#I’m thinking when we lived there like we weren’t poor but we weren’t rich either

[the-winds-of-destiny-xxx]

.

[vincess-princess]

we, the psychos

ch. 7

Word count: 2053 Warnings: - A/N: this one is a bit smaller than usual, but i don't wanna break the streak, so here you are. also i got back access to ao3 and will be posting existing chapters there too!

As Wharton approached, the patients next to Tommy fled, freeing up half the table. Only Mick stayed by his side, but even he moved away a bit, playing the “I’m just sitting here eating” part. Upsetting but understandable – Mick only knew Tommy for a couple hours and obviously wasn’t going to take a risk for him.

So Tommy would have to deal with Wharton alone. Well, fine.

Wharton came to the table with a plate of soup in his hands, and Tommy recoiled, thinking he was going to upend it on him, but Wharton just put it on the table. Then he sat down on the bench and flung his legs over it. His face changed for a second, but Tommy didn’t manage to distinguish the emotion. Then it returned to the same insolent, mocking half-smile that seemed to be stuck to his lips.

“Hello, handsome,” Wharton said.

Tommy expected an insult instead and, confused, didn’t come up with a reply soon enough. Wharton clearly liked the effect of his greeting.

“Wow, and that’s from a simple compliment? That’s sad. Did your mommy and daddy not love you at all? Though since you are here, they probably didn’t.”

That was a low blow, and Wharton knew it. For the first time Tommy regretted not having put on a hospital robe. His clothes really gave out his roots. A rich family wouldn’t send a beloved son to a public asylum. There still were private clinics, even though the government tried hard to dwindle their numbers. As a last resort, his parents could have sent him to their countryside mansion with some sort of a carer to remove him from public eye. But no. They chose to dump him in a poor, overloaded public asylum with all sorts of human garbage in it. Like the one talking to Tommy right now.

“And your parents should have paid you more attention,” Tommy finally said. “Because you’re clearly seeking it.”

Not the best he could come up with, but he had to say something.

“What’s so bad in attention-seeking?” Wharton said. “Especially from pretty guys like you.”

“I don’t go there,” Tommy said sharply, gripping his fork tightly. If Wharton makes a move, he’s getting a fork in the eye.

“That doesn’t matter.” Wharton smiled. A couple of his teeth were missing. “You’re in a “nobody gives a shit what you want” place. You either do things to others or have things done to you.”

“Or you leave everyone alone and just live your life. But that probably hasn’t occurred to you.”

Wharton stopped smiling and leaned forward, closer to Tommy. Tommy gripped his fork tighter.

“I spent more time in a padded cell than you spent inside your mother. I had time to think about everything.”

“Didn’t know you could do that,” Tommy said. The easiest, most primitive way to get back at someone – childish, even. But weren’t lunatics all mentally children? And wasn’t this just a quarrel over who’s gonna rule the playground?

“Many have this misconception,” Wharton agreed. He was either too stupid to understand the insult or too smart to get offended. And Tommy had a feeling it wasn’t the former. There was something in Wharton – in his movements, in his expressions, in the tone of his voice – that suggested there was more behind that deranged sex maniac mask. And that was even scarier.

“What do you want?” Tommy asked directly. “Are you still offended by the morning fight? We both have given each other a fair beating. You have a place to sit. What else is there to it?”

“True,” Wharton said. “We both beat each other’s asses. And I have a place to sit. But there’s another thing.”

Tommy exhaled, frustrated. “What is it.”

“Have you been to Dr. Duren’s?”

“I should’ve?”

“Well, you see, he doesn’t like when patients fight. Both sides get a good walloping for it. I have been given a punishment. And you?”

Tommy could lie. He could say he had been to Dr. Duren’s, had had his punishment assigned, whatever it could be – probably some extra work. But he knew that Wharton wouldn’t ask if he didn’t already know the truth.

“I haven’t.”

“And that-“ Wharton lowered his fist on the table, slowly and forcefully, “-is the problem I have with you.”

“That I haven’t been punished? You can go ask-“

“That you are Dr. Duren’s special princess.”

Special princess. Laughter bubbled in Tommy’s throat. Yeah, he could be called that. Special princess.

Wharton’s heavy, unfriendly stare was taking all the fun out of it – or rather, supposed to. Because Tommy laughed anyway. Laughter built up in his chest and spilled out of his mouth, and it wasn’t funny, it was never funny, but the laughter didn’t care, it came and go as it pleased, and always at the worst possible time.

Wharton was looking at him with a confused frown on his face. He was probably thinking, I haven’t said anything funny. And it was true, but Tommy couldn’t tell him that. Laughter blocked out everything else. He could barely catch a breath between the fits, let alone speak.

Tommy didn’t notice how he bent over and pressed his forehead to the table. He was trying to cover his mouth with his hand, but the laughter still got through. Someone came up to him, leaned forward, spoke in the familiar voice.

“Tommy, what’s going on?”

Mick.

“Now I see why he’s here.” Wharton said over Tommy’s head.

“Shut up and call the nurse.”

“No,” came a lazy refusal, “I’d rather watch.”

A pause, and then:

“Tommy? What’s happening?” – Duff.

“He’s having a fit.” – Mick.

“I told a really funny joke.” – Wharton.

“Shut up!” – Duff, Mick.

“Hey, Tommy.” – Warm hands over his shoulders. “C’mon, let’s take you to the doctor.”

***

Nikki had been missing since lunch, and Mick couldn’t sit still. And he had to, because he had been assigned mending work. Holes in socks, torn trousers, missing buttons on shirts, worn-out bedsheets… Few patients were allowed to do it – needles and scissors were not the best things to give to psychos, - and even fewer agreed to it, saying it was ‘womanly’. But Mick liked it. He didn’t have to move much, and his poor back was grateful for that. The work itself was quiet, meditative, calm. Also, there were no windows in the workroom and only one door which Mick faced while working. Good thing all around.

Except today it wasn’t calm. God knows where Nikki was and what he was doing right now. He was a very creative boy – he could make something to self-harm with practically out of thin air. And when he wasn’t cutting himself, he was in on a hair trigger for that. What if Wharton got him again? Their interaction lasted mere seconds, but he did say something to Nikki, something that made his face drop. That was enough for him to fly off the hook, especially since… recent events.

Mick didn’t know what the quarrel between Nikki and Wharton was about, but he supposed Wharton dumped him. Got tired of a new toy and discarded it. Though their… relationship did last longer than his other flings – Mick knew of four months, and there could be more.

It would have been better for them to hook up a couple times and leave it at that. Wharton was simply incapable of a reciprocating relationship, and Nikki got his hopes too high over those months. He couldn’t see through Wharton like Mick did – see a cruel, selfish, manipulative asshole who cared only about himself that he was. Nikki was a smart boy overall, but clearly lacked in reading people.

Mick pricked his finger with the needle for the third time and couldn’t just sit there anymore. He dropped the sock he was mending and rose from his chair.

“Where to?” Hudson, who was watching them today, asked.

“To take a piss.”

“Alright.” Hudson didn’t suspect a thing – mostly because Mick wasn’t known for anything deserving suspicion.

Mick walked out the door and down the hall, then turned around the corner, looked around and sped up. He didn’t have much time.

First he checked the lavatory. It was hard to hide in there – it was a rather popular place, and many patients were often accompanied by nurses who would have noticed him. And Nikki had the “in need of permanent surveillance” mark on his medical history, which meant he would have already been taken to his ward.

Hoping that it already happened, next Mick went exactly there – but it stood empty, with the door open. The cleaner did a shitty job, and there were still traces of blood on the floor. Mick winced and turned away.

Then he went to the kitchen – he was friendly with the cooks and could hope they wouldn’t rat him out.   

“Hi, Bob,” Steve said when Mick entered. “Hungry?”

“Nah.” Mick shook his head and looked around. No Nikki in sight. Well, it was expectable – the cooks would have never let him in there, knowing his infatuation with sharp objects – but still worth a check. “You seen Feranna?”

“Here?” Steve raised an eyebrow. “You serious? I’d have kicked him out the moment he came.”

“And that’s right,” Mick said, reaching for the bread basket and pulling out a piece. All this worrying did make him a bit hungry. “What’s for dinner?”

“Fried fish and mashed potatoes.”

“M-m. Classic. Thanks. Don’t tell anyone I was here.”

“Of course.” Steve laughed. He believed Mick was just pulling his “I’m being watched” thing, and Mick wanted it to stay that way. Right now he was relatively safe and had other, bigger concerns.

Chewing on the piece of bread, Mick headed down the hall. The cracking of the crust on his teeth drowned out other sounds, and he heard nurses talking behind the corner at the last moment. He dashed into the closest open ward and pressed his back to the wall, waiting for the nurses to pass by.

While he waited, Mick cast a quick glance around the ward. It didn’t look like it was lived in at all. The sheets were barely wrinkled, as if nobody slept on them, but it’s been over two weeks since the last change of bedding. It couldn’t be unoccupied: the asylum was full. Besides, there were restraints attached on the bedframe, and they were not leather, like usual, but metal. Interesting. The resident must be one of the aggressive ones.

The nurses left, and Mick continued his journey. He peeped into the common room – it wasn’t evening yet, so there were only a couple patients cleaning it, and old John Paul was quietly playing the even older piano. It was basically all he still could do – and did.

Mick went along the hall, looking into the empty wards. Nikki could easily hide in one of them, and would be found only at bedtime, and god knows what he could do to himself by then. But Nikki wasn’t inside any of the wards.

Maybe washing room? Mick headed in that direction. But just before rounding a corner he heard familiar voices.

“What were you doing there?” Whose else could that booming, angry voice be but Simmons’s?

“Wanted some fresh air.”

Mick made a loud sigh of relief. It was Nikki.

“Yeah? Fresh air? In October? Barefoot?”

Mick sighed again – now with disappointment. Of course, with Nikki nothing could go smoothly.

“I wanted to feel the earth.”

“Yeah, sure. You get pneumonia, that’s your fault.” Then a sound of someone stumbling.

“Hey! I can walk on my own! You don’t need to drag me!”

“I don’t think so.”

Mick crept after them until they reached Nikki’s ward. Simmons pushed him in and locked it.

“Sit here and think about your behavior. You don’t wanna go to Dr. Duren again, do you?”

And with that, he left.

Mick badly wanted to talk to Nikki, but he knew his time was out. Hudson was probably already looking all over the asylum for him. He needed to get to the lavatory and pretend he just had the worst diarrhea of his life, or the nurse wouldn’t believe that he spent so long there.

Mick turned around and ran back as fast as his back allowed him to.

[carmendeiact2whenplz]

Sometimes I wonder what the nameless bard's situation is like with regards to his family, especially since he seems he was very young yet played such a strong role in the rebellion. Did he have parents or parental figures? Was he an orphan, with just a wind spirit to keep him company? If not, did Venti know his family and pay them a visit after accending to godhood and taking their kid's image? Or did life under Decarabian micromanage families apart from each other and they never cared for him nor did he really know them, or was life expectancy not all that long under Decarabian's rule and orphans were common? I really really wonder what an average person's life was like under a god who doesn't understand humanity but micromanages and watches over everything and the sort of world the nameless bard would have grew up in that resulted in his befriending a wind spirit and leading a rebellion

To me, I’ve always headcanoned NB as someone who’s biological parents either died or left him when NB was very young/a toddler, so he most likely didn’t have any memories of them. He’s (many of the things i’m about to say are entirely headcanons/theories, with nothing in canon) lived out a lot of his life on the streets, relying on the hospitality of strangers and donations from his own performances to survive, but oftentimes he had to steal to survive in case those things failed him. He’s never gotten a proper education, but he’s thankful he managed to teach himself how to read, write, and do basic arithmetic, otherwise he couldn’t be where he is now (as in “being a rebellion leader known for freeing Mondstadt from its tyrannical leader”, and not as in “dead”).

As for wispti/wisp venti, I headcanon as NB having met them a few years before he died (I hc NB as having died around 16-17, so that means he would have met wispti around 12-13).

In my opinion, the order he met the old mond gang is met wispti -> met the redhaired warrior a few months later -> met Amos (NB met her in person and maybe had a few conversations but they still distrusted eachother) -> met Gunnhildr some time after that -> Amos joins the rebellion. The Old Mond Gang is extremely found family to me, and I hc that if things weren’t The Way They Were, Amos and/or RHW would have legally adopted NB (coparenting).

I think that most of the people in Old Mond didn’t have that much money, and people living past 50 was very rare. Not only was medicine not very advanced, but there was most likely not a lot of clean water and food available (farming either had very poor crop turnouts or needed special machinery and mechanics to even make possible), so illnesses and starvation were the most common causes of death, and the mental health of people weren’t much better. Interestingly enough, while it makes a lot of sense for there to be a lot of poorer people, I am curious if there were any extremely rich people other than decarabian himself. We don’t know much about any sort of nobility hierarchy, and since decarabian (probably) isn’t human, royalty couldn’t have been a status granted by a bloodline. The only thing we canonically know is that he did have slaves/servants, and Gunnhildr’s dad did work under him (nothing is elaborated on what he actually did). Which also begs the question of what role Amos actually had. I’ve seen so many thoughts and theories on what her and decarabian’s relation was like on a personal level, but not much about what it was like politically. While their marital status is unknown, if anything, canon hints that they aren’t married, but me personally I headcanon them as being married (mostly for political reasons) and Amos being the “Queen” of old mondstadt, second-in-command only behind decarabian himself, although how much power, money and influence she had prior to leaving him and/or joining the rebellion is up for debate.

Side note- I do find it funny to headcanon NB’s parents as being alive and having somehow fled to another nation. They’re having a conversation about how their son is a teenager at that point and is probably in his “rebellious phase”, being unaware until years later that his rebellious phase is over, not because he’s an adult but because he died. from the rebellion. that he staged. to kill a god

[lycanlovingvampyre]

MAG 196 Relisten

Activity on my first listen: Slow Tuesday at work.

ANNABELLE: "Perhaps… that’s because you didn’t seem to like what I had to say." MARTIN: "No, it’s because you weren’t really saying anything, were you? It was all just ominous foreshadowing again." Lol, poor Martin, always surrounded by ominous people XD

MARTIN: "Hey, this is your magic bubble. You’re the one making it so that we’re, like, actually walking, walking all the way to Oxford. So sorry I’ve got to sit down occasionally, like a human." Isn't Oxford a bit far from London to simply walk there? You know what, let's find out! Okay, Google maps, starting at the Chelsea College of Art and Design and our destination is 105 Hill Top Road in Oxford... 90 km, 19 hours. That's actually not that bad, they'll reach that in two days. I hope Martin has his camper backpack with him.

ANNABELLE: "And the book breaks?" MARTIN: "It’s not like you’re entertaining company." ANNABELLE: "And it’s nothing to do with the fact that any lost souls in our area also get a break from their torment? Hmmm?" First, I imagine Martin has a camping chair and a little parasol with him and every now and then he unpacks them, gets comfortable and starts reading. Second, OMG aren’t the victims of the domains they come across super confused?? One moment they facing their worst nightmares and suddenly there's sunshine and all their bones ache and they are tired, oh actually, they all probably fell asleep immediately... Otherwise, I'd be asking where are they. Why didn’t they spot the obvious tourists and walk with them in a little parade, all following the camera. (Don't mind me rambling here, I'm just having fun with silly little scenarios.)

MARTIN: "… So what if it does? Is that a problem?" ANNABELLE: "Actually, I find it very reassuring." Cause she wants him to want to save everybody.

ANNABELLE: "No. I did it in his sleep. He’d always been accommodating, so… I wanted to honour his wishes." Was there a superior motive? In the end, if she stole the camera and left him alive and well at Upton House, he'd just be integrated in the fear ecosystem, become either a watcher or watched. And either way, he wouldn't be able to leave his domain to try to stop anything. Hm... can watchers call out to Jon? So if Salesa ended up to be a watcher and could call out to Jon, he could have warned them about Annabelle at best. And only on short notice cause he wouldn't be able to reach Jon when they were in the tunnels, it would have had to be while they were inside the Panopticon. So somehow I think it wouldn’t have mattered if Salesa lived or died, not for our story.

MARTIN: "That’s a shame." ANNABELLE: "Is it?" MARTIN: "I mean… he seemed nice. To us at least." ANNABELLE: "And what of his victims? The people whose lives he destroyed?" Hehe, thinking about Martin wanting Fairchild dead because he threatened him to throw him off a rollercoaster and was a bit of a menace to talk to XD But tbf, Fairchild actively tormented people and wanted to torment them. Salesa was more of an accomplice. Selling all those cursed items (to the rich and arrogant,.. aaaand I’m thinking about MAG 155 again here) instead of sealing them away somehow or even destroying them.

MARTIN: [Sighs] "Is it much further?" Haha, this is the third time now that we hear him asking how much further it is XD

MARTIN: "Hey, is that – ? You told me not to bring a tape recorder." ANNABELLE: "No. I said we wouldn’t need one. We have plenty of tapes." Yeaaaah, already said it in MAG 161, the change of the logo for season 5 gave away the whole "the tapes are web" thing. I mean, it looks really cool and if you listen on a podcatcher it's all the same to you, it's the web tape logo right from the start, so I think it's better and not such a dead giveaway. I listened on YT the first time so I also saw the change in the logo and based my conclusion on the change.

ANNABELLE: "Do take a seat." [MARTIN PUTS DOWN BAG, TAKES A SEAT] Is it finally a comfortable seat?

ANNABELLE: "I’ve written you a statement. I would like for you to read it." Actually I was thinking, why does Martin read it. Why not Annabelle? Is there a canon-reason for that or was it something behind the scenes?

Okay, what about the "Stop no"s, just cross it out and start again, Annabelle, it's not that hard! xD

"immolated by the Chosen of the Ravening Burn." Oh, Ravening Burn, I like that title! Totally forgot about that.

"It was not wide enough to allow true passage, not yet, save for the odd accident." MAG 114.

ANNABELLE: "Oh, it’s so much more than a crack now. It’s an aching hole, a gaping wound in the very fabric of our world." I can't believe this line made it into the podcast... xD

ANNABELLE: [Wistful] "It’s a real shame, you know. I was so looking forward to filling you with spiders." I love that the initial plot of Web!Martin still made it somehow into the podcast. The self-awareness!

Also, Annabelle telling Martin of her plan is the moment Martin realizes this little stunt of him was extremely dangerous. Before that he was always annoyed and snappy, not really grasping the severity of the situation. For him, I mean. Not just for the sake of saving Jon.

ANNABELLE: "Because you always managed to get what you wanted through smiles and shrugs and stammerings that weren’t nearly as awkward as they seemed." [SMALL SOUND OF MARTIN’S CONCESSION TO THE POINT] MARTIN: "Point taken." I’m, sure y'all know what traditional narcissism is, but have you ever heard of nontraditional narcissism? Narcissism is probably more fueled by insecurity than an inflated ego and self-centeredness. While a traditional narcissist will push others down to get validation and keep their insecurity in check, nontraditional narcissists will put others on a pedestal. They’ll put themselves down in front of others, quietly manipulating them into giving them validation ("Oh wow, the XY you made looks so amazing, I will never be as good as you" - "Nooo, your stuff is amazing too!"). Not out-rightly saying Martin is a nontraditinal narcissist, but there definitely are tendencies in these kind of manipulation... I have them as well, after this line of Annabelle I did recognize this in myself and then with the knowledge of nontraditional narcissism I try to stop it when I catch myself doing it.

MARTIN: "Okay, let’s try a different question. What was your plan?" ANNABELLE: "I was going to snatch you away. Lure you both into this web, and then take you. Drive him to despair, so that when you returned to him, bulging, and talking in a thousand tiny voices, it would drive him to a final push." Since JonMartin wasn't planned to be canon at first and Web!Martin in return actually was, this would still have been a cool revelation and a wonderful surprised Pikachu betrayal, but not quite such a knife to the heart (heh, foreshadowing...) if they were together. God, JonMartin being a thing and Web!Martin happening would have been so unbelievably cruel... proper broken heart syndrome material... I like the way it eventually came together. Web!Martin still is valid and great, but from what I know about it I think I do prefer what ended up to be canon.

MARTIN: "And now?" ANNABELLE: [Sighs] "Your bond is too complicated. I couldn’t drive that kind of rift between you now. I’ve considered every angle, examined every cause and effect, and have finally come to the conclusion that I… [sighs] I need to tell you the truth, to explain things." Ha, JonMartin is stronger than the Web! (Well, stronger than that one plan at least.) Also, lol, sounds like Annabelle wrote a meta about their ship...

[WIND CONTINUES AS THUNDEROUS RUMBLES AND BUZZING INSECTS INTRUDE AUDITORILY] Sounds of a thousand gigantic spiders!!! I never understood, why this buzz sound is used for spiders, isn't that from a cricket or cicada or something? (The one here in TMA is not that stereotypical we hear in movies, but still.) (Also, of course spiders are not insects, they're arachnids.)

ARCHIVIST ON TAPE "So just listen –" [CLICK] [CLICK] "Listen, Martin, you should know –" [CLICK] [CLICK] "Now, listen to me, Martin, li-listen –" [CLICK] MAG 160, MAG 129 and MAG 159. Elias, the mass-ritual, which was crucial to the Web’s plan and Jon’s only purpose in all of this. And then talking to Martin twice. MAG 129 being the anchor episode. And MAG 159 of course when Jon went after Martin to get him out of the Lonely.

MARTIN: "What? All this time, through all of this, it, it was just you spying on us?" ANNABELLE: "Oh Martin. You have no idea who’s listening, do you?" Forth wall break?

@a-mag-a-day

[progenycursed]

I’m not even a little sorry for what I caused here :D

Love this idea! I never thought of Radiance actively trying to stop you by preventing you from using Sly’s services, but it absolutely fits with how badly she is trying to stop you.

I never read it as her trying to take control of their minds in particular. I always read it as after she cracked Pure Vessel, she got a second wind and started a new wave of infection. But at that point every bug was either already infected, or dead. I think? The dream nail dialogue of the enemies in the forgotten crossroads makes me wonder if these bugs ever actually died or just went into a stasis. Either way, what they have to say is heartbreaking and I avoid killing them now.

From what Elderbug said, it sounds like multiple townsfolk descended down the well after the infection started again. But we only ever found 3 of them. Myla, Sly, and Bretta. Possibly a fourth if you count the dead bug in the well shaft as a dirtmouth resident. Poor bug was so close to home! The rest, well you can image what happened to them.

They all went below because they weren’t happy with where they were in life. Myla wanted to discover vast riches. Sly was likely out of customers interested in anything else he had to sell. And his pupils hadn’t visited him in who knows how long. Bretta felt alone and unloved.

We as the player were able to save the last two because what they wanted, we could give them. A new customer and grand-pupil(child). Or a savior to fawn over. Which is why they didn’t fall to the infection again. But what Myla wanted, there was nothing we could do to save her.

I do believe that every bug does sort of have their own dream realm lite. So bugs that don’t follow a god still have dreams. Since when they die, their memories are made of essence. I totally believe that Bretta, as a creative mind, had a larger dream realm. I could actually see her become a higher being if given enough time and motivation. Or maybe a medium being? I’m not sure if it’s possible for a regular bug to ascend in the world of Hallownest, but clearly something is possible given how some ‘regular’ bugs have lived through the entire collapse of Hallownest and still look young. *cough* nail masters *cough*

I still absolutely love the idea of higher being Bretta! I love the idea of Radiance just being swarmed by the eternal ordeal while Bretta casually watches atop her perch of pampering. Pure vessel in the background wondering what the hell is going on and where is the popcorn because this is amazing!!

PS. If Bretta did become a higher being, she would totally be a higher being of fan-fictions.

@progenycursed recent post got me thinking again - except my thoughts ended up drifting to something... not exactly relevant to their post. I made my response to their thoughts in a reblog if you want to see that. Still, credit to the one who got me thinking once more. So you can go ahead and blame Progeny for what I am about to do here :)

AHEM

The Radiance is imposing her will upon the dreams and minds of others. For most, this manifests passively - sort of... a thing that just kind of happens over time to an individual under her light, depending on how much they resist it.

There are, however, two individuals we meet that are being affected by the Radiance in a way that seems much more active and intentional. Sly and Bretta. We see no one else under the spell we see them in. When they are rescued, they never fall under the Radiance's influence again. A rather impressive feat, considering just how affected they were.

Sly makes sense. Regarding the Radiance's influence, Sly's state of mind - his sureness of himself and his ways, coupled with his skill and fortitude - make him very naturally resilient to the Radiance. Take into account that his services are very beneficial to the protagonist, that makes him a logistical threat that the Radiance could not ignore. She couldn't rely on her passive influence to do the work, Sly just shrugs it off without even knowing. She had to put in the effort to take him out - actively invading his mind.

But Bretta? Why would the Radiance target Bretta? She has no logistical significance. Certainly no physical might. State of mind? Very impressionable. She is not sure of herself. In every way, Bretta should very easily fall under the Radiance's passive control. But she didn't. After Bretta was rescued, there was nary a hint of the infection about her - not even in her dream realm.

Her distinct Dream. With its own world and particle affects not seen in any other Dream. And a capability of conjuring an entity of considerable power. All traits only shared by other Higher Beings.

She was a target because she was a potential rival. Bretta is a latent Higher Being and doesn't even know it.

[qqueenofhades]

Do you really hate this county? Or were you just ranting?

Sigh. I debated whether or not to answer this, since I usually keep the real-life/politics/depressing current events to a relative minimum on this blog, except when I really can't avoid ranting about it. But I have some things to get off my chest, it seems, and you did ask. So.

The thing is, any American with a single modicum of genuine historical consciousness knows that despite all the triumphalist mythology about Pulling Up By Our Bootstraps and the American Dream and etc, this country was founded and built on the massive and systematic exploitation and extermination of Black and Indigenous people. And now, when we are barely (400 years later!!!) getting to a point of acknowledging that in a widespread way, oh my god the screaming. I'm so sick of the American right wing I could spit for so many reasons, not least of which is the increasingly reductive and reactive attempts to put the genie back in the bottle and set up hysterical boogeymen about how Teaching Your Children Critical Race Theory is the end of all things. They have forfeited all pretense of being a real governing party; remember how their only platform at the 2020 RNC was "support whatever Trump says?" They have devolved to the point where the cruelty IS the point, to everyone who doesn't fit the nakedly white supremacist mold. They don't have anything to do aside from attempt to usher in actual, literal, dictionary-definition-of-fascism and sponsor armed revolts against the peaceful transfer of power.

