m fine. i’m good. yeah.”

“that’s good—”

“i’m sorry, uh…why are you calling?” you find yourself cutting her off. your fingers press against your forehead in act of trying to understand what was happening.

wanda pauses. she realizes just how impulsive this whole thing was. she’s on the phone with her ex of four years, while your fiancé was probably in the other room. she goes silent again. her words have to be carefully measured.

she gulps,

“uhm…i just—i just wanted to know how you were. heard you’re based in new york now...so…” wanda trails off. you don’t miss the tone in her voice as she says those words. the familiar rasp, the lowness of her voice, she’d used it many times on you when she wanted something.

you close your eyes with a sigh, “yeah. yeah, i live in new york now, engaged and everything.”

wanda smiles through the phone, her eyes almost prick with tears at the corners.

“i saw," she says just above a whisper. "congratulations, you…you’ve always wanted that.” and she means it. she knows better than anyone how much you’ve wanted this.

suddenly a wave of nostalgia hits you, and you’re brought back to when you were both in college. so young, so dumb, but god, it was one of the best times of your life. you try not to let it affect you, how much this call seems to be doing for you. you haven’t yet figured out if it’s a good or bad thing.

“thank you." your voice softens. "how have you been?” you find yourself asking her next.

wanda smiles at your question, “life has been…insane, you know?” she pauses on the line. “still missing some pieces, but overall i’m doing well,” you pretend not to hear the sudden shift in her voice when she said that.

you exhaled quietly, unsure of what to say. the air between you felt charged with unspoken words, old memories stirring to the surface.

“can i see you?” she asks, her tone hesitant. “catch up in person? i’d really like to see you.”

with your bottom lip between your teeth, you contemplate your next words. paul notices your tick from the other his seat on the couch, despite you telling him it was okay he couldn’t help but worry. he’d heard enough of the call to know something was wrong. still he knows you had it down, so he waits until you need him.

you struggle to find your words for a moment, the question being so…why?

“oh, wanda, i don’t know if—”

but wanda ever the stubborn woman she is, doesn’t relent.

“please. Just for some coffee and conversation.”

your mind is torn between keeping your peace or taking wanda up on her offer. but you were curious.

with a sigh you finally decide.

“where and when?”

you can hear wanda’s smile through the phone,

“i can fly to new york anytime you’re free. you can pick a spot and i’ll be there.”

you think for a few moments.

“okay, meet at caffe reggio in greenwich. i’ll be in touch with when.”

wanda’s heart stutters, something she hadn’t felt in a while. her eyes flutter closed, she breathes in— out. her eyes open again. and though you can’t see it, there’s a new look in her eyes.

“i’ll be there.”

[ghouljams]

Omg how's Gaz and the maid doing??? We haven't heard of them in forever. They're the least depressing ones in this AU, I think.

Love you and your writing btw

Muah

You wave the letter from you father in front of Lord Garrick's face, uncaring for your decorum when all you want to do is jump across his desk and strangle him. Your father, loving as he may be, is marvelously angry. Someone claiming to be the king's advisor, though you suspect it truly was your lord, has asked him for your hand in marriage. Which has caused your father to make the understandable assumption that you're pregnant. Why else would a nobleman begin marriage talks with him? It's not as if you're of any high standing, you're just barely a step above a peasant from working in the castle but you are still woefully common.

"Is this some sort of joke?" You ask Lord Garrick, slamming your letter against his desk. He looks down at it, then back to you.

"It's not a very funny one if it is," He responds, taking the letter from under your fingers and standing.

You take a step back from his desk, suddenly reminded of your station. Garrick reads over your father's letter as he steps around the desk, you turn with his path, keeping your eyes trained on him. You're too wary to look away, he's unpredictable and you lose all thought when he touches you. Which seems to be the only thing he wants to do, and you can't say you feel any different.

He's charming.

He's gorgeous.

He's dangerous.

He's far, far, too close to you too quickly.

He holds your chin between his fingers, soft and loose, it locks you in place. The memory of his thumb sliding against your lips makes your cheeks flash with heat, goosebumps prickling over your skin when you force it back down.

"You father thinks you're pregnant." Garrick summarizes, his eyes darting over the letter in his opposite hand. You wish he'd look at you, or let you go so you can get some distance. His eyes are so rich this close.

You feel the memory of his hands on you so often you'd convinced yourself you were sleepwalking. The press of his chest against your back haunted your dreams. The tip of his head as he leaned over you followed you through the back halls. And yet nothing hung over your head quite so sharply as the fleeting feeling of his stubble brushing your jaw, interrupted too soon, and taking too much to walk away from. He called you "doll" but maybe "puppet" was more accurate.

"I'm not," You assure him, assure yourself and the memory of your father's frown. Lord Garrick hums, something flickering over his gaze that you can't parse.

"You could be," He reasons, "you've been in and out of my chambers alone, and you're so-" his fingers move from your chin to stroke over your cheek, his thumb rubbing just below your eye as he cups your face, "-beautiful, it wouldn't be unbelievable."

A shiver fingers its way through you, spreading to touch each muscle along your spine, up your cheeks and down to your fingertips. You tense all over to keep from shaking at the way your lord looks at you. An almost pitying, but unmistakable hunger that makes your heart quicken in your chest.

"I'm a virgin," You remind yourself, "I could have a physician check, write something as proof."

"Or you could let me check." Garrick breathes, his gaze consumptive, pulling you closer with each breath. He tips his head and you feel that phantom brush of his stubble, with no one to save you from yourself this time. "Your husband is better suited for that, don't you think, poppet?"

[pretty-little-mind33]

Tangerine x stripper fem!reader

Mini-series summary: When Tangerine opened an underground strip-club to cover for his murder-for-hire business operation, he wasn't expecting to become so easily distracted by one girl in particular.

Chapter summary: Accidentally walking into something you shouldn't have causes you to learn about Tangerine's real business, effectively creating a rift between you and him (4.8k) + epilogue (1.6k)

Warnings: blood, violence, slut shaming, murder, drugs, alcohol, guns, illusions to sexual assault and mentions of death but nothing happens, still a happy ending!

credit : @little-miss-dilf-lover 🤍🤍 thank you endlessly!

BAD FOR BUSINESS MASTERLIST

You're sitting on Tangerine's desk during your break. He's working on his laptop, listening to you blabber with intention, only half focused on his work. Instead, his focus is drawn to the way you cross your legs, the baby-blue babydoll dress you're wearing tonight hugs your curves and that bow in your hair is making him lose focus. 

You've barely touched your yogurt and Tangerine flips a page, interrupting you: "You should eat, love." He reminds you and you nod, taking another spoonful. 

"And then Nicola told him to fuck off," you continue, through your mouthful, "which was hilarious. You should have seen his face! Scummy bastard! Annette and I were laughing so hard," you laugh at your own story. Tangerine seems a little less amused. 

"Is Nicola okay? Customers should not be making comments like that."

You smile a little, placing your yogurt on his desk and leaning closer to him. One of your heels rests on his chair now, your hand playing with his hair. "She's fine, babe, you know we can take care of ourselves."

Tangerine looks up now, his gaze stern. "Yeah, I know," he says and then sighs, "I just worry."

"I know," you laugh and kiss his cheek. You sit up and jab your spoon into your yogurt again. "Honestly, I don't even know why you do this job. You hate anything to do with this business."

Tangerine is quiet. He turns to his laptop again, your words sinking in. If only you knew, he thinks.

"I don't hate you," he says softly, almost embarrassed. He feels shitty. He wishes he could tell you the truth about what this is, and he wishes he could officially ask you to be his girl. He wishes for a lot of things he can't fulfill. 

Not now. 

You smile, opening your mouth to say something else, when the door suddenly swings open. Startled, you stand up and adjust your little dress, suddenly self-conscious at being caught in your boss's office during your break. No one usually comes in, especially unannounced. 

Tangerine stands as well, discreetly putting himself in front of you as a tall, lanky man dressed in a grey suit walks in. His hair is jet black and he has rectangular glasses perched on his nose that hide a dark pair of eyes. He looks a little older than Tangerine, maybe mid-thirties, and he pauses when he sees you. 

"Fucking our employees now, Tangerine," the man smirks. You recognize him as the other boss. He's barely around anymore, but you remember meeting him on your first week.

Unlike Tangerine, this man has always make your stomach feel queasy. 

You tense a little and grab your yogurt from the desk you now realize Tangerine most likely shares with this man. Tangerine looks even tenser than you are and he turns to you, sending you a look that you read as "Go. Please." 

You nod, quickly walking to the door and down the stairs. Tangerine relaxes a little once you're out the door but he continues to glare at Leo.

"No one is fucking anyone," he says as calmly as he can. 

"In that suit, I'm not surprised you can't get a girl like her," Leo whistles, dropping his briefcase as he hangs his coat. "Which one was that already? Candy? Diamond? She's smoking hot."

Tangerine holds his tongue. He doesn't want Leo to know of his feelings for you so he just corrects him. "Angel. You should really know our employees' stage names by now."

Leo rolls his eyes as he walks over, picking up a folder. "They're strippers. Who cares?" He reads over the documents and then looks up at Tangerine. "Thanks for taking over when I was away, mate, why don't you go take a break, hm?"

Tangerine's jaw clenches. He hates how Leo thinks he can boss him around when he's always the one doing the work. He hesitates for a moment. Usually, he isn't afraid to call Leo out on his bullshit but he has more important things to worry about than his ego. He wants to check on you. 

He didn't even get to kiss you goodbye. 

"Oi, T," Leo calls just as Tangerine walks out the door. Tangerine groans and peeks his head back into the room, an annoyed look on his face. "Meeting tonight, remember?" Leo's words ring in Tangerine's ears and his expression falters for a moment. 

He'd completely forgotten. 

"Ya, I remember," he says roughly, his voice strained as he ignores the impending doom he feels in his stomach as he turns to rush down the stairs to find you.

* * * 

You slip on your mary-janes, grab your woolen coat, and hurry out the door. It's late and you're the last girl here. You've been having this awful habit of daydreaming lately, your stomach filled with butterflies as you remember Tangerine's lips on yours, his hands caressing your skin. You shake the thoughts, turning to lock the backroom with the spare keys you have. 

You hum, thinking back to the words Tangerine had whispered in your ear when he'd found you after you'd hurried from his office. You make me happy. You feel your cheeks warm as you remember the quick kiss he'd given you in the dark corner near the bathroom and how stupid it is that he manages to make that sketchy corner into something so romantic. 

You'd usually leave from the backdoor, but tonight you decide to walk through the lounge in case Tangerine hasn't gone home yet. Sometimes, he waits for you without even needing to be asked. However, this time, the lounge is empty.

You look up, seeing that the blinds to Tangerine's office are shut but that the light is on. You can see faint movement behind the blinds and the movements pique your interest. 

Is Tangerine working late?

It hadn't even crossed your mind to remember Leo's arrival just a few hours earlier. 

You walk up the stairs, holding your bag over your shoulder. You can hear hushed voices; multiple male voices you don't recognize and your stomach flips with nerves. You know you should turn around, you really should, but you don't.

You're too curious. 

The office door isn't fully closed and without thinking, you gently push on it with your open palm, freezing when you peer inside. There are four men in the room; all of them are large and scary with various guns displayed on their bodies. They're laughing obnoxiously, discussing something about a latest kill.

You bite the inside of your cheek, scanning the room as you listen in. You see Tangerine and Leo in the center, leaning over the desk as they look at what appears to be plans of some sort. More guns lay on the desk and the entire room smells like smaok and drugs. 

"40 million quid for three men dead, easy," one man laughs, flicking his cigar into the ashtray. 

Leo chuckles, clapping Tangerine on the back. "What do you say, mate? Sounds like a good one, hm?"

Tangerine nods, still looking over the plan, his eyebrows pinched. "I suppose three kills is simple."

You're frozen in shock. Kills? 40 million? Your mind can't seem to wrap your head around what's happening. You look at Tangerine and for the first time in weeks, you don't recognize the man you're looking at. You back up, holding your breath. 

You need to get out of here. 

"Bloody hell, who do we have here?" A man's hoarse voice echoes around the room and suddenly, his hand is wrapping around your arm and dragging you inside.

Your bag falls to the ground. You let out a gasp, squirming in the man's grip but he holds you still. He's much taller than you and much stronger. He smells like alcohol and you can see the gun on his hip and you hold your breath in fear. 

The men whistle at your entrance, laughing amongst themselves. The only man who isn't finding this amusing is Tangerine; he's tense, his dark blue eyes locked with yours as he wears an expression you can't read, but his chest is rising and falling rapidly. 

"Oh, look who it is, it's Angel again," Leo barks a cruel laugh, sauntering around the desk as he approaches you slowly. His hand raises and he caresses your cheek with his knuckles. You wince, pulling away from his touch as if he's burning you and Leo pouts, faking pity. 

"This one of yer strippers?" a man asks. He's much older than the others, his hair whitening, and he's grinning at you like one of your customers would. 

Leo nods, wrapping his hand in your hair to keep you from squirming again. "Yup," he pops the "p" and grins, "Isn't she just a prize? Tangerine sure knows how to pick 'em."

Tears brim in your eyes at the implication. What had he told them? You look at him, watching him just stand there. He hasn't moved or said a word.

You're shaking now, terrified at being trapped in this situation. You aren't usually helpless but they're outnumbering you, and they have guns. 

Leo pulls on your hair a little, making you gasp in pain again. The other man wraps his arm around your waist, grinning. 

