#I'm also too pierced to forget his pierced ears

[cannibalhellhound]

Sleeping Beauty!Tommy to follow BuckElsa because I wanted to. He's holding the crown 😼

I did both colors because pink is a need but blue looks good on him too

And he's wearing sparkly pink sneakers under it obviously 🙄

Please look at his scrunchy face

Edit: pssss Eddie is done

[tojisun]

Poor poor hockey! Simon :(

he lost and now the only thing to make him feel better is a good bj

this made me twitch so here u are my love !!!

!! comfort/smut - minors dni; hockey au; praises (in a tender way and but also in a kink way); D/s-ish; some semblance of plot ig // 2.4k words (LMAO)

the horn blows, marking the end of the game and, with that, the end of spec gru’s season.

it was heartbreaking to watch the way the boys' bodies slump, their loss descending onto them like heavy rain. the arena shakes, screams from the opposing team's fans piercing your ears, but you can't blame them, really—they won on home ice, against the leviathan of the league. it is a tremendous win for them, and a devastating loss for your side.

you feel your hand getting squeezed and you turn, looking at johnny's fiancee, seeing the way her own face is crumpled in her sadness.

"i guess that's that, huh?" she says, comforting, her voice a quiet whisper that was almost devoured by the loud cheers.

sometimes you forget that she's an athlete too; that she feels things a lot more intense than you do because she understands the grapple. the desperation. the way how everything you give and everything you put out is, at the end, not enough.

you sniffle, holding her hand tighter.

"i'm so proud of 'em," you say wetly, unable to compartmentalize your grief.

she laughs, the sound of it so empty of any humour but not any less kind.

“i am too.”

you both turn your gazes back to the rink and watch the teams shake hands with each other, the players finally amiable like they hadn’t just been tussling on ice, all sparked by the sharp tension that buzzed throughout their play.

you watch as simon takes a lap, patting the backs of his team members with his lips pursed, but otherwise he is put together. and yet here you are, shaking, lips wobbling, nose twitching because you are trying your best not to cry. it isn’t like you were the one who lost so you wonder why your heart twinges with so much pain; why is it that you are the one holding back the tears?

simon turns to the crowd, roving his eyes past bodies, until they finally lock on you. his lips twitch into a smile; you give him what you hope is a big one—the type of smile that will let him know how in awe you are of him, win or not.

they skate away and you all shuffle out, preparing for the flight back home.

.

it was expected for the players to fly back home together—a semblance of normalcy even amidst the staggering defeat. it was their last attempt at showing sportsmanship; at showing the hounding media that despite the abrupt end of their season, they remained close-knit. 

simon understands it, of course. it was a media play, one that contends with the politics of the league, but it was difficult to act impartially, especially when they were making their way back, empty-handed, from the home ice of the team that had defeated them. it was difficult to not show the turmoil in their hearts, but they all managed to hold their heads up high during the exit and that was that.

they didn’t talk about it much, avoiding that last game as best as they could until the briefing, but hunger thrums in their jowls—no one was satisfied with being the second best. 

the promise of a better next season hung above them, but it is still so unreachable.

simon feels angrier than usual, unable to stop himself from taking this loss personally. like what costed them their win were only his shortcomings; like this defeat was his sole failure because he did promise to lead his team on ice, with price unable to stand as their official captain during the games. he had promised to score the most, after all, and had promised to keep the opposing puck out of price’s net, but he failed in both and, well, here they are.

back home, anguished. defeated.

he–

simon's phone rings, a quiet trill that echoes in the empty locker room. 

he shoots awake from the swirl of his thoughts, sluggish as he pulls it out of his bag. he expected it to be laswell or keller, or maybe their coach, but simon feels his world tilt when he sees your name flashing on his screen. and just like that, like he wasn’t even drowning in his self-doubt and self-hatred, simon feels like he can breathe again. 

he feels lighter, his anguish seeping out of his pores, leaving him with nothing but his flesh and his heart and his love. 

simon picks up the call, hears your voice, then he is up and running back home. 