That is fucking exhausting to be aware of all the time, especially with the knowledge that if we miss a single election cycle -- which is exceptionally easy to do with the way the Democratic electorate needs to be wooed and courted and herded like cats every single time, rather than just getting their asses to the polls and voting to keep Nazis out of office -- they will be right back in power again. If Manchin and Sinema don't get over their poseur pearl-clutching and either nuke the filibuster or carve out an exception for voting rights, the John Lewis Voting Rights Act is never going to get passed, no matter how many boilerplate appeals the Democratic leadership makes on Twitter. In which case, the 2022 midterms are going to give us Kevin McCarthy, Speaker of the House (I threw up in my mouth a little typing that) and right back to the Mitch McConnell Obstruction Power Hour in the Senate. The Online Left (TM) will then blame the Democrats for not doing more to stop them. These are, of course, the same people who refused to vote for Hillary Clinton out of precious moral purity reasons in 2016, handed the election to Trump, and now like to complain when the Trump-stacked Supreme Court reliably churns out terrible decisions. Gee, it's almost like elections have consequences!!

Aside from my exasperation with the death-cult right-wing fascists and the Online Left (TM), I am sick and tired of how forty years of "trickle-down" Reaganomics has created a world where billionaires can just fly to space for the fun of it, while the rest of America (and the world) is even more sick, poor, overheated, economically deprived, and unable to survive the biggest public health crisis in a century, even if half the elected leadership wasn't actively trying to sabotage it. Did you know that half of American workers can't even afford a one-bedroom apartment? Plus the obvious scandal that is race relations, health care, paid leave, the education system (or lack thereof), etc etc. I'm so tired of this America Is The Greatest Country in the World mindless jingoistic catchphrasing. We are an empire in the late stages of collapse and it's not going to be pretty for anyone. We have been poisoned on sociopathic-libertarian-selfishness-disguised-as-Freedom ideology for so long that that's all there is left. We have become a country of idiots who believe everything their idiot friends post on social media, but in a very real sense, it's not directly those individuals' fault. How could they, when they have been very deliberately cultivated into that mindset and stripped of critical thinking skills, to serve a noxious combination of money, power, and ideology?

I am tired of the fact that I have become so drained of empathy that when I see news about more people who refused to get the vaccine predictably dying of COVID, my reaction is "eh, whatever, they kind of deserved it." I KNOW that is not a good mindset to have, and I am doing my best to maintain my personal attempts to be kind to those I meet and to do my small part to make the world better. I know these are human beings who believed what they were told by people that they (for whatever reason) thought knew better than them, and that they are part of someone's family, they had loved ones, etc. But I just can't summon up the will to give a single damn about them (I'm keeping a bingo card of right-wing anti-vax radio hosts who die of COVID and every time it's like, "Alexa, play Another One Bites The Dust.") The course that the pandemic took in 21st-century America was not preordained or inevitable. It was (and continues to be) drastically mismanaged for cynical political reasons, and the legacy of the Former Guy continues to poison any attempts to bring it under control or convince people to get a goddamn vaccine. We now have over 100,000 patients hospitalized with COVID across the country -- more than last summer, when the vaccines weren't available.

I have been open about my fury about the devaluation of the humanities and other critical thinking skills, about the fact that as an academic in this field, my chances of getting a full-time job for which I have trained extensively and acquired a specialist PhD are... very low. I am tired of the fact that Americans have been encouraged to believe whatever bullshit they fucking please, regardless of whether it is remotely true, and told that any attempt to correct them is "anti-freedom." I am tired of how little the education system functions in a useful way at all -- not necessarily due to the fault of teachers, who have to work with what they're given, and who are basically heroes struggling stubbornly along in a profession that actively hates them, but because of relentless under-funding, political interference, and furious attempts, as discussed above, to keep white America safely in the dark about its actual history. I am tired of the fact that grade school education basically relies on passing the right standardized tests, the end. I am tired of the implication that the truth is too scary or "un-American" to handle. I am tired. Tired.

I know as well that "America" is not synonymous in all cases with "capitalist imperialist white-supremacist corporate death cult." This is still the most diverse country in the world. "America" is not just rich white middle-aged Republicans. "America" involves a ton of people of color, women, LGBTQ people, Muslims, Jews, Christians of good will (I have a whole other rant on how American Christianity as a whole has yielded all pretense of being any sort of a principled moral opposition), white allies, etc etc. all trying to make a better world. The blue, highly vaccinated, Biden-winning states and counties are leading the economic recovery and enacting all kinds of progressive-wishlist dream policies. We DID get rid of the Orange One via the electoral process and avert fascism at the ballot box, which is almost unheard-of, historically speaking. But because, as also discussed above, certain elements of the Democratic electorate need to fall in love with a candidate every single time or threaten to withhold their vote to punish the rest of the country for not being Progressive Enough, these gains are constantly fragile and at risk of being undone in the next electoral cycle. Yes, the existing system is a crock of shit. But it's what we've got right now, and the other alternative is open fascism, which we all got a terrifying taste of over the last four years. I don't know about you, but I really don't want to go back.

So... I don't know. I don't know if that stacks up to hate. I do hate almost everything about what this country currently is, structurally speaking, but I recognize that is not identical with the many people who still live here and are trying to do their best, including my friends, family, and myself. I am exhausted by the fact that as an older millennial, I am expected to survive multiple cataclysmic economic crashes, a planet that is literally boiling alive, a barely functional political system run on black cash, lies, and xenophobia, a total lack of critical thinking skills, renewed assaults on women/queer people/POC/etc, and somehow feel like I'm confident or prepared for the future. Not all these problems are only America's fault alone. The West as a whole bears huge responsibility for the current clusterfuck that the world is in, for many reasons, and so do some non-Western countries. But there is no denying that many of these problems have ultimate American roots. See how the ongoing fad for right-wing authoritarian strongmen around the world has them modeling themselves openly on Trump (like Brazil's lunatic president, Jair Bolsonaro, who talks all the time about how Trump is his political role model). See what's going on in Afghanistan right now. Etc. etc.

Anyway. I am very, very tired. There you have it.

[rebeccccccaaa]

Ѕтдсч’ѕ Мом

_________________________

ɴᴀᴛᴀsʜᴀ ʀᴏᴍᴀɴᴏғғ x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

Summary: fucking stacy’s mom dude; what else is there to say?

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: milf!nat good god, age gap [not established but over 21 cuz drinks lol and pretty big but consensual ofc], major mommy kink lol, unnecessarily using the phrase ‘stacy’s mom’ too much, i might end doing another part even though it’s a long one

ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ’s ɴᴏᴛᴇs: stacy’s mom has got it going on ;)

__________________________

“Did you hear me?” Stacy asked you.

“Huh?” you snapped your head back to her completely unsure of what she said.

You two were hanging around the pool soaking in the sun. It was summer and your college classes didn’t start for another six weeks. You’ve been spending your summer with Stacy and her mom at her beach/fucking big ass mansion in California.

Stacy’s mom worked as an architect or something back home in New York with Stark Industries so to say they were rich would be a huge understatement. She was practically a billionaire like the owner himself. Also the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever laid your eyes on. You’ve had a crush on her since the day you met her back home in New York.

“I asked if you wanted to order pizza? We can get something else but I’m not cooking without my mom,” she giggled.

The day that Stacy’s mom went back to New York for a business trip you guys attempted to make pancakes. Fucking pancakes. And almost burned down the house. Everyday since, you guys have been buying and ordering delivery on everything; she had the money so.

“Oh sure that’s cool. Maybe we can go pick up some beer too?” you suggested.

“I like the way you think, Y/l/n,” Stacy said, pulling out her phone.

You laid back down letting the sun warm your skin before you turned your head back to Stacy.

“When is your mom coming back?”

“Um, I’m not sure but probably sometime this weekend, she shouldn’t have been gone that long. Why? You miss her? Like her more than me?” Stacy jokes, making you flush and get defensive.

“What? No, I was just asking,” you told her.

“Hey, relax I’m just messing with ya,” she laughed.

You breathed out heavily and tried to distract your thoughts but you weren’t doing a good job as you instantly started thinking about Stacy’s mom. Goddammit. You two went inside and heard a knock on the big glass front door and Stacy ran to get the door. The pizza is probably here.

You went ahead to the guest room you occupied and instantly took a cold shower. You were sweaty and overheated from sunbathing not from the insensitive thoughts about Stacy’s mom bending you over the side of the pool as she pumped her fingers in and out of you whispering the filthiest things in your ear, definitely not from that.

You came out and the smell of greasy pizza overcame you. You walked into the kitchen finding the pizza sitting on the counter and you walked over to grab your slice. You stuff the slice in your mouth before turning to grab a beer from the fridge. You grabbed the beer and shut the fridge door only to be completely taken by surprise.

“Got enough for one more gal?” your eyes widen and your breath hitched making you almost choke on the pizza still stuffed in your mouth. You pulled the pizza out and chewed rapidly as her gorgeous smile widened at your flustered state.

“Miss Romanoff, you’re back,” you said, your mouth still full.

“Yup, just got back,” she nodded towards the baggage piled by the living room couch.

“Cool,” you swallowed audibly.

“Mom! You’re back,” Stacy came in; thankfully.

“Hi hon. You two holding up with delivery and junk?” she joked nodding towards the pizza on the counter and in your hand along with the beer.

“Hey, we tried to cook something but we almost burnt the house down so we just gave up,” Stacy explained, grabbing a greasy slice of pizza.

“Ugh, you girls need to learn how to cook. This stuff isn’t good for you to have all day everyday.”

“Well, if you hadn’t left us,” Stacy said sarcastically with a mocking grin.

“Trust me, I didn’t want to,” she said, looking at you.

A few hours had passed and you sat in the living room watching movies with Stacy and her mom. The movie was quite scary since those were Stacy’s favorite and during a particular quiet and suspenseful scene your stomach growled embarrassingly loud causing both of the women to snap their heads to you.

“I- I’m so sorry, I’m really hungry,” you mumbled shyly.

“Lemme order something,” Stacy said, grabbing her phone.

“No, no, no. you girls are done with the takeout. Come on; go wash your hands. We’re gonna cook something together.”

You and Stacy stood at the counter covered in flour tiredly kneading dough with your hands. Stacy’s mom grew up in Russia and she wanted to teach you guys how to make her favorite dish that her mom always made for her for lazy summer nights just like this one.

“Ugh, my hands hurt,” Stacy complained.

“That means you're doing it right,” her mom snickered.

She came up behind you closer than you’d like peering over your shoulder like a vulture. She rested her hand on either side of you cagin you in, pressing against the counter suggestively. You breathing quicken and you could feel her breath fanning over your shoulder and chills erupted all over your skin.

“You doing alright?” she asked you, of which you silently nodded afraid that your voice would betray you embarrassingly in front of her and her daughter.

“Good girl,” she whispered, squeezing your hip making you jolt.

“You good?” Stacy chuckled.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you said sneaking a glance at Stacy’s mom who carried mischief in her eyes.

You continued to slowly but surely make your dinner for the night until suddenly the doorbell rang and echoed across the gigantic house.

“Expecting company, you two?” Stacy’s mom asked.

“Not that we know of?” Stacy said wiping her hand on her apron before scurrying to the front door.

“You’re doing so good, Y/n,” Stacy’s mom teased.

“Th- Thank you,” you mumbled timidly.

“Of course. Anytime, hon,” she whispered getting closer to you.

“Miss Romanoff,” you whispered, turning your head.

“Yeah?” she smiled softly, her lips impossibly close to yours.

“I- uh, you’re-”

“What are you guys doing?” Stacy asked.

“Y/n’s got something in her eye; poor thing,” she said and you instantly started blinking quickly and rubbing your eye, feigning that uncomfortable feeling.

“Oh no, do you need eye drops?” Stacy asked sincerely, guess she bought it.

“No, I think I’m ok,” you told her quickly.

That’s when you actually registered your surroundings again after being suffocated by Stacy’s mom’s perfume and lusting atmosphere. God, you want this woman to fuck you so badly.

“What’re you doing here?” Stacy’s mom asked in her usual playful manner.

“Well, I wanted to surprise Stacy by taking her to a weekend getaway in Malibu; had I known you had guests. I don’t mean to exclude you,” Jason, Satcy’s boyfriend arrived without notice.

“Oh, it’s ok. I’ve been here all summer. You should go; spend some summertime with your boyfriend for a bit,” you smiled at Stacy.

“Really? I don’t want to leave you all alone,” Stacy said.

“She won't be alone; she’ll be with me,” Stacy’s mom said smirking at you; she pressed her hand to your lower back making you stiffen.

“Think you can handle my mom for the entire weekend alone?” Stacy said laughing but you weren’t.

“Can you?” her mom teased.

“I’ll try,” you said shakily. You were not ready.

“Ok, ok. Let me go pack,” Stacy said, turning to Jason excitedly.

Jason followed in pursuit hot on her heels leaving you alone for a moment with her mom. She caged you in her arms as she did before, pressing her hips flushed against your bottom. You gasped softly feeling her cold hands riding up your back under your shirt.

“Miss Romanoff,” you choked.

“Nat; we’re close, aren’t we?” she whispered in your ear.

“What are you doing?” you felt her nails lightly scratching your back making you shudder.

“We’re gonna have the whole weekend to ourselves, hon,” she smirked devilishly.

“Fuck,” you breathed out when her hands brushed to your front, her thumbs grazing the bottom of your breasts.

“Ok, all ready; I think,” you heard Stacy and her boyfriend coming down the stairs. Nat, pushed her herself off you and walked over to her daughter and her boyfriend, swaying her hips just a little bit more than usual knowing you’d kept your eyes subtly trained on them.

“Have fun you two. We’ll see you guys Monday?”

“Monday night,” Jason said.

“Bye mom. Bye, Y/n.”

You waved them off with a small smile, your stomach doing flips anticipated what the hell this woman had in store for you. If she was even going to lay a hand on you, you had no fucking idea. You just stay still, absolutely unmoving, behind the counter.

“Alright, hon. Let’s finish this dinner,” Nat said, turning to you.

Throughout finishing cooking, Nat kept her hands to herself but that didn’t mean she stopped teasing you. Every time you did something correctly, she whispered praises to you that made you wet, arousal pooling between your thighs uncontrollably.

You sat at the counter next to her quietly eating what you made with her help. She watched you carefully to see if you’d like the food and you weren’t going to lie, the food was amazing.

“You did it all by yourself, малышка. Such a good girl you are,” she whispered making you tremble. She picked up your empty plate and carried it to the sink. You sat still in your seat before Nat came up behind, moving your hair from your shoulder and neck. She leaned down and pressed her lips lightly against your burning skin.

“Miss Romanoff,” you said suddenly standing abruptly.

“Yes, hon,” she said.

“W- we, we can’t-” you heavily stuttered.

“Ok,” she responded.

“Wh- what?”

“Ok; I’m sorry,” she stepped away from you. You don’t know why you were so surprised, you literally told her to stop.

“Ok,” you whispered.

“Good night, hon,” she said walking away.

When she was out of sight you huffed deeply feeling like you could finally breathe normally again. You trotted hastily upstairs seeing as Nat was seemingly in her room. You walked up to her door cautiously, light peering from under the door; reaching for the handle but ultimately shied away thinking about the fact that she was your best friend’s mother.

“Fuck, this is wrong,” you said to yourself frustratingly.

You went to your own room closing the door as quietly as possible. You tried to occupy your mind as best as you could running a shower, brushing your teeth, even re-folding your clothes that were already tucked neatly in your drawers. You couldn't shake the feeling of the way her lips felt against your skin.

You were so desperate to be in that position again and Stacy’s out of the house; the opportunity was perfect but of course you cowarded away running off to your room lying to yourself that you didn’t desperately want to spend the night in her bed.

You looked at the time and saw that it was around ten at night deciding it was late enough to hit the sheets; not the ones you want but whatever at point honestly. That proved to be a huge struggle as you tossed and turned for hours. Everytime you close your eyes you're met with those beautiful emerald green eyes that you find yourself getting lost in everytime you see them.

“Ugh, shit,” you groaned, unable to sleep.

You stood up abruptly throwing your sheets to the floor paying no mind to the mess you made. You swung the door open and stomped to her room. You were furious that this woman, who clearly didn’t do anything, was keeping from sleeping peacefully as you had been in the previous nights.

You stood silently in front of her door breathing heavily. What were you thinking? What were you gonna do; yell at this poor woman who didn't do anything? But she did. She kissed you.

“Are you gonna stand out there like a creep or are you gonna let yourself in?” her muffled voice came from beyond the door and your eyes widened.

You hastily turned the knob to her door finding her resting beautifully in the golden dimmed light on her large white bed; the sheets so fluffy she looked like an angel resting on a cloud. She had a book in hand, it was Russian so you couldn’t understand the words. But nevermind that, you stood in front of the closed door with an angry expression on your face.

“Now what’s got your panties in a twist, hon?” she asked, a smirk playing on her naturally red lips.

“You,” you retorted.

“And what do you want me to do about those panties?” she closed her book, setting it on her night stand. God, why did she say it like that?

“I can’t sleep.”

“Why’s that?” she knows why; she’s got you wrapped around her dainty little finger.

“You kissed me,” you said quickly.

“Uh, correction. I kissed your neck,” she swung her legs over the edge of the bed to stand up.

“You- you, you put your hands on me. And- and, and you stopped.”

“Because you said to,” she walked up to you, making your stomach flip.

“I didn’t really mean it,” you whispered shyly.

“Really?” she whispered back.

“Do you want me to put my hands on you again?” she asked seductively.

You hesitated refusing to look her in those perfect green eyes because you know you fall when you do.

“Look at me and use those big girl words,” she whispered, her breath fanning across your face.

“Please,” you whimpered.

“Please what?” she teased.

You looked up at her letting out a shaky breath. You were about to pass the point of no return and looking into those hypnotizing sage eyes you wanted nothing more than to let her have her way with you.

“Please kiss me,” you whimpered.

Nat grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you flushed against her body kissing you feverishly. Your eyes fluttered closed, moving your lips with hers. Her hands ran up under your shirt ghosting your skin making your skin burst into chills. You practically trembled under her cold hands.

“Красотка,” she whispered against your lips.

“Huh?’ you mumbled dazed and confused by the sudden change of dialect; that was very hot keep in mind.

“абсолютно очаровательны,” she chuckled.

“Wha-?” you stuttered. What the fuck just happened?

She lifted her hands up your body as did you, lifting you shirt off your body. She practically growled at the sight of your breasts. She leaned down, licking along the valley of your breasts peering up at you with those big eyes you loved so much.

She kneeled to the ground pulling your pajama bottoms down your legs torturously slowly. You wiggled your knees back and forth whining at her teasing but she simply nipped and kissed your legs chuckling at your eagerness. She rubbed your legs softly standing up and rested her hands on your hips.

“You are so beautiful,” she tucked a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Thank you,” you said timidly.

“Come here, Красотка,” you followed her to the bed and you excitedly crawled to the center. Nat stayed standing smirking at your hypnotized expression as she peeled her shirt off her body and dragged her shorts and panties down her legs. She crawled to you with a playful smile on her lips and sat directly in front of you.

You grinned climbing onto her lap kissing her softly. Her hands ran lightly up your back as her lips moved smoothly against yours. You could feel her perky nipples brushing yours pulling soft moans from you. Her hand made its way into your hair tugging the strands to pull your head back. Her lips instantly falling to the skin of your neck sucking marking you as hers. Your breathing became static and heavy and Nat chuckled at your inexperience.

“Tell me, Y/n, have you ever been with a woman before?” she whispered in your ear, her breath making you shiver.

You shook your head.

“Words, Красотка,” she gripped your chin harshly.

“No; never,” you whispered.

“Oh, I’m gonna have fun with you, little one,” she chuckled darkly.

“Oh god,” you moaned.

“You want mommy to show you a good time?” she snickered.

“Please.”

“Lay back, baby. Mommy’s gonna be right back,” she said kissing you softly. Your stomach fluttered as you patiently waited laying on her incredibly soft bed. You turned your head to watch her leave ever so elegantly; her bottom swaying teasingly as she disappeared into her closet. She walked out with a huge strap and some silk ties and your legs started to shake from excitement? Fear? Both? Yeah, both.

“Safe word?”

“Milf,” you said cheekily, making her laugh out loud.

“Funny.” she mocked, shaking her head.

“Arms up. You let me know if it gets too much ok?” she said cupping your face sweetly.

“Ok; mommy,” you grinned before she kissed you quickly.

She moved up your body straddling your waist to tie the silk ropes around your wrists and the bedframe. You could feel the warmth from her core grinded against you and you felt yourself grow hot under her and bit your lip shyly. She peered down at your flustered state and smirked, proudly seeing you already squirming haven’t even laid a finger on you. She tugged harshly on the knots making sure you had nowhere to go and your stomach flipped when you tested it and you were unable to move your arms from their newfound position.

“Are you gonna tie my legs too?” you asked.

“We’ll take it easy the first night?” First night?

She stood at the foot of the bed staring lustfully into your eyes as she put on the strap, settling comfortably around her hips. She spit in her hand before wrapping it around the standing faux cock pumping and coating it with her saliva. You couldn't help the way you instinctively squeezed the thighs shut in an attempt to relieve yourself.

“Open those pretty legs sweetie. Let mommy take a look at your gorgeous pussy,” her words made you moan softly as you complied.

“So beautiful,” she whispered, almost to herself but you could hear her delicate words.

Her hands came up your thighs and placed them over her own. She brought her fingers down to your core and circled her finger around your entrance. You’ve been aroused since the moment she first pressed her lips against your skin downstairs; to say you were wet was an understatement, you were practically dripping already. She grinned devilishly before pushing her fingers past your folds slowly.

“We're gonna have to stretch you out if this fat cock is gonna fit inside you,” she told you.

You moaned feeling how cold her fingers were, but you loved it. Her thumb came up and pressed firmly against your clit before circling languidly. Your brows furrowed at the pleasure she was stimulating and you bit your lip trying your hardest to not moan like a pornstar.

“I wanna hear you, Красотка,” she pulled your bottom lip from between your teeth.

“Ugh, mommy. That feels so good,” you breathed out.

“Just wait til mommy gets to stuff her cock in this tight little pussy,” she practically growled. Her fingers moved faster in and out of you and you felt that familiar coil in the pit of your stomach, a feeling you often got when you thought about her with your hand between your thighs, starting to build.

“Ah shit, I’m gonna come, mommy!” you whined, tugging on the ropes.

“You wanna come? Come for mommy, Красотка,” she whispered.

Your stomach tightened and your legs squeezed tightly around her waist as you gushed all over her fingers. When you slowly came down from your first orgasm, she brought her fingers to her mouth sucking them clean. Her enchanting green eye locked with yours as she did so; god that was so hot.

“So fucking sweet,” she moaned. She grabbed her faux cock and rubbed the tip along your entrance and you jolted at the feeling.

“You gotta breathe baby, breathe,” she pushed her hips forward and your body tensed up at the stretching her cock was doing to you. Her hands grabbed your waist as she slowly began thrusting her hips in and out. You back arched off the bed; becoming a moaning mess under the stunning redhead.

Nat held a blissful expression watching you write beneath her. It had been so long since she’s ravished another in her bed. And she’s kept an eye on you for a while. You were this sweet little thing that walked through the elevator doors back home in New York and Nat knew she wanted you.

She’s always known and saw the way you let your eyes linger. The way you stuttered when she asked you a question. The way you’d instantly freeze when she grazed her fingers over your waist, or pressed her hand on your lower back to get past you for whatever. Most of the time it was just an excuse to get close to you.

You made her feel young again. Reminded here what it was like to be desired by another woman. She knew you would never muster up the courage to actually make some sort of move, especially since you are always with Stacy. Tonight was a perfect opportunity and it terrified her for that moment that she had fucked up and scared you off. She really cared about you and for you; and hurting you was damn near about to kill the woman.

“You're taking mommy’s cock so well, Красотка,” she cupped your face.

You started grunting and whining practically yanking at the restraints. Grinding your hips in rhythm with her thrust desperately chasing your second release. God, the woman made you come once and now you’re completely and utterly addicted to her.

“Now, don’t get greedy, little one. Mommy’s giving all she can; do you need to be punished? I can walk away-”

“No! Please, mommy! Don’t leave me, please,’ tears brimmed your ears; you didn’t even want to think about not being her arms right now.

“Ok, then be a good girl and stop whining like a little brat. Is that what you are? Just a greedy whore desperate for mommy’s cock?” her words made you moan and squirm even more.

“No, I’m sorry mommy,” you choked out.

“Oh, Красотка,” she sighed.

She quickly pulled out, making you almost scream. You quickly let out a string of apologies but she simply grabbed your hips and flipped you over to your stomach. She brought her hand up and striked down smacking your cheek so loud it frightened you. However the sting felt so delicious and you shudder secretly wanting more. Her hand ran up your back grabbing your hair harshly to pull your head back; her body molding perfectly against you as she spoke in your ear.

“Красотка, mommy wanted to go easy on you tonight but if you want to act like a whore, you’ll get fucked like one.”

“Fuck!” you cried when she rutted her hips back into you from behind.

Her hand grabbed the globes of your ass, kneading the hot flesh from her spanks. Your upper body was being propped by your elbows until Nat hit a particular spot inside you that made you collapse. Nat smiled proudly to herself, continuing to drive her hips into you.

“Красотка, I can tell you want to come,” she said.

“Yes! Please, mommy let me come! Your cock feels so good,” you moaned muffled by the sheets your face was buried in.

“Go ahead, Красотка. Let go all over Mommy’s cock,” she granted.

“Fuck!” you back arched and your head was thrown back; your toes curled.

You practically trembled feeling Nat’s faux cock hit deeper inside you than any other partner, which wasn’t many to begin with, had ever reached before. Your eyes rolled so far back you felt like you were about to pass out. You’ve never been in such a euphoria high quite like this before and it was overwhelming. Tears flowed down your cheeks as you cried Nat’s name until everything went black for a moment.

You pried your tired eyes open realizing you were tucked closely by Nat’s side.

“There she is,” Nat cooed.

“I didn’t hurt, did I?” she asked softly.

“No, I feel great,” you giggled.

“You did so well, Красотка,” she kissed your forehead, cuddling you closer.

“What does that mean? The name you called me,” you asked.

“It means ‘beautiful girl’,” she whispered looking into your eyes.

Fucking hell, you were falling in love with this woman more and more with every passing second. You casted your eyes away shyly but she cupped your face and made you look at her again.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” she teased.

“I know it might be wrong, but I’m in love with Stacy’s mom,” you told her.

She smiled softly before kissing you passionately, literally taking your breath away. No other words were exchanged. You simply closed your eyes and basked in what could be the only night you get to spend with someone as perfect as Natasha.

==================

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (For all my work)

@mathletemadison​

@buckybarnes101​

@l-sofiamia-l

@pluto-grl

@partr1dge

@stefans-wife

ᴛᴀɢʟɪsᴛ: (Natasha’s Fics)

@natasha-danvers

@fayhar

@mitchiesdungeon

[storiesforallfandoms]

can’t buy me ~ jimmy smith jr.;8 mile

word count: 1577

request?: yes!