"You shouldn't have wandered in here, little mouse," Leo whispers. He smiles when he sees the tears on your cheeks. "Because you know what this means, hm? Can't have you scurrying off and snitching on us—"

Your eyes widen and you squirm harder. "No-no-no please, I won't tell anyone! Please. Tangerine!" You sob, angling yourself towards Tangerine as you try and yank yourself out of the man's grip.

The other men look towards him. "Ya close with the stripper?" One snarls, his smirk evident.

Leo keeps his hand in your hair, pulling on it to shut you up. You muffle your sobbing in fear of angering them anymore. Tangerine doesn't speak, his gaze intense, and the men take that as a no. Leo turns to you again and laughs. "Such a shame. She's so pretty. She must bring us a lot of money."

"Can I have a turn with her before we kill her?" The man holding your waist asks, earning some raucous laughter and agreement from the others and you feel defeated. You keep looking at Tangerine, pleading with your eyes as you cry softly.

Leo untangles his hand from your hair and nods. "Sure, have your fun, boys. I don't fuck used goods," he laughs cruelly and embarrassment washes over you. "Now, where were we?" He looks at the plans again, clearly disinterested in what's happening to you.

The man holding you slides his hand up your stomach but before he can touch you more intimately, Tangerine's voice interrupts; "No," he says plainly. You sniff, struggling weakly now as it hurts to move in the men's arms. You watch him take his gun and slide it into the waistband of his trousers behind him. Leo looks up, confused. 

"My turn," Tangerine says, walking over and snapping his fingers. The men release you, making it clear Tangerine has authority. Your stomach sinks. Why hadn't he helped you then? You glance between him and Leo, not completelyunderstanding the dynamic, but as soon as you're not being held, you make a run for it. 

You don't get very far because Tangerine grabs you and holds you close to him. You cry, hitting him as you scream and thrash against his body.

"Let me go! Please! Please!" Your head is spinning and everything begins to hurt. You can smell his cologne, a smell that was so familiar and reassuring now feels tainted and wrong. When he wraps his hand around your mouth, you gasp for air and dig your nails into his wrist, drawing blood. He hisses in pain but only tightens his hold on you. 

"Shut up," he growls in your ear. You can hear his heart thumping in his chest and you begin to calm down so that you can breathe properly. 

The other men watch in amusement. "Feisty little mouse," one exclaims. They all laugh.

"I'll take care of her," Tangerine says hoarsely, breathing heavily, still holding you so you don't move and the more he speaks, the harder you want to cry, "This little slut has been teasing me for weeks. She owes me," he pauses, and his voice is a little shaky, "and then I'll get rid of her."

The other men seem disappointed but Leo smirks, "No funny business, hm?"

Tangerine nods, his voice steady. "No. I'll be back in an hour." 

The men all laugh and whistle and Tangerine presses his lips to your ear. "Don't scream when I move my hand, okay? Please." He whispers the last part for only you to hear and your chest tightens. Your vision is blurred with tears but when he removes his hand, you find yourself obeying him.

Some desperate part of is still hoping he'll save you. 

He's rough as he yanks you with him down the stairs. Dread fills you and you start crying again, trying desperately to run in the opposite direction. Tangerine doesn't reprimand you for the noise as he pulls out outside and into a small alley near the bulging, the door slamming shut behind you. You're not screaming anymore, only crying. 

"Please don't hurt me," you sob, trembling as he pushes you against the brick wall. "Please," you plead with him. Tangerine doesn't answer but his gaze is dark. He reaches behind him and grabs his gun, unlocking it. You break down in tears, your hands shaking.

You squeeze your eyes shut, expecting him to press the barrel to your head, but instead, you feel his familiar warmth as he rests both hands against the wall near your head, and his forehead hovers over yours as he inhales shakily. You hiccup, still very obviously terrified. 

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his hands curling into fists on the wall. "I'm so sorry." 

You choke on a sob.

Tangerine pulls away, his hand hovering over your cheek as if he wants to wipe your tears away but instead, he drops it to his side and looks into your eyes. "Run. Go home," he pauses and you can see that his own eyes look glossy with tears. "Don't come back. Please. Stay away. I'm so fuckin' sorry, angel," he says.

Your voice is caught in your throat.

"I love you," he continues and you just stare at him. You're unable to move. You don't know how to process any of this information. 

Tangerine panics and slams his hand on the wall. "Go! Now!" he screams and you gasp, tears falling down your cheeks as you push past him and run down the dark street, not even knowing where you're running to and you don't look back. You feel queasy and you can't wrap your head around what just happened as the scene replays in your head. 

Isn't she just a prize? Tangerine sure knows how to pick 'em.

I don't fuck used goods.

Don't come back. Please. Stay away. I'm so fuckin' sorry, angel.

I love you.

Back in the alley, Tangerine punches into the brick wall with a quiet shout. 

* * *

Tangerine slams the door to his apartment, cursing loudly as he throws off his blazer. His eyes are bloodshot and he sniffles, sinking into his favorite armchair and holding his head in his hands. Tangerine doesn't cry. He hasn't cried in years, but for the first time, he can't help himself. 

"What happened?" Lemon yawns, clearly having been woken up by the door slamming. When he sees the state his brother is in he pauses, his expression twisting. He stands in front of the armchair, unsure how to deal with this. 

"T," he begins. 

"She walked in on us," Tangerine states, his voice trembling. He fists his hair in his hands, clearly frustrated. "Y/n. She heard everything and they– they– scared 'er. They hurt 'er and I- just stood there and did absolutely fuckin' nothing!" 

Lemon is quiet as Tangerine stands and begins to pace the living room. He doesn't know how to help. "Tangerine," he tries again, walking closer, "It's okay. You couldn't have done anything– not with Leo and the others in the room—she'll understand—"

"Understand?" Tangerine spits, his anger only directed at himself, "She can't come back to work, because of this. I had to make the think I- I- killed her. God, Lemon, I can never see her again. I ruined everything. But, I couldn't hurt her. I could never hurt her. I- she– she might call the cops on us—"

Lemon grips his nape, holding him still. "Y/n wouldn't tell anyone." 

Tangerine stares into his brother's eyes. "She would have every right to, Lemon. And that's not the point, I— They– fuck–"

He breaks down, remembering your scared expression and how he had done nothing, and leans his head on Lemon's shoulder. "I ruined the only good fuckin' thing I had going for me. I really fucked up."

Lemon just holds him, not sure what to do or say to make this better. 

* * *

You've been spending the last four days in bed, crying your heart out. You've shut your phone off. You've been ignoring all the worried texts and calls from your friends, missing all your uni classes and of course, missing your job. 

Don't come back.

Tangerine's words ring in your ears and you press a pillow against them, curling up in a ball. You've been feeling sick since the encounter, remembering the men and their words and the implications of their words. The way they looked, the way they talked, how they tried to touch you.

Tangerine was a criminal, they'd been preparing a kill. He kills people. You can't seem to wrap your head around it. Sure, he was always a little cold and he seemed extra gentle with you as if he was making up for something, but you would have never imagined this. 

You sob harder into your pillow, your heart breaking. 

A few hours later, you're in your kitchen when you hear the knock on your door and you pause. Your heart leaps. You're in an old, paint-stained shirt, and some worn-out sleep shorts. You hear the knock again and pause again. This time, you hurry across the floorboards and peek through the peephole. Your breath hitches in your throat and you frown. 

You unlock the old latch from your old apartment door and open it. "Hello?"

Lemon tilts his head, catching your eye, "Hey," he says sheepishly, holding up a box that you assume contains a pastry. "Can I come in?"

You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Lemon wasn't in the room that night. He might not be involved. You know that's probably bullshit but curiosity gets the better of you again.

Plus, he has food and you're starving.

You open the door and let him in, holding out your hand for the pastry. Lemon smiles and hands it to you. He motions to the dining room and you nod. He follows you and you grab a fork silently, sitting down at your small table and opening the box.

You read the label; it's from your favorite bakery. The one you'd taken Tangerine to one weekend, on one of the outings you'd never outwardly said was a date. Inside is a chocolate croissant, your favorite, and your stomach twists. 

You look up at Lemon who sat down in the chair opposite yours and he sends you a small smile. "He sent you, didn't he?"

Lemon nods. "He didn't think you'd want to see him."

You fiddle nervously with the box. "I don't want to see him," you say, your voice shaking a little. 

Lemon nods again, clicking his tongue and looking down. "Listen, I know you're scared but my brother isn't a bad guy. He isn't. And he cares for you. A lot." 

Tangerine's three-word confession rings in your ears and you can't deny the truth in Lemon's words. Still, you don't succumb that easily as your eyebrows crinkle. 

"If he cares for me, as you say, he would have spoken up for me in that room."

Lemon sighs, "It isn't that simple. Tangerine and Leo–they have a complicated history and it would have been even more dangerous to speak out in a room full of—"

"Criminals," you finish for him, nodding. You close the pastry box, staring at Lemon with a hard expression. "You weren't there, Lemon. You can't understand how scary it was to be surrounded by a bunch of dangerous men, realizing you can't even trust the one man you thought you could."

Lemon listens, his gaze stuck on yours.

"Frankly, I don't think even think he meant it when he told me he loves me—"

Lemon's face twists and he shakes his head, clearly confused. "He told you he loves you?"

You pause, fiddling with the box again. "Yeah he did but—"

"No—no, my– my brother, he doesn't just say that to anyone. He doesn't say it if he doesn't mean it," Lemon says and you become quiet, hearing the solemn and serious tone in his voice, "And I know he fucked up, but now i really fuckin' think you should hear him out. He's outside, by his car. You should talk to him. And if you never want to see either of us again after, I promise we'll leave you alone. I promise, Y/n." 

You ponder his words, looking up at him. Some part of you wants to ignore the knowledge that Tangerine is downstairs, waiting for you. You want to push him away, tell Lemon to fuck off and to never think about them again, but that's impossible. 

I love you.

Tangerine's words are engraved in your memory. You can still feel his lips on your skin, the way he touches you with care, the way he looks at you like you're the only thing that matters. Your heart warms, just remembering how sweet he was.

And then you remember his hand covering your mouth, his harsh words, and your stomach drops.

You take a breath, grounding yourself. You don't know what to do, but some twisted fucked up part of you knows that if you don't go down and at least talk to him, you'll regret it forever. 

"Okay," you say seriously and stand, walking into the living room and grabbing a hoodie. "One chance," you add, grabbing your keys. You lock your door behind you and then walk down the stairs behind Lemon.

Once the outside air hits your skin, you pause. Tangerine is standing by the car, just like Lemon said, and when he hears the door open he turns expectantly. 

"What did she—" his voice falters when he sees you behind his brother. "Oh."

You're silent as you keep a distance from him. Lemon senses the tension and clears his throat. He excuses himself and turns to take a walk. Tangerine watches him leave, half hoping he'd stay. He turns to you again and shame contorts his expression. He walks forward only to have you back up against the building. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you," Tangerine whispers, his voice quivering. 

You glare at him, tightening your arms around you. The noise of the city fades into the background as you process his words. You shake your head, your voice is strained and you hope he can't tell you might burst into tears at any moment. 

"How can I believe you? You lied." 

Tangerine shakes his head. "I never lied to you."

"Well, you kept something from me! Something big!" you argue, your sadness turning into anger and when he walks forward again, you meet him and stab your hand in his chest, "Don't pretend you didn't have any opportunities to tell me! And don't pretend you didn't think I would have liked to know this is who my boyfriend really is!" 

Tangerine blinks, his tongue skimming over his lips at the word boyfriend.  

You stutter, "Potential boyfriend. Someone I was seeing—"

"I know," he interrupts you, running a hand in his hair. "I know I should have told you. I should have warned you before I started to become involved with you, okay? But can you blame me?"

"Well no," you interrupt and roll your eyes, "if I was a killer I wouldn't want anyone to know—"

Tangerine shakes his head, his gaze hard. "Y/n. It was never about me. I couldn't care less what happened to me. I mean, sure, it would hav' sucked and it will if you do tell anyone, but I truly don't care what happens to me—" his voice sounds stern again and your eyes are locked on his as you listen.

He walks closer and this time, you don't move. "I only cared for you. I care for you. I stayed awake at night dreading the very scenario that fuckin' happened. Imagining you looking at me the way you are now; with fear. Imagining worse— and it tore me up, darlin'." 

You soak in his words, swallowing a lump in your throat. "Then why didn't you stop them? Why pretend to want to hurt me if you love me so much—" The word love falls from your lips and Tangerine's expression visibly tenses. Still, he tries to explain. 

"Love, I had no choice," he says softly, "I was frozen in shock and I couldn't go against everyone in that room. You don't realize how worse that would have made the situation. I'm sorry. I wish I could have done more."

You shake your head, your voice low because of the morning crowd in the street, and add, "No. You had a choice. You always have a choice. You chose to just stand there and then pretend to want to hurt me? Do you realize how fucked up that is?"

Tangerine's jaw tenses and he holds out his hand as if he wants to caress your cheek but he pauses, frowning. He drops his arm.