.

there is a sense of urgency in the way he finds you, his cold body folding into the warm touch of your own. you gasped out his name, surprised at how fast you have him back in your arms after a whole season of flying and leaving and pursuing his chance at the cup—

“i’m home, petal,” simon murmurs, his voice deep and beautiful and longing, and you giggle, your eyes watering, before you nuzzle into his chest.

he breathes you in, the faint smell of ozone and rain and something distinctly flowery fills his nose, and somehow this is what grounds him, his blood spiking as desire and need fill him up instead.

and it trickles into him like wafting smoke—soft, gentle, cascading like a warm kiss. it is still intense, hungry, but it is tender. quiet. like everything about simon’s buzzed energy had transformed into this careful folding. the anger, the desperation, all of it snuffed out for a vulnerable moment.

“baby,” you begin, voice muffled from where your head is still pressed on his chest. “love, you did so well.”

he shakes, his words failing him now. 

you pull back just enough and he sees the glazed look in your eyes as you stare up at him, your lips curled in your smile. “i’m so proud of you, si.” 

his heart stutters inside the cages of his ribs, jumping, before it lodges itself in his throat. 

you giggle at his wordless tremors and press close again, your body melting onto his again, before you tip your head back to his chest but this time, instead of a nuzzle, you greet his beating heart with a kiss. one that is so light he barely feels it from his shirt, but simon feels so shaken. 

he feels so raw. 

you are holding him like he is the best thing in this world. like all his bulk and his size and his anger is still worth this softness.

“i need you,” he croaks out, unable to stop the way his feelings bloat and rage in the pit of his stomach. 

“you have all of me,” you reply, breathless, your eyes still blown open, wide and full of wonder. then they shift, turning sharper, gaining edge; still careful, coaxing, but overwhelming. “tell me, my love. tell me how you need me.”

“fuck,” simon rasps out, feeling like he’s running out of air. his fingers twitch, digging deep into your skin, feeling it mould under his touch.

he’s missed this, alright. he’s—

“mouth,” he finally manages to bite out. “wan’ feel your mouth, love.”

“okay,” you croon, kissing his pec again. “sit f’me?”

simon doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about the way he falls to his ass on the plush mattress, bouncing a little bit because of the force, before he spreads his legs open, so, so desperate. 

you have your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, canines dimpling the flesh, and simon feels like he is burning from the inside; doused with the fires of need, spark untamable, licking up, up, up.

“come on, firelily,” he rumbles, needy. “c’mere an’ kiss me.”

you huff, fond, and fall to your knees, scooting close to him. 

it was silent as you fumble with his sweats, tugging at the drawstring and grumbling when the hem gets snugged on his hips. simon chuckles, pushing your hair out of your face before he juts up just enough to give you room to slide his sweats and his boxers down.

the cool air makes him tremble and you murmur something. it was so faint that he doesn’t get to catch what it was, but his curiosity sizzles at the sight of you licking your palm, shyly with how you refuse to meet his eyes. he almost teases you, his cheeks round with giddiness, but then you wrapped your fist around his half-chub, and his sanity is razed. 

simon hisses, eyes fluttering close at the warm curl of pleasure.

jesus. he’s missed the feeling of this; your hand is softer, more supple, around his cock. it was so different from when it was his own fist rubbing himself, beating at his angrily flushed cock with desperation only for his peak to tip over mutedly, and not enough to truly satiate his hunger.

but this? fuck. 

simon doesn’t even realize he’s whimpering, his head thrown back at the curious pace of your hand, not really jerking him off but mapping along his veins almost in quiet awe. 

“‘m not gon’ last long if you–” he gasps at a particular twist. “if you keep doing that.”

“oh, no we can’t have that,” you tease, chuckling, and simon’s reply builds on the tip of his tongue, cheeky, but then you’re already moving, your back folding, your breath hitting his sensitive head.

his thighs tense in his anticipation, his stomach locking. you flit your eyes up at him, pupils blown wide in your own ragged need, before he jerks at the feeling of your tongue pressing on the underside of his cock, licking up, and teasing his leaking slit.

simon moans, guttural, his voice caught on the back of his throat. he drops his hands to his sides, fisting at the sheets as you keep licking, teasing his slit and tracing his veins, lapping at his cock so messily. 

if he didn’t know any better, he’d think that you’re inexperienced; all sloppy and curious, like you’re attempting things you’ve probably seen in porn, but then you close the ring of your mouth around the bulbed head, suckling like it’s a goddamn loli, while your hands drop to squeeze his balls, and simon’s gone. 

“shit-!” he gasps out, battling air like he’s back on ice. 

he bucks his hips forward, unable to help himself, and only stops at the warbled sound of your surprise.