@girl-toxxic "reader and Jimmy are in a relationship not long ago but Jimmy was always in love and they both live in the same place, ok but let's say that reader meets a new friend at work (she is a waitress or can be a babysitter for a rich girl) and this new friend has a lot of money and is very interested in reader and the reader get along well and this makes Jimmy insecure, since reader's friend gives him small gifts and helps him a lot. But you can add something that is more interesting as the boy confesses his feelings to the reader and she rejects him since Jimmy is her great love and he tells her how can she go out with that poor devil ... or something else interesting what occurs to you. And that this ends in a lot of love and smut, bah if you feel comfortable🤗💕💕"

description: in which her new friend keeps trying to make advances through gifts, but her heart belongs to one man

pairing: jimmy smith jr. x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

I walked through the door and made a beeline for the kitchen to throw away yet another gift from my not so secret admirer. The last thing I needed was for Jimmy to see what Mark had give me and to get upset about it.

I worked as a waitress at a bar and grill down the road from mine and Jimmy’s house. The hours were only okay, but the tips more than made up for it, especially after our newest regular, Mark, started dining there and specifically asked to have me as his server whenever he was in.

Mark was in his late 30s, handsome, worked a good job that paid good money. He came in one night after he had a particularly hard shift. He sat at the bar, and it was the night I was working it, so I talked him through his rough day. Next thing I knew, he was coming back and asking for me again. We became friendly, but it took me a little too long to realize he wanted to be more than friends.

I turned the corner and yelped as I realized I wasn’t alone. Jimmy was leaning against the counter, almost like he was waiting for me.

“Hey babe,” I said. “I thought you were at the Shelter with Future tonight.”

His eyes flickered to the gift bag in my hand. “He wanted me to come home. We haven’t had a night together in months.”

“Doesn’t help that we both work late night jobs,” I tried to joke. The bag felt heavy in my hand as Jimmy kept looking at it.

“That rick prick buy you more useless shit?” he asked.

“Jimmy,” I sighed.

“Sorry, I forgot it was okay for some rich jackass to buy my girlfriend expensive gifts.”

He wouldn’t meet my eye. He kept glancing around the kitchen, every so often looking down at the bag in my hand. I dropped everything I was holding onto the floor, including that stupid gift, and raced over to hug him.

“Hey,” I said, softly, resting my head on his chest. “Hey, you know there’s nothing to this. It’s just a guy who doesn’t understand I’m not interested.”

“It’s a guy who has money.”

I lighted my head to look at him. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Jimmy shook his head. “Nothing, never mind.”

I pulled away from him. “No, tell me.” When he didn’t speak, I took his chin in my hand and forced him to look at me. “Jimmy, do you think I’d leave you for someone who makes more money?”

“He’d be able to give you what you deserve,” he responded. “A house, a car, expensive gifts - ”

“We have a house,” I cut him off. “You have a car, and I don’t want expensive gifts. I don’t want materialistic things, I want happiness and love, and that’s what I get with you. You really have nothing to worry about in regards to Mark. You’re the one I’ll always want.”

Jimmy sighed and pulled me close. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’ll give you that reassurance any day.”

I leaned up to kiss him. He relaxed into the kiss and I leaned into him more.

When he pulled away, Jimmy turned to look at the forgotten present on the floor. “What did that asshole get you this time anyways?”

I picked up the bag and pulled out the box that was inside. Jimmy opened the box to reveal the gold necklace Mark had given me. The pendant was gold to match, and it was my initial.

“I was gonna chuck it when I got home,” I told him. It’s way too flashy for me, it wouldn’t match anything I own.”

“Don’t throw it out. This is, like, real gold. We can sell it for a good chunk of money.”