"You're right. I did make a choice," he admits after a moment, reflecting on your words, "and I did what I thought was my best option in the worst possible situation. I'm really sorry I wasn't what you needed at that moment, and darlin', if I could go back, I'd do anything to prevent you from walking into that room—anything to keep you safe—but I was trying to protect you, even if you can't see it—"

He pauses and you glance at his lips, your gaze flickering to his eyes once more. "And you don't have to forgive me. You can even keep being angry with me. I can live with anger, but I'm here because I don't want there to be a single part of you that thinks I didn't care for you. That I don't care for you, because I do. I just- I want you to know how much I care. How I would never hurt you like they wanted to. Never. I- I adore you, everything about you; how you drive me absolutely mad when you're away and how you involuntarily draw me in with your laughter whenever you're around—

And I'm a smitten fool to think I ever deserved you," Tangerine continues and his voice becomes softer, "I just, please know that my feelings for you are very real. Please know that hurting you like this was the last thing I ever wanted and it will haunt me forever because I love you. I love you so damn much it hurts." 

There is that word again and you pause, heart beating as you listen to him. You find yourself leaning into him and you can clearly see tears in his eyes, threatening to spill at every word. They mirror your own and yet you can't find the words to answer him. 

At least not until he sighs and turns to leave, and your chest tightens;

"No wait," you gasp instinctively, grabbing his wrist so he turns around. When he does, you wrap your arms around his neck, practically throwing yourself into his arms.  

Tangerine's arms tighten across your middle, burying his face in your shoulder as he lets out a shaky breath. "Angel," he whispers as you tighten your hold on him too. 

"I don't forgive you, not completely, not yet," you admit breathlessly, but hold onto him anyways. "But you promise you love me?" You ask in his ear, sounding insecure. "You promise you'll keep me safe? Promise it. Please."

"I fuckin' promise," he says instantly with no hesitation, as he strokes a hand down your hair to soothe you. "I love you. I promise I mean this."

You nod, taking a moment to pause and inhale his cologne. Your mind fills with words from his apology, words that don't feel like empty promises, and instead of the memories from that night, all you feel is safe again.

You pull away and look at him seriously. "And no more pretending you don't want me to be yours, okay? No holding back this time, not now that I know—"

Tangerine nods, his warm hand cupping your cheek, "No more pretending. You're mine. My girl. If you'd still like to be? If you'll have me?" 

You crack a small smile, nodding, "I would like that," you say wearily, still holding back those three little words.

Tangerine understands and doesn't press you. His heart beams, threatening to leap at you as if offering himself. He drops his arms, tightens his hands on your hips, he pulls you in and he presses his lips to yours.

It's delicate and loving and he's taking his time, savoring you. You relax in his arms, cupping his cheek. You can't help but smile against his lips, which causes the same smile from Tangerine and you laugh as he rests his forehead on yours.

"I love you," he whispers again and deep down, you know he truly means it.

FIN ♡

Epilogue - 6 months later

It took a while for your relationship with Tangerine to return to normal. In fact, it took a while for anything to feel normal again. You'd lost your job, having to lay low for three months or so because Tangerine needed Leo to keep thinking you were dead. But he had promised it was going to be easy and over with. He was the one who had records—your real name—Leo didn't, he never did. Tangerine promised there was no way that bastard could reach you. That he wouldn't let him. 

"He's not very bright," Lemon had promised you, not hiding his disdain for the man. 

And you chose to believe them.

It had taken a few months to fully digest Tangerine's career. He's tried to explain the best he could that it wasn't fun for him. That is was his work and he was good at his job. He was good at taking down bastards who deserved it, for one reason or another.

"Think of it like a more illegal version of your future job—executing bastards who deserve it," Tangerine had said nonchalantly.

"A fucked up illegal version," you retorted, sending him a dirty look and Tangerine shrugs, holding your hand and squeezing.

It definitely took a while but eventually, you came to terms with his profession.

Because you'd lost your income, Tangerine had also promised to take care of you until you finished your studies. You ended up staying with him and Lemon after the first two months, and luckily the commute to the university from his apartment was far less distance than from yours.

And anyways, living with Lemon and Tangerine was proving more entertaining than you'd expected.  

"Who hid my toothbrush?!" Lemon grumbles one evening, storming into the kitchen where Tangerine is making his famous pasta sauce. You're reading him your essay and pause, looking up from your laptop. 

"You need it now? We haven't had dinner," you say, glancing at Tangerine with a small smirk as he cuts up some tomatoes. 

Tangerine just rolls his eyes, ignoring his brother as he focuses on not chopping up his fingers. "No one hid your toothbrush, Lemon. We're fuckin' adults, not children," he says and glances at you, reaching over and tapping his finger on the counter near your laptop, "Wanna continue, my love? I'm really liking this one."

You laugh, looking at him with a cheeky grin. "Yeah, I bet you do, babe. It's on organized crime," you turn to look at Lemon, who seems a little less distressed over his toothbrush and now more invested in the conversation as he leans on the counter.

You turn back to Tangerine as he pours the tomatoes into a pan. "Y'know, if I end up working as a lawyer and you got caught for being some criminal mastermind, I could prosecute you."

Lemon barks a laugh, "Oi, don't jinx him!" 

You frown, shaking your head. "I'm not! I'm just saying!"

Tangerine comes up and presses a kiss to your forehead. "Or you could represent me. Y'know, be my lawyer," he says and winks.

"How romantic," Lemon teases and walks over to read your essay over your shoulder. "This shit seems complicated as fuck."

"It is," you say and chew on your pencil as you read the notes you have next to your laptop.

"My smart girl," Tangerine hums, stirring the sauce now as he wipes his hand on his apron. Lemon smirks at him and walks behind him, ruffling his hair a little just to tease him for being such a softie for you. Tangerine pushes him off. 

You're lost in thought, re-reading your essay in your head as the brothers argue playfully in the background. 

Later that night, you're brushing your hair in the mirror while Tangerine trims his mustache. You're unusually quiet and he knows instantly that something is up. Still, he doesn't mention it until the lights are off and you're snuggled against his chest, his arm under your head as he plays with his hair and listens to the ceiling fan.  

"What's going on in that pretty head of yours, love?"

You hum, circling hearts on his chest as you snuggle against him. You hold your tongue until he taps your head, prompting you to answer him. "It's nothing," you whisper. 

"Try me," Tangerine says into the darkness, his voice soft. 

"I was joking back then but—what if it happens? What if one day, I have to represent you," you say after a moment of silence, your voice strained. "Or I have to actually prosecute you—"

Tangerine chuckles slowly, still stroking your hair. "I doubt you'll have to do any of those things, darlin', considering we're together—isn't that against your rules?"

You pause, holding him closer. "I mean yes and no but—" you pause, "what if, y-you don't come home because something went wrong or—you actually end up in prison," your voice fades and you go quiet again and Tangerine understands what this is about. He's never actually stopped to think about how you worry for him. How it must weigh on you, learning what you do, and to know all the things that could happen to him. 

"Hey," he says and sits up to turn on the bedside lamp. He pulls you up with him and turns to look at you. "Sweetheart, nothing is gonna happen to me. I'm careful, ya know that." He strokes your cheek, wiping under your worried eyes as he taps your nose. "You have nothing to worry about."

You look at him, still worried. "But, how can you be so sure?"

Tangerine smiles and nuzzles his nose against yours, kissing your lips sweetly. As much as he doesn't want you to worry about him like this, it's kind of endearing. He pulls away and pulls on your bottom lip, smiling. "Because there is nothing in this world that could keep me away from you. I won't let it happen."

His words warm your chest and you smile, leaning into his touch as you kiss him. His hands cup your face as you climb onto his lap, straddling his hips. Your hands find his hair as you kiss him, tasting him as if you're starved of him.

"Promise?"

Tangerine nods between kisses. "I promise, angel." 

You continue to kiss him, occasionally rocking your hips into his as he groans softly into your lips. It's sensual and soft and you're both exhausted. Tangerine runs his hands up your back, holding you. "I love you," he says, sucking love bites onto your neck. 

You hum and say, "I love you," back as you kiss him again and dip down to give him your own set of marks. He groans, happiness filling him as he reaches back for the lamp and manages to turn it off again, plunging you both in darkness again. 

"Mine," he whispers against your hair and you nod. 

"Yours."

* ~ *

my dear reader, this was such a fun mini-series and i am incredibly proud of the writing in this. i really hope you enjoyed it as much as i enjoyed writing it and sharing it with you all! xo

[phosph-ate]

Picture

Dr. Phosphorus x AFAB!Reader

Summary: You surprise your boss with a picture while he's trying to work. He is not amused.

CW: SMUT! 18+! Masturbation, screwing around in an office, praise, begging, he burns your clothes off, no use of y/n, no pronouns used for reader, reader is fem bodied though

WC: 1.4k

A/N: My BFF requested this! From this prompt list, numbers 18 and 49! I got carried away... If you would like to send in prompts, feel free, those are currently open! This is also written when Phos was in his Boss Era! Divider by cafekitsune

You were humming to yourself, sifting through papers as you sat at your boss’ desk. You were checking numbers, going over expenses, when you heard it. Footsteps stomping down the hall, right towards the office.

A smile spread across your face. Finally, you thought, he saw it. You put the papers down and watched as the door flung open. You are honestly surprised he did not burn through it.

“What the fuck!?” Dr. Phosphorus was ablaze. Literally.

“What?” You smiled at him innocently. He closed the door, gently, and seemed to be thinking about his next move. You watched in entertainment. Your smile widened and you looked back down at some papers. “If you need anything-” You started, “-you can tell me. I’m just sorting some stuff.”

“Oh…” He would have narrowed his eyes at you if he could have. “I understand.”

You continued like nothing had happened. “Understand what, Boss?” You were fighting back laughter at that point. “I’m just doing what you asked of me.”

Phosphorus nodded and brought you something. Something charred and burnt. A phone. Your eyes widened momentarily. You swallowed hard. “Did you burn that?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Yes.”

Your jaw clenched and you took in a shaky breath. You had sort of expected that. But nothing to that extent. Your eyes looked back at the horribly melted phone he set on the desk. You exhaled loudly and looked up at him. He stood on the other side of the desk, but he looked like he was about to fly over it. But not in anger.

“They almost saw you.”

Your smile returned. “But they didn’t?” You asked. That obviously was not the point. You let out a low laugh. “I texted John to give you his phone, when I just knew you had it, I sent the picture.”

“Do you seriously think it’s funny? Sending me shit like that while I’m at work!?” Phosphorus was upset, but you could tell it was not just anger. He was frustrated. Sexually. “What if someone else had seen that picture?” He was not laughing, but you thought it was hilarious.

You stood up from your seat and leaned towards your boss. “Then they’d know who I belonged to, sir.”

Phosphorus almost lost it. He was silent, but only for a moment. He seemed to be malfunctioning. “What?” His voice was low. It sent a chill down your spine. You froze up. “Repeat that.”

You blinked a few times, stunned. “They would know I’m yours, Boss.”

Phosphorus wished he could grin wider. His permanent smile would have to do. “You’re being serious?” He sounded excited. Ready to pounce all over again. “Tell me now, we don’t have to do this.”

Your nails dragged across your scalp, and you looked away momentarily. You looked back at him with a yearning he was sure you would never have for him. “I’m dead fucking serious. I wouldn’t send that picture if I wasn’t.” The desk was still between the two of you. “How much of it did you see? Before you blew up the phone?”

“Oh,” He dragged out the word and you smiled, “I saw everything, dear.” He motioned for you to come around the desk. You did not deny him. You moved around it, and he took a step back. You immediately moved into the space he had been, wedging yourself between the desk and your boss. “I saw how you were sitting, right here,” He easily picked you up and set you on the desk. You squeaked in response. “I saw your lacy black panties, and I know for a fact you are not wearing a bra.”

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy. Phosphorus pushed between your thighs and his hands grabbed your hips. He moved closer to you, face inches from yours. “Did you like it?” You asked, mouth going dry.

“I loved it.” He growled out. He was obviously trying hard to control his flames. “I need you-” He was breathless.

“Here?” Your hand was on his chest. “In the office?” Dr. Phosphorus got a nod in before you ultimately agreed. “Okay!” Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you pulled him as close as possible to you. Your hands cupped his face. You stared at him, taking the moment in.

“You can kiss me, you know.”

You lit up. It was almost as if that did not cross your mind, being able to do that. You instantly started kissing his face. As you kissed him you felt heat on your abdomen. You pulled away and saw your shirt disintegrating. You gasped and covered your chest. “Alex!” You never called him Alex; it was always Boss or Sir. “What the-”

“Sorry,” He did sound apologetic. “Got excited.”

“That was expensive…” You sat there, covering your breasts.

“Don’t worry about the clothes, I'll just buy you new ones.” Dr. Phosphorus sounded smug. You sighed and nodded. “You should really call me Alex more often,” His hand moved to your wrist. “I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

You looked at him as if he had hung the moon and stars. You sucked in air, and you felt a sudden surge of confidence. You removed your hands from your chest, “If you’re going to buy me more clothes… You might as well get rid of all of them, huh?” You smiled, soft and sweet. He was wrapped around your finger.

Dr. Phosphorus could not agree more. Phosphorus’ hands moved to your thighs, and he burned away your pants. Before you knew it, you were naked, on a silver platter before him. You sat on the desk in front of him and he looked at you, all of you. He took everything in.

“Can’t believe it…” He muttered. “You’re all mine.” Phosphorus moved behind you and pushed the papers off the desk. “Scoot back.” You followed his orders and pushed yourself further onto the desk, near the middle of it. “Touch yourself.”

“What?” You were baffled. “I want you to touch me!” You whined.

“Follow my orders and I’m sure you’ll get what you want.” He pulled a chair out and sat down, a little way from you. You pouted at him. “I promise.” He watched you closely.