“fuck,” he hisses, hand coming up to swipe the hair from your sweaty face. “i’m sorry, darlin’. didn’t mean t’force it down. s’just that y’r so good.”

he keeps petting your cheek, overtaken by his desires and no longer able to stop the string of words trickling from his heart. “missed you lots, swee’art. missed you so much—take me deeper?”

your cheeks hollow as you hum, so obedient for him.

“yeah, jus’ like that,” simon trills, his chest rising as he breathes in deeply. his stomach flexes at the feeling of you swallowing more of him, taking his thickness past your gummy cheeks and into the wet vice of your throat. “shit, baby. christ. y’feel so fuckin’ good ‘round me. so perfect an’ wet.” he giggles, drunken in his bliss. “such a messy baby y’are. so sloppy. y’wanted my cock that much, din’ya? so hungry f’r it.”

there’s a wet slurp when he hits the deepest you could allow him, your eyes rolling to the back of your skull. you choke, your body lurching in protest, but simon is at the throes of his pleasure and his rational thoughts are devoured by his gluttonous need, and simon knows it is wrong to ask but—

“hold it in? can you do that f’r me, love?” he croons, his voice curling in his euphoria.

he knows this is playing dirty; to use your weakness—the deep rumble of his voice and the gentle beckoning—to make you weak, malleable. to make you just as desperate for him because he knows all you want to do is to be good for him even when it has you straining, your eyes filling up with tears. he knows it is wrong, but he can’t help it. he wants you this way.

and you want him like this too—his desires sharpening, shaping him to be mean and dangerous. his thickness fills you up, pressing at the roof of your mouth and trapping your tongue underneath the weight of his flesh. your larynx is stretched out, stuffed, but simon is looking at you so adoringly, his own ecstasy so dizzying, so addicting.

you nod, sniffling, finally replying to his question because you want him to feel good. because you want him to lose his restraints when it comes to you.

because you want him to use you until he’s truly relaxed, his body exhausted with something beyond his heartbreak. with something beyond his loss.

simon’s lips wobble like he knows what it is you are thinking of. 

he fucks your throat that way, gentle and sometimes slipping into something so mean it makes you squirm on your knees, the muted throb of your strained legs finally turning into staticky numbness, but you don’t complain, your jaw relaxed as you let simon use you.

he growls out his praises, his words chewed on in his peaking euphoria—nose flaring, cheeks flushed red—or lilting as he teases you—pulling his cock out enough that all that is left is the head, and you whine because you want him in, please simon. wan’ more please—

“gonna cum, sweetheart. gonna cum—fuck!—gonna—”

simon throws his head back, a blinding white filling his eyes and his ears ringing. his body trembles at the intensity of his orgasm, immense pleasure overtaking every synapses in his body until all that he feels is the feverish wrap of your mouth on him.

he flicks his eyes down, panting, and twitches at the sight you make—jaw slack, eyes faraway, skin shining with a thin sheen of sweat. 

you look, fuck, you look angelic like this.

simon cups your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your teary eye. you focus back to him slowly, blinking owlishly. 

“shh,” he croons, gentle. “i’ve got you, darlin’. i’ve got you.”

a whine builds from the back of your throat and simon hums, responding to your wordless babble, trying to ease you back down from the fog. he continues to hold you even amidst his oversensitivity, waiting so patiently so he can take care of you now.

yeah, he thinks to himself as he continues to return your unblinking stare. i’m glad to be back home. 

hope this was good :'33 once again pls dont judge me for my blatant self-indulgence hhHHHHH oki oki mwah!!

[arminsumi]

˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱ i still like you

Gojo x gn!reader

Overview; rejecting Gojo in high school, but figuring out your feelings much later when he's become a teacher at Jujutsu High

Content; headcanons, angst with fluff/happy ending

Warnings; rejection talk, heartbroken Gojo 😭angsty romance

Note; call him SADTORU cuz he cryin' over u

REJECTING Gojo Satoru is difficult. The man refuses to believe that you're rejecting him.

"Huh?" is his initial response. Then he laughs. "You're a good joker. Really got me there."

He is convinced for the first few months that it's an ongoing joke. He still brings you flowers as usual. He still flirts with you in the locker rooms. He still kisses your cheek as he giggles and runs off back home, like how he's done since you two were kids.