I smiled. “I like the way you think, Rabbit.”

~~~~~~

The next day, Jimmy had the night off from the Shelter so he drove me to work. He followed me into the bar and grill with the intentions of sitting at the bar for an hour or two before going home. One of my co-workers spotted us as we walked in and gave me a panicked look. I immediately knew what she was trying to tell me.

I saw Mark sat at the bar before he saw me. I was about to turn to Jimmy to warn him when Mark spotted me and rose from his seat. He had a wide smile on his face, until he saw Jimmy behind me.

“Two nights in a row, Mark?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood. “Those wings and nachos are gonna start getting to you.”

“I went to the gym this morning, so it cancels out,” he responded. “Who’s this with you?”

“This is my boyfriend, Jimmy. I told you about him, remember?”

“Oh yeah, the...rapper,” Mark said. I didn’t miss the way he sneered the word “rapper”, and Jimmy didn’t either.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Mark shrugged. “Nothing. Just stating a fact that (Y/N) told me. Although, rapping at that rundown warehouse probably doesn’t pay as much as a real job would.”

Jimmy stepped towards Mark, but I grabbed his arm to stop him. “Hey, he’s not worth it. Just go home. Thank you for the ride.”

Jimmy glared at Mark before turning to walk away. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad that the situation seemed to defuse easily.

And then Matt spoke again, “Yeah, go back to the trailer park, white trash.”

Jimmy snapped and charged at Mark before I could stop him. He knocked Mark to the ground and reared up to hit him. I quickly grabbed his arm and pulled as hard as I could until Jimmy was off of Mark.

“Get out before security gets called,” I told him.

He got to his feet and walked out the door before anything else could happen. Mark was getting to his feet and adjusting his clothes. I was trying to calm myself down as I regarded him.

“Please leave, Mark.”

“Seriously? Your trailer trash boyfriend attacked me, but you’re kicking me out?”

“You provoked him.”

“I wasn’t saying anything he hasn’t heard before, or anything that wasn’t true.”

“Fuck off!” I snapped, my anger finally bubbling over. “You are fucking insufferable! I’ve told you on multiple occasions that I have a boyfriend, that I’m not interested. Most people would take the fucking hint and move on. The way you’ve been acting, especially tonight, is way out of line. I want you to get the fuck out and if I ever see you here again I will contact the authorities and have you charged for harassment.”

Mark blinked, realized I was being serious, and finally left. He muttered some less than ideal names towards me as he walked out the door. I sighed and buried my head in my hands. I was grateful that there wasn’t many customers in the area as all of this went down.

“Hey.” I looked up at my co-worker, who was now in front of me. “Go check on your man.”

I thanked her and quickly walked out the door. I didn’t expect him to still be outside, so I was surprised to see him stood by his car, almost like he was waiting for me to come out.

“Did I get you in trouble?”

I gave him a small smile and shook my head. “No. If anything, you did me a favor. When it became evident that Mark wasn’t taking no for an answer, all of us wanted to ban him from the place entirely, but we weren’t allowed unless he really caused trouble. I think it’s safe to say starting a fight is more than probable cause to make sure he never comes back.”

Jimmy was nodding and rubbing the back of his head. “I probably could’ve handled that better though.”

“I didn’t expect you to handle it any other way,” I said. I walked up to him and wrapped my arms around his waist. “Are you okay?”

Jimmy chuckled slightly. “Cocksucker didn’t even try to hit me. Did you see his face when I tackled him? He looked like he shit himself.”

I giggled. “Yeah, he’s definitely not a fighter. He’s too much like a high school mean girl for someone who works an office job and makes as much money as he does.”

Jimmy wrapped his arms around me and pulled me to him, resting his chin on top of my head. “I’m glad you stopped me. I wouldn’t beat the shit out of him if you didn’t.”

“I would’ve liked to see that.”

We both stood in silence for a while. I buried my nose in Jimmy’s sweater, taking in the familiar scent of his cologne. It made a warm feeling swell inside of me, like a safe feeling. It reminded me of how I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than in Jimmy’s arms, or with anyone else besides Jimmy. No amounts of money, or people like Mark could ever change my mind about that.

“I should actually go to work,” I said, reluctantly untangling myself from Jimmy’s arms. “I’ll see you when I get off?”

“Of course, I’ll come pick you up.”

I smiled and kissed his cheek. I started back towards the restaurant, but paused to turn back to Jimmy. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[babu-haitani]

HELLOOO! I would like to request a Gojo Satoru reader that is highly admired and that makes the characters a bit jealous and frustrated, I would include Kisaki, Kazutora, Wakasa and Takeomi (♡

HIIII!!!! Sure! Igotchu!

Tokyo Revengers having a Gojo Satoru S/O

Genre: Slight Angst (Takeomi's part), Fluff, Toxic Relationship (Kisaki's Part), Headcanons

Pairings: Kisaki, Kazutora, Wakasa, Takeomi x G/N S/O

P.S Characters are 18+

TETTA KISAKI

I'm sorry but If a Gojo S/O and Kisaki ever meet, I think they will have the most toxic relationship ever.

You two are dating but the both of you are not taking each other seriously.

He thinks you're just his little toy he can sleep, take out on a date and a toy he can use for his evil plans, since you're admired and strong enough to almost rule both human and spirit world.

For you on the other hand, he's just one of your "LOVERS". I mean you're admired by everyone everyday. People would want to be you or either be with you.

You hate commitments, the reason why you only dated Kisaki is because he is RICH. Yes, you're already rich but he is RICH RICH...get what I mean?

You two would have fun but that's because you two are only pretending.

I don't see this two characters ever having a Happy relationship (Sorry Kisaki simps~).

KAZUTORA HANEMIYA

Kazutora would be shock why you even dated him. FOR REAL.

You're beautiful, loved, admired and everyone would be there with just a single snap if it was you who called them.

He would feel really insecure if you two are out on a date cause he sees people staring at you and only you.

There was one incident where a Handsome guy walked towards you to ask for your number and when he saw kazutora he gave him the 'are you her boyfriend? eww' look.

You weren't oblivous, so when you noticed the guy looking at your boyfriend like that, you grabbed his hand and broke it then and there.

Grabbing your boyfriend's hand you two walked past the crying guy like nothing happened, you would hug him in a park bench to comfort him. If you two are in a secluded are you would plant kisses on his face just to make him feel loved again.

"I'm yours and you're mine, Kazu...Don't worry..." You would comfort him, he would smile and just peck you in the lips and kiss your forehead.

WAKASA IMAUSHI

He doesn't have a problem with you being admired and being looked at, to be honest...

He's the type of boyfriend that would let you do the things you want but of course he would only approve if it's something Legal and won't get you into trouble. He's a gangster but he cares for you and your safety.

He trusts you since you would decline the people who would ask you out infront of him with no hesitation.

He loves you more because of that.

The only time he got jealous and frustrated was when he saw you being hugged by a guy at your workplace.

He didn't talk to you for the whole day, until he saw you again hanging out with the same guy. He's had enough and ran towards you two.

You were about to greet him when he looked at you with eyes full of anger.

"Really?? Y/N???? Really?????" He would asked nearly yelling, you looked shocked and chuckled knowing he is jealous.

"Why are you laughing??? this is the 2nd time I caught you two! the first time was him hugging you!" He yelled, shushing him you let out a small laugh.

"Babe, this is Megumi. He is my STUDENT" You replied, he's anger quikly turned into embarassment.

"When you saw me hugging him, he was saying thank you cause I helped him train and comforted him...He's my student afterall..." You addedd, you can here Megumi trying to hold in his laugh.

After that he bowed at Megumi and said sorry to him repeatedly, poor teen got mistaken as his teacher's boyfriend...

AKASHI TAKEOMI

Like wakasa, he doesn't have a problem with people admiring you. He thinks you deserve the admiration since you're really amazing, charming, beautiful, independent and REALLY STRONG.

But he does get jealous sometimes, when he gets jealous he would pretend to call someone on his phone and flirt with them right infront of you.

The only time he got really jealous was when he saw you with a girl and you looked even more happy than when you were with him. This made him feel insecure and heartbroken.

That day when you came home you saw him in your living room and a girl was on his lap half naked.

"Takeomi????" You were crying cause you would never thought of him cheating on you.

When Takeomi saw you crying and on the floor, he can't keep up the revenge and pushed the girl on him to the floor and walked towards you. He patted your back and told the girl to leave.

"I'm sorry...It was just payback for making me jealous..." He cooed, looking at him you gave him a confused look. You don't remember hugging anyone nor even flirting with someone....

Takeomi then showed you a picture of you and your student, shopping for dresses, smiling widely.

"You never smile like that when you're with me..." He said making you laugh and wiping your tears.

"That's Nobara, we were shopping for dresses cause she wants to impress someone! I think of my students as my children that's why I look like that..." You replied, cupping his face. After hearing that he apologized multiple times.

"Want to have kids?" He added.

[hispipsqueak]

Hunger

Beel x F!Reader NSFW

Synopsis: After a chaotic week at the House of Lamentation, you need a night out and your favorite demon is there to accompany you in more ways than one.

A/N: Hello! Here’s another smut of my favorite demon brother. I just really like Beel and so this is some v self-indulgent content. As always, likes and shares are mighty appreciated <3 Also there is a mention of Beel lifting the reader up during this. I HC all the brothers as extremely inhumanly strong and big so they could EASILY lift anyone up regardless of size. I know some people may get uncomfortable with that, but we are inclusive in these parts.

Tags/TW: unprotected sex, drunk/tipsy sex, distracted driving, rough sex, demon sex, drinking, creampie, slight cumflation?

You woke up to the sound of fighting outside your door. 

  “Mammon, I know you took it. That’s LIMITED EDITION Ruri-chan merch, you scum!”

“I didn’t take ANYTHING! Why ya’ always accusin’ me?”

“Are you two going to keep fighting? I’m trying to get beauty sleep! I require at least 9 hours for my youthful complexion!”

“Ridiculous.”

“HEY! Don’t do that!”

“Tell him to give it back!”

“Or what?”

You grabbed your pillow and pressed it against your face. Living with the demons was an...experience, to say the least. You could still make out the muffled voices even through the soft fabric and let out a low groan. You threw open the door.

“Mammon, stop being an ass and give the figure back. Levi, keep your door locked. Asmo, your complexion is fine. SHUT UP.”

The boys stopped yelling and looked at you. It was rare for you to yell at them, but you were TIRED. They had kept you up half the night with pointless arguments and texts asking you to be on their side and you were exhausted from it.

Mammon was the first to speak.

“Yeah, you heard her. You guys keep trying to start fights and it’s exhausting the poor human.” He threw his arm around you, and you groaned. 

“You know what? You clearly don’t listen to me. It’s fine. But you’re gonna regret it. I can’t be so stressed all the time with this. I’m going out tonight. AND I DON’T WANT ANY OF YOU TO JOIN ME!”

Lucifer appeared out of nowhere and glared at you.

“That’s impossible. You know it’s too dangerous for a human to go out by themselves here. I’ll go with you.”

His stare was piercing into your soul, but you stood your ground. You fought the shakiness in your voice.

“No. I made it very clear. I do not want any of you to join me. Respect my decision.”

An audible gasp came from one of the boys. No one stood up to Lucifer. Sure Satan and Belphie argued with him, but coming from you? This was going to be interesting.

“You are not leaving this house without a chaperone. Now you can either stay in, or I will accompany you.”

You narrowed your eyes. And then an idea in the shape of an orange haired demon boy came walking down the hall.

“Fine. I’ll take Beel.”

The rest of the brothers began to protest.

“I’ll go!”

“No, me. She’s my human!”

“Seriously?? Beel?”

“ENOUGH.” Lucifer bellowed, silencing everyone. Before he could continue, you interjected.

“Beel will you go with me to The Fall tonight?”

Beel looked up from his bag of chips. His lack of situational awareness when he was focused on food was astonishing really.

“Of course MC, and we can grab dinner after too.”

You cocked your head at Lucifer.

“Then it’s settled.”

And with that, you turned back into your room and slammed the door.

-----

The night couldn’t come fast enough. You had been ignoring texts and knocks on your door all day from the rest of the brothers and you were ready to go drink, dance, and flirt the night away.

You didn’t expect Beel to do much of either but he was good company and you know he would get the best food in town. As you finished applying your makeup, you heard a knock at the door. Beel’s deep voice rang out.

“You ready, MC?”

You took another look in the mirror. Your black dress accented every curve of your body. The halter top showed off your shoulders and the keyhole cut showed off your cleavage. Your hair was loosely tousled and you spritzed a bit of perfume over yourself before heading to the door. 

“Yeah I’m—” Your voice caught in your throat.

Beel, the goofy, relaxed guy cleaned up WELL. He had a dark leather jacket over a white v-neck that accentuated his muscular figure. He had a few silver chains layered around his neck and a couple silver rings on his hands. He was wearing dark jeans and black boots and...fuck...he looked HOT.

You always knew Beel was attractive, but this...this was new. You had half a mind to cancel the night and drag him into your bed.

You turned away, to grab your handbag and hide your heated face and Beel took the opportunity to stare at you. He had always found you gorgeous, but knowing he was the lucky guy accompanying you to the club had him feeling some type of way. HIs eyes roamed your body and locked on every inch of skin exposed. He could feel his body heat up and when you finally had grabbed your stuff, he prayed you wouldn’t notice his apparent blush.

The two of you headed to his car, a shiny black Ferrari, and he opened the door to let you in the passenger seat. You could tell he had cleaned it, since the usual bed of snack wrappers that adorned the interior were gone. You smiled at the gesture and he waited until you were situated before closing the door and getting in on his side. 

As he drove to the Fall, you admired him. His body was massive and built and his hands, god his hands, looked so good gripping the wheel. You imagined what they would feel like wrapped around your neck or clutching the sheets —

“...I really think it would be cool!”

You blinked. 

“Sorry, I completely spaced out. What?”

He glanced at you and chuckled.

“You look like you’re thinking a lot about something. What’s up?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “I’m just happy I get to have fun tonight.” You shot him a smile.

Beel blushed. “I’m happy I get to hang out with you.”

He pulled into the parking space and opened your door for you. As the two of you walked towards the entrance of the club, he could see a few demons checking you out. He pulled you close to him and wrapped his hand around your waist, before throwing them a dark look.

Your mind reeled. You pressed into him and could smell the spicy scent of his cologne. You hoped the dimness of the club and the thumping music hid how much your heart was beating. You flagged down a waitress for a shot of something and handed one to Beel. The two of you toasted before downing the glasses.

The sweet liquid electrified you and you could feel your body loosen. You looked at Beel to see him licking his lips. He grabbed two more glasses from a passing waiter and passed one to you. Another clink of the shot glasses and this time the drink was rich and fiery as it slid down your throat. As the two of you polished off more drinks, you began to feel restless.

You tugged on his hand, emboldened by the alcohol.

“Dance with me.”

He nodded and let you pull him into the sea of moving bodies.

You pressed yourself against him with your back to his chest. His hands were wrapped around you, gently but firmly pulling you into him. The bass drummed in your body and you threw your head back into him. The combination of alcohol and the crowd, not to mention his fingers sliding down your thighs made your body heat up and you felt so good. 

Beel leaned into you, tilting his head down. His breath tickled your ear, as his low voice whispered. 

“How do you feel, cupcake?”

“Good, so good.” you breathed out, not even sure if he heard you. He must have though, because he twirled you so you were facing him. You looked up at him through your eyelashes. His skin was flushed and he had a cute smirk on his lips. The flashing club lights cast a hazy neon glow behind him. Before you could stop yourself, you pressed your lips against his.

His mouth tasted sweet and warm. He deepened the kiss as his hands ran down your back, gripping at your ass. Your tongues danced in each other’s mouths and you dug your nails into his shirt, feeling the hard muscles underneath. You could feel his excitement press against your thigh through his jeans and you let out a soft moan into his mouth. 

Beel let out a pained groan. 

“I need you, right now.” he whispered into your neck, pressing hungry kisses down.

“Not here. Home.” you gasped out. While you weren’t against fucking in the club bathroom, Beel was the largest demon there and it would be plainly obvious if you tried to sneak in with each other.

He nodded and pulled your hand as you headed out of the building. You made your way to his car while he continued to kiss and suck on every bit of exposed skin. He pushed you up against the door of the black car and kissed you eagerly.

“Fuck...cupcake, you’re so delicious. Need more of you.”

You moaned. It was taking all of your willpower to not let him bend you over the hood of his car, but you resisted. 

“Take us home and then show me how much you need me.” You whispered into his neck, before leaving a soft kiss. 

As Beel drove, his other hand was gripping your thigh, dangerously close to your heat. You leaned over and kissed down his neck, leaving soft bites on the sensitive skin. He let out a low grunt, and slid his hand up your dress, running a thick finger across your clothed pussy. You were soaked and he could feel your arousal through the thin fabric.

You grinded against his hand, craving any bit of stimulation from him. He pressed his fingers against you, teasing your slit through your clothes. 

The car slowed in front of the House of Lamentation and he pulled his hand away. He turned to you and whispered.

“We have to be quiet.”

The two of you stumbled into the house, looking around for any of the other occupants. It was dark and silent. Beel pushed you against the heavy front door and kissed you deeply. You wrapped your hands around his shoulders as he lifted you up with your back against the door. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he continued kissing your lips, trailing down your neck and shoulders.

“Beel we should go. Someone might see us!” You breathed out, half delirious from how good his mouth felt on you.

“Good. I want them to know you’re mine.” he growled into your skin, leaving what was sure to be dark marks to explain away later.

“Lucifer will kill us.” You giggled, though your resolve was crumbling away with every kiss. Beel grunted, and then pulled away, pressing his forehead to yours. His amethyst eyes sparkled from the moonlight.

“Yeah, actually that is a pretty scary thought. Let’s go to your room.”

The two of you crept to your door, being extra cautious when you passed each brother’s room. As soon as you clicked the lock, Beel picked you up and easily tossed you onto the plush bedsheets. 

“Finally.” He growled, before pushing up your dress and pressing hot kisses against your thighs. You let out a soft whimper. He tugged at the thin lacy material covering you and you felt him smirk against you.

“So pretty.”

He slowly dragged them down and pressed his mouth against your folds. His tongue flattened and lapped at your cunt, eliciting a loud moan from you. He circled your clit with his tongue, before sucking it into his mouth. You clawed at the sheets. 

“Fuck...Beel please! Need you.”

He continued his delicious assault on your body, pressing his tongue inside you.

“You taste so good. Please cum in my mouth. Wan’ taste you” He mumbled into your pussy. You writhed against his mouth and you could feel your thighs tense up and attempt to close on him. He gripped into the soft flesh of them and forced your legs apart while he continued, pushing you closer to your release.

“Fuck...Beel! I’m gonna–”, was all you could muster before you felt the rush of your orgasm hit you. He groaned into your cunt as he guzzled you down.  Your eyes fluttered and you tried to push his head away.

“No...mine...so good.” He moaned hungrily. Your body shook against him.

“S’ sensitive, please…” you begged. Beel was the avatar of gluttony and you knew he could spend days between your thighs but you wanted him, all of him.

He pulled away, his face wet with your juices. His eyes were hazy and unfocused and he looked drunk on you. He pulled off his shirt and jeans before pushing you back into the soft bed. You took this moment to take a look at his cock and your eyes widened. Before you could panic, he was on top of you. His silver chains dangled off his neck as he towered over you and his hands held your wrists above your head. You gazed up at him and your breath hitched as he lined his cock up with your entrance. Beel was BIG and you knew it was going to be a tight squeeze. Sensing your hesitation, he pressed a kiss to your lips.

“I’ll go slow and tell me if you need me to stop.” He looked at you waiting for confirmation. You nodded and bit your lip.

“Please…” you whispered and he pushed into you.

The stretch was intense and your eyes watered as he eased himself into you. But quickly the pain morphed into an intense pleasure. You felt every vein of his cock press against your walls and he stilled. 

“You okay, cupcake?” 

You nodded, and he pulled slightly out before slowly rocking back into you. You felt so full and started to buck your hips against him. He started fucking into you faster and you cried out as his cock hit the most pleasurable spots inside you.

“Fuck...fuck...fuck. So good! Feel’s so fucking good.” you moaned out as Beel slammed into you. You opened your eyes and noticed Beel had transformed into his demon form. His horns glinted in the light that streamed in from your window and your eyes rolled back. 

“So good. Squeezing me so tight...I wanted this so long. Let me claim you, MC. Make you mine.” Beel grunted as he fucked you into the mattress. You could feel his claws dig into the skin around your wrist and you squeezed your legs around him, pressing him closer into you.

“Yes...I’m yours! Please...fuck me, use me. I need you so goddamn bad!” you wailed, feeling your second orgasm of the night rapidly approach you. He kissed you hard and you tasted the desire on his tongue as you thrashed under him. You could feel the soft walls of your cunt clenching tighter against his cock and every cell in your body was on the edge of explosion. You felt stars dance behind your eyes and you gripped at his biceps, dragging your nails down across the lightly tanned skin.

“I’m gonna–gonna…” Beel grunted, his thrusts getting sloppier and faster. His breath was ragged and he pushed his cock as deep as he could. 

Your pussy clamped down around his cock and you arched your back from the sheets as you gushed around him. Beel’s eyes rolled back and he groaned as he shot his cum deep inside you. You could feel his hot cum spurt into your cunt and he gripped your shoulders tightly as he rode out his release. He slowly pulled out of you, before using two fingers to scoop the dripping cum back into your hole.

“So good. So full.” He mumbled. You looked down and could see the slight bulge from the amount of cum he had filled you with. You laid back down and sighed in satisfaction.

“Fuck that was amazing.” you whispered, suddenly aware of how loud the two of you had been.

He got up and pulled you against his chest, running his fingers through your hair.

“It really was. I wanna do that again.” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your head. You giggled and buried deeper in his chest.

“Maybe not tonight, but yes we will definitely do that again.” you mumbled into him, smiling as your eyes started to close. Before the both of you drifted off to sleep, your eyes widened.

“Beel!” you whispered, startling him awake, “We never got dinner!”

It was silent for a moment before the two of you burst into laughter. Beel grinned before softly speaking.

“It’s strange MC. When I’m with you, I don’t feel as hungry. It’s like another part of me is full.”

You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his. A soft smile danced on your lips and you kissed him, pouring as much love into the kiss as possible. You pulled away and buried yourself into the crook of his neck, and as your breath slowed and you fell deeper into sleep, Beel wrapped himself around you and let himself rest.

[9tzuyu]

four months.

note: hiiiii! just trying to get into the groove again. i dont know what this is. the original prompt is below, however it did not turn out that way?¿ its kind of a mess, but fluffy i suppose. i hope you enjoy :>.

using my own experience so don’t think i hate poor people because i am those people </3

(also chapter 4 of children of tragedy will be out soon, i promise. ive just had awful writers block.)

+ thank you moli for proofreading so i dont have to. i love you.

warnings: none?

prompt: * reader used to be poor and stuff and w/n is like “you know you don’t have to get the cheapest things” and R covers it up and says “oh this is the brand i like, but w/n discovers hidden receipts and asks why they have a bunch of useless receipt and R is like “i was just tracking how much we spend....”

🏷 @natasha-danvers @midnight-lestrange @whatiziz @kermy48 @mycosmicparadise @peggycarter-steverogers @blackxwidowsxwife (lmk if you want off the tag list because ik i dont post as regularly as other writers, so im just going with people who have told me they want to be on my tag list in the past)

and lastly, for my baby @nermalina. its not really your genre per se [ i have a smut fic that i’ll dt you on ;)] however, accept this as a form of love.

it wasn’t so much that you were homeless and out on the streets, but you weren’t necessarily well off either. working as a waitress only got you far enough to pay your monthly rent and gas. somehow you managed to squeeze in a list of groceries.

every penny counted, you didn’t have room for mishaps or sick days. thats why you kept your budget small and a stash full of receipts on the kitchen bar.

natasha didn’t know about any of this though. you were sure she’d have you by the neck if she found out how long you’d been keeping your secret.

the redhead was generous, and no matter how many times you offered to pay for something she would never even dream of letting you. natasha insisted on it, and you were powerless to stop her.

it wasn’t until you tagged along with her on a trip to the grocery store when things began to unravel. she only needed a few things, nothing important.

but nat was quick to pick up on the fact that you continuously flipped every little thing you picked up to look at the price tag.

“here, it’s the cheapest one i could find.” you said, smiling as you handed her a cardboard box of pasta. natasha hummed, “you know you don’t have to get me the cheapest thing on the shelf.”

you bit your lip, eyes suddenly looking back at the shelf of different pasta boxes. “i know... it’s just- it’s my favorite brand.” natasha automatically knew you were lying by the way you began chewing on the inside of your lip.

she narrowed her eyes. “no it’s not.”

“huh?”

“you got this brand because it was the cheapest. you know i can afford more, which leads me to believe you do this out of habit.”

you shuffled uncomfortably under her gaze. “no, i just really like that brand.”

the sudden realization that she had never been to your place struck her.

“y/n?”

“yeah?”

“why don’t we go back to your apartment after this? we can just relax, watch a movie, do whatever you want.”

a mix of guilt and shame flooded your body. but damned if you didn’t still give it a try.

“my apartment’s a mess right now, you don’t want to see that.” you tried, offering a small, dry laugh in hopes of getting her off your back.

“you’re a terrible liar.”

“i’m not-”

“i picked you up from the park today, just like every other day. i’ve not once picked you up from your own apartment, so what are you hiding?”

when you didn’t give an answer, she tossed the cheapest box of pasta in her cart and walked away. you groaned as you watched natasha leave before catching up to her.

“okay, okay, we can go back to my apartment. just don’t judge me, alright?”

she smiled softly, “it wouldn’t even cross my mind.”

soon enough you began helping your girlfriend load her car with bags full of miscellaneous items. nothing needed to be refrigerated, so if natasha wanted to, she could stay at your apartment all day.

your leg bounced in the car as you gave her directions. but soon enough, after what felt like the longest fifteen minutes of your life, natasha pulled into a parking space right outside your door.

you silently cursed yourself for not renting a spot upstairs. at least then it would’ve prolonged the situation just a little bit longer.

natasha watched as you fumbled with your keys, your hands visibly shaking.

“fuck.” you mumbled after hearing the clank of metal hit the ground. you bent down to pick them up but natasha beat you to it.

“which key?” her voice was soft.

“the yellow one.”

the door swung open and you motioned for natasha to go before you.

it wasn’t bad, really. apart from the chipped brown walls, the lingering smell of cigarette smoke (you hated your neighbors for that), the broken windows, lack of space and furniture that was as good as the floor.

natasha noticed the windows first, a sense of protectiveness overpowering her. she didn’t like that you weren’t safe.

you went to offer her a water bottle, but she wasn’t paying attention. instead, she noticed the lack of food in your fridge, frowning when you tried to cover it up.

another few minutes of her silence went by and you couldn’t take it anymore.

“look, i know you’re rich. i know you like to have luxury brands and that you don’t have to worry about whether or not someone will break in and steal what little you have left. but that doesn’t give you any right to judge me. i’m sorry i don’t live up to your expectations.”

natasha licked her lips and leaned her back against the kitchen counter.

“how long have you lived like this?”

her question caught you off guard, but you managed to find an answer.

“i’ve always lived like this, nat.”

she nodded solemnly before abruptly turning around to look at what was inside your cabinets.

“what are you do-”

“you have no food.”

you sighed, “well yeah, i can’t really afford it.”

“and the receipts?”

natasha was met with a shrug. “have to keep track of everything somehow.”

she stared at you a minute longer before finding the exact words she wanted to say.

“i would never judge you, or anyone for that matter, on their living situation. i know people don’t always have a say in what or why things happen.” she paused. “but i don’t like knowing you go to sleep every night with broken windows practically inviting anyone to come in and intrude. i don’t like knowing all you have to eat is bread, canned fruit and grilled cheese sandwiches.”

you listened to her ramble on, still nervous about the fact that this was new to her.

“so come live with me.”

“natasha-”

“come live with me.”

you immediately shook your head. “no, no, no. nat don’t even-”

“i’m serious. you won't win this argument, y/n. let me take care of you. i don't mind picking you up and dragging you out of here myself if that’s what it takes.”

a sigh left your lips as you folded your arms across your chest. “natasha, i can’t have you do that. i’m okay, i promise.”

the redhead raised her eyebrow. “how many times have you gone to bed hungry? or let your car run on fumes for as long as you could? and how many times have you gone to work sick because you can’t afford to miss one single day?”

when natasha was met with no reply she moved closer to you, wrapping her arms around your waist, pulling you into her embrace.

“i know it’s only been four months but i don’t think i could ever forgive myself if something happened to you and i didn’t do enough to stop it.”

she kissed the side of your head, “let me take care of you.”

[maddiwrites]

The Hybrid (Prologue)

Pairing: JJ x Reader

Summary: The Pogues rekindle their friendship with their old childhood best friend and JJ’s first crush, Y/N. Old feelings resurface for JJ and Y/N, possibly leading to a summer neither one of them could ever forget. Due to past trauma, Y/N is reluctant to let anyone into her heart, but JJ never backs down from a challenge, even if he knows it will come back to haunt him in the end.

Note: So happy to be back with another series!!! I honestly really missed posting. Unlike Secrets of the Shore, updates will be slower because I don’t have them all written out yet. A couple things I wanted to let you know before you read. I based Y/N’s family off of Gilmore Girls. I thought they were the perfect fit for this story and the show in general and I just love their dynamic. (Including Luke who I renamed Steve for obvious reasons). Chapter 1 will explain more obviously but I wanted to give you guys a little snippet of the characters and relationships. So let me know what y'all think!

Word Count: 3.3k

Outer Banks. Paradise on Earth. It's the sort of place where you either have two jobs or two houses. Two tribes, one island. As you know, the Outer Banks is essentially divided into two groups. If we want to be blunt - it’s the rich and the poor. Figure Eight is home to the rich. Aka the Kooks. With houses bigger than necessary with extra rooms that go untouched, boats the size of homes on the Cut - the other side of the island. Most people who live on Figure Eight are your naturally raised assholes. People who don’t know the value of a dollar and take advantage of people who do most of their dirty work that lets them prance around the island with perfectly manicured fingernails. These hard workers are the Pogues. They live on the south side of the island where most Kooks wouldn’t be found dead. They serve fancy meals at the country club for shitty tips, mow lawns, and work their asses off at any other job for minimum wage. The drastic difference in lifestyles tend to cause many spats and arguments between the two communities. Especially between the teenagers who still don’t know how to control their raging emotions or know when to bite back their tongue. For the Kooks, every fight is a fight for dominance where as the Pogues fight for equality - to put the Kooks in their place. Many of these fights happen at summer parties where the two groups clash to find a good time with their friends filled with alcohol, drugs, and good music.

That’s where they find themselves tonight. The infamous Pogues. John B, JJ, Kie, Pope, and now Sarah Cameron. Although born a natural Kook, she’s earned her spot next to the adventurous teens and her boyfriend. Unlike her brother Rafe who basically is the leader of his notorious group. Topper and Kelce are his best friends who follow him blindly.

The Pogues watch them from their spot surrounding the keg. Kie purses her lips in distaste as the boys cat call for the ladies around them. Somehow most of them finding it flattering. Sarah sips on her beer to hide her embarrassment, often wondering how she and her brother grew up to be so different. Pope and John B stay mostly disinterested, only worried if they try to make a pass at an unwilling girl or fire a degrading comment at their short tempered friend. JJ Maybank is known around the island for his trouble making behavior. Usually if he gets in trouble for fights, no one ever asks who the other people were in the scuffle. Because if JJ Maybank is in the fight, he’s the one who started it, right? Wrong. In fact, JJ usually is never the one to start it. He’s good at keeping his head down and only speaking when spoken to when it comes to the Kooks - the only form of advice worth taking from his father. But his short temper is something the Kooks his age loved to take advantage of because they liked getting a rise out of him. It was like an adrenaline rush.