You nodded. Fine, I have to do everything myself, you kept that thought to yourself. You pulled a leg onto the desk and let the one dangle over the floor. You pushed a finger into your entrance and your head rolled back. You were already wet from your earlier interaction and even earlier dirty thoughts about your boss. Yor finger slid in, and your thumb circled your clit. You let out a soft mewl and Phosphorus hummed.

“Good,” He praised you. “You’re being so obedient.” You wanted him. Your eyes shut and your hips gently rolled into your hand. “Look at me,” Phosphorus’ voice was stern. “I want to see how good you feel.”

You followed his orders, as always. “Alex,” You moaned. Your eyes hit him, and he seemed to be concentrating on you. He leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his thighs and his head in his hands. He was watching.

Another finger slipped inside of you and your pace quickened. You were quick to find what made you feel the best, even if you wondered if your boss would lend you a hand if you acted like you did not know what you were doing. Your eyes were half lidded at that point, barely able to stay open.

“I need you, Alex…” You cried out for him, finger swirling over your clit again. “Please-”

“I know,” He cooed from his seat. “You’re doing so good though, I want you to cum for me.”

It did not take much more than that. Your toes were curling, and your body was tensing. There was a white-hot fire in your stomach. You let out a short cry, moaning his name as you came undone. You were seeing stars, your eyes had shut tight, and your body shook momentarily.

You heard Dr. Phosphorus get up and when you squinted your eyes open, you saw him standing before you. You caught your breath and quickly leaned against him, head resting against his coat. “You did so good,” His hand ran down your side, sending chills down your spine. “We have the rest of the night together.” He informed you. “I got the others to cover what I was doing, for now. So, you are mine for the next eight hours.”

No words had ever made you happier.

[asktheritobowyer]

(This is the blogger here, making a post that I never thought I'd be making, but due to recent events, regarding threads, and my inbox, I feel like I need to)

First of @askthenewritoelder @asktheritochampion @asksakitherito @askaritobard @askthehylianchampion I want to make it make clear, none of you are at fault for this, nor could any of you have predicted your replies, or posts would have caused something like this to happen.

As @asktheritochampion said on their blog, there has been no drama, or anything of the sort between us, just bloggers having fun with the characters, engaging, and creating fun scenario's for us to play out.

Unfortunately with that said, for the past couple of days, my inbox has been flooded with nothing but death threats to myself and the character of Harth.

I've had messages telling me to kill myself. I've had messages telling me they hope Harth commits suicide. I've had messages hoping Harth gets killed in his sleep by Tulin in graphic detail. I've had messages telling me they look forward to Teba stabbing Harth to death and taking Molli. I've had messages saying they hope Revali kidnaps Molli and kills Harth. I've had messages hoping Saki cooks Harth and feeds his remains to Rito Village. I've had messages telling me Harth is going to get hacked into pieces by Link, and he's going to eat him. I've had messages hoping I die for not falling in line and loving Revali like everyone else. I've had asks saying Harth should make a bow and shoot himself with it. etc...

It really is as bad as I'm describing. I sincerely wish it wasn't. Nor will I show the asks, as they're incredibly graphic and disturbing to read. I haven't gotten any genuine asks lately. Just simply death threats, or messages hoping I die, or Harth dies, or Molli getting taken away because Harth gets killed by someone. I've counted 60 so far and counting.

It goes without saying I'm here to have fun. I'm here to enjoy myself. I'm here to interact with others. I'm here to have fun answering asks in character. I'm here to engage with other threads. I'm here to respectfully freely express my feelings and opinions to others, and respect their opinions. I'm here to get into all sorts of fun shenanigans with Harth.

I didn't come here to be harassed. I didn't come here to get ridiculed for being different. I didn't come here to be sent constant death threats because I think differently. I didn't come here so people can tell me they hope Harth dies, so someone else can take his daughter. etc...

I understand people may like a character, but there comes a point where you shouldn't take things to this extent because someone has a different stance to someone else. Things have been taken way out of context, and people have gone to the extremes in my inbox.

We all have different opinions and should respect them. We should be polite to one another regardless of the differences. I'm just someone looking to have fun with others, and create stuff by myself or with them. Nothing more nothing less.

There's a right way to engage with someone and express yourself. This isn't that way. I don't want to make posts like these, but I'm hoping in doing so people are mindful of what their doing and the effect it can have on someone simply wishing to enjoy themselves.

[cheeseceli]

When you marry someone else

Pairing: ot5 TXT × Gn! reader (individually)

Genre: angst, unrequited love, a bit bittersweet, reactions

Prompt: they attend your wedding, but you are the love of his life, and he is not the groom.

Warnings: no happy ending for now, reader wears a wedding dress on Yeonjun's, Kai has mentions of food, mentions of tears and crying

A/n: had this entire idea when showering, so enjoy the angst! | Daily click

Yeonjun

He is so conflicted

He is genuinely happy at the thought of you finding the love of your life, but he is sad because it's not him

He is happy when he sees you in that beautiful dress, but he is sad when he sees that you didn't dress up with him on your mind

He wants to sit down on the first row to see you closer, but he also wants to stand on the end of the room so it doesn't hurt that much

He loves you but he wished he didn't

At the party, he would try his best to avoid both you and your now husband

He wants to be there for you, but it seems unfair that he needs to watch it in so many details

He tries to distract himself from the fact that this night is all about you dedicating your life to someone else

And he tries to ignore his mind telling him that this someone else was so not worth of you

His vows seemed shallow, and it was ridiculous how he didn't cry when he saw you walking down the aisle. It outraged Yeonjun to see him talking with his friends instead of being with you

Everything that the groom did, Yeonjun knew he could do ten times better

But he was trying to ignore it. For the sake of your night

And when you come to him, handing him the bouquet, he can't help but feel defeated

"I want you to be the next one to find everlasting happiness" is what you said to him

So Yeonjun took the bouquet, hoping and praying that it actually meant something

Soobin

He genuinely thought on not going

The moment he received the invitation, he threw it away

And since he refused to talk to you ever since, you thought you'd be missing your best friend on your wedding day

But in the end, he couldn't help but to go to the ceremony

It wasn't fair on you if he missed one of the most important days of your life

Especially since you had no idea Soobin has been in love with you for decades

So he attends the wedding

And he regrets it the moment he gets there

Why were you so beautiful?

And why were you so happy?

He talks to all your friends and family members throughout the day

He is searching for any hint that your fiance doesn't deserve you

Anything that could give him a reason to stand up and object

But there is nothing

The man you fell in love with was nothing but a kind and generous person

And Soobin can't recall a day where you had smiled that much before

So he just sits down in defeat when you start to say your vows, wondering what he could've done in the past so today would've been different

Beomgyu

He is trying his best to act like your best friend

Like yes, he's so happy for you!!

He'll cry tears of joy and he'll party all night!!

He's doing his best to just be happy for you

Because that's what he's supposed to be

Happy for you, not happy with you

So he buys you the greatest gift you could ever imagine

He talks with every single person in the party

He is the first to go to the dance floor and he doesn't hesitate on playing with the kids

He is trying to be happy

And when your groom comes to him, thanking him for taking care of you until now, Beomgyu cries a bit

Especially when the groom vows that he will love and protect you from now on

He cries in the ceremony and cries even more when you hug him by the end of it

But as your best friend, he promises he'll always do his best to be happy for you

Taehyun

He won't be there

I'm so sorry, but I don't think he would be able to endure the pain

Every time he saw you guys on a date, or the photos you post, or the messages you sent with "I'm with my boyfriend right now, can we talk later?" always felt like a dagger in his heart

So to see everything come to life was not something he could do

He'll come see you a day before the wedding though

And in his plan, he would try to convince you to give up

He never liked your boyfriend anyways, he didn't feel like too good of a person

So he tries to hint on the topic

But you're so blindly in love that you don't notice

And he's so in love with you that he simply gives up

So he just smiles at your content and announces that he needs to go, that he will get some things ready for tomorrow

But he doesn't

He tells you that there was an accident on the road, that he was suddenly required on his work, or that there was a family emergency

Something happened, and he couldn't make it to your wedding

And upon seeing your smile on the photos, he's glad he didn't

Hueningkai

The moment you tell him you're getting married, he is volunteering to help you in anything and everything

He is there when you choose your clothes for the day

He finds the best florist in town

He helps you decide on the cake, on the place, on the date, everything

Because he knows this is the last time you'll be relying on him for help

From now on, your soon to be husband will be the one who is supposed to be by your side

Till death do you apart

And as much as it hurts, Kai won't let the sorrow be on the way

If he has this last opportunity to help you and be with you, that's precisely what he'll do

So when the big day ends up being more beautiful than your dreams

And both you and your now husband come to him to thank him

He can't help but smile through teary eyes, which he reassures you that it's because of happiness

Now he knows that he at least tried his best until the end

Masterlist | you'll probably like: moving on

Reminder this is just fiction!! I'm not trying to portray real life and you shouldn't believe that this is how the members actually are. This is just for the vibe and the delulu!

Thank you for reading <3

Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @zzzzzwicked @sheraayasherrecs

Dividers by @enchanthings | images 1 , 2 and 3

[supernotnatural2005]

A Welcomed Distraction

Parings: Dean x Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Summary: Torn between assisting the brother's coping mechanisms admits Chuck's warpath, Dean is quick to remind you who's the right choice.

Warnings: Fluff, Clingy Dean, Smutty themes (18+ ONLY!!)

AN: Just a little something that had been a WIP and finally got round to finishing lol 😅 i hope you all enjoy!

Masterlist

“Hey, Y/N/N’s!”

You come to a halt a few steps past Dean’s room at the sound of him calling out to you. You backtrack the couple of steps you’d taken and push his half-closed door fully open, smirking in amusement at the sight before you.  Dean is sprawled out on his front on the bed, his body propped up by his pillows, facing the TV you’d helped set up for him a few months ago.“What’s up?” You ask, glancing with a raised brow between him and the TV, which released a bloodcurdling scream.  “Hatchet Man marathon.” He explains with a chuckle, and you make a sound of disgust, accompanied by an eye roll.  “Hey, don’t crap on Hatchet man. It’s a classic.”  “Halloween, A Nightmare on Elm Street, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre are classics.” You reel off with a count of your fingers. “Don’t taint good cinema horror with Hatchet man.” You mockingly scold, making him look even more offended.“Now what did you want, Winchester?” You ask with a hand on your hip. 

You’d already promised Sam you’d help him with research on finding something to kill God with. Yeah, your already complicated life had become even more messy.Whereas Sam scoured the internet and rummaged through the dusty archives looking for a way to stop God and his genocidal warpath on mankind, Dean had taken a completely different approach and sunk into a kind of defeated depression. So it had been up to you to help the younger Winchester, as of late.  However, you felt torn in half trying to appease both of them. Between helping Sam with research and making sure your boyfriend didn’t drink himself to death, you were exhausted.  “Not your hostility, that’s for sure.” Dean huffs, though there is a slight smirk on his lips. You chuckle and walk further into the room, coming to stand at the foot of his bed. “Fancy joining? And before you say no, I’ll even be nice and let you pick something else.” He interrupts you before you could protest.You almost cave at the hopeful look on his stupidly handsome face. Instead you sigh, more so in remorse because you’d rather do nothing more. 

“I can’t. I promised your brother I’d help him with research.” You tell him guiltily, and he lets out a huff.

“You two are always researching lately; is there something more going on there that I should know about?”  Instead of dignifying that hideous accusation with an answer, you lean down to smack his arm, which was a rookie mistake as he anticipates your attack and pulls you down onto the bed with him instead. You yelp in surprise and grunt at the impact, but before you can react, his lips are pressing to yours. 

Your surprised squeak is drowned out by the soft press of his pillowy lips, and by default, your eyes flutter shut as you lose yourself in the feeling. With his large palm framing your cheek, fingers nestled deeply into your newly mused locks, he pulls away to stare down at you with a cheeky grin.

“You’re an asshole.” You mutter, albeit a little breathlessly, realising his intentions. Laughter erupts from Dean, laughter you hadn’t heard in a while, and you can’t help the fond smile upon hearing the sweet sound.

“You know I’m kidding. I appreciate you trying to be there for the both of us.” He admits honestly, a more adoring look crossing his features as his thumb gently glides back and forth across your cheekbone. Your hand slides up to join his on your cheek, and you smile lovingly up at him.  “I just wish he didn’t hog you so much.” He murmurs as he makes his descent to kiss at your jaw, your neck, taking his time to nibble and suck at your sweet spot when you can’t help but sigh in pleasure. Your hands automatically slide up his neck and into his hair, grasping onto the soft strands as his warm tongue glides over your pulse point, making you shiver.  “Didn’t peg you as the clingy type, Winchester.” You tease, though it comes out more of a moan as his lips and teeth tug at your earlobe, setting your nerve endings alight. You arch up into him, desperately craving friction against your rapidly dampening core. Dean pulls away then and grins down at you. 

“I could say the same thing about you, sweetheart.”

“Shut up.” You mumble before pulling him down by the collar of his shirt, claiming his lips in a heated kiss, too desperate to tease anymore. Dean quickly melts into it, moaning as your tongue slips past his lips. He secretly loved it when you got desperate and clingy; it only fuelled his desire. He nudges your legs apart and nestles comfortably between them, experimentally rolling his hips and making you gasp and break away from his mouth. Your hands slide down his toned, solid back toward his perky ass, and with a cheeky smile of your own and with a firm grasp, you pull his hips back into yours again. Both of you groaning at the friction this time. 