But he slowly, very slowly, realizes that you don't reciprocate his feelings. That his passion doesn't pierce the veil you have draped over your heart.

For years he still acts as usual, but more toned down. There was a time he would smile at you, then tear up when you left. He made a playlist that ended up being the heartbreak playlist. He rejected anyone who asked him out, except for an odd few who he tried with. But that was just to try and forget you, and the impression you made on him.

Now he's become a teacher, watching over Yuji and the others. A lot of time has passed. His students were told many times about the one who rejected Gojo-sensei and when you were introduced to them, Yuji even said "Oh, the one who rejected Gojo-sensei in high school lol?" ("Yuji!!" 💢Nobara smacked him)

You sat with Gojo in his office that afternoon, drinking tea. He hadn't lifted his cup, clearly something was on his mind (er, and he also didn't like tea. But he knew that you did, so he made it for you.)

"Hey, remember when you rejected me? Well, I know this is gonna sound childish, but I held onto my feelings all these years. I still like you."

You can't believe your ears for a second. He's pushing into his thirties soon, and yet he still possesses the pure and boyish feelings from his high school years.

"It feels like as I got older with you, my crush matured. Kinda like it graduated from being a crush and became..."

He trailed off, the final word on the tip of his tongue. Those bright blue eyes teared up under his silken blindfold.

"Love." he chuckled.

"Satoru..."

"Sorry, I've just been in a reminiscing mood lately. Ignore me."

"Satoru, is it too late to tell you how much I regret rejecting you?"

He stutters. The high and mighty Gojo Satoru, who always had a cocky and self-absorbed edge, stutters.

Jokingly, he lifts his blindfold and looks at you with one eye. "You jokin' with me?" he laughs nervously.

"No, I'm serious." you tell him honestly. "I was on a different plane of existence back then. As the years went by I started wishing that I said I like you back."

His heart races. It races like it used to back in his high school days. When his crush on you first developed.

[gadriezmannsgirl]

dad!ruben plissss🥹

You ask and I deliver😌 However, I'm sorry if this not what you wanted nor expected, did this at 3am😭 sorry. Let me know what you think, please!

O Meu Pai -R.D3

Summary: Vitória is daddy's little girl and her daddy, Rúben, loves her

"Toya, c'mon baby" You spoke lightly "C'mon we've to get you ready para irmos ao aniversário da avó Bernadette!" (so we can go to grandma Bernadette's birthday!)

"Are you and Pai matching?" You smile nodding

"And so are you, dear" You kiss your babygirl's four years old hair before getting out of her closet a light blue dress to match outifts with you and your six years husband, Rúben.

You listen to her sing some children's songs as you got her clothes on her, as soon as you turned around to grab her shoes a knock on your door came in.

"Como estão as minhas meninas?" (How are my girls, doing?) Rúben asks pecking inside the room "Meu Deus!" (My god!) He gasps "You are so pretty!"

"Pai!" Vitória yelled in your ear as you were putting her shoes on

"Don't yell in mamã's ear, baby" You tell her with a small smile getting behind her to do her hair

"Sorry, mommy" She said softly kissing your hand.

You smile looking at Rúben who has a loving look on his face, whenever he tells you "Sorry" he gives a kiss on your hands or cheeks and your daughter picked up on it.

"No worries, baby" You kissed her cheek too and start working on her hair.

"Vitória, did you get your present for avó Bernadette?" Rúben asks, sitting next to her

"I did! I did a drawing for her!"

"Where's is it? Let me put in the bag so we don't forget about it"

"Right there!" She lifts her arm and points to her small table.

Rúben gets up from the floor and goes to her table to grab the drawing she made, you see the smile on his face and instantly smiled to yourself. You finished her ponytail and secured the small braid you did at the side.

"Vitória, baby. Why don't you go to the living room and play for a bit with Simba and Nala?"

"Is everything alright?" She asks seeing her dad silent

"Yes, babygirl." You say "I gotta talk to daddy really quick"

"But make it quick 'cus we're going to be late!" She says before getting out of her room.

"Just like her dad" Rúben laughs softly "Everything good?" You get up and stand right next to him

"I just can't help but think our baby's growing so fast. She used to draw the big and happy sun at the side of the paper, now she does it on the middle!"