Luckily, tonight both groups were keeping their distance, either only talking to each other or random Tourons that have found their way to the party. This is usually JJ’s favorite part of a boneyard party. Finding his one fish in a sea of many that he can reel in just for the night and never have to worry about seeing them again.

He has his eyes set on a beautiful blonde making her way to the bonfire when all of a sudden Kie’s voice pulls him out of his trance.

“What’s she doing here?”

JJ follows her line of vision, spotting you walking down the wooden steps that lead to the beach, pulling your best friend behind you by his wrist. He first notices your smile and how it brightens up your entire face. Then of course his eyes scan down your slim but athletically toned body. You’re wearing a pair of jean shorts and a cropped white T shirt that says UNC across the chest. Who knew someone could look so good without even trying?

Well JJ did. He’s known it for a while.

“Careful. I think you’re drooling,” John B whispers in his best friend’s ear.

JJ pushes him away and mutters, “Shut up. No I’m not.”

But maybe he was.

Y/N Y/L/N is a unique resident of the island. Unlike majority of the island, she doesn’t fall in either Kook or Pogue category. She’s what everyone calls the Hybrid.

People who work hard for what they have but haven’t fallen to be Pogue status. Quite literally living in the middle in a place they call the Crest.

Your story is well versed among the gossipers of the island (which tends to be just about everybody).  And mainly that’s because of who your grandparents are.  Claude and Doris Y/L/N. Two of the riches people on the island, living in a three story house on the beach. Many people fear them, others envy them. Most feel both. Even Ward Cameron walks on egg shells around them, which is quite often, considering he works for Claude. They’re the kind of people who have never heard of Barefoot wine or Walmart. They keep their noses up and turn a blind eye to the suffering communities around them. Thirty four years ago, Doris gave birth to a daughter that couldn’t be more opposite than them. Lorelai Y/L/N was a wild child. A rule breaker. She snuck out at nights, dated boys her parents would never approve of, dabbled in breaking the law here and there. It didn’t matter how many times her parents disciplined her. She always managed to make her parents’ life a living hell. 

No one was surprised when word got passed around that Lorelai had gotten pregnant at eighteen. Although it was with another Kook, she brought shame upon her family name when she refused to get an abortion, even when her mom tried dragging her by her hair. 

Lorelai risked everything by running away from her parents’ home in the middle of a windy night. With only one suitcase, the baby daddy out of the picture, and less than a grand in her pocket, she managed to make a life for herself on the South side of the island. She worked two jobs, found an affordable apartment for cheap rent, and managed to save some money before her babies were born.

Yes, babies. As in more than one. Five months after running away from home, she gave birth to twin girls and they instantly became her entire life. With the help of her best friend Steve, who she met one month after being on her own, meeting him at his automotive shop when she very much literally rolled her junky car into the garage, she raised you and your sister on the Cut. The two of you are her greatest accomplishment. Every now and then, she mentally throws up a middle finger to everybody who doubted her, proud of who the two of you have become. 

Right before you turned ten, your mom took a business risk and opened her own Cafe. The Bikini Beans cafe, very popular amongst both Kooks and Pogues. The business did so well that she was able to move the three of you out of your shitty apartment into a beautiful one story home with three bedrooms in between the Cut and Figure Eight, aka the Crest, the summer going into your freshman year.

You actually used to be best friends with John B Routledge, JJ Maybank, and Pope Heyward. It was easier being friends with them than the girls, finding more joy in sports and rough housing than makeup and gossip. 

Doing the same summer that you moved, your mom pulled you out of Kildare County High and placed you in Outer Banks Private Academy. Aka Kook Academy. Around this time, your grandparents had also become more involved in your life, and you wondered if they had somehow bribed your mom into forcing you to transfer schools. You tried asking her during one of your many fights that started with you begging her to keep you at Kildare County High, but she quickly shut you down and told you to be grateful. That was ironic coming from the woman who ran away from the people giving her an expensive high school career. 

You had no choice but to do what your grandparents wanted and attend Kook Academy. Making friends was a lot harder there than it was in Kildare County High. You managed to make one friend in your freshman year. Andre Cortez. Due to an incident a couple years back, you built thick walls and Andre was the only one able to break them down. You were grateful for your friendship, but hanging out with him was nothing like hanging out with the Pogues. 

When you transferred schools, you lost touch with the Pogues slowly. Your life became busy with school and playing dress up for your grandparents and the boys were starting to work. Eventually all contact was cut and ever since, you’ve felt a void in your heart.

“Look,” You tell Andre. “I told you I would be your wing woman and I’m not backing down from what could possibly be the most important role in my life.”

You didn’t notice the Pogues or any of the stares around you. It’s true you’re not much of a party girl. I mean, you’ll go out here and there, have a drink or two, but you felt more comfortable at places where you weren’t surrounded by drunk and horny teenagers. 

“He’s probably not even here,” Andre says. He’s trying to look nonchalant but you notice the way his eyes dance from face to face of the people around him. 

“He told you he was going to be here, right?” You ask him with one brow raised. Andre nods. “Then, we’ll find him.”

Sarah and Kie never made any effort to talk to you at school, but to be fair, neither have you. You’ve heard mixed reviews, some people call them spoiled brats, ungrateful...some even go as far as calling them ‘The Cut Sluts.’ Of course you never take any of those things to heart. You can’t judge a book but it's cover. Plus, they’re friends with your old best friends. They can’t be that bad for John B and JJ and Pope to be hanging out with them, right?

“You think she'll come over here?” Kie asks. No one’s ever said it out loud, but her friends wonder if deep down, Kie was a little jealous of you. Because you were their first real girl friend. You were the first girl they ever let in and opened their heart too. That was a tough pill for Kie to swallow when she originally thought she was that girl. Of course the boys don’t like you any more than Kie and vice versa. But sometimes Kie wishes she could have grown up with the boys the same way you had. 

“Probably not. Unless she’s drinking,” Pope says and motions towards the keg they’re near. 

“I have an idea,” John B says and fills up a red solo cup. He hands it to JJ. “Why don’t you go offer her a cup.”

JJ snags the cup out of John B’s hand and glares at him. “Fuck off, dude.” 

“Do you guys ever see her around at school?” Pope asks the girls.

Sarah shrugs. “Not really. She doesn’t really get a long with my old group of friends.”

Kie rolls her eyes. “No one gets along with your old group of friends.”

Sarah playfully shoves Kie by the shoulder and they laugh. 

“I heard she turned down Raymond Easterling a couple weeks ago and he didn’t take it very well,” Pope says, remembering the words he heard from the kids in his class roaming the school hallways. 

Raymond goes to Kildcare County High with the Pogues. He’s known to be a trouble maker and a class clown. He works with JJ at the country club. The kid can make JJ laugh sometimes, but he wouldn’t necessarily say he likes him all that much. He can be an arrogant asshole with an ego bigger than it should be.

“She turns down everybody,” Sarah says. “Some people at my school call her ‘The Heart Sucker’ because she can pull people in with the snap of her fingers and break their heart just as quickly.”

Something stirred in the pit of JJ’s stomach.

“Hey! Where you going?” John B calls out to JJ who’s making his way deeper into the sea of people on the beach. 

“Taking advantage of a good boneyard party, my friend,” JJ calls back and slugs the rest of his beer. Looking left and right, he searches for the blonde he had eyes on earlier. Because right now, he needed a distraction. 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

The party starts to die down a little after midnight. Some people leave to find another party, some are passed out in the back of their cars, and others had already found what they were looking for - someone to leave with. 

The boneyard party wasn’t as bad as you expected it to be. You had found a couple of kids from your school who were nice enough to make small talk with you while Andre left to find a guy named Devon, a Touron he’s been talking to who’s renting for the entire summer. 

Now you’re waiting for Andre to come back so the two of you can walk home. You find comfort under a slanted palm tree towards the back of the beach, scrolling through random apps on your phone to pass the time.

“Y/N?” You look up from you phone and smile when you see your former best friend inching closer to you, squinting in the dark to see if it’s really you. 

“Maybank? What are you still doing here?” You stand up and pat the sand off your hands on you thighs. 

Your heart skips a beat in your chest when you look at him. He’s beautiful. Lucious blonde hair, perfectly tanned skin, piercing blue eyes. You always knew JJ was going to grow up to be gorgeous. He was cute when he was younger. At least you always thought so. 

“I was just leaving, but I thought I saw you sitting here and wanted to make sure you were all right.” He knows it’s not like you to stay this late at a party, especially all by yourself. When he first saw you sitting there, he didn’t know if he should say something. Mostly due to nerves of seeing you again. But the other Pogues had already left and he didn’t trust anyone else at the party to be near you alone late at night. It didn’t matter if you were sober or not. 

“Aw. Was JJ Maybank worried about me?” You tease. Talking to him felt easy. As if you never stopped being friends. A few years ago, you and JJ had the best banter. Despite constantly bickering back and forth, John B always swore the two of you would get married one day. The two of you just always clicked like a natural connection. And even now, when only seeing each other every now and then for a few minutes at a time, it felt normal. You smirk when JJ rolls his eyes. “I’m kidding. Yeah, I’m okay. Just waiting for my friend to come back from his little rendezvous,” You say. 

JJ nods. “Did you have a good time? I feel like I never you see at these things.”

“Yeah. Parties aren’t really my thing. But Andre was nervous to meet this guy he’s been talking to for a little while so I came for moral support.”

“Looks like he didn’t need much of the support.”

You shrug. “It’s better that way, anyway. I don’t mind waiting for him. What about you?”

“What about me?” 

“Did you have a good time tonight? I hear your quite the ladies’ man at these things.”

“Come on, Sparky. You know better than to believe everything you hear.”

Your face lights up at the mention of your old nickname. You use to always be busting out the seams with energy. On days where the boys just wanted to chill and play video games, you would drag them to the park for a game of kick ball. Or when they wanted to sleep in after a long week, you showed up at 8 am to drag them out of bed to catch the morning waves. So one day JJ started calling you Sparky, and it stuck with the rest of your little gang. You always pretended to hate it, but secretly you loved it. 

“Oh I don’t believe everything I hear. I do, however, believe what I see. And your arm around that tall blonde in the little black dress looked quite convincing.”

You first saw JJ at the party when he was making his way to the pretty girl by the water. Your teeth involuntarily clenched and there was a twisted feeling in your stomach you couldn’t shake whenever you looked at them. 

In that instant, JJ felt grateful for the dark sky. He felt the rush of heat rise up his neck to his cheeks before he could stop it. He knew the motivation to see that girl was because of you. He just wished you never saw it. But he didn’t know why. 

“I walked her home. She wasn’t my type,” JJ plays it off. 

“I didn’t realize you had a type,” You giggle, but a small part felt relieved to hear this. “So what is it? Your type?”

Hybrids with a Pogue attitude, bright smile, beautiful eyes, and a mouth that could make any sailor turn around, JJ thought. 

“I don’t know. Haven’t figured it out yet.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Well, when you figure it out let me know.”

“Why? So you can transform into my ideal girl?” He teases.

Now you’re the one thankful for the dark sky. “In your dreams, Maybank. But so far, I do have the perfect wing-woman track record, so if you needed help -”

“I don’t think I need any help in that department. Thank you very much.”

You throw your hands up in fake surrender. “Ooo. Touchy subject.”

JJ rolls his eyes at the same time your phone pings with a text message. You pull it out of your shorts pocket and open the text from Andre, telling you to leave without him because he’s gonna stay out late with Devon and won’t know what time he’s going to be done.

“Everything all right?” JJ says, watching you read the message.

You lock your phone and stuff it in your back pocket again. “Like I said. Perfect wing-woman track record.”

“That was Andre?” 

“Yeah. He’s most likely not coming home tonight.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“At least one of us is,” You joke. 

JJ’s grin slightly falters but you don’t catch it. You have no idea how much he wishes the two of you could be equally as lucky. Together. 

“Well, I should probably go,” You say and bend down to grab your flip flops.

“Let me walk you home,” JJ offers. 

“Oh no. It’s okay -”

“You’re cute. It’s wasn’t up for debate. I’m not letting you walk back by yourself.”

You scoff lightly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Just humor me.”

You roll your eyes and smirk but choose not to argue. In fact, you’re excited to spend more time with JJ. It’s been so long.

“Fine.”

“And here I thought you might’ve grown out of your stubborn phase by now.”

You shove him playfully by the shoulder. “Shut up!”

And just like that, it felt like old times.

[bonky-n-steeb]

𝐵𝑅𝐸𝐴𝑇𝐻𝐸

𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃 𝙾𝙽𝙴

𝘿𝘼𝙍𝙆!𝘽𝙐𝘾𝙆𝙔 𝘽𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙀𝙎 𝙭 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍 | 𝙈𝙊𝘽!𝙎𝙏𝙀𝙑𝙀 𝙍𝙊𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎 𝙓 𝙍𝙀𝘼𝘿𝙀𝙍

𝗦𝗨𝗠𝗠𝗔𝗥𝗬: Your life is as good as it gets. The perfect husband, the perfect daughter, the perfect job. But what you are unaware is that your husband is a deadly assassin and your long-lost friend, now a fearsome mob boss is hell bent on getting you back. But what you don’t know can't hurt you, right?

𝗪𝗔𝗥𝗡𝗜𝗡𝗚𝗦: psychological disorder, PTSD, domestic abuse, yandere, obsession, violence, cursing. If you find any of this triggering please DNI. Also inform me if I left something out.

ᴛʜɪs ɪs ɴᴏᴛ ʙᴇᴛᴀ ʀᴇᴀᴅ, sᴏ ᴀʟʟ ᴍɪsᴛᴀᴋᴇs ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ

Oh, lawd! i have to post everything again! Send me all your energy. If you wanna be tagged, just inform me!

Also, I’ll be changing the story by a little, (or by a lot, idk) from my previous version.

You were feeling like John Travolta from the music video of Stayin’ Alive. Vibing to your own rhythm, living your own freedom. Attending college miles away from your hometown, you were the captain of your ship. Though you loved your parents more than anything, you were glad for the freedom granted upon you.

Your Freshmen year had just begun and you had already made a few friends. But what you didn’t want to accept just yet was your crush on one of them, Bucky. With his steely blue eyes and boyish charm, even a goddess might fall for him, and you were just a mortal. You were simply happy with being friends as you believed he would never like you and well, a little crush never hurt nobody.  

Completing your shift in a local bookstore, just outside the campus, you were walking back, lost in your own thoughts. What caught your attention was a group of howling high schoolers; from the look of it, they were barely a year to two younger than you. A group of tall and popular kids were bullying a skinny, helpless dude; ufff the usual cliché you thought to yourself. What you failed to notice though was his bleeding nose.  

You were a kind soul, always helping others, but you were no fool. All alone in an unknown town, you weren't going to confront the burly teens who were twice your own size. After giggling and cracking some stupid jokes on the poor dude trying to impress a girl, they left him and that’s when you noticed all the blood. You quickly crossed the road and walked towards him. He seemed smaller than he was as he was crouching down and trying to rub all the blood.

“Hey! Pinch your nose, don’t disturb it by rubbing.” you said while bending down. “Uhh, okay... thanks!” he looked at you with big doe eyes and you were utterly mesmerized by the blue oceans he had for his eyes. “Do you.. Do you need something else kid? Where do you live?” you asked giving him a candy and your water bottle. “I’m no kid!” he exclaimed and you flinched.  

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you. You are helping me and here I am shouting at you.” You could clearly see remorse in his eyes and you wondered why would someone hurt him? “yeah, yeah.. It's Okay... now have this candy, the sugar will help you feel better.” you said with a soft smile. “thank you so much... and by the way I live two streets across. I mean I can go by myself, I'm a grown-up.. But...” he trailed off and you helped him get up.

“I’m Steve” he tried his best to smile and you followed by sharing your own name. And with that his chatter train began, he explained that he was just trying to help another girl getting bullied, when the bullies decided to change their target and chase Steve instead.

“you should wear your own mask first and then help others wear theirs.” you quipped and instantly bit your tongue. “Hmm, what?” he asked genuinely curious. “what I meant is that you did what is correct and very brave, but sometimes you gotta think for yourself too. But these are just my thoughts.” you shrugged. “I’ll remember that.” he said with a genuine expression. And after a million thank yous he finally went in his house. By the size of his house, he seemed rich and you wondered maybe this wasn't that cliché.  

☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎

The next day, you were walking back the same road, when you thought of Steve. He really was a kind and sweet person. This world needed more of people like him. And just then you saw him smiling brightly and waving at you, his nose bandaged. He had a huge box in his hand.

“Heyyyyy! Thank you for helping me yesterday. So I just... kinda got this as a ... a token of appreciation. I considered you might like donuts, so I got you this.” He said rubbing his nape. His cheeks had become so red he looked like a ripe tomato. “well, if you haven’t already given me diabetes by saying so many thank yous, after eating sooo many donuts I’ll surely get it.” At that you both chuckled and the atmosphere became lighter. As you picked a donut, he looked at you with such admiration you thought you would melt then and there.

Suddenly with a stern expression you asked “what if it’s drugged?” His eyes widened and he stuttered, “I... I would never do that ...” he looked down and you thought he might cry. “hey waittt.. don’t get so sad.. I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry. I was just joking. I have this really bad habit of saying things when I shouldn’t. God I just ruined everything.” You just made a mental note not to joke around him, he seemed to be quite emotional. Though it was going to be difficult to tame your tongue. “don’t be. I just take things too literally.... anyway let’s have some donuts what say?” He said with such shine in his eyes you wondered whether he was sad just a moment before.

You both walked up to your university campus, munching on donuts. You both shared things about yourselves. You told him how you were passionate in becoming a doctor. He on the other hand talked about his struggles in studying. “will you help me? You are so smart and bright, will you help me study if I have a doubt or something?” he asked giving his big doe eyes.

You weren’t going to agree at first, you had just met him a day ago. But after looking in those calm blue pools of his eyes you agreed. Seeing the joy on his face, you wondered whether he just won an Oscar.

What you didn’t know was that Steve had already fallen in love with you, yes love, he was convinced that you were the one for him, his one true love. Not a moment had he been able to think of anything but you since he had met you. You were everything he needed and wanted and much more. He was simply desperate to spend more time with you.

☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎☮︎︎

It had been around six months since you met Steve. Over the time you two had turned out to be best friends. While Steve had fallen even more in love with you, you had fallen hopelessly in love with bucky. While you always told bucky about Steve and vice versa, you never confessed to Steve about your love for Bucky, thus furthermore increasing his hopes. You desperately wished to make Steve and Bucky meet. They were two important people in your life and you more than anything wished that they got together well.  

Today was the day when you decided to arrange a small meet and greet at the park where you and Steve met every day. You and Bucky walked together towards the tree where you usually sat with Steve waiting there for you. You knew both would like each other, but somewhere deep within your gut you were getting a not-so good feeling about this.  

Steve’s eyes lit up seeing you but as they turned to Bucky, it felt as if all the energy had been sucked out of him. You didn’t like that one bit. “Bucky!?” Steve exclaimed in half disappointment and half fear. “You both... you both know each other?” you ask bewildered. You tried chuckling to lighten the mood but by the looks of it they were sworn enemies, but you prayed that you were wrong. “yeah, we know each other a little too well... Uh... We were good friends once.” Steve quietly admitted.

All this time Bucky had his jaw clenched, dragging in a deep breath he began. “I knew it! I knew it would be you, you little fucker! You want to have everything don’t you? Goddammit! I had this feeling it was you but I thought it was too much of a coincidence, but no. fate had to be so cruel.” you were shocked to see Bucky's sudden outburst. You wondered what conspired between the two, as either hadn’t ever mentioned the other.  

You were snapped out of your thoughts with Bucky calling your name. “let’s go. I don’t want to see him even for a minute more and neither do you.” Bucky started pulling your hand but you stopped him “Bucky no. I guess you have some misunderstanding; Steve is a good person. And you don’t get to tell me who to talk to and who to not.”

Suddenly Bucky turned back to Steve, anger written all over his face. “You didn’t tell her, huh, did you? Don’t worry I'll tell her. Steve is the son of Joseph Rogers and he is the freaking Don Corleone of this area. Do you know how my father died? Steve’s father had him killed just because unknowingly he provided shelter to his father’s fugitive. Steve just pretends to be a caring, emotional person but he is a snake behind that mask, so is everyone in his family.” towards the end Bucky was in tears and you were in utter shock. Now that you tried to remember, Steve never really did tell you much about his family. And the fact that Steve wasn’t denying any single allegation made you want to puke your guts out.

“You have taken too much from me. But not this. Not her. Not the woman I love more than anything.” Bucky said it out loud in the heat of the moment. You were too dumbstruck to even blink. Did Bucky just confess that he loved you?  

Bucky turned to you and held your arm with such softness you wondered if he was just now screaming his lungs out at Steve. “I know I can't tell you who to be with, and I promise I never will in the future, but trust me you want to be caught up with him or his family. And still, if you choose him, well then, I can’t be with you.”

You knew you had to make a choice then and there, there was no going back, and you chose Bucky.

[minniepetals]

heartbeat

— summary: running away from your master is never easy so you deem yourself this will be the last time if you are fatefully brought back to his hold again. so what happens when you stumble upon seven men who says they won’t bring you back? what happens when they promise you their love and care instead?

— pairing: bts x reader

— genre: angst, fluff, hybrid!reader, rich!bts

— word count: 9.7k

— warnings: mentions of abuse, running away from an abusive household, hybrid cruelty, hurt and comfort

— rec music: bts - heartbeat

Soaked and damped, your hair wet with a sweet smell of cherry blossom fragrance as the pretty tiny bubbles surround you. In the room the lights are bright and you feel a little shy as you sit inside the pretty porcelain bathtub while his fingers run through your hair in a gentle manner.

You have never felt this kind of touch before. It's so sweet and gentle and just...kind.

Oh so kind. 

You purr when he scratch along your kitten ears and Jimin chuckles lightly as he goes on, cleaning the area around it.

"It's a little torn," he frowns at the sight, fingers careful not to brush around it so that he doesn't inflict more pain. He's sure you've been through enough. He knows you've been through enough. "Does your neck hurt when you move around?" He asks gently, noting at the gash that circles it. You have cuts and bruises almost everywhere and something about that makes his stomach drop while his heart yearns for you.

"It does," you say in a small voice so sweet and careful. He doesn't know why anyone would ever want to hurt such a poor little thing.

"Where else does it hurt?"

Your old bandages were thrown in the trash, left discarded for you to never see and be reminded of the sad memories again. They weren't fixed up in the greatest way but what else could you do? You had no experience with those things, he can tell.

"It's okay, everything else are just scratches," you tell him and Jimin pats you gently on the head.

"You don't have to worry about asking too much, dear one, we're all here to help." You turn yourself slightly to meet his gentle eyes with your own that are painful and yearning for love and care. His heart hurts a bit at the sight so he reaches for your hand through the wet bubbles. "If it hurts, tell us. You won't be bothering anyone."

Your lips form into a small pout, eyes a little confused at his kind gesture. "But...my last master always told me I should never ask for help."

Jimin frowns. "No baby, it won't be like that anymore I promise you."

"It...won't?" You tilt your head just a little because it'll hurt the gash around your neck so he goes to hold your head and allow it to return to its original position. "You won't..bring me back?"

"Oh dear, of course not."

"R-really?" You're almost afraid, too afraid that if you let yourself trust in his kindness, it will backfire on you. What if he's lying? What if he becomes tired of you? What if he comes to find you annoying and brings you back? What will be the consequences then?

You're too afraid to think of the punishments that will happen. You're sure it's something way beyond your own imagination. What if this time when you return, you really won't ever see the light ever again? What if he starves you for weeks? Months? What if he hurts you even more? Or worse, what if he leaves you to...to die?

"This..." you hesitate and he sees the tears already swimming in your eyes. Your fingers hold onto the edge of the bathtub, gripping against it tightly, while your eyes cast away from him and towards the tiles of the bathroom floor. "This isn't the first time."

"No?" You shake your head and had forgotten about the pain on your neck so it hurts you and Jimin lets out a little gasp. "Careful sweetie, you're still in pain."

"I..I-I'm scared." Maybe you shouldn't have told a human this but what difference would it make? He knows anyway just by your tears alone. "I'm so scared."

"We won't bring you back, love," Jimin promises you as he lightly runs his forefinger along your jawline until it reaches your chin. "We won't bring you to the shelter or anywhere you wouldn't want." He carefully allows himself to tilt your head up. Carefully. Because he doesn't want to put you through any more pain. Your skin is soft and wet from the bath, the bubbles covering your shoulders and down so that he cannot see anything else below it but your collarbone peeks out just slightly. It's soft and pink.

Just like those pretty lips of yours. It's glossy. Pink and glossy and looks oh so sweet.

"We'll even keep you safe in here if you want to stay."

You blink for a second. "You'll let me stay?"

"Of course," he hums.

"Even if it means..." your cheeks blush as you bite your lower lip, small figure shrinking for a moment. "Even if it means..forever?"

Jimin smiles and you think it's just a kind gesture he's showing you to show appreciation for the fact that you wish to stay but that his answer would be no. They're always no's. A soft smile before whispering the reluctant reply and you're left to fear for where you will go.

A shelter, a pound.

Either way, you find yourself back in your owner's home and he rewards you with severe punishments. It is never fun but perhaps this is your destiny. If Jimin says no then you will give up. This will be your last run. You won't run away anymore even if it means you will never receive hope and kindness because it lasts for just a little while.

These kind gestures are sweet but the more you have it, the more you understand that it can never last forever. They never do. Because the next thing you know, you're waking up and returning to that dreaded mansion.

"Yes baby."

You stop breathing. You stop breathing.

"Even if it means forever."

You don't know why but those words itself hurts you even more than when the humans that have told you no.

"I'm not..I-I'm not always a good girl," you tell him.

"None of us are," he replies.

"I'm a mess."

He hums. "Me too."

"I'll always be seeking for attention. Loud noises frighten me. I-I get scared very easily. I can be a brat. There are so many things I wish to do and wish to wear. I-I'm not a good person. I'm very selfish."

"Oh baby," he pouts, "are you trying to convince me otherwise? Because it isn't working, you know."

Your brows knit slightly. "It isn't?" Why not? It always worked, so why doesn't it work on him?

"Not one bit," he shakes his head.

"Even so," you look away again, "what about your..friends?"

"Them?" Jimin chuckles. "I'm sure they'd love it if you stayed with us. Taehyungie and Jungkookie really loves little kittens. We've always wanted to get ourselves a hybrid but never got around to it so this must be fate."

"..fate," you whisper.

You think you like this word.

"Mhm. So don't worry about it, okay?"

"But..." you squeeze the bathtub again, hands trembling. "He...he'll come looking for me," you say. "He always does."

He.

Jimin frowns and takes your hands into his. "Baby look at me." You do as he asks and he gives you a determined gaze. "No matter what happens, I promise you we will keep you safe."

"Even if he offers you a ton of money?"

"He's not the only rich resident living on Earth." Ah. You can tell Jimin is rich. After all, this bathroom is anything beyond what you can ever afford. You're sure that even his shirt alone is more expensive than an average human's apartment. "And even if any of us weren't so well off, we still wouldn't fall for such a sick joke. Your life is worth so much more than anything money can offer, baby, value yourself more."

Jimin is so kind you almost forget that this is your first meeting and he doesn't know you so much yet. But he's so willing to keep you safe that it makes you want to cry.

"It's illegal to keep me without owning me," you say.

"Seokjin's a powerful lawyer, baby, he can defend your honor, and Namjoon's a prosecutor who'll go up against your owner if he has to," he tells you otherwise. "We'll fix this, baby, by law or not. He won't ever touch you ever again."

"A-are you sure?" You ask him timidly. "What if you have to face consequences because of me?"

"It doesn't matter."

"You're willing to do this..." you press your lips together, thinking, and then meet his eyes again, "for me..?"

Jimin smiles. "For you." He runs his fingers through your hair again. It's dried a little from the air and by now he's sure you'll end up cold. "Now," he pets your head, "can you tell me your name, kitten?"

No one has really ever asked for your name. Your owner always called you by rude names sometimes you'd even forget you had a name. But you told yourself that if there is anything he can take away from you, it is that he will never be allowed to take your own name.

"..Y/N," you say. "My name is Y/N."

He kisses you gently on your forehead. A sweet, soft kiss.

"I'm Jimin."

.

.

Jimin helps to dry you up while Yoongi helps to clean around your cuts and gash and bandage you up.

You sit on the white tiles of the bathroom floor in just a simple piece of Jimin's grey button up shirt. It lays down to your thighs, covering you up well as you face Yoongi with your back in front of Jimin. Your fluffy tail sticks out from the shirt and it's a little too intimate, really, just sitting there in nothing but Jimin's shirt as the two men help clean you up.

But the blowdryer against your soft hair feels so soft it makes your head spin with bubbles and clouds and cherry blossoms you just want to fall asleep right then and there.

Jimin's fingers against your hair feels nice while Yoongi wraps a long bandage from your left wrist to your fingertips. He's already fixed up your neck and tummy, wrapping it with white bandage wraps. He just needs to do your right arm and your legs.

"Did you...fall of a tree?" the older man asks with a small frown.

"I.." you hesitate. "Mhm," you hum to confirm his fears.

Yoongi lays your left hand on your lap gently before moving on to your right side. "That must've hurt."

"It...it did," you admit. "It was scary. I-I fell asleep on the tree because I was scared someone would see me if I slept on the ground and woke up when I began to slip but it was too late to hold on then."

"You can't use your hands for a few days, okay?" Yoongi tells you. "And your legs aren't in the greatest condition either. We'll be taking care of you from now on so you don't have to worry about not being able to do things for yourself for a while." His voice is calm and steady. It's gentle yet demanding. A soft demand, something your master had never used. He's always been harsh and rude but the way Yoongi commands you makes you want to do it all. You don't dread his commands, you welcome it.

"You'll...be taking care of me..?" You ask him timidly.

Jimin presses a small kiss to your head at your question. "Of course, baby." Even though you've told him your name, he still opts to call you baby. You don't mind it, in fact, you like it. It's a pretty nickname and it makes you happy.

But you're still frightened to be happy because you know that happiness doesn't last for long when it comes to you, it never does no matter how much you wish for it.

As if sensing your fear, Yoongi looks you in the eyes and keeps it there as he place a small kiss against your knuckles.

"It's going to be okay, Y/N," he tells you. "Everything will be okay."

You aren't entirely sure yet. "How are you so sure?"

"Because we're here and you're here," he simply says. "Doesn't that already make things a little better?"

Not a little better, a lot better.

.

.

When you walk out of the bathroom, the maknae almost melts in sight.

You were pretty when they found you, broken pretty but pretty, and now here you are standing in their home with your body leaned slightly against Jimin for support. His shirt lays prettily against your frame, falling down to your thighs, with a fluffy tail swaying gently from side to side, and ears twitching a little at the sound of their feet padding your way. Jungkook wants to hold you and cuddle you but he knows that will be for another time when you're more comfortable.