Dean begins a steady roll of his hips and leans down to claim your lips again, this time more insistent and devouring, leaving your lungs burning and core pulsing with desire. You moan into the kiss at the feel of his hand slipping under your top, his exploration purposeful and intentional on its ascent. His deft fingers slip under the cup of your bra, and he takes your full breast in his large palm, massaging the tender flesh as his lips begin trailing across your jaw and down the length of your neck. 

Your fingers are quick to slip into his neatly styled spikes, musing them in every which way as he sucks at your sweet spot. You sigh and thrust your hips up into his, feeling the solid length of him straining against his zipper. The friction between your bodies is both not enough but also just right. 

“Shit.” You moan, so lost in the feeling of him, you hadn’t realised his lips had navigated to your exposed breast until he was sucking the perked bud into his mouth. His tongue is warm and wet as it swirls around your nipple, the sensation shooting straight to your cunt. As if he knew what you needed, because of course he did. Dean knew your body as well as he knew his beloved Baby. He’d worked on you comparably more and just as thoroughly. His free hand quickly unbuttons your jeans before his long, thick digits slip under both fabrics, all the while his mouth remains latched to your chest. 

You release the longest sigh of relief as soon as his digits make contact with your throbbing clit. His deep groan of approval at the dampness he discovers there, sending shivers down your spine. 

“Fuck. You’re soaked, baby.” Dean praises as he rises on his elbow, hovering above you as his fingers begin to circle your bundle of nerves. You keen at the feeling, your hips rising on their own accord, pressing further into his hand to seek more. 

Dean smirks pridefully, but lust burns in his gaze as he watches what his touch does to you. The sweet sounds he pulls from you, all of it shooting straight to his cock. You rise up and claim his lips once more just as his middle finger dips into your soaked hole. Your hips roll in a steady rhythm, your clit brushing his palm with each movement, setting your nerve endings on fire. 

It still astonished you how quickly Dean could have you crumbling in a matter of seconds. His mouth, his touch, his attention direly distracting. It was both a gift and a curse. For instance, you had completely forgotten what it was you were supposed to be doing before you had entered his room. That is until that reason walked in.  “Y/N? You in he—oh, whoa! Sam exclaims and quickly turns away from the compromising position you and Dean were in.  “Shit.” You mutter and shuffle from under Dean, who takes the hint and shifts his weight off of you. “Sam, I’m sorry. I was coming.” You shoot Dean a look at his snicker at your poor choice of words, and he quickly silences. “Your brother is a menace.” You add pointedly for payback.

“Hey!” Dean complains, not appreciating your name-calling. You ignore him and quickly right yourself and fix your askew clothing just as Sam wearily peeks over his shoulder, fully turning around when he sees you both had separated and were less dishevelled.

“Actually, I was just coming to tell you not to worry now. Elaine is free tonight.” Sam explains and gives you an uncomfortable smile.  “Oh.” Is all you can form and meet Dean’s enlightened expression at the news?

“Well, that’s great, Sam.” Dean begins and rises from his spot on the bed. “Tell Elaine we said hi.” He adds with a wide grin as he wraps his arms around you and begins tugging you back towards the bed.

“Uh, yeah, sure.” Sam stumbles and quickly evacuates the room just as you let out a squeal and the sound of the bed-frame creaking under the sudden weight of you both. Sam was quick to make his exit before any other noises, more scarring, traumatising ones, spilt from his brother's room.

AN: I hope you guys enjoy this little spicy once shot! 😜 Again I have a habit of making poor Sam the unintentional cockblock lol 😂 But I'm just going through all my WIP's (there's a lot 😅) and finally finish them. But let me know what you think! And I hope you enjoy.

[merlincmgirl]

Goodbye To Good Will and Patience

Summary: Colt is ready to leave. This party has been dragging on for far too long, and he's stuck at the side playing bodyguard. Not that he minds, because it's for you. But as soon as he sees a Senator lay a hand on you, his patience quickly dwindles to zero. He needs to make sure that nobody else can mistake that you're his and he'd do anything to protect you.

Characters: Colt, Reader

Pairing: Commander Colt x FReader

Word Count: 5,514

Warnings: smut, riding, PinV sex, fingering, dirty talk, jealousy, Colt imagining violence against mentioned Senator, established relationships

Author's Note: So this was requested by @rex-meshla, I'm so sorry it took so long. But I hope you enjoy it.

I took inspiration from this post by @saradika. The lines are highlighted in bold. Honestly it's incredible and I really recommend people checking it out.

Colt wants to leave. He wants to leave right now. Either through the door or through the window, he doesn’t care which. But if he has to listen to another slimy Senator flatter and flirt with you, then he’s not going to be held responsible for his actions.

The music is light and fun – the only fun thing about this party – and the alcohol is flowing – not that Colt is allowed any – but it seems to be helping the Senator’s lose whatever inhibitions that they had. Colt once again thanks his lucky stars that he doesn’t have to deal with the Senate and the cockroaches within it everyday. He doesn’t know how Fox deals with it.

Instead of focusing on wanting to jump out the window, he directs his attention to you. You’re absolutely stunning. That, Colt would admit to anyone and everyone. Your dress subtly matched his armour, a blend of grey, black and red that highlighted your beautiful body. Your hair was tied up into a loose knot, strands hanging irresistibly to brush along your neck. What he wouldn’t give to press his lips against the hollow of your throat, to feel the way you moaned his name as he kissed along your neck.

Rolling his shoulders, he straightened up, getting his head back in the now. Escorting you to this event was something that both you and Colt was dreading. Nearly a year ago, you were assigned by the GAR to review and report on the health and well-being of the up-coming troopers and cadets on Kamino. Your work was your passion, and you enjoyed spending time with the clones, trying your best to make their life better while on the rainy planet. Especially the cadets, who you had taken to heart as soon as you had been introduced to them.

So when you were invited by Senator Burtoni to a party that she was holding for potential investors and members of the Senate, she wanted you to come and report on Kamino’s success. You hated being the centre of attention, instead preferring to be in your lab or interacting with the clones. Not flattering and selling the clones like cattle to investors and Senators who saw them as nothing more than meat-droids.

It had been something that Colt had heard you rant about ever since you got the summons. As the ARC Commander of Rancor Battalion, he had been selected to escort you and protect you while you were on Coruscant. If he had to twist Fox’s arm to ensure that he was your protection detail and not some Corrie Guard, then you never had to know.

Wishing he could have some of that wine his cyare was sipping, he once more watched as you batted away the Senator’s advances. Your eyes shifted to him, and even through his visor, it felt like you could see into his soul, understand exactly what he was thinking about. Your lips twitched, face softening for a second before you returned back to the Senator who was now boasting about his villa on the Canto Bright shores, and his VIP area in one of the casinos on said planet.

However, all of Colt’s good will and patience disintegrated as soon as he saw the Senator lay one of his slimy hands on your hip, lips curled up into what he thought was an attractive smirk but it just made him look like a demented nexu. Making sure not to just storm over there like he wanted to, he instead strode over with purpose, every movement deliberate and intimidating. The party-goers immediately parted for him until he reached where you and the Senator were near the buffet table.

He didn’t stop until he was pressed against your back, too close to be appropriate or polite. He didn’t care. If that slimy, son of a nerf herder didn’t take his hand away, he’d make sure to break every single finger so he could never touch anyone without their consent ever again.

“Excuse me, ma’am” Colt interrupted, his dark, intimidating helmet facing the Senator. The skull on the helmet was a promise of things that was to come if Colt had his way.

“Commander Colt, just the man I was talking about! Senator, Commander Colt is a fine example of the strength and bravery of our troopers” you smiled, turning into the ARC behind you, letting the hand fall away from you as you leaned closer into Colt.

“You flatter me, Doctor. However, Master Ti is requesting your service about one of the reports, she has some questions for you” Colt lied, pressing further into your back in response. “Goodnight Senator” Colt said briskly, stepping in between you and him before guiding you towards the door.

As soon as you were outside, you couldn’t help but let out a disgruntled curse. There was a reasons you hated these things, they were all full of creeps who thought they had every right to request your company. Thankfully Colt had been there to protect you this time.

Nodding to the Corrie guards keeping watch at the entrance, Colt led you down the Senate corridor towards your temporary office that you had been gifted by Burtoni. It had been a reassurance that you could continue your work, but it had almost been forgotten about as soon as you landed. There had been more important things to do than head to your office and work, Burtoni had said.

Grumbling, you stopped Colt and he turned to you in concern. However it soon turned to amusement as you used him as support while you took off your heels. Kicking them off, you shrunk down to your original size, allowing him to almost tower over you. “There, that’s much better” you sighed, rolling your ankles a few times on each foot to return the feeling in your feet.

Colt chuckled, scooping up your heels and clipping them to his belt. He held out his arm to you, which you gladly accepted. “Comfortable, cyare?” he teased, enjoying the warmth that he could feel from the crook of his elbow. His armour ensured a barrier to the world, it was something he always regretted when he was with you.

“Much! I was beginning to feel like my ankles were about to snap” you smirked, resting your head on his bicep and sighing heavily. Wriggling your toes, you couldn’t help but admire the soft carpet that felt like walking on clouds with every step.

“Maybe I should work some of these torture devices into ARC training” Colt suggested, tugging you closer to him to avoid a mouse droid running into you.

“Oh, that is cruel, my love!” you laughed, as you came to a halt outside of the door to your office. You quickly pushed in your code before allowing Colt to enter first. Leaning against the door frame, you waited as he made sure the room was clear and secure. “I don’t think an assassin is going to want to be hiding behind the plant pots” you remarked, a wry smile spreading across your face as Colt checked everything.

“You’d be surprised, cyare. Expect the unexpected” he reminded you, as he gave the all clear for you to enter.

Locking the door behind you, you couldn’t wait to return back home to your little apartment on Kamino that you shared with Colt. It was your little slice of paradise where the two of you could be yourselves without Kaminoans breathing down your throats and watching your every move. You had spent many evenings there just cuddled up with your Commander as you recounted the days events. It made you miss your home even more.

A soft creak of leather had you turning around to face the desk behind you. It seemed that Colt had made himself comfortable behind your desk, even though there was a perfectly good sofa for him to lounge on. The corner of your lips pulling into a small smile, content to see him relaxing away from the circus that was Senators, sponsors and general politics.

Colt removed his helmet, sighing softly before placing it down on the desk, running a hand through his short cropped hair. His lovely plump lips pulled into a thin line, brow furrowing at whatever thought was running through his head. However, he shook it, almost like he was trying to shake the thought out before opening his beautiful brown eyes and locking them onto you. Noticing that you were looking at him, he sent you a confused look.

Deciding that you were too far away from your trooper now that there was no prying eyes, you closed the space between you, walking around the desk and perching on the side. Slowly, and without looking away from those compassionate eyes, you took his hand in yours, thumb rubbing small circles on the back of his hand.

“Everything okay, love?” you inquired, feeling the way his hand flexed in yours for a moment before relaxing.

He hummed, curling your hands together. “I’m fine, cyare” he assured, pulling your hands up to his mouth so he could brush his lips over your knuckles in a kiss.

Feeling heat rise to your cheeks at the gesture, you tried to push the reaction away. You would not be distracted by soft gestures and kisses, not when something was obviously troubling your trooper. “I don’t need to be a Jedi to know that something’s on your mind. Want to talk about it?” you offered, keeping your voice light and free from judgement. If he didn’t want to talk about it, that was fine, you could just go home and cuddle. If he did want to talk about it, that was also fine, and you could go home and snuggle too.

Colt let out an annoyed huff before he was pushing back in the chair, wheeling it out to make some space as he pulled you onto his lap. He helped get you comfortable, knees braced on either side of his hips. His large hands ran lightly up and down your sides, leaving the dress to bunch up under his hands.

“I hated seeing him touch you” Colt admitted, burying his face into your neck and shaking his head at the rush of annoyance that he felt every time he thought back to that Senator touching you.

Realising what the problem was, you cupped his cheeks, bringing him up to face you properly. You smiled, seeing his tinted cheeks and the way he wanted to hide away from you. “It’s okay, love, it’s natural to feel jealous. It’s not wrong. I didn’t like it either, but I’m here with you and not him” you soothed, fingers tracing over his cheeks and jaw down to his neck. Leaning forward, you pressed a soft, chaste kiss to the hinge of his jaw. “There’s no one else I’d rather be with” you murmured against his warm skin.

That seemed to be enough to set him off, as Colt slid a hand up to the back of your neck, tugging you down to meet his lips. His kiss was intense, determined to taste and feel every inch of you as you welcomed him into your mouth. The large, calloused hand on the back of your neck ensured that you couldn’t move, only stayed pressed against him as you both lost yourself into the kiss.

With every brush and sweep of his tongue against yours, you felt a heat begin simmering in your core, hips rocking against his codpiece as you felt more and more affected by his possessive touch. “Colt!” you breathed, pulling back so you could take in a breath. The clones may have an increased lung capacity, but you did not.

Colt groaned, lips swollen from your kiss before he began laying kisses along your jaw, dancing along the sensitive spot under your ear before he finally spoke. “He doesn’t deserve to even look at you!” he growled, arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you closer to him.

Swallowing the dryness in your throat as you were dragged along the plastoid at his crotch, you took in a few shaky breaths. It seemed that what had happened at the party had pushed Colt into a rather protective and possessive mood. Knowing that you were going to reap the benefit of this mood, you pulled back a little, trying to use your common sense.