"She's still young, Rú" You giggle "Also, she's learning that the sun comes out from one side and hides from the other, maybe she drew this in the early afternoon?"

"Or maybe she's just growing up?"

"Well, that's life and it's cyrcle" You kiss his shoulder "You're still going to be the man of her life, always. You know it, right?" He nods

"Until she gets married"

"No. You'll still be" You shake your head "But there's a long way until that happens. So let's enjoy her and her early life before she turns 18, starts brining guys home and wants to do a piercing"

"That will not happen!" You laugh kissing his lips

"You're cute. C'mon, grab the drawing and let's go. We'll be late if we stay here and missy Vitória Y/L/N Dias, doesn't like being late"

"She really doesn't"

"I'm telling you, just like her dad" He wraps his arm around your waist, pull you closer to him and kisses your lips softly

"You look gorgeous"

"And you look extremely handsome, love"

"My wife picked this outfit for me"

"She's a fashionista" You whisper before kissing him once again

"Mãe! Pai! Hurry up, we'll be late!" You open the door from her room as you both went out

"Toya, come on babygirl! Let's get to grandma's!" Rúben says before you hear a small "Finally!"

°°° °°° °°°

"A mãe e o pai estavam a demorar muito tempo!" (Mom and Dad were taking too long!)

"Guys" Iván, your brother in law says looking at you and at Rúben "Keep it in your pants"

"Jeez, we weren't doing anything!" You reply "We were actually talking about Vitória's boyfriends?"

"Do you have boyfriend's, Vitória?"

"No! They are little ugly monsters who will only infect me!" She said before running to her dad's legs

"That's right, baby" Rúben says, you give him a look but he doesn't act on it

"Boys will not infect you, Toya" Beatrix, one of your in-laws, says with a small smile

"Either way! I don't wanna be contaminated" Toya says nuzzled in her dad's shoulders, her small arms wrapping around his neck

"Jesus Christ" You mumble to yourself before taking a deep breath

"That's my girl!"

"Rúben!" All of you scolded him as he opened his eyes and mouth

"My daughter, my ways to evite her heartbreak"

"Filho" (Son) Joao, Rúben's dad, says softly with a small smile "You're just like me"

"Like father, like son" Bernadette says making you all laugh.

"Hey, Vi" Carolina asks "Want for me to paint your face?"

"No. Pai"

"C'mon, minha filha" (my babygirl) "I bet you'd look pretty with a pretty drawing and some glitter on your cheek. Would you like that?" She nods

"But I want to cuddle with you, pai"

"You behave like a good girl with your tia and then we will cuddle while watching some cartoons and eating some food mamã and avó did, what do you think?"

"Yes, please" Rúben put her down watching Vitória run towards her tia and then laughing with her.

"I think she's too spoiled by you" Your voice comes in through the now empty living room

"Nah, I don't think so" Rúben smiles "She's just my babygirl"

"And you're her pai. She definitely preferes you over me"

"That's not true" You give him a look and after some silence he answered. "She's just a daddy's little girl, that's normal"

"She is"

"I love it"

"I know you do"

"I love you"

"And I love you too, Rú" You smile

"Can we start practicing for a sister or brother for her?"

"You want another one? Right now?"

"I do" He nods "You?"

"I do" He smiles getting closer to you so he can kiss your lips "How do you think she'll react to a sibling?"

"Mad because you are hers, I'm hers and nobody else's"

"We will have to explain that to her" You nod

"But let's wait 'till baby is in the oven" You mention your tummy "once that happens we can start planning everything"

"You're getting lucky as soon as we're getting home" You laugh blushing. Thank heavens you were the only ones in the room.

"Mãe! Pai!" Toya's voice gets closer "Look at the bee, tia made!"

"You look so pretty!" Rúben says impressed "So you're the queen bee, right?"

"I'm princess Bee, mãe's Queen Bee and you're King Bee, pai" She gave you a kiss on the cheek and a kiss to her dad.

"That's correct, love" Rúben kisses her non-draw cheek. "Ready to cuddle for a bit? What do you want to watch?"

"Barbie Princess and the Pauper!"

"You always know my favorites, don't you?" Rúben asks underneath his breath as he gets into the couch finding a nice and comfy spot

"That's why I ask for them, they're our favorites!"