There are bandages that hides your skin. One wrapped around your right ear, another around your neck. Two on both your wrists, hands, and fingers. Down your legs. He's sure you also have them hidden beneath Jimin's shirt and that itself makes him tear just slightly.

"How do you feel?" The maknae asks as he walks over carefully. When you don't flinch away and you allow him to run his hand gently against your head, Jungkook grins. "Are you hungry?" At the question, your stomach growls and he gifts you a sad smile. "We made food plenty for you to eat."

"I...um.." You bite your lip, eyes wavering with hesitation.

He reads your mind. "It's okay, you don't have to be afraid," he says and holds a hand out as a offer for you to take.

It's different from your last master. He doesn't hold his hand out, he just grabs you by the collar or hair and drags you about. You never have a choice on whether to go with him or not, he's always dragging you around.

So seeing this is different and it makes your heart confused because you really do want this, whatever it is, to last forever, but you're afraid of it being gone.

While a teardrop falls against your precious cheek, you allow yourself to live in this fantasy and place your hand over his palm.

Jungkook smiles at you. A sweet, sweet smile, and leads you into the kitchen.

"In this house, there are no rules," Seokjin tells you when he puts a bowl of porridge in front of you. Your mouth waters at the sight and smell. "Eat as much as you want, no one will punish you for anything."

You look down at your hands wrapped in bandages and is about to pick up a spoon when someone else takes it instead.

"It's okay to ask for help," Hoseok says with a sweet grin as he scoops up a spoonful of porridge and gently blows on it. "Tomorrow, there'll be more food."

As he hovers the spoon in front of you, you think that this is too good to be true.

.

.

"Want to go shopping?"

You blink your eyes at Namjoon's question. It's hard tilting with the gash around your neck so you settle with this instead. "For..what?"

He smiles and dimples appear before his cheeks and your heart almost swoons. It's charming. "For your clothes, of course."

You gasp. "N-no, you shouldn't..- you don't have to."

"But of course we should, Y/N."

You shake your head before wincing at the pain that shoots against your neck and it's their turn to gasp.

"Careful, Y/N, please be careful."

"I'm sorry, I'm okay," you promise Yoongi before turning to Namjoon again. "Y-you don't have to buy me anything," you tell him. "You shouldn't waste your money on someone like me. It's not worth it."

"Oh darling, is this what he's gotten you to think? That you aren't worth anything?" When you don't answer Seokjin's question and your eyes cast to the floor, they know that it must be true.

So Namjoon kneels before you and takes your hands in a gentle manner. He meets your eyes from the floor and sends you a sad smile. "All the things that he's told you are wrong, my love. You are precious as a gemstone, as the most beautiful flower in the universe, as the greatest person to have ever been born. You are worth more than anything in this world."

The sun shines bright from the morning day. It falls past the open curtains, through the glass windows, and touches you in a way you hadn't felt for a long, long time.

It's warm.

Just like Namjoon's hold.

No.

Namjoon's hold is so much more precious. As if you are special, as if you are someone delicate and he doesn't dare to ever break.

"So let us do this for you, hm?" Taehyung says and you look up as he places a few pats on your head.

You feel nice. You feel like you're a good girl and you're being rewarded even though you've done nothing to deserve all this. "O..okay..." You say and they smile. "But I...I-I don't want to go out." You swallow a lump in your throat. Still afraid, still timid. "I don't want to..I don't want to risk anything. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, sweetheart." Taehyung smiles. "We'll go in your stead, me and Namjoon, and we'll get you all the pretty clothes that you deserve."

Namjoon nods as he stands again and when they're about to walk away, you hold the hem of his shirt just slightly but it's enough to make him understand that you still have something to say. "Please don't get too much."

Namjoon chuckles and ruffles your hair. "Don't count on it, baby."

.

.

You sneak out of your bedroom wearing a white cotton sweater that Namjoon and Taehyung got you a few days ago. It lays just against your upper thigh feeling oh so soft against your skin.

Tonight you can't sleep again but this is the first time you don't feel like staying in bed and doing nothing to rid of the nightmares. So you walk out, tiptoeing lightly though you don't know why because you're sure no one else is awake. But then again, you don't want to wake anyone up because you're being too loud.

They've already provided enough for you, you can't be ungrateful.

Still, you aren't sure why you're leaving your bedroom. Maybe for a drink of water, to clear your mind. Maybe hoping someone is awake? If they are, what will you do?

You don't know but your ears catch on something.

The light rapid tapping clicks of a keyboard just downstairs where the large living room is. You walk down with slow steps, legs better than it was when you had first met them. The bandages around them, your tummy, your ears, and your hands are all gone. Yoongi has checked on them everyday and was strict on when he'd take them off.

All that's left is the gash around your neck that still needs a little more time to heal.

It feels like a collar at this point but you don't find any ill will towards it. Yoongi wraps it around you after all.

The living room shows a bright light coming from the screen of a laptop and you find Hoseok sitting on the sofa, his brows creased with focus as his eyes run over the tiny letters written on the screen. For a moment he just sits there reading, a hand rubbing his chin, barely blinking just to keep himself from missing anything.

It's a similar scene to your last master but also so different.

Because Hoseok is kind and although his gaze is serious and firm as he's in his work mood, you know that he is gentle and that he will never hurt you in any way. The past few weeks with them have proved it.

You're mesmerized by the way he sits alone that you almost forget it's wrong to yearn for someone like him.

But seeing that he's awake, you definitely don't want to head back to your room now. You don't know what you'll do but you can't head back to that lonely place and you can't disturb Hoseok.

Yet when you take a step forward, something creeks underneath and you hold your breath as Hoseok looks up and over his shoulder to see who it was.

You think he'll grow angry that you've disturbed him but he doesn't. He isn't the same as your previous master. That isn't Hoseok or any of them because instead of shouting at you to return to your room, his face contours into a soft expression and the crease between his brows disappears for a moment.

"What is it, kitten?" His voice is strained from working over hours but it welcomes you in. "Can't sleep?" He asks.

You want to nod your head but your neck hinders it so you're forced to speak up. "Mm-hmm."

He extend a hand out at your soft hum, offering you to come along. You allow yourself to go at his request, feet padding softly against the floor.

He lets you sit next to him on the sofa, snaking his arm around your waist and pulling you in close yet deeming you not close enough so he settles you on his lap instead. You blush a deep rose color and hope that the darkness hides your face but the screen in front of the two of you only illuminates it. He chuckles gently, carefully placing you between his legs as he holds you close and breathes in your sweet scent. Hoseok leans in as if he can't get enough of you, places a kiss on your head, on your cheek, and against the bandages of your neck.

"Keep me company, hm?"

You've never felt so loved before. Not before leaving your master's mansion and accidentally meeting them.

But Jimin said it was fate. Jimin said this isn't accidental.

A serendipity.

You like that word. You like serendipity.

So you allow yourself to lay your head against Hoseok's chest, curling up against him. It's a little difficult with your neck but you do well eventually getting into a comfortable position. He smells nice, they always smell nice, and when he places a hand against your thigh, your tail curls around it subconsciously.

You can sleep now.

It soft and warm and you know you can trust him.

.

.

Some nights are better than others.

Some nights you'll wake up or you can't fall asleep at all and you'll stay cooped up in your bedroom, hugging the blanket, hugging the pillow, hiding yourself from the world, and cry silently to yourself. Those nights they can usually tell what has happened the morning after because you'll have bags under your eyes.

"Baby don't be afraid to wake us up if you have to," Jungkook tells you.

"Would you like to sleep with us?" Taehyung offers. "Will that make you feel better? Because it always makes me feel better sleeping with others. I can hug them and they'll hold me so that I won't be afraid of the dark."

They are too kind and you're too afraid of using that kindness to your advantage, still afraid of being happy and then growing disappointed all over again. So you sway your body a little from side to side because you can't hurt your neck and although they look like they want to say something further, they nod and let you make your own decision.

You will come around when you feel a little more comfortable.

Some nights are a little more unbearable and usually you can take it, usually the nightmares aren't that bad. But this time when you tried to sleep, any time you'd close your eyes, the images of your old master will appear to torment you over and over again.

The night is scary, you dread the night. Because unlike night, the morning offers you light. The morning offers you Seokjin's sweet pancakes. It gives you their warmth, their arms that wraps around you, their sweet good morning kisses.

So you try to stay awake through the night, hoping for it to just pass by like any other nights.

But tonight is harder than other nights and you're scared and you don't know if you can wait that long until the morning sun appears.

So you take the covers off your body and walk out, legs trembling as they lead you to the first door that is the closest to you. You knock on it softly. Three soft knocks.

It's dark and it's quiet and you think that perhaps the person behind the door can't hear the knocks because it's too soft but Seokjin is a light sleeper so of course he hears it.

Your ears pick up on his footsteps coming your way and you hold your breath, afraid, as he walks over and opens the door.

"I-I'm so sorry," you quickly apologize before he can say anything. "I just..I couldn't sleep and I know it's rude to wake you up in the middle of the night but I was so scared and the nightmares got a little too overwhelming but if you don't wish to see me then I'll gladly leave—"

"Nonsense," someone else speaks up. Their voice is deep and groggy and when you look up, you find Namjoon stepping up from behind Seokjin.

They've mentioned that they usually sleep together, often times switching it up between members because everyone would like a chance to sleep with one another. Split up in groups of two, two, and three. There's even a grand room with a bed bigger than you can ever imagine, that holds about seven or more people. They've told you that if you ever wanted to join along, you didn't have to be shy but you've always opted with sleeping by yourself.

Tonight you have Seokjin and Namjoon.

"Come here, pretty one," Seokjin says as he puts a hand behind your back and ushers you in. Namjoon closes the door behind you and you're led to their bed and laid right in between the two of them.

They hold you gently, careful not to be too strong and accidentally squish you but right now you'd really like to be squished, to know that they're here and they won't ever let go. But it's a little difficult with your sore neck, where the two of them place soft kisses against, and you think maybe you can ask for the tight holds when your neck heals.

Maybe.

For now, you let Seokjin sing you a soft lullaby to sleep even if it means repeating it a few times. He doesn't stop until he's absolutely sure you're asleep between their hold, where your soft purrs ring through the air and Namjoon goes on the brush away a small tear that escapes the corner of your eyes.

"She doesn't deserve any of this," Seokjin whispers into the night as he strokes your cheek.

"One day she'll be strong enough to tell us who he is," Namjoon is sure, "and when that day comes, we'll get him and finally make her ours."

"Legally or...?"

When the younger man smiles, Seokjin can see it through the moonlight glowing past their windows. He doesn't have to say a thing for Seokjin to understand what he means.

Yeah, that'd be something all of them would like.

For you to finally be theirs.

.

.

"W-wait..-" You stop Yoongi before he can collect the first aid kit and he looks up a little confused but urges you to go on. "Why...aren't you bandaging my neck up again?" You ask him, eyes filled with conflicting thoughts.

Yet Yoongi only smiles. "You have no need for it anymore," he states simply. "It's all healed now with just the scar left."

"N-no, I.." Your voice trembles and his brows knit together as he wonders what's going on. Surely you'd like the bandages gone, right? Doesn't it feel uncomfortable? It's been a month since you've had it on. You take the first aid kit and place it back on the table and take his hand into yours. "Please wrap it again," you ask of him. "It..scares me. I don't want to look at the scars imprinted on it because it'll remind me of what he did."

"Oh, baby." If Yoongi can, he'd leave the house right now to beat up the man that had ever dared to call himself a man, treating you in ways too cruel for a human, hurting you, leaving you to starve and thirst. It's all his damn fault, he's made you this way. So afraid of the world, too afraid to trust that easily. Yoongi can only wish for you to smile. He wishes to see it but he doesn't think he's ever seen such a precious thing plastered on your face.

So he sighs as he take the roll of bandage to wrap it over your neck like the routine the both of you has gotten used to. He'll tell the boys about this later but for now, Yoongi places a soft kiss against your neck when he finishes.

"You are loved, Y/N, please never forget that."

.

.

"How do you feel? Excited?"

"Mmm.." you trail of at Jimin's question, feet hesitant as you stare at the garage filled of vehicles. "Scared," you whisper and he takes your hand to squeeze it gently.

"It's gonna be alright," the oldest of the group assures with a soft smile.

"It's been a while."

"It has, hasn't it?" Taehyung nods as he thinks about it. You were just a small little kitten that had fallen upon their paths and they decided to take you in without hesitation. "But you're going to do great, I know you will."

Jungkook takes the driver seat of the black minivan while Jimin sits in the passenger seat and Taehyung stays in the back with you.

You haven't been out since they've taken you in and quite honestly, you're a nervous wreck. But you also know that if you want to heal, you'll have to take measures into your own hands. They've taken care of you so well so you have to step up the courage for yourself. You'll be alright, you know you will, with Taehyung next to you to hold your hand steady and the other two who checks on you through the rear mirror every once in a while.

It's just a simple task of grocery shopping. You wear a light pink long sleeved plaid mini a-line shirtdress that falls to your thighs. Taehyung likes seeing you in dresses so most of your clothes are just him spoiling you with pretty dresses.

You don't mind it. Well at first you did but he was always so insistent and told you he wanted to spoil you so you couldn't go up against him, not when he's always so willing to give you everything.

It's different from your last master.

Everything is different.

Even the steps you take as you walk around the supermarket and Taehyung and Jimin holds your hand while Jungkook pushes the cart. Your master never allowed you out to do anything and even if he did, his eyes were always on you to make sure you didn't run away. You can never scream aloud for help, he's threatened you so many times to not do that. And because of his status and money, you were always way too afraid to go against him in person.

But here, walking along the maknae line of your caretakers, Jungkook smiles as he sees the swaying of your tail which indicates that you're alright and he has nothing to worry about.

"Hello, do you know where they sell coffee beans?" The boys have their backs turned away as you stare wondrously at the various meat to your side when someone approaches you. It's a hybrid, a she-wolf, and it shouldn't scare you but it does and suddenly your heart is quickening and you can't get any words out.

Jungkook must have noticed because when he turns around and sees you, he's quick to act. "It should be down there, aisle eight," he points and the wolf smiles as she thanks him.

When she leaves, the three of them turns to you. "You okay?" Taehyung asks with concern as he places a hand on your shoulder.

They make it all better so you let out a soft sigh. "I'm sorry."

He shakes his head. "Don't be, my dear. We're so proud of you." He rewards you with a little kiss against your neck and at this point, the neck kisses has come to symbolize their love and care for you. A sign telling you that they're right here, that they won't go anywhere.

"I think we got everything on the list," Jungkook says a few moments later after wondering around the store. He looks over the paper Seokjin had given him again before shoving the thing behind his jean pocket. "Want to buy anything?" He grins your way. "You can get any snacks you'd like."

They look at you as you think for a moment before saying, "Mochi."

Jimin raises a brow, amused. "Mochi?"

"Does it taste good?" You ask and he chuckles.

"Delicious."

"I want some," you say cutely and they proceed on to the frozen section not long after.

"What flavor would you like?" They all look good but as you look around at the variety, Jimin sees that you're more drawn to the pink ones. "Strawberry it is."

When you walk back out to the parking lot, something drips against your skin.

Then another, and another.

Before the four of you realize it's raining and Jimin has his bag of groceries all in one hand while the other rushes to hold his jacket over your head as you all run towards the minivan.

He's quick to open the door and rush you inside while they head towards the trunk to place the groceries in before safely returning to the safety of the van.

You run your hand against Taehyung's hair to flick away the tiny drops of water that drips from the tip of his hair and he goes on to pat along your dress. "You alright?" The man asks and you nod. "Your bandage got a bit damped," he says, pressing his lips together.

"It's okay," you say and Taehyung smiles as he tucks your hair behind your ears.

"Let's get you home."

When you return, the first thing Hoseok does is pull the four of you aside to dry yourselves with towels and change out of your wet clothes while the hyungs take care of putting away the groceries.

"Did you have fun?" The man asks as you sit on a chair while he wraps a new bandage around your neck. You nod at his question and he smiles.

"Next time we'll go to some place more fun," Jungkook promises with a gentle ruffle of your hair.

"Will it be crowded?" You worry.

"It doesn't have to be," he tells you. "Until you're comfortable, we'll only do the things that doesn't involve too many people, alright?"

When Hoseok is finished with your neck, the five of you return to the kitchen where Jimin helps you open your snack.

"It's cold," you shiver at the feel of the soft yet freezing sensation.

The man chuckles as he picks up a piece for you and offers it to your mouth. You take a bite which make things a little more cold but you're too caught up by how sweet and delicious it is to care. "Wow!"

"Delicious, isn't it?"

"Mhm!" You nod enthusiastically and Jimin smiles fondly as he goes to wipe away the white powder that has made itself around your lips with his clean hand.

"I'm so proud of you, baby."

You frown cutely in confusion at your second bite. "But I haven't done anything."

"But you have, my sweet kitten," he tells you otherwise. "You've gotten more comfortable asking us for things and have decided to go out all on your own. We're all so proud of you."

The soft kiss he rewards you with on your forehead makes your heart flutter.

.

.

"I have a present for you."

It's a late night. The stars and moon are present in the sky, the curtains closed to keep any creepy things of the night from scaring you, and the lights are on as the eight of you sit around in the comfort of the living room.

You look at Yoongi with confusion as he pulls out a white box with a pretty pink bow wrapped on top. "We all decided to pitch in," he says. "There's two of each from each of us in here all for you."

"For me?" He nods as you look at the box, curiosity peeking in as you wonder how there's two of each gift from the seven men that sits and awaits for you to open the present. You take the box, sniffing instinctively yet smelling nothing that can ruin the surprise.

They watch you steadily, holding their breaths as you untie the pink bow and let it fall away. When you open the box, something unexpected greets you. There are rolls of soft silk that lays in the box, all in different colors, fourteen altogether. It sits prettily inside in rows, soft in colors, not too bright, not too dull.

You take one in hand, an ivory color, and the silk unrolls upon your fingers. Your eyes widen at what it has to offer, untangling into a long piece of silk that looks so similar to something you have gotten used to wearing.

"Th..this..." You look up at Yoongi who holds a steady gaze. It's calm and soft, just the way that makes your heart ache and flutter at the same time. There are tears swimming at the brim of your waterline before he even explains it.

"They're for your neck," he says gently. "We figured it'd feel much better to wear something that doesn't seem like you still have to heal, because you're already doing so well, something that doesn't look like a burden, something that will make you feel better about yourself instead of looking in the mirror and staring at the bandage wrapped around your neck. We wanted to make you feel pretty because you deserve so much more than what this world has to offer, Y/N. You deserve all good things that doesn't always have to remind you of your previous life because you are beyond whatever he had always told you. You are loved and cherished and there is nothing in this world would we like more than for you to know that you will never be alone. We'll always be here for you, Y/N, so you don't have to be afraid anymore."

It's a scary world.

A world that frightens you more than the sleepless nights you'd still sometimes get.

You aren't used to kindness, you aren't used to others seeing you as an equal. Heck, you were even afraid when that hybrid approached you for directions.

But to be here with the ones that have found you laying helplessly on the dirty ground, the ones that have taken you into their sweet home, cleaned you up, fixed up your wounds, fed you, allowed you to have your own room and bed, the ones that have never stopped showing you that they care. They'll always press a kiss somewhere on your body, remind you that you deserve all nice things, shower you with love and affection, and have never gotten angry at you even when you make a slight mistake.

It's as if the universe has finally allowed you to live well, as if this is destiny and that you're meant to be here with them, loved and cared for.

Sometimes you do wish there was something a little more but you know that you cannot be that selfish. You have them as this and for now, that is all you'll ever care to want.

So you push the box aside and you wrap your arms around Yoongi's neck and he allows you to climb into his lap, nuzzling your nose in the crook of his neck and allow yourself to tear up. "Thank you," you whisper.

"Oh, pretty kitten, you deserve the world."

You shake your head lightly. "I don't care about having the world, I just want you."

He meets the eyes of the others with a soft gaze. "You have us, baby."

.

.

"Do you ever want to be ours legally?"

You look between Seokjin and Namjoon who sits across from you from the coffee table and stop eating the half eaten apple slice in your hand.

It's a question you love and hate at the same time. Yes you want to be theirs legally, but that would also mean another thing. You aren't dumb, you know Seokjin and Namjoon can take care of these things because they work for the law, fighting for more rights for hybrids but you know that it won't be easy.

It will never be easy for your case.

"Won't that mean..." you trail off, eyes falling to your lap as you plop the last piece of apple in your mouth and return your hands to your lap. You chew onto the fruit slowly, swallowing thickly before looking back up at them, a little more conflicted. "It will mean having to deal with him," you say in a small voice. "It means..I have to see him...won't I?"

"No, baby," Seokjin shakes his head gently. "I will not allow him to see you if you definitely do not wish for that. He won't be able to hurt you ever again."

You curl up into a little ball, arms wrapped around your knees, head hidden halfway against it. "But he's scary," you say, voice timid with a soft whimper. "He'll think of ways to get me back once he knows I'm still alive and..and..-"

"Hey, hey, hey." Namjoon rushes to your side in a calm voice with arms circling around you. "It's okay, baby, we've got you. I promise you everything's going to be okay."

Seokjin comes to your other side. "Any hybrid mistreated by their owners are protected under the law. He will not be able to get past us, I promise you."

"How're you so sure?" You sniff as you lean in closer to their touches. "He's a powerful man."

"There's one of him and seven of us," Namjoon reminds.

"And two of us who knows the laws more than anyone," Seokjin adds.

"Have a little more faith in your freedom, baby, we've got connections too."

"I'm scared," you confess though in all honesty, you don't really have to because they can already tell. Why wouldn't you feel scared? Petrified? This is dealing with your last owner after all.

A man not worthy of being titled a human and Seokjin and Namjoon just wants the nightmares all gone at the snap of their fingers.

But they know that it will be much more than that, something more difficult.

And seeing you in this distressed state, lips whispering sweet comforts into your ears, they meet each other's eyes and there's a silent vow that they give one another.

A vow that they will fix all of this.

You're worth all of it after all and they will never give up on you.

.

.

The nights are long but the days grow longer. Insomniac. Trying to hold onto the last pieces of hope you have left in this life.

Them.

It's scary, not knowing what the outcome will be especially when the boys refuse to tell you how the case is going because all they wish is to protect you. You've told them plenty of times that you can take it, that you're strong and brave enough. But even then, they'll only pat your head and say, "I know, babygirl, but let us take care of everything, alright?"

Maybe they're right, maybe you'll go crawling back to your little hole and deem everything and everyone is scary and mean all over again, but it's even more scary not knowing anything.

Seokjin and Namjoon comes home so late and then locking themselves up in their offices. The rest of the boys hold you through it all, keeping you safe in their arms, whispering sweet comforting words to make you feel a little better.

It helps. You know you'd be in a worse condition if it weren't for them, so you allow their warmths to welcome you in.

It's just scary so you refuse to sleep, knowing the nightmares will tear you down all over again. So you stay in the arms of your sweet boys who cradles you and press kisses to your head, petting you, scratching you lightly on your kitten ears just to evoke soft purring out of you.

"Do you think we'll win?" You ask Jungkook timidly as he runs his hands through your hair with a sweet rose scented shampoo. Your fingers play along with the pink bath bubbles hoping to distract yourself but it doesn't really help. "Do you think I'll ever become yours?"

"Oh, baby," he sighs with a gentle smile curling along his lips, fingers stopping midway to press along your human ears and raise your head up. You're pouting just slightly with big round eyes that he can stare at for days if he could. Jungkook leans in, the tip of his nose touching yours, giving you a sweet eskimo kiss. "You're already ours even without the legality."

"I am?"

"If you want to, that is."

"Of course I do!" You wrap your arms around his neck, only to remember you're still in the bath soaking wet a little too late, and a cute gasp leaves your lips when you wet him. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I-I didn't mean-"

"I know baby," he chuckles, "it's alright."

You place your hands back into the water sheepishly with your cheeks rose pink. "I'm just.." you sigh, "I'm just scared, Kookie, and I'm worried about Namjoon and Jin."

"Namjoon will make sure to throw him into prison, sweetie, and Jin will make sure you are legally ours and that he won't get to you. No matter what tricks he has up his sleeves, he won't get away with this, I promise you. They'll take care of him. The laws have been readjusted to protect the hybrids and their rights. We'll win this, I know it, and it may take a while for everything to heal but Y/N," there is a soft gaze resting on his face as he goes to lightly graze along the skin on your neck.

It doesn't hurt anymore but you still like covering it up and the only times it's out there for them to see is in moments like these. A scar to remind you of what has happened but that you're healing day by day, all because of them.

"No matter how long it will take, my sweet kitten, we will never give up on you, you got that? You've got us for the rest of your life."

You smile at his words. "Is that..a threat?"

Jungkook laughs. "No, baby," he shakes his head then leans in to place a soft kiss upon the scar, "it's a promise."

.

.

"Jin!" You jump out of Hoseok's hold and run over to the man that finally emerges from his office. Him and Namjoon are always either at the law firm or stuck in their offices trying to win this case and now here he is, hopefully to take a breather. The man welcomes you in his arms and holds you up, chuckling with you greet him with kisses because you miss him. "You alright?" You ask as he sits the two of you down on the sofa beside Taehyung.

He readjusts your position to something more comfortable and you look up from where he holds you, a thumb reaching up and slotting itself right in between his creased brows.

His tired expression softens and Jin sighs with content, knowing all of this will be worth it in the end. "I'm okay, baby," he assures you.

"But we need your help with something," Namjoon says as he comes in to join the group. His arm crosses against his chest, brows furrowed, a look of discomfort as he closes his eyes for a moment of hesitation as if asking anything from you is too much.

"What is it?"

He lets out a sigh before fluttering his eyes open again and meets your gaze. "Sweetheart...can you tell us what happened?"

Oh.

You knew at some point you'd have to come clean about your past and tell them everything. Of how you were brought into his home, what happened, the details of what happened and not just the gist of everything because they know the gist. You're a hybrid who was unlucky to be bought by some cruel man like many other hybrids out there, therefore starved for days, hurt and beaten.

But that's all they know. And they can only guess what happened.

They don't know how you were hurt, how your neck was in such a condition, what horrible things he's made you do, what hurtful words he's told you, they don't know any of the details.

So are you ready?

Seokjin can feel you trembling so he holds you a little tighter, a little closer, pressing your ears against his chest for you to listen to his heartbeat because he knows it calms you down listening to the beat of their hearts. "Oh baby, it's okay. We're right here. You don't have to say a thing if you don't wish to. You don't have to revisit the past, baby. It's okay." He press kisses on top of your head, rubbing his palm upon your arm and back.

And he's right.

They're right here no matter what happens. Always here to comfort, always here for hugs and kisses or to just be the pillar you need when you want to be held, always here to listen.

They aren't like the master you had before. They listen, they care, speaking in soft gentle tones for you, spoiling you with gifts, allowing you to eat whatever and as much as you want, never scolding you for anything except for when you aren't taking care of yourself, but even then they'd promise they'll be the ones to take of you in your stead, until you learn to care for your own self.

The world is scary. Humans are scary, some more than others, some that just seems scary but aren't, most of them you may never come to trust.

But still, they're here. Right here, holding you, not forcing you to do or say anything against your will.

So you shake your head and lean back just a little, wiping away your tears, holding a hand against your heart and take in a deep shaky breath to steady yourself. "No, it's okay," you say, taking Seokjin's hand and squeezing it gently. You look up at the rest who has on the same worried expressions and can feel your heart fluttering with warmth, wanting to cry again but for a different reason. "It's okay, I trust you all."

The story is long and horrible and has you crawling in fear all over again as you relive your nightmare but they're right here for you. Even as you cry and have a breakdown, them telling you you don't have to go on, but you still go on.

For them, and for yourself.

Not everything is alright but they always make it better.

.

.

Weeks later, your ears pick up on the entrance door creaking open and Namjoon and Seokjin walks in, suit jackets draping over their arms with their briefcases just hanging on the tip of their fingers, hair ruffled and messy, tired eyes, looking oh so exhausted. They see you emerging from the kitchen floor and you greet them with a small smile just ready to comfort them into making sure they rest in between all of this mess.

Yet something feels a little different than the past days, and when you see their faces brightening at the sight of you, arms held open, you think you understand what that means.

The tears form along your waterline before you can even think of the thoughts, feet rushing at such a fast speed before you can tame yourself, running straight into their arms with sobs escaping you. And so they hold you there, laughing, hugging you back just as tightly, with sighs that indicates that it's over. It's truly over.

You're theirs now.

.

.

"You alright, little one?"

It's in the middle of the night, you're in your room head filled with thoughts as you sit on the floor at the foot of your bed, fluffy white rug underneath you, with a pretty familiar box that falls open in front of you. The rain falls hard outside, dropping against your windows, thunder crashing at one point or another, but you aren't afraid as you were before.

You welcome it, tail swaying gently from side to side. Perhaps it just goes to show how angry your last master is but even then he cannot win at this game called your life. You're sheltered in a home that will never let anything bad fall upon you. Sheltered in their arms.

When you look up, Yoongi walks in as the others follow, their eyes casting to the pretty white box you have out on display, scarfs untangled from their rolls, clashing upon one another.

You are more than alright.

"You've taken your scarf off," he takes note of your naked neck as he settles beside you. "You doing alright?"

He rakes his hand into your hair, scratching upon your scalp lightly. "How can I not?" You purr, consciously leaning in closer to him. "I don't think I'm scared of it anymore," you say, placing a hand against your neck. "But the scarfs hides the ugliness so I'm gonna keep wearing it."

"Sweet kitten," Yoongi sighs as he takes you into his lap. "Nothing about you is ugly, you got that?" He says, chiding gently.

"People will say otherwise," you pout.

They don't say anything but Jimin comes forth, putting the box of scarfs to the side, his hand holding your face. Before you can question what he's doing, he peppers kisses all over your face that has you bursting out with giggles because the sweet sensation feels ticklish.

"S-stop," you squeak but he doesn't relent and Yoongi only holds you still in his arms, refusing you to turn away and escape both their grasps.