“Maybe we should take this back to my quarters?” you suggested, running your hands over the red and black pauldrons on his shoulders.

Colt let out a deep rumble from his chest, chuckling a little at you. “Oh mesh’la, I want to fuck you right here” he grinned at you, lust dripping from every word. The way his eyes darkened at the thought of fucking you here in a Senator’s office, while a party was going on a few rooms down. It was making heat pulse through him, and he restrained himself from letting out a noise as he felt his cock twitch and swell in his restrictive blacks.

Gasping, you couldn’t help the way your cunt fluttered at the thought of him fucking you right here. Where anyone could hear you if they walked passed. Biting your lip, you glanced back at the door, ensuring it was locked. “You-you shouldn’t say stuff like that” you murmured, chiding him half-heartedly.

“Why? You like it when I say stuff like that” he smirked, hands pushing your dress up your legs, letting it bunch at your waist.

“Yeah… yeah I do” you sighed, as his lips returned to work marks along your neck. His talented lips sucked and pressed against your pulse point, teeth grazing it every so often that had you letting out quiet moans. “What if-? Kriff! What if we get caught?” you managed to get out, as he nipped at your neck. It was sure to leave a bruise.

Colt sent you a wicked grin, all teeth and darkened eyes, before he leaned in to give you a chaste kiss. “They’re welcome to watch, but I don’t share, Doc” his low voice hit your ears, making your core tighten around nothing.

Maker, he was going to be the death of you. But still, you couldn’t help but think what a way to go!

Taking a deep, steadying breath, you dragged your hands over his shoulders and towards the heavy plate of armour on his chest. Just as you were about to disengage the magnetic lock that kept it attached to his body glove, Colt’s hands blanketed yours. Frowning, you shot him a confused look. Did he not want you to undress him?

“Don’t bother, love, I don’t need to take it all off to fuck you” Colt murmured, hand sliding up your arm, brushing against your shoulder before he hooked a hand round the back of your neck and brought you in for a kiss.

As his lips moved over yours, you couldn’t help but moan at the taste of Colt against your tongue, the way he effortlessly began to nibble on your lip as his hands reached under your dress, toying with the thin piece of fabric between your legs. Every so often, his large, gentle fingers would brush against your slit, eliciting a breathy gasp into his mouth as you began to push against his venturing hands.

“Wait there, I need to get these off” you grumbled, raising to your knees on the chair. Removing your panties would be a lot easier if you could do this in a bed.

“Do you like these?” Colt breathed, laying kisses along your décolletage as his fingers glided up and down your inner thighs.

“No, not really. W-Colt!” you gasped, gripping onto his pauldrons to keep yourself steady as he ripped your panties off of you.

Returning his hands to your hips, he tugged you back down onto his lap, a smug smirk dancing along his lips. “Problem solved, cyare.”

Rolling your eyes, you instead trailed your fingers down his chest, skimming over his stomach plate before reaching for the codpiece that was pressing against you. You could only imagine how uncomfortable he was pressing against the plastoid, as a gentle touch had him hissing and bucking into you.

Grinning, you slid your hands back up to his chest and shoulders, reaching for the latches on his pauldron to begin taking it off. However, warm, calloused hands stopped her, bringing them up to his mouth. Sighing as he pressed a kiss to her knuckles, she continued to circle her hips against his.

“I don’t need to take my pauldrons off to fuck you love, only one piece” Colt murmured, lips twitching against her fingers as you gasped at his words.

Groaning, you leaned forward, burying your heated face into his neck. “You can’t just say that! How will I ever not want to jump you every time I see you in armour now?” you whined, shaking your head. You felt his chest rumble underneath you as he laughed.

“So you’re telling me you don’t want to jump me every time you see me wearing it anyway?” he asked, smug because he knew that you really enjoyed the way his armour clung to him and highlighted how broad and strong he was.

“Oh shut up!” you huffed, rolling your eyes as you pushed away from him, reaching for his codpiece again. With swift and clever fingers, you unhooked the protective plate and threw it somewhere behind you. A loud clatter echoed around the office but you didn’t care. Not one bit when you could hear the hitch in Colt’s breathing and the way his legs widened slightly underneath you.

“Hmm, good girl. You’re so good at that” Colt hummed, dark eyes looking you over as he rocked into you.

“I enjoy the practice” you chuckled, playing with the hem of his waistband. Teasingly you ran your fingers under the tight material before snapping them back against him. “Lift your hips” you instructed, eager to push them down off him.

Colt sent you a playful smirk before bucking his hips and helping you in pulling his blacks down enough so his length popped out, resting against his stomach plate.

Biting your lip, you couldn’t help but want to take him into your mouth. His thick cock was leaking, flushed and looked ready for you.

“I love that look on your face, cyare. Like you’re ready to devour me” Colt chuckled, slightly breathless at how much love and desire he saw in your eyes. He knew it was reflected in his own towards you. However much he would love to have you sink down on him, he knew he would have to open you up if he didn’t want to hurt you.

So he trailed his hands up your thighs while he caught your lips in a kiss, moaning against you as he squeezed and massaged the muscles of your thighs. His talented fingers swiped over your entrance, gathering your slick. He watched as your eyes fluttered closed, pleasure flashing across your face. He loved watching you like this. Loved knowing he was the one that can make you feel good. Coating his fingers in your slick, his thumb flicked up to your clit before he pressed one of his thick fingers inside of you. His breath hitched at the small gasp you let out against his lips. "Gotta open you up, cyare. Don't want to hurt you" he murmured, trailing kisses along your jaw. You hummed, hips bearing down on his finger inside of you. "You'd never hurt me" you said, and the conviction he heard in your voice made Colt groan against your neck.

It felt like every touch of his skin against yours set you on fire. One hand was gripping your hip, the other was opening you up for him, sliding a second finger into you as he guided you against him. A moan escaped you as Colt’s teeth grazed the thin skin of your neck, sucking a mark there that would be difficult to hide tomorrow.

Colt’s hand slid up your side, reaching to cup and squeeze your breast. He grumbled at not being able to rip your dress right off you so he could press his lips directly against your skin. But you’d both had to walk out of here, and he didn’t want anyone else to see you like that. Only him. So he continued to squeeze and massage your curves, all the while you were rocking on his fingers, pressing them further inside of you.

“Come on cyare, ride my fingers” Colt instructed, looking up at you. Your face was flushed, hair beginning to stick to your temples, eyes lidded with pleasure as your eyes met his, happiness and delight dancing in them. You had never looked more beautiful to him.

You wrapped your arms around the neck of him, steadying the weight of yourself over him as you began to roll your hips against his hand. Bouncing on his fingers as he continued to suck marks along your neck and collarbone.

“Mesh’la” he whispered, thumb circling your clit as he slipped another finger into you.

“Colt!” you whined, biting your lip as you felt him stretch you open. You ran your fingers through his cropped hair, wanting to be as close as possible to him.

“You’re soaking my hand, cyare. Gonna go all over my vambrace” he murmured, smirking up at you. He twisted the three fingers inside of you, curling them just right and firmly stroking that place inside of you that had you seeing starts.

You clenched down around his fingers, his words affecting you so much. “Kriff!” you cursed, throwing your head back as you felt Colt bury his fingers deeper inside of you, driving them in and out of you faster. “Fuck, I’m going to cum!” you managed to tell him, digging your nails into his armour. It wouldn’t make a mark but you needed something to hold onto.

“Good girl, want you to cum on my fingers” he grinned, nipping at your shoulder as he bounced you on him. When he noticed that you were muffling your noise with your hand, he let out a low growl. “Ah, want to hear you. Want that shabuir to hear just how perfect you sound when you’re like this. But I’m the only one who can do this, can make you feel like this” he growled, thumb rubbing around your clit and keeping his fingers thrusting into you.

Letting out a loud moan, you ripped your hand away. Instead, you entwined your hand with his, squeezing it as you felt the pleasure building inside of you. Colt was so good at taking you apart, his words enough to make you forget everything only him and the way he was touching you.

Gripping onto him, you let out a cry of his name as your orgasm slammed into you, eyes squeezed shut and body shuddering as he worked you through it with gentle words and continued touches.

As you slumped against him, he pressed a kiss to your temple, taking in your scent as you relaxed into him. Slipping his fingers out of your pretty cunt, he brought them up to his mouth, sucking them in and moaning obscenely.

Your cunt clenched around nothing at the sight, eyes widening at the way he was tasting you. “Kriffing hell Colt!” you breathed, staring at him.

“Not my fault you taste so good” he retorted, rubbing circles on your thigh with his other hand.

Shaking your head, you drew him into a passionate kiss, unable to help it as you tasted yourself against his lips. The mixture of your taste and his only highlighted how perfect you were for each other.

“You’re really hot when you get all jealous” you grinned against his lips, pulling away from him.

Colt rolled his eyes, scowling at the thought of that di’kut who thought you’d ever be interested in him. “Yeah, yeah” he grumbled, looking away from you as his cheeks reddened under your knowing look.

“I think it’s sweet, and cute, that you get all jealous and possessive just from talking to a Senator” you teased, running your fingers through his hair.

“I’m not sweet. Or cute” he huffed, leaning forward to nip at your lip as he squeezed your hips, guiding you so you were hovering over his length. “Perhaps I should show you” he warned, before he pulled you down onto his cock. He didn’t stop until you were fully seated on his lap.

Letting out a long drawn out moan, you couldn’t contain the sound as you took him into your fluttering core. His cock stretched you open, even with him preparing you on his fingers, and it took a few breaths before you felt yourself relaxing around him.

Colt was gritting his jaw, unable to believe how tight you were around him. It had only been a couple of days since the pair of you had last been together. Groaning, he rested his head against yours, your breaths mingling together as you panted through the initial burst of pleasure that came with you joining together.

“Can I move?” you panted, thumb stroking across his sharp cheekbones.

Colt nodded, hands pushing your dress further up your waist before squeezing your hips. He really wanted you to move, couldn’t wait to feel you sliding along his length.

Gathering yourself, you began to slowly rise up, your inner muscles dragging up his cock before slowly sinking back down on him. You set a slow pace, getting used to the feeling of him moving inside of you. He let out a low groan, and it sent a spark of pride through you at knowing you could make your ARC Trooper let some of his control slip enough to make a sound like that.

“Kriff, you feel incredible!” he hissed, helping to keep you steady as you continued to move over him. He watched with awe as your face fluttered with pleasure and he couldn’t help but buck his hips up into you. The way you let out a shuddering gasp and he felt your nails dig into the nape of his neck. “Mesh’la” he breathed in awe, unable to look away.

Flushing at his words, you cupped his cheeks pressing your lips against his briefly. His larger calloused hands skimmed along your sides until he gripped your hips, beginning to move you on his cock. The way his length slid inside you, stretching you around him as he slid his hands down to squeeze your ass. A moan escaped you, heat pulsing through your body with every thrust into you.

“Kriff! Colt!” you groaned, beginning to bounce on him, breath faltering as that spot inside of you was continually brushed against. You reached up to squeeze at your breasts, rocking against him as he grunted underneath you. It felt so good, he felt so good.

“That’s it cyare, take your pleasure. Take what’s yours” Colt murmured, eyes hooded as he watched you.

Clutching at him, you couldn’t help but listen to him. His words sinking into you, stoking the fire that he was creating inside of you. Watching as his jaw feathered as you clenched tightly around him, you closed your eyes at the moan he let out.

Colt let out a growl, wrapping his arms around you and bringing you closer to him until you were pressed against his armour. The cool plates soothing your heated skin, as you ached to get closer to him. The Commander leaned up, capturing your lips in a kiss as he continued to buck up into you. The cries of pleasure was muffled against his lips as he slid his hands up your back, holding you tight.

Whining against his lips, you pulled away, panting for breath as you met him with each thrust.

“Good girl, taking me so well” he praised, raining kisses along the column of your throat.

“Colt!” you gasped out, digging your nails into the pauldrons along his shoulders.

Colt grinned, enjoying the noises that he was forcing out of you with every thrust of his hips into your soaking core. “Use your words, mesh’la. Tell me how I’m making you feel” Colt ordered, hands gripping the nape of your neck and forcing you to meet his eyes.

The thought of describing how you were feeling to him made you flush with embarrassment. Which was crazy, seeing as he was fucking into you like a man possessed, determined to chase away any trace of the Senator from your mind. As white hot ecstasy flooded your body, you couldn’t even think how you would put it into words.

Shaking your head, you closed your eyes once more, trying to hide yourself from his heated, heavy gaze.

“Come on, mesh’la. I want to hear you” he encouraged, forcing you roughly down onto his cock.

Crying out, you couldn’t help but let the words fall from your mouth.

“So good! Oh-you-you make me feel so good” you moaned brokenly, biting your lip to try and stifle your noises. “Fill me up ‘till I can’t- I can’t think” you cried, resting your head against his.

“Good girl” he gritted out, pounding into you. He held you tight so you couldn’t move, feeling you flood his cock with your juices. Your breath was fanning against his face, and your core was clenching and fluttering around his cock like you were never going to let him go.

“So perfect for me cyare” he moaned, “you’re so beautiful.”

Angling your hips so he was hitting that place inside of you that made you collapse against his chest. “That’s it, cyare. Only I can make you feel like this. Only I can feel your beautiful cunt squeezing around me. Not that di’kut of a Senator, he wouldn’t know how to make you scream. Wouldn’t know how to make you feel so good, just by doing this” Colt growled out, one hand slipping between you so he could rub at your clit.