"We need to sing our hearts out!" Toya laughs shaking her head

"Pai, this isn't our house to yell"

"Well, I'm sorry. But we can't watch a Barbie movie without feeling it at it's fullness"

"You're right, pai; so let's sing it then!"

°°° °°° °°° °°°

Taglist: @gaviymarcsbride @stuckinaf4nfiction @elijahslover @azzpenswrld @http-isabela

[helsensm]

Can’t remember what was the premise for this and I’m too lazy to make a decent comic out of it, so just have this poorly digitalized railao doodle I found in my sketchbook, y’all can add any context you want~

I posted some Kung Lao and mk1 Kung Jin headcanons earlier, so now I think I’ll drop railao thoughts too. Nothing too crazy - I prefer to read/hear about other’s hc more than to think about them myself afgHjHh

- Raiden fell first, but Kung Lao fell harder.

- Lao did confess first tho. After the mk1 events and some chill time together they both realized that they can't stand being separated and stressed about the other’s safety.

- They used to have these red-string “lucky bracelets” when they were kids but stopped wearing them in middle school (prob lost them or because it wasn’t “cool” anymore hah). Later, after mk1 when they officially started dating, they got a pair of matching ones, as a substitute for the wedding rings. 😊 (now go find all of them on my railao art 👀)

- Right now (mk1 and right after) Raiden’s hair is longer than Lao’s, but Lao is growing his hair out so in the future he’ll be rocking that one long-ass braid we all love. 🥰 Also he has no idea how to style hair besides the ponytail and a simple braid, so sometimes Raiden will do his hair for him as soon as it grows long enough.

- Since childhood Raiden collects cool rocks he found around the village and sometimes he gives them to Lao. I suspect that Raiden is a penguin.

- When Lao noticed that the flower petals have a strange tendency to follow him everywhere, he began collecting them and leaving in various places, including Raiden’s home and school desk. After they got together, the petals would follow Raiden on their own volition every time the two are separated. 🌸

- Lao began to pierce his ears right after the school graduation and Raiden thinks he looks cool, but he did only one piercing per ear for himself much later. Although I'm starting to dig Novice’s idea that he can’t wear them because of his lightning powers. 🤔

- Raiden calls Kung Lao just “Lao” or “my Lao” (but not in a “professional setting”, like on missions or in front of people who are not considered their friends). Kung Lao loves giving Raiden cheesy nicknames.

- Lao is so passionate in his affection, he’s borderline aggressive, he kisses and hugs like it’s their last time. Raiden is more sensual and a fan of prolonged physical touch, like holding hands for the whole day.

- Kung Lao is a professional shit talker and yapper, Raiden just nods and listens. He remembers everything tho, even if it’s something ridiculous that Lao himself will forget after five minutes.

- Lao actually can cook at a reasonable level. I also think he’s very creative and resourceful and can make a decent meal from a limited number of ingredients.

- A relatively new follow-up hc inspired by this tt and personal experience discussion with D3rpy: Kung Lao eats like a vacuum cleaner and can’t stand people wasting food because when he was a kid his family had a rough few years when they could barely afford enough food. And although things have changed for the better, it’s a habit now, he’s like a stray animal - you can’t waste food when you don’t know when you’ll eat next. Also this is when he got closer to Raiden’s family, hanging out in his house more often.

[kyoghurts]

atsumu never not thinks about you.

he doesn’t think about the ways in which you charm him that it pisses him off in an inexplicably good way or that he finds you attractive and annoying when you do not tolerate his scathing remarks and stupid fucking condescending attitude and he doesn’t think of how you don’t look at his way when he wants you to and he doesn’t think of you all that bad to the point that a singular message from you makes him jump as his mind blows up the moon, that he’d send a reply much too quickly so the conversation could flow seamlessly as if time is irrelevant. because it is, when it comes to you.

no, he doesn’t think that he’d want to rip the guy’s skin who have touched you when you looked uncomfortable and no, he doesn’t think that he’s fairly certain he’s not your type. he’s all scrawny and bones and nothing— an awful mismatching colours combined as he watches from a distance and you looked so … bewitching, so fucking beautiful compared to that loser nobody— no, fuck, why’s his hand twitching and itching to grab yours right now and leave the place together?