"Not unless you say you're pretty," the younger man muse.

"Okay, okay! I..-" He lets you hold him still in front of you, faces just about an inch away. "I.." you stutter, "I'm pretty."

Your cheeks are bright pink under the light of your room from the embarrassment of saying such a thing and Jimin chuckles. "Mmh," he hums, voice dangerously low, "you sure are."

The next thing you know, Jimin's lips falls upon yours and your eyes widen, heart drumming loud and hard against your chest almost to the point of you thinking it'll probably take flight.

Your first kiss.

It isn't a peck, a small one that leaves too quickly for your liking, but even as he feels your surprise and hesitation, he doesn't stop there, not when your own eyes eventually flutters shut, and goes in to actually taste your sweet lips against his pillowy ones.

The world feels like it's stop just to allow this to happen, your head spinning in circles still not believing this is actually happening and not understanding why. But you don't pull away because his lips are so addicting, sweet and soft just as you've imagined them to be.

When he leans away a moment later, your face is flushed and Yoongi can feel the heat radiating off you.

"Ah hyung," Jungkook whines from behind the man that has just kissed you, "I wanted to go first."

Oh.

Jimin chuckles when you avoid his eyes and go to hide your face in the crook of Yoongi's neck, curling into a ball against him. "Hmm...I'm guessing babygirl likes it?"

You never knew Jimin could be such a tease.

"Come on," Namjoon sighs, "we're supposed to take things slow, clarify things first, not just go straight for her lips."

Wait-

"Wait, what?" You lean away from Yoongi's hidden shelter, eyes wide and filled with curiosity as you look towards Namjoon for answers. "What does...what did that kiss mean?"

"Shouldn't you, you know," Taehyung chuckles, "ask the one who kissed you?"

"I..-" You don't know how your body can grow hotter by the second but it does and butterflies are flying everywhere in your tummy, heart drumming frustratingly loud.

"You don't know what it means?" Jimin feigns a pout. He holds the side of your face, kisses you on the head and the temple. "You don't know, my sweet innocent kitten?" He tilts your head just a bit to press a kiss against your neck.

You think you do but no one's ever told you such words before.

"Can you..say it?" You ask meekly as you look up at him, eyes gazing through your lashes. "Can you say the words?"

His face softens at your insecurities and the tears that begins to form without your knowledge. "Oh baby," he breaths, "I love you so much."

"We all do," Hoseok says. He takes your hand as Yoongi holds you a little tighter.

"We love you," Seokjin declares.

A tear falls against your precious cheeks and their heart aches at how much you've had to suffer to finally find happiness, to finally find a home. Jimin catches it before it can drip down from your chin and wipes the trail.

Were you lucky to stumble into their paths?

Months ago you'd probably say so sitting in that bubble bath as Jimin washed you. But now you don't think it was ever a happy accident.

Perhaps Jimin was right when he said this is what one would call a serendipity. Hearts written in the constellations before the universe was even created.

And for that, you know you've found your home.

[mandoinevarro]

WILL BUY STOLEN GOODS FOR LOWER PRICE

Rule Maker, Rule Breaker: Chapter 1

Words: 8.4k 

Rating: E

Warnings: shooting, non-descriptive death, SMUT, fingering, mentions of masturbation, AND masturbation now that I remember, penetration, creampie! just general filth, gambling?

a/n: SO literally nobody asked for this, but I decided to turn NO REFUNDS into the prologue of a short series (you don’t really need to read NO REFUNDS, it’s only for context.) Anywayyys heavy feelings, heavy plot, heavy smut. Have fun. 

……………

Maker, you need to start cheating. That way you wouldn’t be in the middle of a staring contest with your cards, like you can change their colorful drawings and numbers if you only glare hard enough. You’ve never been particularly good at sabacc, but a little luck wouldn’t hurt, especially since this is the third round in a row you lose.  Duma deals the last couple of cards across the coal black table and stacks the deck, signaling the start of the game.

Well, you suppose it doesn’t really matter; you doubt your sabacc buddies have better hands. These days, everyone in Nevarro is short on luck. Luck and food and water. Others are less pessimistic: As soon as Greef Karga glances at his hand he leans back on the carcass of a cantina booth and slaps his belly. “Ha!” he bellows, “by the end of this round, you filthy gutter womp rats will have to borrow from your womp rat mothers to pay me.”

“Quit bluffing, Karga. We know you don’t have shit,” Cara mutters. She picks up her cards and pulls a face like she bit on lemon, but still the veteran goes all in, pushes forward a couple of stabilizing coils, an identity beacon you could’ve sold at a decent price some months ago and—maker—even a pouch of nova crystal dust. Nobody here is stupid enough to gamble with food, but you’re surprised that even nova has lost its worth and been demoted to casino chip status. “This place smells like shit.”

“Bad bluff, piss-poor trash talk too,” you taunt. “Looks like all that time doing business with Imperials smoothed your brain, Karga.”

“Ex-Imperials,” he corrects. The ex-Guild leader slides a few more credits to the center of his ex-cantina’s table. “We live in a jolly Republic now, didn’t you hear? You’ve been liberated.”

“Fuck ‘em.” Duma turns her head, spits on the melted floor. “Can’t eat liberation, can I?” She throws a few more worthless credits onto the growing pile of nothing. At least, for now, it’s nothing. Credits and ship parts and every other type of currency haven’t meant anything but props in Nevarro for five months, when the siege began. That whole mess with troopers and Greef and Cara was bound to bring some repercussions—aside from making Karga’s cantina look like a volcano erupted inside. For five months, Imperial forces have surrounded the planet, and for five months, food and resources haven’t been allowed inside. They won’t let up, rumor has it, until they find the culprit: one particular Mandalorian with a valuable asset. They think he’s still hiding somewhere in the planet, but you know better. You watched the Razor Crest’s fly off-orbit and leave everything behind. Everything and everyone.

“This place smells like shit,” Cara repeats.

“Not shit,” replies Duma, “ash.” She picks up a card from the deck with long fingers. “You never did explain how that Mandalorian managed to torch this place.”

Cara’s sabacc face melts. Her fingers tighten and bend her cards as she exchanges a complicit look with Greef. “Never said it was Mando.”

“Who else? I was there in the first shootout. That hunter was fierce.” Duma dons a wolfish smile, because this is how she always wins: She plays with people, not cards. In fact, she abandons her hand face-down on the table and—oh no—gives you a once-over. “You knew him well, didn’t you?” You almost want to show her your garbage hand so she doesn’t bother trying to throw you off your inexistent game.

“Swung by the store a couple of times,” you answer as casually as you can manage and pretend the most interesting book is written on your cards. “But we weren’t exactly chummy, if that’s what you’re asking.” Creeping warmth attacks your face and there’s no stopping it. Shit.

“Funny, could swear I saw him leaving your store more than a couple of times.” You feel Duma’s eyes piercing into your forehead. “Pretty late at night, too.”

“Is that so?” Cara pipes with a lopsided grin.

“I thought you two were…friends,” Duma adds.

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “you thought wrong.” Friends don’t leave friends to their luck in the middle of a fucking siege. It’s the same prickly thought that’s plagued you since you watched the Mandalorian take off triumphantly. It’s a stupid feeling. He was under no obligation to take you with him. You didn’t lie to Duma, you two weren’t friends. You couldn’t even call what you had a fling, even those require some degree of making-love-below-the-stars, quoting-passages-of-Naboo-Nights-to-each-other romance. Flings are shooting stars. No, your…thing, whatever it was, did not belong to the heavens. It was earthy. Human. It was counting credits and arguing about fuel prices or old modulators. It had weight—too much, apparently, to escape gravitational pull and fly away with him on the Crest. It was doomed to planets, both feet planted on the ground.  

Still, you remember times when earthy was good. There was never anything airy or celestial in the way he’d take you. The shoved clothes, the harsh grunts, the rough hands, the pleasure, it was all palpable and primitive; earthy was dirty. Your furtive encounters had beating heart of their own, and there was always hard evidence left behind in case either of you ever needed a reminder: marks on the skin, ripped clothes, stained bedsheets. The bruises he left always took too long to heal, as if his touch enhanced your mortality, made you more human. Stars, those moments are what you miss the most. Five months is a long time to be neglected of touch—six, actually: five months since the siege, six since he last came to you. Earthy expires.

It’s not like there’s nobody in the planet willing to help you soothe your needs; quite the opposite, actually. Lately, it seems like handjobs are the new Nevarran handshake. Just last week you caught Cara feeling up some pretty market girl in an alley. You saw her, she saw you, you rolled your eyes, she grinned and got back to work. You were almost offended. Everybody’s screwing their time through the siege, while you’re left with nothing but reruns of filthy memories with the Mandalorian. You just know nobody but Mando will do. You replay your moments with him like a sad, mental porno on the nights you spend trying to get yourself off. Trying and failing, like having to put out a fire by spitting on it, because the only person in the galaxy with a hose is too busy playing hero lightyears away.

“Last round. Place your bets,” Karga announces and pushes a few more trinkets forward. Cara follows, and you pat around your pockets for something to lose. It’s all just rusted metal anyways. Only…shit, the last three games drained you. And Duma reads it on your face like you’ve got “BROKE” written all over your forehead.

“All out, huh?” She reaches down the table for her bag and drops a beskar pauldron on the table with a thud. A Mandalorian pauldron.

Cara purses her lips and balls a fist, but Greef shoots her a warning look. As if cantina brawls could make this place look worse.

“Still can’t believe you didn’t take anything that day,” Duma continues, shaking her head. “Regret it?”

“I’ll regret it,” you answer and go fish, as if a new card—the right card—could fix a life’s worth of bad luck, “when you learn how to chew beskar.” That earns you a signature “Ha!” from Karga and a cocked eyebrow from Duma. She can arch her eyebrows all she wants, but that much is also true. You don’t regret leaving the Mandalorian covert empty-handed.

You were the first on scene that day. After the smoke cleared, the remaining imps left to lick their wounds, and the Crest flew away, you went to check on Karga’s child, his pride and joy. You were met with a gruesome scene. The cantina, Nevarro’s most sacred landmark, had been reduced to its black skeleton, third-degree burns all over, gone. It sounds dramatic, but the cantina used to be the closest thing to a place of worship on this planet. God Booze was dead.

You kicked around the bar’s guts, until you found a gaping mouth on a wall, leading down, down, down into Nevarro’s entrails. Finding purgatory would’ve surprised you less than what you stumbled upon: an underground tunnel, an abandoned covert, and a sinister, unguarded pile of Mandalorian armor. Stars, it would’ve been so easy. You could’ve hoarded the spoils and stashed them away for better days. That amount of beskar could’ve bought you a one-way ticket out of this dumpster and an early retirement. But when you lifted a helmet, it stared back. It was blue and definitely not his, but Mando was all you could think of while you studied the helmet’s unique curves and creases. You heard his exasperated sighs when you got on his nerves, his moans when you’d touch him. And you just couldn’t do it. You sat back and watched as this skughole’s scavengers crept into the tunnels to pillage. Easy as that, everyone in Nevarro but you and Cara now has a beskar toy or two. Soon enough, this planet will house the wealthiest corpses in the galaxy if the siege is not lifted before reserves run out.

Karga clears his throat. “Well, ladies first. Let’s see those cards.”  

Duma ignores him. “You know,” she tells you, “I’ve more beskar than I know what to do with. I’ll trade you a vembrance for a couple of ration packs.”

“And what am I supposed to do with a Mandalorian vembrance, play dress up?”

“The cards,” Greef urges.

“You’ll be rich.”

You snort. “The rich don’t starve.”  

“Give me a break, we both know you’ve got portions to spare.”

Elbows on the table, you lean forward and closer to Duma. She sniffs weakness like a Corellian hound, and if you falter she’ll sink her fangs. “I’m not interested in your fucking loot.”

“Cause it’s stolen? You never had a problem with that before.” She mimics your move and leans closer. Karga fiddles with a coinage of calamari flan, like you’re both Canto Bight slot machines and he’s trying to decide where to put his money. “What, did you grow morals all of a sudden? Or maybe, you’re too worried of what your Mandalorian friend would think.” You flinch. She smirks. “Oh my, what would the disgraced hunter, code-breaker, cult member say—”

The tiny noise of Karga’s coinage clinking on the table is not enough to distract you from the verbal beating Duma is laying on you. But his voice—like he got the air knocked out of him—is enough to grab your attention when he murmurs, “Ask him yourself.”

Cara, Duma, and you turn to Greef Karga, who stares saucer-eyed at the window. All three of your heads move simultaneously, guided by the line of his eyesight. Outside the window, on the deserted street, stands a trooper barking orders. It’s one of those in all-black armor, the extra trigger-happy ones with a side of god complex because they think the change of color magically makes their aim less shitty. His blaster is drawn (surprise, surprise), and on the receiving end of its barrel…

Maker’s fucking mercy.

You don’t even see the blaster shot, only smoke snaking out of a hole on the shiny breastplate. The trooper plummets to the ground like his puppeteer cut off his strings: no last steps, no resistance. Now, anyone else would’ve walked away from what’s clearly worm food without a second look, but one does not become the best bounty hunter in the parsec by taking chances. A mountain of unpainted beskar looms over the corpse and kicks the blaster off the imp’s limp hand. The Mandalorian sheathes his own weapon—that blaster you’ve tweaked and polished so many times you know it as the palm of your hand—and scans the perimeter for danger.

You don’t tell your legs to move, but they don’t need the command. You find yourself trailing behind Cara, Duma, and Greef, rushing for the door. Outside, all four of you stumble and stop on your tracks to blink stupidly at the Mandalorian, the way children stare wide-eyed at soldiers on military parades. But this warrior stands grander than any Republic or Imperial officer you’ve ever seen. He’s clad head to toe in silver beskar—except for one armorless thigh that makes his other leg look even bulkier. His old armor, the one you used to shine and buff, is gone. This one you’ve only seen from afar, on that day he crashed the imps’ safehouse, and later when the battle broke out. You know it’s him, but in this new getup it’s easy to doubt. Maybe he’s a stranger. Maybe he won’t recognize you.

The Mandalorian studies each of you one by one, his hand near the blaster in case he spots any enemy faces. The hand twitches when he sees Duma—she doesn’t have the cleanest reputation around here—but she’s shocked and unarmed, so his arm relaxes. To Greef and Cara he gives short nods that they return.

And then you. He actually takes a step back when he spots you, like you pushed him square on the chest. The helmet lingers on you and tilts, shamelessly rakes over every feature like he’s memorizing you. You hold your breath. It reminds you of the day you met, that weight on your chest from knowing you’ve been seen. That’s how you know it really is Mando: Whenever he stares at you, you feel it in your bones.

You realize the moment’s dragged out for too long when Karga clears his throat. The spell breaks.

You and Mando look bashfully away from each other. You squint up at the clouds, your hands stiff on your waist in a forced, generic, looks like rain! pose. He turns to his boss (ex-boss? enemy? You never asked for an update on Mando’s most recent status in the Guild) and mutters a short, “Karga.” To Cara he’s warmer, offers a comradely clasp of hands and a pat on the shoulder. “Good to see you again.”

“You too,” Cara drawls, as she stares suspiciously between you and Mando. You squint harder at the clouds. “Didn’t expect you back during a siege, though.”

“I have to…” he spies a furtive glance at Duma and lowers his voice, “I’ve something to do here.”

Duma rolls her eyes and clasps her bag across her chest. “Don’t worry, Mando. I’ll leave you girls to catch up on the hot goss.” She strides into the cantina (probably to bag the bets, the asshole), and goes back outside.

She points at the window of a crumbling building. “Careful with snitches.”

You glance back to the window. Nothing. Jerk. Duma’s not above a made you look moment, apparently. You turn back to her but she’s already disappearing into an alley.

Cara waits until she’s gone to grab the Mandalorian by the arm. “Mando, where’s the…” she glances at you and hesitates. You fold your arms and raise your eyebrows at the veteran. If she expects you to leave graciously like Duma she’s got another thing coming. You’re actually very, very interested on the Mandalorian’s hot goss. Especially it comes with an explanation as to why he left you stranded here. Even though he doesn’t owe you one. Technically. “Y’know,” she finally says and drops her hand. “The asset.”

“On the ship. I need to get back.”

“You, my friend, need to lay low,” Greef says with a raised index. “Every imp in Nevarro will be looking for you. Maker—” he spreads his arms “—they already are! And someone must have heard the blaster shot. You have ten minutes or so until an Imperial squadron gets here. The, uh, asset will be fine.”

“The asset,” Cara exclaims, “is a ch—is…is delicate. He can’t just leave it on the Crest!”

Mando interrupts their game of taboo. “Cara,” he starts, “you go to the ship and check on…the asset. Please. I landed where I did last time. I…I’ll lay low in the covert.”

“About that,” Greef mumbles. He looks at Cara for support, but she steps back and raises both hands: You say it. Greef sighs. “They…they found the tunnels, Mando.”

The helmet crooks slowly to study Karga.  “Who’s they?”  

“Everyone. Half of Nevarro is living down there, you…you can’t go back.”

Silence.

You imagine all four of you go through the same checklist: Even if Cara didn’t already have a top-secret assignment with whatever the asset is, she doesn’t have a place of her own yet. Every week, she crashes on one of her sweethearts’ couches. On their beds, more likely. There’s no way Karga is letting him near his house, not after what happened at the cantina. That leaves…

“Stay with me,” you blurt before you can really think it through.

≈

The cramped storage room you call a home sits a story above your store. It’s four walls and only the essentials: a bed, an armchair, a table, a stove, and the only detached room is the refresher. It’s enough for you. But the Mandalorian looks like he squeezed into a dollhouse when you usher him inside and close the door behind you. He stands in the middle of the room, all fighter’s bulk and grandiose armor, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he moves. As if he’s never been here before, which couldn’t be further from the truth. The apartment may be small, but it’s so filled with memories you could turn it into a museum of your dirty escapades with him. And if you look to your right, you’ll see the armchair where he sat while I went down on him on a stormy night.  

“So,” you say and lean against the front door, “business or pleasure?”

He moves to stand to the side of the window opposite the front door and his glove moves the old washed out curtain to the side to peer into the street. The sun is setting, and the last streaks of light paint the beskar with warped yellow-orange streaks that stay as still as an undisturbed pond. So this is how he wants the evening to go: quietly and with a reasonable amount of distance between you. Disappointment knots in your stomach.

“Business.”  

You open your mouth to cut into the silence, but you’re all out of words. Maybe you’ve lost your touch. It used to be so easy to tease him, but now…a heaviness seems to weigh down on his shoulders, some heightened sense of duty. But also determination: He stands taller now, prouder, like he woke up one day and knew exactly what he needed to do and why. Whatever that purpose is, you’re pretty sure it doesn’t involve you. You’re a detour, and not even the fun kind, judging by the space between you. Maker, this man used to pounce on you. Has the siege really battered you up that much?

“Been busy?” The sudden question startles you. He’s never been one to break the ice, that was usually your job.  

“Sure.” Nope, not at all. “Store and all.” You closed the store three months ago. Turns out nobody buys equipment for their ships when they can’t fly past the atmosphere. “Plus, somebody needs to keep Karga distracted from his mourning. You owe him a cantina.”

“He told I did that?”

“Just a guess.” You move a couple of steps forward, like you’re approaching a nervous lothcat. When he doesn’t move away, you sit on the armchair, a little closer to him. “You like that flamethrower too much.”

“That what you four were doing in there?” The helmet moves to the side so he can spy deeper down the street. Always careful. “Assessing my damage?”

“No, just sabacc. Different kind of damage.” He’s making small talk. The Mandalorian, whom you’ve overheard have conversations solely based on grunts and sighs, is chatting with you. He’s not just answering out of politeness, he’s prompting you to go on, to keep running your mouth. That’s something he said once between thrusts, perched over you right on this floor: Keep running your mouth, see what happens. The memory warms your neck. Maker, not the point. The point is, before, he always said you had a smart mouth. Sometimes he’d chastise you for it, other times he’d encourage it. And you used to have the suspicion (or, let’s face it: fantasy) that he actually liked it. That somewhere hidden, beyond his pride and honor’s jurisdiction, he enjoyed the teasing and the banter, the challenge of having to deal with you. Better yet: More than once it crossed your mind that he got off on it, too. It’s been a long time, but some of that might remain. Maybe you’ll take his advice: keep running your mouth, see what happens.

You sit straighter, arch your back a bit just in case he’s watching. “You interrupted a round with your little stunt.”

“Yeah?” The helmet doesn’t move, but his hand runs up the curtain, considering. “Sorry. I bet you were winning.”

That makes you smile. It’s a dig at you. Far and wide across Nevarro, your uncanny ability to lose every single game of sabacc you play baffles locals and foragers alike. Yes, you know you suck, but the game amuses you anyways. You like the trash talk, the double-guessing, the bluff-calling. So much so that you forget to actually play. But what’s important is he’s teasing you, and that’s more than charted territory with him, a match you have a shot at winning. Okay. Game on.

“I was, actually.”

He huffs. “Don’t believe you.”

“Then I don’t believe you’re here on business.” Pause for effect. You can almost see a question mark form in a cloud above the helmet. You lean forward and lick your lips, lower your voice. “I think you missed me.”

You’re used to the helmet’s features remaining impassive, so you don’t look for clues on there anymore. Mando’s hands are more telling. You want to believe you actually see his fingers twitch and clutch the curtain a little tighter, that he takes too long to answer. That’s what trying to read him is all about—blind-guessing and wishful thinking.

“Don’t know about that. Six months and two weeks without your cons, I’m almost rich.”

Down to the week, huh? “Okay, if you want to make it about money we’ll bet on it. Twenty credits says you missed me.”

“Last time I was here you weren’t a compulsive gambler. Store’s doing that bad?”

“Last time you were here,” you coo, “there was a lot less talking involved.” You stare into the visor, and pray he can’t see the desperate hope in your eyes.

Your prayers are answered. In a way. Mando ignores you, doesn’t even look at you.  You hear your clumsy attempt at seduction buzz around him like a one-winged bee, crash into the unmoving, unmoved Mandalorian, and fall to the floor in a pointed-lined spiral. You’re so embarrassed you want to step on it. Well, that settles it. Six months is apparently enough for a Mandalorian to lose interest.

“And store’s doing fine,” you lie to try and sway the conversation away from that lame innuendo that missed its mark. He really just wants to talk, then. No big deal. It’s fine. “Nobody gambles for money anyways.”

“Then why?”

You shrug. “Why do you hunt?” He’s never told you, but you saw him chase down a bounty once. He was ruthless, sweating adrenaline and with far too much stamina to only be chasing a bag of credits. “For the risk. The thrill.”

He lets your words float for a second. “You get a thrill out of losing?”

You roll your eyes. “I only lose cause everybody knows my bluff.” That is, except you. “You need to know someone to know their bluff. Greef and the others already know me too well. You, on the other hand.” You smile. “If you and I played, I’d get to keep so much of your stuff you’d think I’m half Jawa.”

And, only then, he seems to tense. That stupid throwaway line is what makes his spine grow visibly rigid and his hand drop from the curtain to his belt, where the leather of his glove creaks with how tightly he clutches the buckle. White and blue streetlights that reflect on his armor glide around like it’s water instead of beskar, and they’re your only indication that he’s shifted slightly. Slowly, so slowly you expect his neck to creak like a door, the Mandalorian turns away from the window to look at you. He holds there quietly, and you feel ants running down your back…stars, you’re nervous. For the first time in a while, he makes you genuinely anxious.

“You’re saying I don’t know you?” he rasps under the helmet. No, not really, but if it gets a reaction out of him…

“All I’m saying,” you start, summoning all your strength to keep your voice from faltering, “is you’ve been gone too long.” You try to make it sound a bit playful, but the words come out tasting bitter when you remember the sharp little edge that’s been digging on your side. He left you here, it whispers, he left you here and didn’t bother looking back. But a heavy boot suddenly drops forward and you’re forced to stop nursing your grudge to try and predict what Mando’s next move will be.

With every step he takes, you’re instinctively swallowed deeper into your armchair, until he’s looming over you. Stars above, the sheer size of him is enough to block out most of the artificial light coming in, and you’re left to squint in the blue twilight. Maker, you don’t remember him this big, this intimidating. Five months ago you would’ve smirked and opened your legs wide. C’mon, I don’t bite unless you ask, you would’ve teased, but now…now you think maybe you are the one who doesn’t know him anymore.

But some things never change, and having him so near still makes your thighs press together. If anything, this new foreignness, the inherent threat of a bounty hunter in your home that never quite poked the right nerve before now pulls on your most sensitive areas. It propels your heartbeat on a sprint. His arm moves, and—oh, you want him to touch you.

Visor trained on you, Mando points to the floor instead. “You hide your credits here.” To illustrate (or just to rub it in that he knows) his boot presses down on the loose tile and shifts from side to side. The sharp sound it makes irritates you less than knowing he found the fox clever hiding spot you used to pat yourself on the back for. “You don’t keep them in the store because it’s too easy to break into. The security panel downstairs is broken, but the one up here works fine.”

You can almost hear his proud smirk under the helmet. There’s a reserved side to him, sure, but bastard can be arrogant when he wants to. And no, you have no idea how he found the spot, but you’re not about to admit it.

“Congrats, boy scout. You can spot a busted panel and you have flat feet. Want a badge?” Your irritation brings back some of your old snark, but you still flinch when he moves closer and his legs brush against your knees.

“You also keep expensive parts inside the stuffing of this—” he takes a tiny step forward and frames  your knees with his legs “—armchair.”  Your blood freezes at his words, but it abruptly runs hot as the city’s lava river when you realize how close he stands now. His legs press against the armchair and there’s nowhere to go. You’re cornered.

A leather glove moves close and you hold your breath, before you realize he’s only toying with the tips of your hair. But his fingers dig deeper, tangle on thicker strands and, without warning, give a short but firm tug. It’s a tiny pull, but maker’s mercy, you feel your core pulse. And then, before you can regain some lucidity, his fingers dip lower, where the tips trace a slow line down your nape. He draws featherlight circles on that spot between your neck and your shoulder that he knows makes your toes curl, and—stars, it’s just been too long—you whimper.

“Still so sensitive here,” he whispers.  

Once, this shielded man knew his way around your body like it belonged to him. You thought that part of him was lost, that he forgot, that he’d truly been gone too long. Those fears dissipate when his palm curls around the back of your neck to hold your gaze on him, while the thumb of his other hand brushes your lips. You know the drill—you open your mouth and give the orange tip some kitten licks. Mando huffs: You can do better than that. Maker, it should be a red flag, how quickly you comply. That urgent need to please him that had never, ever felt so crucial. An O forms in your lips before you can stop them, and his thumb pushes down on your tongue deep and deeper. You should play hard, make him earn it, bite him. But his finger starts to retreat and you panic—no, he can’t change his mind, not now. You seal your lips, trap him inside your mouth and suck. But his grip on the back of your neck grows beskar stiff, and he forcefully removes his finger…only to glide the spit over your lips. Just like that first time.

The visor looms closer to your face, and you catch a ruptured sigh, the pleasured kind that these four walls know so well. If Mando wasn’t holding you down, your chest would balloon with satisfaction and you’d float. His thumb trails down your throat, wetting its path and no doubt feeling the vibration when you chuckle. He cocks his head to the side in a silent question.

“You owe me twenty credits,” you explain, your breath clouding the helmet’s surface. “You did miss me.”

Mando crouches lower, where his helmet brushes your nose, and gropes the tops of your thighs with those wide palms you’ve been dreaming about for weeks.

“Yeah? You like bets?” You’ve never heard his voice so coarse, scratchy like week-long stubble. Did he change the settings of his modulator? Or is it just rash, pent-up need? “Then thirty credits says you’re fucking soaked.” His fingers butterfly higher up your thighs, almost at the apex. Your legs jerk.

“That’s cheating,” you gasp.  

He takes one glove off and settles the covered hand on your hip, while the other disappears between your legs until—stars—he cups your core through your pants. You mewl and he hums when he feels the hot, damp fabric.

“I still win.” He presses the heel of his palm right into your clit and grinds it back and forth. Oh, if you thought you were wet before. The pressure, the friction, him—it all scalds you from head to toe like a fever, but you chase it, greedily push your hips into his palm. His fingers flatten along your slit and grope you tighter. “Gonna pay me? Doesn’t have to be credits.” He pushes viciously into you with that wide, hard palm, preening at the little gasps that escape you. Whimpering, you let your eyes fall shut and focus on something sprouting in your belly. Stars, you’re close—how the fuck are you so close already? It must be all the repressed desire, all that time. Fuck, you’re close—

The Mandalorian halts. You’re eyes flash open to see him straighten and step back, take his other glove off to stuff it snug between his belt and his hip, and remain still as a building. Still catching your breath, you study him head to toe, scanning for a sign of what went wrong. He’s clutching his belt, his stance is too smug. This isn’t him fighting temptation, he’s toying with you. Maker help him, you’re going to kill him. Some corner in your brain reasons that it’s kinda fair, as payback for all the times you messed with him. But in the forefront of your mind pulses the climax he just denied you, cast aside and angry.

Before you know what you’re doing, you push yourself off the armchair. “You—”

Mando beats you to it. A hand on your shoulder and a vembrance across your chest, he lunges forward and slams your back against a wall. He hovers over you, tightly pressed against your body. A fleshy, hard bulge covered by his pants throbs against your belly. Of course. You forgot how much he likes it when you look like prey; how much he enjoys the hunt, whether he admits it or not. The hand on your shoulder trails down to cup your breast. You squeeze your eyes shut and let out a shaky exhale.

“You need it bad,” he breathes as his fingers massage your chest. The movement shifts the fabric of your tunic, brushing it against your nipple. You roll your hips to try and stimulate him, to show you’re not the only one worked up. His erection twitches and you smile.  

“You—mmm—you’re projecting.” You grind again to prove your point, but he catches on to what you’re implying and retaliates by shoving his hand inside your cleavage. Stars, you have to punch down the moan surges up your throat when he pinches your nipple.

“You missed this,” Mando hisses, and whether he’s trying to convince you or himself, you don’t know. What you do know is he’s plotting to settle this stupid inkling of a bet in his favor. He wants you to admit you missed him so he doesn’t have to. You know, because it’s exactly what you are trying to do.

You sneak your hand down his torso, aiming for the hem of his pants—but before you can get even with him, he crushes his hips against yours and traps your palm between them. And he’s not done—he wedges his thigh between your legs and rubs it up and down, drags your clit just right. Your mouth gapes in a silent moan as white hot pleasure lights up your spine. You want to get away from it but, maker, his forearm is still stiff against your chest. Even when you grab the vembrance with your free hand it doesn’t budge. You’re trapped between him and the wall.

“Can take care of m-myself just fine,” you croak as a last attempt to hold on to your dignity. “At least when I’m alone I don’t have to fake any orgasms.”

Yeah, it’s a low blow. A dirty fucking lie too, but desperate times call for desperate measures and all. Good news is it gets you a reaction—he immediately stops moving, as if your words punched him off balance. Bad news is you hit a nerve—his breathing becomes harsh like a bull’s, so much so that you expect clouds of smoke to come out from under the helmet. The Mandalorian creeps closer to your face and his forearm digs deeper into your chest. There’s a promise of danger in the dark visor that makes your pulse race, and a primitive instinct blasts emergency sirens. Maker, this won’t end well for you.

Just as you’re about to backtrack and whisper you didn’t mean it, Mando lets go of you—only for a split second, before he grasps your shoulders and turns you around to push your front into the wall. You jerk back on instinct, but he flattens a palm between your shoulder blades and squishes you right back against it.

The helmet rests right next to your ear when Mando growls, “You expect me to believe that?” His hands drop to your hips as he replaces the pressure on your back with his chest. His body weight holds you in place, and he rocks the hard outline of his erection along your ass. “That I don’t make you cum, you little fucking—” You curl your back as much as his body allows so he can stroke himself tighter against you. He groans and kneads your cheeks, moves the flesh in tandem with his thrusts. “I shouldn’t let you tonight, t-teach you a lesson.”  