“Fuck!” you yelled, hips bucking back against Colt’s as it felt like he had turned everything up to a hundred. His fingers danced against the bundle of nerves just as you liked. You could feel the pleasure building and building, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Colt was right, nobody could make you feel like this, only him. Only he could send you soaring, could make you feel so loved and beautiful and wanted.

“Gonna… gonna cum” you warned him, squeezing around him so you could feel as close as possible to him.

“Mine, my cyare,” he growled, fingers gliding against your swollen bundle of nerves, “cum for me.”

With his permission and the way he was lighting up every single one of your nerves, you felt the wave of pleasure wash over you, crashing you into an orgasm. You body shuddered, trembling against his as you cried out his name, vision going white as all you could think about was how amazing you felt.

With the fluttering and tightening of your muscles around him, Colt was helpless but to follow you over the edge. He grunted out your name, thrusting up into you a few more times as he painted your walls white, sending little shock waves through you at the feel of him shooting into your pulsing channel.

Eventually the conditioned cool air of the room was beginning to make you shiver against your heated furnace and you pulled away from him, pinks still flushed from your activities. “Got that out of your system?” you couldn’t help but tease him, trailing gentle fingers along his hairline and down his jaw.

Colt rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help feeling smug at seeing you look so dishevelled and knowing that he did that to you. “Hmm, maybe. Might need another couple of rounds to make sure” he replied, chuckling at the way your face darkened and you buried yourself back into his shaking chest. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, holding you back against him. He always did enjoy teasing you just as much as you teased him.

“Just as long as we can move this to my rooms. The party should be over by now, and I don’t want to meet that Senator in the hallway” you reminded, although your actions were a juxtaposition to your words. Lying your head on his chest, you allowed yourself a few more minutes in his embrace.

Your Commander didn’t seem to mind either, as he tightened his grip around you, keeping you attached together. “No, he’s going nowhere near you, love” Colt vowed, fingers trailing up and down your spine gently.

And you believed him. If Colt promised something then it was a certainty. He would make sure to keep you close to him, safe from any leery Senators. Sighing happily, you closed your eyes, happy to just be in his arms, away from the prying eyes of the galaxy.

[oh-my-wolfstar]

@wolfstarmicrofic

prompt for Jan 4th, prompt: first lie

word count: 648

Sirius didn't remember his first lie. Nor did he remember the moment that lying became easier than the truth. But he did remember the first time someone called him out for it.

 He was 16, and Remus had pulled him away from a party to ask him a question.

"Do you love me?"

Yes.

"No. Not like that." Sirius lied. Lied, because he did love him like that. Lied because he knew that Remus would never know it wasn't the truth. Remus shook his head wistfully.

"You're lying. I know you. and I know you love me and are just too scared to admit it."  Remus turned as if to leave, but paused in the doorway.

"Sirius, I'm not mad. But just know that the world won't wait around forever for you to tell the truth. And neither will I." And then he shut the door, leaving Sirius alone with nothing but the truth, and maybe that was what scared him most.

He was eighteen, and he and Remus were lying on the floor of the living room of their new flat, drunk off of fire whiskey.

"Do you know what I think," Remus slurred, "I think that you still haven't learned to tell the truth."

"Why's that?" Sirius asked, with as much conviction as he could muster after five shots.

"Because you still haven't told me you love me," Remus said, then broke into drunken giggles. 

"Remus…" Sirius trailed off. They hadn't ever talked about that conversation, not in the two years since it happened. 

"I know, I know. C'mon, let's have another drink." And that was that.

He was 20, and he'd just kissed Remus in the bathroom at one of Lily and James's house parties. 

"Remus." Sirius nearly whined, reaching for Remus's belt. Remus froze and pulled back. 

"Sirius," His voice was hoarse with wanting, "I can't do this unless you're ready to tell me the truth. Unless you can tell me that if we do this, it wouldn't be just sex."

"I-" Sirius started. Of course, it wasn't just sex. He loved Remus. But he couldn't say that. No matter how much he wished he could, he couldn't. 

"I can't. I can't promise you that this would mean something more to me. I can't lie to you." 

"You're lying to me right now. I can't sirius. Not if you can't tell me the truth." Remus smiled sadly, then he left, closing the bathroom door behind him.

He was 21 and he'd just come back to their flat from a long Order mission. He'd just gotten out of the shower, still only wearing a towel around his waist when Remus burst into his room. They stared at each other, the first time they had seen each other in nearly two months. Then Remus grabbed him and kissed him. SIrius kissed him back eagerly, stumbling as he hit the edge of his bed and they both fell onto it. 

"Wait," Sirius panted, "I thought…"

"I changed my mind, I don't care if it's just sex for you. That's all it is, right?"

"Right," Sirius whispered, and for once Remus didn't call him out on the lie.

He was 35 and he'd just run into Remus in the kitchen of Grimuald Place. It was the middle of the night and everyone else in the house was asleep. Sirius had gotten up for a glass of water and found Remus in the kitchen, brewing tea. Remus turned to look at Sirius.

"I know I said I wouldn't wait forever for you to tell me the truth but… Sirius, do you still love me?"

Sirius felt the old impulse to lie well up. The urge to say no, to hold onto the truth as if that would somehow hurt less. But it wouldn't. It had taken nearly 20 years, but Sirius was finally ready to tell the truth.

"Yes."

[mosoderbergh]

Chapter 3 of NSFW Emmrook, this time with an extra dose of hurt/comfort

So yeah, this one is set just after the fade prison. I had to (literally) interrupt the mindless smut for a healthy dose of tragedy.

Read the full fic here

Or Chapter 3 down below...

All that happens after they escape the fade prison, Rook could not have endured without Emmrich by their side. He makes sure they are unhurt. Makes sure they eat. He is calm in the face of the general panic. He is tethered to Rook - a hand on their shoulder to steady them where they stand, a knee resting against theirs when they sit next to each other, fingers intertwined under the table. And though Rook has no time to rest, no time to properly grieve, they draw strength from him. They catch him blinking away tears once, after they give a brief recount of their time away to the group. And they certainly notice the way the others treat Emmrich, all soft voices and encouraging smiles. At some point not quite a day after their return, they walk into the kitchen together and Taash casually greets Rook, then asks *Emmrich* if he’s doing ok.

“I’m fine, Taash, thank you”, he says, sounding ever so slightly indignant. Or embarrassed, maybe. Rook wishes they had the time to sit him down and talk things through.

Their moment comes not by a wave of fortune, but through Emmrich himself. No one protests when he takes them away to spend the night at the Necropolis. Least of all Rook. Even so, Rook can’t really bring themselves to have a hard conversation right then and there. They still feel raw, emotionally spent, and they have a suspicion Emmrich feels the same way. So they walk through the Memorial Gardens. Bask in the sweetness of the moment, the relief of their reunion.

“I am sorry, dearest”, Emmrich whispers in between two kisses. “I don’t remember if I said. I meant to.”

“I’m sorry too”, they say.

And it’s enough. Enough for the worry to fade from Emmrichs face, leaving only adoration and desire. All else can wait.

The sarcophagus is, perhaps, a touch morbid. But Rook isn’t easily shocked, and if Emmrich chose this place, it must be for a reason. In a strange way, Rook finds it romantic.

Emmrich kisses them deeply, reverently. Today, Rook doesn’t mind that he takes his time. They help each other out of layers of clothing, and for once, Emmrich lets his actions speak for him. Tracing each line of Rook’s body like he’s committing them to memory. Placing kisses on their hair, their forehead, their cheek, down their chest.

Rook clings to him in turn, drawing him in close, skin to skin. They stroke his back, whispering “I love you” into his ear over and over, as if they could wipe away all sorrow with their reassurances. They aren’t sure if they are trying to comfort him or themselves. They don’t even realise it’s the first time they ever say these words to him.

Emmrich’s lips return to theirs with fresh heat. They are both stark naked at this point, entangled with each other in the narrow confines of the coffin. Rook hooks a leg around his waist, so that his hardening cock is pressed against their clit. They moan into his mouth, running their fingers through his already messy hair-

Suddenly Emmrich breaks the kiss, his body curling in around them like something punched him in the groin. Rook is about to ask if they hurt him somehow when the sound from deep within his chest freezes their blood. Emmrich is crying.

“Oh.” They fumble for words. But once the dam is broken, they doubt Emmrich would even hear them. His entire body shakes with the force of his sobs. It seems he can barely draw breath. Rook can do nothing but wrap their arms around his shoulders for a proper hug. “Oh Maker, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise. It’s ok. I’m here. I’m here.”

It takes a minute for Emmrich to be able to produce words.

“Forgive me”, he croaks then, his face buried in Rook’s hair, still weeping.

“Don’t apologise”, Rook says helplessly.

“I wanted… Tonight was supposed to be for you.”

“Emmrich, it’s ok.”

“I love you”, he says then, pulling back far enough so they can look into his reddened eyes. “Rook… You don’t know how I’ve suffered for the cowardice of not telling you sooner.”

“You didn’t have to”, Rook says. With all the things he did say, all the ways he treated them, they earnestly thought it was so heavily implied as to be already established. If they are honest, if somebody had asked them “Has Emmrich ever told you he loves you?”, they would probably have answered yes and meant it.

“I should have said it”, Emmrich says, insistent even though his voice is still shaky from crying. “I let my fears get the better of me. Fear and blasted pride. I wished for certainty. I thought it would be foolish to bare my heart only to end up alone once more.”

Rook would move mountains to comfort him. If only they knew the right words.

“I… honestly, if I told someone half the things you’ve whispered to me in the night, I’d easily consider that ‘baring my heart’”, they say, feeling very unhelpful indeed.

“Oh, don’t… don’t remind me of my failings there”, he says, suddenly heated.

“I… what?” Rook is so dumbfounded they forget to be gentle.

“I couldn’t bring myself to be honest with you about how I felt, and yet I allowed myself to push these things on you. To bring up the idea of having you carry my child, when I hadn’t even…”

“But you didn’t bring it up”, Rook points out. “I did. Twice.”

“You mentioned it, Rook. And I did nothing to stop myself. With no regard for your feelings.”

“My feelings are fine. We talked about this.”

“And I didn’t say nearly enough.” He cups Rook’s face with a long-fingered hand, his voice gentle. “Would you allow me to explain now?”

“If you want. Just… out of everything, I wouldn’t have thought *this* was something that bothered you so much.”

“Oh, but it is. There was much more to it than just a fantasy of... With you, at least. I’d been wondering, Rook, for quite some time, if… if I could allow myself to be hopeful. To believe that you would stay with me. Even after our adventure would be over. But then you were lost, and…”

“Emmrich…”

“Please. Let me… I thought you too young to trouble you with my need for... It had less to to with children, you must know that, and more with… Oh, my dearest heart. To make *you* my family. Tied together. Belonging together. Staying.”

His words fill Rook with a longing so deep it takes their breath away. It hits them just how close they came to losing an entire future. A life. It feels crushing all of a sudden. But they still have a weepy, beautiful man to deal with, and he still looks very nearly inconsolable. So they place a hand over his heart and take a deep breath, looking for the right words.

“You are safe with me”, they say, trying hard to put their entire heart into the words. “You are. Emmrich, if we survive this, as long as you’ll have me, I’m never…”

They can’t get the words out before they are crying themselves. They see Emmrich wiping away fresh tears before he pulls them into an embrace.

“I feel quite the same way, my love”, he says. His voice is steadier now, and they hear the beginnings of a smile. “I truly intended to be the one to care care of you tonight, you know.”

“Emmrich, love of my life, I think you’ll have to get used to the idea that this goes both ways”, Rook says, sniveling.

They both laugh. Or cry. Or a little bit of both.

There is more crying as the night goes on, and more than one grand declaration of love. There is even, at some point, sex, when simply being in each other’s arms doesn’t feel like enough anymore. Rook rides Emmrich as best they can while he holds them so close they can barely move.

They don’t say it that night, but as they drift to sleep on top of him, Rook can’t help but think that for the first time in their life, starting a family sounds pretty damn appealing.

It’s something to think about.

There’s just one more god to kill first.

[candyskiez]

jon was the last human being elias ever saw. the last human being he ever talked to. the last human being he ever touched. hes been inside the heads of everyone in the world but jon was the last person he ever saw. and maybe the only person he ever truly saw. anyway hi how are you

Saros I need you to understand I made a Noise at this ask that made my cat run over to check on me. Which i think is maybe a little predictable of me.

I am also thinking about this in the context of how Jonah said that realizing his own selfishness was an awful thing to know, but also incredibly freeing. Thinking about how he again said Jons attempt, that was completely unsuccessful!!!, was nice! It was freeing! He enjoyed it!! Thinks about how Jonahs fear was of losing control, of his chance of survival and safety being taken away. He enjoys being known! He enjoys being understood by someone he thinks deserves it. He likes the idea of being known, of someone realizing that yes, he is a bad person, and seeing beauty in it. He likes the idea of it.

Thinks about how he viewed Jon as...not a companion, but as his in some way. Thinks about how he is completely sure that he understands Jon. Thinks about the way he knows about all of Jons deepest traumas and insecurities, knows exactly what to say to hurt him. Thinks about "I knew it had to be you." Thinks about, again "the freedom of it all." The freedom of it all!