he doesn’t think of the consequences as he bites a handful of insults and ‘fuck-offs’ to that nobody as he drags you away and he doesn’t care if you yell at him for being so rude despite the guy driving you up the wall. atsumu forgets that he's holding your hand so firm and that you've been walking towards absolutely nowhere in particular that his mind shuts off completely once everything sinks in, once he finds your silence too loud and overbearing that he'd rather listen to you babble about your weird facts of the world that are useless but nonetheless a noise that fills the space like a reassuring blanket draped over your relationship telling him you're fine. he's fine. everything is fine for the both of you to be like this.

but you're not talking, he's not looking at you, and he's squeezing your hand as if you'll run away far from him if he lets you go. he doesn't think about what he's going to say but he's too far gone to back out now, "go out with me." because he can't stand anyone getting close to you, he can't stand to watch you while you're being pretty and amazing without him by your side, he can't stand that you do not understand of his wants but it's more achingly painful to admit that he wants to be yours. in perfect absolution.

when he does turn back to face you upfront, it's like he's going get dizzy just by the sight of you smiling so smug but there's also a glowing, tiny little specks of adoration twinkling in your curled eyes and maybe even stunned amusement weaving on your grinning lips thrown into him and he can't take it well. he doesn't think your low, silvery "okay" could make his heart drop at the bottom of a well and into the bed where he wakes his cooked up feelings sizzling to life like a fire but then it does and there's no reason to hold back anymore so—

his hands immediately curl around your neck as his forehead connects with yours, he whispers against your lips "i'm gonna kiss ya now." he doesn't think how utterly soft you are more than he anticipated, and all the things you've made him into this melting and desperate dipshit flashed beneath his closed eyes like a film on replay.

he doesn't think about the time you complimented him that you like his hair after your band practice and you're wearing system of a down graphic tee with a tamed hunger in your movements, the same way after he's had really good matches and the adrenaline subdues. it's—wow. holy shit. he finds himself in awe that your compliment kind of pierces through his consciousness too hard that it never left him for days, it travels to the unconscious world in the form of him carding his fingers through his hair when he's around you, your voice in that gruff and exhausted tone as you voiced out "hey. i actually like your hair, asshole." haunting him until his ears are painted pink.

he doesn't think that it's really nice when you talk or when you don't until he's gotten close enough to be able to sit next to you without any expectations afterwards. he likes the silence, but he likes it more when you talk of none-sense, and he adds a pile of them even more until it prolongs after class to midnight calls. he doesn't think he'd feel annoyed whenever you watch a series without him, he doesn't think that osamu would notice his mood swings whenever you're elsewhere until he calls him out literally as you're done with your practice.

he doesn't think of it now. he's kissing you and your hands find their place in his hair, easing your fingers around to where it belongs. even as he parts, even as you remove your hand he still doesn't think. but he grabs it to make you comb his hair more. like it's not enough. keep going.

he doesn't think. he doesn't. no, he doesn't. but he's head over heels for you. truly, he doesn't think it'd matter anymore if he likes or hates how you mess with his head and heart. with that stupid smug smile of yours. with that awful and criminally attractive aura you carry. with the searing tongue but sweet lips and everything that you are.

(quit it, though, or he's never ever going to leave you alone now. maybe he won't. or maybe he can't with the way your arms pulling him closer in a warm and fulfilling hug at the moment. maybe you don't want him to leave you alone. maybe he doesn't think about you, or maybe he doesn't like you all that much.)

(oh. wait. he actually does. fuck.)

hello atsumu enjoyers it is i <3

[edgeray]

Heyyooo!! I was wondering if you could make an Arle x afab reader with like a beauty and the beast plot?? Arle’s curse is slowly killing her though which is why her arms turned black and the only way she can save herself (this curse could also be affecting the House of the Hearth, up to you) is if she finds someone whom she can open up her heart to and they accept her fully and love her back in return! It doesn’t have to be exactly like that but I do think having a beauty and the beast au with arle x reader would be pretty fun to see.

Cursed Human

(Arlecchino x Fem! Reader)

A/N - Hi anon! This is a super interesting AU anon! If you choose to request as an anon again make sure to give yourself a name/emoji 🫶. I actually really love this idea. This gives a little bit of hanahaki au vibes (which is something separate that I should write and have been meaning to write, ack– too many wip). This will lean more into dark fairytale and will be based off of Arlecchino's backstory. (This turned out darker than I expected, and I'm very sorry for that.)  The switch up is crazy to me. 💀 How do I pull out horse girl au, platonic au, and domestic fluff, and then this shit? I'm versatile like that, I guess. But I promise it gets better after all the dark stuff.  Content warnings / info - afab reader, pretty dark, some brief religious notions, semi-graphic details of violence, a little bit of arlevie but only ‘cuz of the angst, hopefully not forgetting something, 1.8k words

Here tells the tale of a cursed monster. 