The mere suggestion feels devastating enough to let a pathetic whine tumble from your lips. Before, you could’ve turned this into a game, held out a little longer just to watch him break first. But you’re too pent up, too desperate, too sick of waiting. Your fingers hook on the hem of your trousers and push them down. Mid-movement, he traps both of your wrists in one hand and keeps them pressed against your lower back, while the other one gets your pants the rest of the way down, underwear too. You barely have enough time to step out of them before his free hand reaches between the apex of your thighs. You’re sticky, leaking around his fingers, and pushing back against his crotch like you’ll drop dead if he doesn’t fuck you.

“Fucking wet, fuck…” he mutters. His fingers follow the heat and your pussy clenches around nothing. Stars, if he just moved higher, a little higher where you’re hot and soaked and throbbing for him. But he takes his sweet time, molds the inside of your thighs like clay, pulls the flesh, squishes it together, until you’re writhing against him and leaking down your leg. Your vision blurs. “Can—can I…?” He lets his index finish the sentence, teasing at the edges of your outer lips.

Even with the side of your face against the wall, you manage to nod. “Yeah,” you breathe.

Two fingers slide around your folds and you gasp. Mando moves slowly, collecting your arousal and coating his fingers. Your breath catches when the tips finally push into your entrance—only a fraction before they slide back out, so the rest of his palm can cup along your cunt and drag more slick behind it. He’s strategically avoiding your clit, though, and with both arms behind your back and at his mercy, you can’t reach for it yourself. Fuck, you…you only need to hold on a bit more, he’ll get bored of his game soon enough. That’s it, just a little longer. You waited six months, no way he’s making you beg after a few minutes of teasing.

The Mandalorian eventually pulls his fingers away from your thighs and curses under his breath. You hear the familiar rustling of fabric and a divine zip that fills your eyes with tears of relief. Fucking finally. You brace yourself and relax your pelvic floor in preparation, but it’s barely necessary—you’re so ready for it. Your cunt is open and weeping, he can just slide it in. All this time, with nothing substantial inside you, your lower muscles pump and twist painfully with demanding want. Even with his size and in this position, you’re so turned on he might even be able to bottom out. Fuck, he doesn’t have to move much, a few good pumps and he’ll have you cumming, easy. Stars, what’s taking so damn long—

A modulated, battered moan and a wet noise make you turn your head over your shoulder and look for the source. The low light makes it difficult to make out shapes, but there’s no mistaking what you find below you. Hand wrapped solid around his cock, Mando is jerking himself off. With your cum as lubricant. While he treats you like a piece of furniture he’s only gripping for support. A chemical cocktail of lust mixed with fury spikes your blood.

“Is…wh-what are…what the fuck do you think y-you’re…”

“Say it,” he spits between his teeth, “say you f-fucking need me.”

No, no fucking way. As much as the words burn on your tongue and your clit tugs and begs, you’re not saying it. He left, not you. You waited for him. You turn your head as far back as your neck allows without snapping a ligament and look straight into the visor. And pointedly curl your lips inside your mouth, sealed.

Your act of rebellion lasts a good ten seconds.

“You’re so fucking difficult,” he snarls. He stops tugging on his cock, and for a moment you hope he might indulge you, push into you and stop the masochist torment you’ve talked yourselves into. But when it comes to Mando and you, it’s never that easy. Still not releasing your wrists, he grabs the base of his cock, glistening with your stolen juices, and rubs it up and down the swell of your uncovered ass. You gasp, let your lips part and your gaze fall to where he’s rubbing up against you and refusing to push inside.  

He's not going to last long. Swollen and a strangled purple, the head of his cock dribbles warm precum and smears it on your lower back. The veins on his length throb against your ass, and stars, they’d feel so much better inside you. The Mandalorian’s grunts and groans ring more frustrated than lost in pleasure; it’s not enough for him either. He’s torturing you and himself just to prove a point, while you refuse to speak the magic words just to keep your pride. Desperate tears threaten to spill, but you shut your eyes to push them back. Either of you could put an end to it, right now. Maker, it’s on the tip of your tongue: I need you. Spit it out, end it. I need you, Mando, I need you, do whatever you want with me. It doesn’t matter that you abandoned me in this shithole, that you discarded me like faulty equipment, that you didn’t even have the decency to tell me—

The thrusting stops. When you open your eyes, you find the visor fixed on you, cocked slightly to the side, like there’s writing on your face. Mando’s grip on your wrist softens, his frustrated panting slows. Maybe he sees the unshed tears, or maybe your face really is that transparent, because he takes pity on you. Gentle palms on your shoulders, he turns you around to face him.

Night has fallen. Fragments of fluorescent light pour inside through your worn out curtains and give the helmet a fuzzy silver halo. The rest of the armor is shiny black, smudges of light here and there. His head moves around the features of your face, one by one, taking its time. Showdown’s over. He’s not playing a game anymore, not trying to get you to break, he’s just…studying you. Staring his fill of you farewell-style, even though he just came back. It hits you that you don’t know how long he’s staying this time. You open your mouth to ask, but stop yourself in time. If he leaves, he leaves. He doesn’t owe you any explanations.

But when he curls an arm around your waist and holds you against the wall and his cold breastplate, it doesn’t feel like goodbye. It feels like old times—pre-siege, pre-battle, pre-everything—when he confidently grabs your left thigh, sinks his fingers into the plump flesh, and hooks it on his lower back. You drape your arms around his shoulders and hold him closer. You’ve always liked the bulk of him against you, it makes everything feel more real. Buried on the crook of your neck, you hear him sigh when he lets go of your thigh and blindly searches your cunt. With your leg around his back you’re completely open for him, so it takes him no time to find your bud. He presses against it and rubs it in slow but tight circles that make your legs cramp.

You push down on him, demanding more. He groans and complies, inserts one finger and continues rubbing on your clit with his thumb. Maker, this has no right to be so good. He’s doing pretty much the same you’ve done to yourself these past months, but with Mando there are never any ghost sensations, no what ifs. It’s all here and now, and you swear you feel the pleasure of his fingers picking up speed in every corner of your body. He has you moaning and rocking your hips, dripping down his hand, and when he starts rubbing you harder and tighter, you finally whine a tiny, “Please.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t need to ask what you want, but he moves his helmet to look at you square in the face, check if you mean it. You stare droopy-eyed into the visor and nod: yesyesyesyes. Mando groans and grips you tighter. Maker, he’s right, you need it—need the bruises, need his cock, need all of him.

“Fuck,” he breathes. His hand leaves you to grab his cock and guide it to your entrance. He moves it around your lips and brushes his tip against your clit as he looks for your hole in the dark. It doesn’t take long for the head to poke right outside where it needs to go. “Fuck, I don’t—don’t think I can hold back, don’t want to hurt you—”

“Stars, please,” you whine, “I want it rough.” You want it more than rough. After six months, you want it fucking depraved, but neither of you is going to last long enough to make it elaborate. Maker, you don’t care. Right now, you don’t care for risky positions or clever techniques, you want him.

He groans and pushes inside—only the head, still testing, but your walls immediately grip him tightly to hinder any attempts to move away. That’s not what you should’ve been worried about. Fingers tight around your waist, Mando pulls you down as he pushes up. Stars. The brutal thrust reaches the end of you and then some more. Fuckfuckfuck. The dull bam of your skull hitting the wall is suddenly drowned by a slicker, filthier sound coming from between your legs. His length begins to pull out, your pussy complains the whole way, and you can almost hear the Mandalorian gritting his teeth through the sweet torture of feeling you squeeze around him…and thrust back up—harder. He likes the pace and sticks to it—fast, rough, deep, repeat—while you make sounds like you’re choking on air. Stars, it has been long. Long enough to partially forget his size, his fucking girth, currently filling you to the brim and punching high little sounds from your throat.

“Mmmando,” you sob.

Mando groans in response, snakes a hand down to your clit and rubs with the same wild abandon as his pounding. Maker, your memory was never this fucking good. No matter how many details you recalled, there’s nothing compared to the real, human meat of his cock pulsing urgently inside you, hitting your cervix, making you whine. Nothing like his fingers around your waist, or knowing there’ll be bruises tomorrow. The pleasure has teeth, carries a painful bite, but it’s exactly what you need. That tangible grit in his thrusts and his fingers is the missing piece. Your muscles start cramping, you pull him tighter against you—Maker, right there, you can feel it. It reaches your head and makes you dizzy, sheds light on some hidden, shameful words.

“Mando, I…”

“I—fuck—I n-needed this,” he grunts and brings his hand down to feel where his cock is inching out of you, like he has to double check it’s actually happening. Thrust. “Used—used to d-dream about you.” Thrust. Three fingers now push into your clit and draw frantic shapes. You clench your jaw, feel the hot tide in your belly rise faster. Thrust. “Wake up so f-fucking hard—cum in my pants.” Thrust—thrust—thrust.

Maybe it’s his words, maybe the rough pace, but something holds a flame to the dynamite building inside you and it explodes. Maker, your head’s going to burst. You moan long and deep into the spot Mando’s ear might be. Your legs shake, your arms cramp. Months’ worth of frustration gush hot and wet around him, as he babbles encouragement: There you go, just like that, make it fucking good. Your walls are still fluttering, your ears are still ringing, you haven’t even ridden out the last of your climax when his hips pick up the pace.

“Let me—let me cum inside,” the warrior pants, “let me f-fill this cunt…I—I haven’t since—fuck, I didn’t—”

“Yes,” you gasp, “yes, please, Mando, cum, cum inside—”

There’s no space left between you, but Mando finds a way to squish you tighter against him as he pounds into you for a few last moments, until you hear a strangled grunt, and a half-forgotten warmth pools inside you. The extra lubrication drives his last thrust as deep as your body allows. A few more lazy thrusts inside you, short and stunted as you take his load inside you, before he stops. A warm string trails down your leg, and—stars, he’s leaking out. How much did he cum that it didn’t fit inside you?  Fuck.

You take turns panting, whimpering, listening to each other’s heartbeats slow to a semi-normal pace. The Mandalorian moves away from the crook of your neck to meet your glossy eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but you think will. You can almost hear his mouth opening, words boiling and rising in bubbles up his throat—

Zium!

It’s your imagination. It’s your ears ringing from that orgasm, your mind making stuff up. But. You could swear you saw a red flash glade right past your cheek. And from the way Mando’s helmet cocks to the side, you know he saw it too. You turn your heads in unison, to see smoke coming out of a hole a breath away from your ear. It takes both of you too long to put two and two together, and—before he can pull out—more of those red flashes are raining down on you.

…………

Edit: Chapter 2 let’s goooooooo

Taglist: @rosetophighlander​ @hellomothermoon @newyorksins​ @leo-moon​ @benedrylcumbersnatch

[ncssian]

A Favor: Part Twenty-One

Nessian Modern AU

Masterlist

a/n: as someone who is physically incapable of reading fics and other long tumblr posts line by line and word for word, i think it’s so fucking cool that a bunch of you regularly, excitedly read what i post. i would not blame you at all for skim reading. thank you.

***

The majority of Cassian’s life was spent battling with the fact of his own existence. First he was fatherless, then motherless, then homeless. Being taken in by Rhys’s parents, who bought him nice clothes and nicer gifts, was like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. It couldn’t change the questions that made up Cassian at his core: was he equal to everyone else in this world, or had he been born inherently inferior? Did he deserve the same happinesses that his friends so carelessly reaped, or should he step back and know his place?

The older he grew, the more he grappled with those questions—until the night he learned who his father was, and the truth behind his existence. That he was likely a product of rape. Nearly driving himself drunk off a mountainside in Monte Carlo was enough to make him realize with a startling clarity: he couldn’t keep asking himself the same questions for the rest of his life. At some point, he was going to have to buck the fuck up and make his peace with the world, whether he believed he deserved to be in it or not. And though it might have taken him a while to reach that conclusion, Cassian can proudly say he did it. Not long into his post-college years, Cassian finally grew up.

By twenty-seven, he was secure enough in himself and his place in the world to not have to deal with those doubtful voices every waking minute. His life was figured out, and his ego was unshakeable. Until Nesta Archeron entered the story.

Now at twenty-eight, Cassian is again unsecured—this time in a less tragic but more confusing way. Because everything he thinks he knows about himself, about life, she insists on proving wrong.

Including the issue of celebrating his birthday.

“I feel like I should have asked this earlier,” Cassian mutters to Nesta as they stand in the cozy resort lobby, “but why is Az here?”

Nesta looks both humiliated and resigned when she mutters back, “He wouldn’t pay for the resort unless I let him come with us.”

“At that point you should’ve just let me pay, babe.” He watches Azriel’s back as he chats up the lady at the front desk while getting their room keys.

“On your own birthday? It would have ruined the point,” Nesta says.

Cassian doesn’t retort that having his brother present at their couple’s retreat also ruins the point. He’s sure she already knows.

Nesta’s reaction when Cassian told her that he didn’t celebrate his birthday was unforgettable.

“No one in our inner circle really cares about birthdays,” he had shrugged. “Feyre’s birthday is the exception because she’s sort of the outsider, and Rhys will find any excuse to worship at her feet. But the rest of us? I don’t know, it was never a big deal.”

As someone who’s never skipped a birthday once in her life, even when she was isolated and ignoring her family’s phone calls, Nesta took this as a personal offense. “I need to get you out of this cabin,” she stated.

Which brings them here, to Colorado’s finest ski resort situated high in the Rocky Mountains. The lobby is littered with overstuffed armchairs and a crackling fireplace, and huge windows look out over the blinding white mountains.

Az starts heading their way, key cards in hand, when Cassian suddenly turns to Nesta. “We need to find him a woman,” he whispers.

“What?”

“We can’t let him third wheel with us for the whole weekend. We’ll never get time alone.” Cassian is set on this new plan, already scanning the lobby for women around Azriel’s age.

“I agree, but—”

Azriel reaches the two of them, tossing a room card to Nesta. “You can stop talking about me now. I’ll be spending most of my time hitting the slopes.”

Cassian and Nesta mumble a halfhearted, “We weren’t talking about you.”

He narrows his eyes at them. “Uh-huh. Just remember whose credit card this is going on.” Picking up his ski gear and duffel bag, he turns for the elevator.

Nesta frowns up at Cassian once Az is gone, more adorably than she probably intends. “Do you think he’s upset?”

He scoffs. “We should be upset at him.” He doesn’t want to have to worry about his brother while he’s on vacation, and Az definitely wouldn’t want him to worry either, but it isn’t something that can be helped.

Despite his irritation, he might go skiing with Az later this afternoon. Just to keep him company.

***

Nesta will give it to Azriel—he’s a man of fine taste, and also generous with his spending. She originally wanted a normal room for her and Cassian, preferably the cheapest one, but Az went behind her back and upgraded them to a fully decked out penthouse suite.

“This is too much for just a weekend,” she tells him over the phone while Cassian is in the bathroom. “How am I supposed to pay you back for this?”

“Why would you pay me back?” he says dismissively. “I’m rich.”

When Nesta tries arguing with him, he only replies, “I don’t take money from poor people,” and hangs up on her.

Which leaves Nesta to enjoy the four-spray shower and heated bathroom tiles free of charge. By the time she comes out of the shower, Cassian has already left with Azriel to hit some slopes before dinner, though not before leaving her a note promising to teach her how to ski tomorrow.

Nesta doesn’t even get to unwrap her towel from her body before realizing her phone is ringing incessantly, all the way from the other side of the suite. Jogging over to the living area, Nesta answers Emerie’s call. “What’s up?”

“Where are you?” Emerie greets without introduction.

“At the ski lodge?” Nesta answers, confused. “I already told you, for Cassian’s birthday.”

“I know that,” Emerie hisses. “I mean what room are you in? This place is huge.”

“Wait—you’re here?” Nesta looks quickly around herself, as if Emerie will pop up from behind the couch.

“Not just me. So is Gwyn.” Nesta hears rustling on the other side of the line, and then Emerie saying from a distance, “Answer for your crimes, Gwyneth. Say hi.”

A new, clearer voice comes over the phone. “Hiii, Nesta.” Gwyn sounds weak, like she is not having fun at all.

“What the hell do you two think you’re doing?” Nesta demands.

“Well, it’s a long story and I need to see you first. Also, I have to pee. Where is your room?”

Five minutes later, Gwyn and Emerie are sitting obediently before the roaring fireplace in Nesta and Cassian’s suite.

Now fully dressed, Nesta stabs a finger at Emerie. “Explain.”

“I didn’t do anything,” Emerie says indignantly. “Gwyn barged into my place at eight in the morning and dragged me all the way here—”

“It was an emergency!” Gwyn tosses her hands in the air. “It still is an emergency. That’s why we’re here.”

“I’m here because Gwyn is scared of traveling alone,” Emerie interjects. “And driving on highways.”

“Guys!” Nesta snaps.

Gwyn makes a whining sound of defeat and drops her head into her hands. After a long moment, she speaks. “He asked if we could go to dinner together. Like, right to my face. And I panicked and said yes, because I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, but obviously I can’t do that. So this morning I cashed in my sick days and told him I was going on vacation for a whole week.” Gwyn looks up at Nesta with pleading teal eyes. “Please can we stay here the whole week?”

Nesta stares at Gwyn, feeling like her brain was just sucked dry. “First of all, who’s ‘he’?”

“Max!” She stands in her outburst. “The love of my life. The man who works on the fourth floor of the library. Do you pay attention to the groupchat at all?”

Oh yeah, that guy. “You came all the way here,” Nesta drawls out slowly, “so you wouldn’t have to have dinner with your crush?”

“It wasn’t just any dinner.” Gwyn flops back onto the couch. “It was a date. I can’t go on a date with him. First dates lead to second dates, and second dates lead to—sex.” She whispers the last word.

“Really?” Emerie frowns, not missing a beat at the mention of Gwyn’s deepest fear. “What kind of dates have you been having?”

“I haven’t been having any dates,” Gwyn says. “Why, how long do you usually see someone before doing it?”

“First date, at most,” Emerie shrugs.

“No,” Nesta steps in, sending Emerie a bewildered look. “Gwyn, you’ve known this guy for a while now. If he’s half as decent as you think he is, he won’t expect sex by the second date. And even if he does—”

“What does it matter?” Gwyn wails. “It’ll come up eventually. And when it does, he’ll think I’m a freak.”

“He won’t get a chance to think anything before I kill him,” Emerie says, eyes darkening.

Nesta says nothing, knowing this is something she can’t advise Gwyn about. Whether or not Gwyn chooses to share her past and unresolved trauma with another man, and whether or not that man reacts in an unshitty way isn’t something Nesta can determine. So she just states for the record, “You’re not a freak.”

“But it’s what he’ll think.”

“Then you shouldn’t be with him in the first place,” Nesta says firmly. Even though she knows better than anyone that it isn’t always that simple.

Proving her point, Gwyn scoffs and looks away. “You don’t get it.”

“What I really don’t get,” Nesta says, “is why you took your lie so literally. Why did you come all the way out here instead of hiding out at home for the week?”

“Merrill sees and knows everything. I can’t lie to her.” Gwyn cringes. “If I stayed at home, she would sniff me out as soon as she got me on the phone, and then I’d really be screwed.”

Nesta cocks her head at Gwyn, squinting her eyes in something akin to fascination.

“I had the same reaction,” Emerie pipes up. She shakes her head at Gwyn. “I’ve never met a more melodramatic idiot, truly.”

Gwyn curls into herself on the couch, looking ashamed.

Nesta sighs sharply, then whips out a hand. “Give me your wallets. I’ll go downstairs right now and see if I can book a room last minute.”

Emerie sits up at that. “Uh… I’m not sure I can afford a place like this.”

“Neither can I,” Nesta says. “That’s why Azriel paid for all of us.”

Gwyn’s eyes go comically round. “Azriel’s here?”

“Unfortunately.” She snaps her fingers at both girls. “Credit or debit, now.”

“So… I’m assuming we can’t just share this huge suite with you guys, huh?” Gwyn says hesitantly.

There might be actual flames in Nesta’s eyes. This is Cassian’s birthday, goddammit. Cassian, who hasn’t celebrated a birthday since he was eleven. “Please don’t push me.”

Gwyn and Emerie, very reluctantly, hand their cards over to Nesta. Emerie hands over two, just in case.

In the end, Nesta doesn’t use any of their money, but charges the new room to her own account. She’ll work it off by putting extra hours into Night Court, she tells herself.

When she returns to the penthouse suite, she spies tracks outlined in melted snow at the doorway. Shit. She barges inside to find Cassian and Azriel standing in the middle of the living area, with Emerie looking awkward on the couch.

“Uh, we just got back—” Cassian starts.

“I can explain,” Nesta interrupts.

A faucet turns off in the distance, and Gwyn peeks her head out of the bathroom door.

“Oh, shit,” Azriel says in delight. “Freckles is here too?”

Gwyn looks like she’s about to turn right back around to the bathroom. Nesta and Cassian both throw Az a baffled look, but Nesta says, “I can fix this. I’ve already fixed it.” She goes over to Emerie and hands her a key card. “You and Gwyn are going to stay on the first floor, and you won’t bother me or Cassian for the duration of our stay. It’ll be like you’re not even here.” She whips toward Gwyn, who still hovers near the bathroom doorway. “And at the end of this weekend, you’re going back to work like the adult you are and taking care of your shit.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Gwyn says quietly, lowering her head.

Cassian comes over to Nesta, whispering, “So, you didn’t invite them to keep Az company or anything, right?”

“I can hear you,” Azriel says.

“Of course not,” Nesta whispers back. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“Really? Because I thought it was kind of convenient—”

“I can still hear you,” Az repeats.

“So can I,” Emerie nods.

“Shut up,” Nesta hisses at the both of them. Grabbing Cassian’s still-gloved hand, she drags him upstairs and away to their bedroom. When the door shuts behind them, she turns to him and blurts, “I’m so sorry.”

Cassian only laughs, taking his ski jacket off and brushing away the wet snow from the back. “I’m not.” He tosses his jacket and gloves over a chair and approaches Nesta, tugging her closer by her oversized turtleneck. “And what did I tell you about wasting your apologies?”

Nesta doesn’t care. “I ruined your birthday.”

“My birthday’s not until tomorrow,” he says with a straight face. “But honestly, I like this a lot more than just you, me, and Az. At least he can’t third wheel anymore, right?”

She shakes her head insistently, frustration boiling in her blood. “Everything’s going wrong.”

“But you solved our problems.” He finds Nesta’s clenched fists and unfurls them with gentle hands. “You got the girls their own room, and now Az can be distracted with those two. We can still be alone. We win.”

Nesta purses her lips, unconvinced, when Cassian adds, “But seriously, though—what the fuck are they doing here?”

She exhales deeply, letting her head drop forward onto Cassian’s chest. “I don’t know,” she mutters. “Gwyn panicked about some personal stuff and thought it was a good idea to come to me. I don’t want to make her leave, though.” Gwyn is being stupid right now, without a doubt, but Nesta won’t abandon her. Neither will Emerie.

God, having friends sucks.

Cassian threads a hand through her loose hair and hums. “Gwyn was smart for coming to you.”

***

Dinner is held outside in the snow and cold, but everyone bundles up and sits down at a table that surrounds one of the multiple fire pits in the courtyard. Cassian convinced Nesta to let Gwyn and Emerie hang out with them for the weekend, because what else are those poor girls supposed to do, and now the women babble over each other as they decide what to drink.

Cassian sits back and takes it in, the sight feeling heartwarmingly familiar and strangely brand new at the same time. Nesta ends up being the one to order everybody’s drinks, and once the waiter scampers back inside, Gwyn releases a terse breath. “Sometimes I still get scared of that tone.”

“I’m always scared of it,” Az mutters, eyeing Nesta from the corner of his eye.

“What tone?” Cassian laughs. He knows Nesta is still a little wound up from her plans going off the rails, but she hasn’t done anything scary.

“I’m used to it,” Emerie says through a mouthful of fries, “but I think that waiter almost cried.”

“That’s how I sound all the time.” Nesta shrugs, sitting back.

“What tone?” Cassian repeats.

Nesta clicks her tongue impatiently. “You know how I talk. I’m straightforward.”

“And harsh,” Azriel adds. “Even aggressive.”

“Watch it.” Gwyn turns stern eyes onto him over the fire pit.

“I have no idea what you all are talking about,” Cassian says. He turns to Nesta. “You sound perfectly normal to me.”

She narrows her perfect brows at him, and Emerie laughs, “I don’t know if that’s romantic or ignorant.”

But now that they’re discussing it, Cassian does distinctly remember Nesta having a sharp edge to her words while they were getting to know each other. Did it disappear over time, or has he really stopped noticing it?

He doesn’t get to think about it before their drinks arrive, followed soon by a dinner of fancy sandwiches.

Cassian cuts his beef sandwich in half and gives the other half to Nesta, and she does the same with her turkey sandwich. They eat and drink around the crackling fire, laughing and talking about tomorrow’s plans (“It’s not your birthday, Azriel,” Nesta says. “Stop asking about gifts.”). Cassian and Emerie talk idly about video games over wine, and even though it isn’t really his thing, he can see her excitement over it and gladly indulges it.

Once everyone is finished eating and is slightly drunk, Gwyn pulls a small sleeve of crackers out of her puffy jacket, followed by a fun-sized Hershey’s bar and a handful of mini marshmallows.

“What are you doing?” Nesta says.

“Making dessert.” Gwyn builds a mini s’more and places it carefully on her fork so she can toast it over the fire pit. When it’s done, she leans forward even more to try to put it on Nesta’s plate. “For you. Thank you for letting me and Emerie stay.”

Nesta jumps, catching the s’more with her plate and batting Gwyn away from the fire pit at the same time. “You’ll set your hair on fire,” she hisses.

Gwyn’s hair remains safe, but now Cassian catches his brother watching Gwyn amusedly from the corner of his eye. “Can I have one?” Az says.

“I’m all out.” Gwyn says while building another s’more, refusing to meet his eyes.

Cassian and Nesta share a look, a hundred words thrown back and forth between them in that glance. She scoots her chair closer to him to slip her cold hands into his warm ones, but while the conversation carries on around the table, she leans in and whispers, “I’m not a busybody but…”

“I am,” he whispers back. “Az is being weird, weirder than usual.”

Nesta nods. “I’ve never seen him so—outgoing.”

Neither has Cassian, but before he can mention anything else, he looks up to find that Gwyn and Azriel’s seats at the table are empty. “How much did those two drink?” he breathes.

Nesta follows his gaze, seeing what he’s seeing: Azriel and Gwyn wandering clumsily around the snowy courtyard. Or rather, Az is trying to chase Gwyn down for a s’more, while she clutches her mini marshmallows to her chest and vehemently yells, “They’re mine!”

Meanwhile, Emerie is half asleep at the table.

Cassian watches as Gwyn nears the towering fir tree at the center of the courtyard and slips. Az shoots out a hand to catch her, but not before her ass hits the stone, hard. He pulls her back up, no longer fooling around, and Gwyn rubs her butt in pain.

Cassian suddenly feels Nesta squeezing the life out of his hands, and he looks over to find fury written across her face. For a heartbeat, he feels worried for Az.

“Go deal with him,” Nesta says lowly. “Before I do.”

Not needing any more words to understand, he stands out of his seat and heads out into the courtyard. He doesn’t know why Nesta thinks Gwyn needs protecting, but it makes him feel protective himself. Approaching the duo, he sees that Azriel finally acquired the leftover s’more ingredients from Gwyn.

“There’s only like half a cracker left,” Az mutters to himself, shaking the baggie.

“Is he bothering you?” Cassian asks Gwyn, who still looks grumpy over losing their skirmish.

Whipping her head to Cassian like he’s her savior, Gwyn nods furiously. “Please make him stop.”

Cassian turns to Azriel with rage in his eyes, a clear What the fuck do you think you’re doing?

But Az shakes his head in denial. “It’s not like that. Look, she’s smirking at me!” He points over Cassian’s shoulder.

When Cassian looks, Gwyn is already walking back to the fire pit, holding her bruised ass.

Az starts, “What a fake little—”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Cassian interrupts. “Yesterday you’re crying over Elain and today you’re flirting with Nesta’s friend?”

Azriel goes serious, his face turning colder than the night air. “How do you know about Elain?” he says gruffly.

“Everyone knows, Azriel.” Cassian stares down his brother, wondering if he’ll finally get him to get his head screwed on straight after these past weeks of secretive bullshit.

Azriel sets his jaw, but a muscle there ticks.

“Will you finally at least tell me what’s going on in your head?” Cassian pleads. “Because I can’t keep guessing.”

Azriel glances toward the dinner table, as if checking to see that no one is paying attention to them. Looking back, he inhales a breath. “You want to know why I left Velaris?”

Like Nesta, Azriel is not one to quickly make himself vulnerable. So there’s no blatant emotion in his voice when he says, “I started seeing her at the end of summer, not long after she broke up with her ex. And it was so…nice after every other relationship I’ve been in has gone wrong. We kept it quiet, and because of that, it was peaceful.” Azriel’s eyes meet Cassian’s twin ones, and he smirks without humor. “But you already know what that’s like, don’t you?”

He does. Cassian crosses his arms, waiting for Az to continue.

“Anyway, we had a good run. For a long time, it was mostly just sex, but I liked her. I liked her a lot.” Az kicks at the snow-dusted cobblestones. “Then Christmas came around, and Rhys found out.” His face darkens as he remembers, and Cassian stiffens, knowing what’s next isn’t good. Sometimes Rhys forgets the boundary between boss and brother.

“He didn’t say anything about it to Elain, of course,” Azriel says. “But he dragged my ass aside and gave me this huge lecture about us using each other as rebounds. Said ‘Feyre’s sister’ deserves better or some shit. I told him there was more to it than that, but he wouldn’t listen. Instead he brought Vanserra & Co. into it, like his business matters had anything to do with me and Elain.” Azriel’s eyes crinkle at the corners in a puzzled way. “So I got to thinking, ‘why would he bring the Vanserras up?’ He made it seem like such a big deal.” The toe of his boot digs a hole into the ground.

Sympathy churns alongside anger in Cassian’s chest for Azriel’s situation, anger at Rhysand for crossing that line between brothers. He’s only momentarily grateful that Rhys never tried doing something similar to him and Nesta.

“I thought she was over that other guy, Lucien,” Az continues. “But maybe she’s not, if Rhys is so concerned about what Lucien’s stepfather thinks. Anyway, that’s why I ran. Because I knew she liked me, but I also knew she didn’t love me. I didn’t want us to cause all that trouble with Rhys just to end up backed into a corner one day, having nowhere else to go because she loves someone else and I’m just a rebound. It would be awkward for everyone involved.” He scratches the back of his neck. “It’s mostly my fault, for always chasing after women I can’t have.” He finally looks up at Cassian. “When you talk to Elain, does it sound like she hates me?” The question is quiet, straightforward.

“No,” Cassian answers, voice rough. Even if Azriel wants to hide his feelings, Cassian won’t. “She doesn’t seem like she hates you. I don’t even think she’s mad at you.” Concerned, anxious, upset—that’s Elain as far as he knows.

“She should hate me,” Azriel says. “She should get pissed, burn my old clothes, and swear to never talk to me again. That’s the only way she can move on.” Maybe even move back to Lucien, is what goes unsaid.

Cassian isn’t so sure about that. Even as he feels for Az, he thinks both of his brothers should get slapped upside the head for how they’ve been acting lately. He won’t be the one to do it, but he might get Nesta to relay a message to Elain. It’ll be the same thing. “I’m sorry,” he tells Az instead. “I know I’ve been hard on you lately. When we get home, I’ll start doing better.” He claps Az on the shoulder and squeezes.

Azriel surprises him by scoffing, looking away in disbelief. “Wow, being compassionate is really a full time job for you, huh?” He claps Cassian’s shoulder back, pulling him into a sudden hug. “You’ve already done more than enough,” he says into Cassian’s ear. “Go to your girlfriend and take a rest.”

Taken aback, Cassian nods and pulls away. He’s about to turn around and leave when Az says, “By the way, I wasn’t flirting with Gwyn.”

Cassian raises a brow. “You were definitely doing something.”

Az rolls his eyes. “I’m not giving her anything she can’t handle. But in case you haven’t noticed, I have no interest in other women right now.” He makes a face. “Especially not her.”

Cassian chuckles. “I believe you. It’s Nesta you need to worry about.”

“Whatever. I’m not scared of her.”

That makes Cassian laugh even harder, but he turns around, ready to go back to said girlfriend. As he nears the fire pit, though, he finds that Gwyn is already there and cuddled up to Nesta. On Nesta’s other side, Emerie now sits in Cassian’s chair, asleep on her friend’s shoulder. He stops in his tracks.

Cassian wasn’t lying when he told Nesta that he was happy about their changed vacation plans—he believes the more the merrier, and he loves these people. Yet he can’t help but wish the two of them could be alone for just one day. Only one.

God, sometimes having friends sucks.

***

a/n: this is a two parter so next chapter we’ll finally be getting more nessian alone time

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