Thinks about how Jonahs response to Jon saying he failed was just "Have i?" Thinks about how Jon tells him he's going to end the world and kill everyone and starving all the fears to death, he just says "That WE serve." Jon just told him he's going to undo everything he ever worked for but he refuses to let Jon think, for even a second, that they aren't the same. Because whether Jon likes it or not, Jonah is maybe the only person at the time who could possibly understand why Jon is doing this. Who could possibly understand every single reason. He already knows why Jon is doing this. He already knows everything that's led up to this point. And if jons going to do it, he knows he can't stop him. That's what scares him. But he won't let Jon pretend.

Thinks about how this is the first and last time we hear Jonah be afraid. Thinks about how Jonah is scared shitless, begging for his life against the person he happily destroyed the life of, and he knows he's fucked! But he doesn't want to die! And he sees the anger and fear and desperation and want of a man he ruined, of a man he made into something he views as beautiful, and it's the last thing he sees!!! Do you think he thought it was beautiful. Do you think he saw himself. Do you think in that moment he thinks, maybe he loves this man. Do you ever think about the fear and then acceptance, that he can't run forever. He's done. There's nothing he ever could've done. But he made something incredible, and nobody will ever be able to ignore the horrible, wonderful mark he left on the world. His last words were wishing him good luck! It's insane! Not "you're no better than me" or calling him a monster or anything. Just. Good luck. Good luck. It's insane. What the hell. I need to analyze it. What do you MEAN good luck.

Jon is the one person he could truly view as anything close to Part of what he was doing or what he wanted, and it didn't save Jon. It actively ruined his life. Do you think Jon saw Jonah gazing up at him with affection mixed in with horror as he died. Do you think it haunts him if/when he escapes somewhere else. I think it haunts him. I think he never manages to forget it. I think sometimes he looks at himself and understands why Jonah was so fond of him. I think that scares him more than he'll ever be able to explain. I think it's the one thing he'll never tell anyone he'll meet. I think Jonah ended with Jon, and Jon carried him with him for the rest of his life, and he wishes he didn't. I think Jonah would like that. I think Jon knows that, and he hates that too. (I think Jon wonders, would Jonah have even remembered him? If the roles had been reversed?) (I think he knows the answer.)

Anyways my days been great how's yours.

[shivunin]

WIP Wednesday

Right under the wire! Thanks for the tag @heniareth!

It is statistically unlikely to still be Wednesday for most of you, but tagging back @dreadfutures @dungeons-and-dragon-age @elfroot-and-laurels @pinayelf @inquisimer in case you have anything you want to share (no pressure, as always!)

Here's a bit from a WIP set immediately after the not-a-kiss scene with Lucanis, ft. Lenore being Totally Normal:

(Lucanis/Rook Ingellvar |486 words | vague romance progression spoilers)

Shouldn’t be watching him like this. It’d been days since they’d almost kissed. She’d been strong. Focused. Had kept things aboveboard and friendly, no matter how much she wanted to ask him… What? What could she say, really? How’s your head feeling these days? Pretty clear? No, that was silly. There was too much else to be worrying about to worry about whatever was between—whatever she’d imagined was between them.  “Well, I did remember it was Lace’s turn to cook,” she told him, focusing on the cutting board with far more attention than was warranted, “and Davrin may have mentioned something about an alarming amount of cheese earlier…” “It was for a cheese soup, I believe,” Lucanis agreed, and his hands moved in her periphery. Taking another sip of coffee, presumably. She suspected it was a proportionately significant component of his blood content at this point. She wasn’t going to watch the way his lips moved when he pressed them to the rim of the cup. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said, though she knew he was. Lace had been most of the way through grating a block of cheese when Rook had walked in.  “You don’t think she would?”  Rook laughed at that, settled the lid on the pot, and turned away again. There was half a block of grated cheese to do something with now—a troubling thought, since none of the rest of them were Fereldan and thus did not share the scout’s love of cheese.  “Well, in any case,” she went on. “The letter came in earlier. I may have waited until she’d started cooking to let her know.” “Devious.” “You wouldn’t be the first to say so.” She tapped her hips, surveying the available ingredients before selecting a likely-looking loaf of bread. Lucanis shifted in her periphery. Despite herself, she looked at him. He’d pressed a hand to his head, forefinger and thumb pinching the bridge of his nose. “Spite?” she asked, and he nodded. “He want to say anything in particular or is he just hungry, too?”  The muscle in his jaw twitched. Slowly, deliberately, he set his mug on the table beside him.  “It is nothing worth sharing. I will make more coffee. Would you like some?”  What could she say? Pity would shame him and sympathy was hardly better. She sometimes wished she had Emmrich’s talent for hearing spirits. Perhaps if she could address both of them at once…but no. Maybe letting him do something for her would help.  “If you’re making it.” “Sweet, with cream,” he said.  The soft sounds of metal and glass to her left told her he’d already begun. Could he see her smiling? Surely not. She’d turned her head enough that she wouldn’t be caught.  “You remembered.” “How could I forget?” he said.  She laughed. He didn’t, but distracted as she was by the absence of the bread knife Rook hardly noticed.

[petermaximoffsgirl]

unexpected

summary – you tell peter that you are pregnant. 

content – angst, fluff; pregnancy, swearing

words – 1.9k

your hand trembled as you stared at the pregnancy test, the two lines indicating the reality which you now had to face. tears filled your eyes and quickly began to drip down your cheeks. how could you be pregnant? you thought you had been careful. 

what were you going to do? you had given some thought to having a family, but not nearly enough where this was a welcome surprise. it was supposed to be a fantasy for your future, not today’s struggle. a sob tore itself out of you as more tears began to stream down your cheeks. you cried on the bathroom floor until your head hurt and you could scarcely breathe, terrified of everything you didn’t know. 

could you even keep it? you didn’t know how to take care of a baby. besides, it was hardly plausible for you to continue to be part of the x-men if you had an infant on your arm, and babies certainly took up a lot of time and money, neither of which you were particularly loaded with. all of this was a mess and you hadn’t even considered peter’s reaction yet. 

oh god. peter. what was he going to say? you knew that his relationship with his father was, to say the least, complicated. what if he was angry? or worse, what if he didn’t want to be a father? how were you supposed to tell him? 

a rush of cool air hit your face as the bathroom door opened. “hey, cutie. wanna go to the mall? we could hit the arcade.” you tried to wipe away your tears before he could notice them, but peter, as always, was faster. “woah, who spit in your slushie?” 

you shook your head quickly. “it’s nothing.” the last thing you needed was for your reaction to freak him out and make things worse. 

you tried to subtly reach for the pregnancy test, but peter snatched it before you could get your hands on it. “is this what’s bothering you? this stupid piece of plastic?” he glanced at it, then went still. his dark eyes were wide as they darted between you and the test. “holy shit. is this what i think it is? did i–are you–when was the last time we…ya know?” his hands were shaking slightly as he made a gesture, the meaning of which was quite clear. “are you knocked up?” 

you could feel your lower lip trembling as you fought to rein in more tears. “i–” 

and then he was gone. you burst into tears again, crumpling into a ball as you put your head in your hands. he wasn’t going to leave you, was he? you knew that he was always hesitant to make commitments, and you understood where his fears of rejection and abandonment were coming from, but now you were terrified that he would panic and try to do you a favor by not being involved. was he really afraid that you wouldn’t want him around? you needed him! he could be so endearingly stupid sometimes. you stayed there on the floor, wishing more than anything that he would just come back to you. you let yourself sob until your stomach hurt and your eyes were swollen, but at least you were cried out. 

now, you had to figure things out. slowly, you got to your feet, trudging over to the sink to wash your face. when you were done, you looked slightly better. it was horribly obvious that you had been crying, but it was less apparent that you had been bawling your eyes out. you slowly left the bathroom, heading to your room. 

when you opened the door, you were surprised to find that your room was already occupied. peter looked up at you from your bed, his eyes red and his hair a complete mess. he was at your side in an instant, closing the door behind you and quickly pulling you into his arms. 

for a moment, you froze, unable to comprehend what was happening. then, you began to cry again, trembling in peter’s embrace. you were still so scared, but less so this time. there was something comforting about falling apart with someone else, even though part of you was still so terrified that you couldn’t think straight. 

eventually, he pulled back slightly. your heart clenched when you took in his tear-stained face and terrified eyes, and a sorrowful look flickered across his face as he gently wiped your tears away. “you’re too beautiful to cry because of what some stupid loser like me did,” he said, the corners of his mouth threatening to twitch into a smile. he hesitated, then coughed slightly. “would you mind…sitting down? please? there’s…something i need to say.” 

you nodded slowly, moving to sit on your bed. you grasped a pillow and pulled it against your chest, your heart pounding. “okay, peter,” you said quietly. 

peter bounced on the balls of his feet before you, running a hand through his tousled hair. “so, i fucked up,” he blurted. “i kind of freaked and bolted, which was totally not cool. i swear i wasn’t running away, just tryin’a to clear my head. i would never, ever do that to you, despite what might be seen as recent evidence to the contrary. i’ll shoot ya straight, babe: that was a news curveball. not at all what i was expecting to hear. not that i’m mad,” he added hastily. “i don’t think it’s possible for me to be mad at you. unless you steal my twinkies.” when you didn’t smile, he grimaced. “sorry. i guess what i’m trying to say is that i shouldn’t have reacted like that. i didn’t even ask if you were okay or what. it’s just…my first thought was that i’m fucking terrified. what if i’m a shit dad? i didn’t exactly have a role model,” he said flatly. “it’s not an excuse, and i’m not asking you for pity or forgiveness or anything. i just wanted to explain why i zipped off. i…i needed ten seconds to think. and i wanted to say i’m sorry,” he said quietly. “you don’t deserve any of this. not having to find out on your own, not me ditching you, and certainly not having to do all of this yourself. i get it if you don’t want me as your baby daddy, seeing as i’m a klepto freak with abandonment issues and a fear of rejection who also happens to be scared of commitment, but i want to try if you want to because…because i still love you,” he finished. 

for a long moment, you stayed silent, processing his words. then, you swallowed hard. “running away because you were scared wasn’t exactly reassuring, peter.” 

he winced. “i know. i’m sorry. i panicked and worried about myself instead of thinking about you. i wasn’t trying to run away, and i technically didn’t, since i just ran laps around the property for fifteen minutes, but it still wasn’t a great moment for me.” 

you cracked a thin smile. “well, i probably should’ve told you instead of having you find out because i was bawling on the floor. i kind of freaked out.” 

“don’t blame yourself for me fucking up. you can spin it any way you want, but me dashing off was still wrong,” he said, and his sincerity made a warm feeling erupt in your chest. “i was supposed to comfort you and help you and tell you it was going to be okay, and i went and made it worse instead.” 

you bit your lip. “i mean, i could use some of that comfort right about now,” you said, half-joking and half-serious. 

he was seated next to you in the blink of an eye, pulling you into his arms and gently kissing the top of your head. “it’ll be okay. we’ll figure it out. i won’t leave you. unless you want me to,” he added quickly, “in which case, i can leave whenever you want. like i said, i get it if you don’t want someone like me around our–shit! i mean, shoot! proving my own point here–your baby, i totally get it, i wouldn’t want me around either–” 

his self-depreciating rambling was as endearing as it was saddening. you cut him off with a shake of your head. “give yourself more credit, peter.” you pressed your lips to his own, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he tensed before carefully kissing you back, his hands gently cupping your face. you had always enjoyed kissing peter, but something was different this time. it was sweeter than usual, so soft and tender that your head spun. 

when you tried to pull back for air, peter followed your lips and stole another few seconds before tearing himself away from you. he seemed as close to breathless as it was possible for him to be, and you smiled at the sight of his disheveled hair, soft eyes, and swollen lips. he swallowed hard, then grinned nervously. “just checking here, but does this mean you don’t want me to get lost?” 

you rolled your eyes, smiling. “you’re stuck with us, peter maximoff.” 

his eyes widened. “oh shi–shoot, there’s literally a person inside of you. ’s gonna take some getting used to.” 

you laughed and reached for his hand. “i’m sorry for freaking out on you, and i’m sorry because i was afraid that you wouldn’t want this and were going to leave me. i need you because i love you,” you said quietly. 

he smiled thinly. “you know i would never ditch you, right?” you nodded quickly. he kissed your forehead and squeezed your hand. “i’m not going anywhere. i swear. and i promise we’ll work it all out. it’ll be okay.” he grinned. “and i think you get a pass for freaking out. i’m a lot to put up with. besides, aren’t you going to cry all the time now or something?” 

your eyes widened for a moment before you burst out laughing. “you might be an idiot, but you’re my idiot,” you said, smiling once your laughter had subsided. “and i’ll put up with you any day of the week.” he kissed you again, soft and loving and unbelievably perfect. 

when he pulled back, he hesitated for half a second, then carefully held up his hand. “can–i mean, do you mind if i–like, can i touch your stomach? fuc–fudge, that sounded so much better in my head.” 

you laughed and gently brought his warm hand to your lower stomach. “not much to see yet,” you said, a lovely feeling blooming in your chest as you realized that you were finally excited. 

peter smiled and pressed a kiss to your temple. “i love you. both of you.” 

you leaned against him, finally calm. “i love you, too.” you smiled as he put an arm around you. “you’re going to be a great dad. i’ve seen you with your sisters. you’re so careful, so sweet…” 

you didn’t need to see his face to know that he was beaming. “thanks, babe.” 

you stayed like that for several minutes before you glanced up at him, suddenly struck by an idea. “do you think it’ll be a boy or a girl?” 

he grinned, then winced. “is now a good time to mention that it’s kind of a maximoff thing to have twins?”