Peruere was said to be cursed from childbirth. A child who caused misfortune wherever and whenever, it was a surprise to none of the villagers when Arlecchino was dropped off at the doorstep of Crucabena, the head of an illegitimate orphanage. Misfortune began with the death of her birth mother. Afterwards, her father was stricken by an unknown illness, quickly becoming too ill to take care of her. The first day that Peruere arrived at the orphanage, the stocked vegetables and fruits had all rotten. And the first night, every child in the same room as her was suddenly struck with insomnia.   

(The pregnancy only intensified the already ill mother  in the first place. The stress from a newborn child and the death of his wife caused him to be ill. The recent intensity of humidity accelerated the spoilage of the produce. The mattresses were far too solid, the room was far too cold, and the piercing cries of Crucabena's daughter were far too loud to allow slumber.)  

The villagers deemed her as cursed, a threat to their quaint little town. They tried to persuade the town head, a powerful sorcerer, to eradicate the hell offspring. The town head rejected, suggesting that the mere existence of a child did not warrant taking away her life. Crucabena had stepped up to the conference, easing the villagers’ concerns by ensuring that the depravity would be beaten out of the wretched child. 

And Crucabena did just as she said she would. 

“Mother” had no issue every night carving the symbol of her archon into Arlecchino's skin in an effort to exercise the demon inside of the child. “Mother” sullied Peruere's once flawless skin with bruises, lacerations, and blood. The cursed child clawed and struggled away every night, and yet every night she only knew of the pain that was etched far past the layers of her skin, carved into her bones, and syringed into her veins. 

The wretched child became very familiar with the acute sting or the prickling ache. However, there was something else she became familiar with. While “Mother" dealt her pain, what Clervie dealt her was love.

Clervie was young and naive. Perhaps if the cursed child knew better, Clervie would not be tainted.  

“Mother” did not stop even when the screams of a six-year-old child rang through her ears. “Mother” did not stop when even her other children begged her to stop her demonstrations. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter rose against her. “Mother” did not stop when her own daughter's blood spilt on her hands. 

Love is a strange thing. It can transform a meek sheep into a vengeful wolf. 

The same night that Clervie's life was extinguished, Peruere burned bright, hot enough to scorch Crucabena's life away. 

After hearing of the child's atrocity, the town head cursed the child, expeling her to a decrepit home amidst a dark forest, condemning her to a slow, painful death. Peruere will die a death befitting an unlovable, inhuman creature. For if she sins under the pretense of something so pure, then she shall forever be undeserving of it. Stripped from her final piece of humanity, her name, a new name is thrusted upon the child: Arlecchino, the Knave, the servant of a devil.

—

At Arlecchino's feet lay the corpses of the intrusive villagers, the ones that dared to enter her forest and prey upon her children. How dare they? 

It had been a decade since she had been cursed. A simmering fire burns within her veins, sometimes the constant ache so acute that Arlecchino believes that she is truly burning from within. She had long presumed that that was the very nature of her curse, that she would eventually burn from the inside like the very flames that consumed Crucabena. Her arms had attained the same color as char, the spread of the physical toll of her curse growing with each passing day. And her eyes, they gain red-crossed pupils, said to be the mark of a demon inside. 

After having been expelled, the villagers were ‘generous’ enough to give her an abandoned abode. With her hands, she made it into something liveable. After a few weeks of living in the forest, she encountered intruders on the eastern borders of her forest: children from another town, said to be cursed and so were being chased out by villagers with torches and pitchforks. Arlecchino had sheltered them, and they had remained with her since.

Arlecchino gives it another half-decade before the char completely consumes her body, and she will meet the same fate as “Mother.” But until then, she will protect her forest, her home, her children. Perhaps her children will grow strong enough to protect themselves when she is gone. 

Other children, in one way or another, made their way into her forest. One, whose mother had abandoned after giving birth to them, was left to die with nothing but a blanket bundled around them. Another, seeking a sanctuary to peacefully die was convinced otherwise, and now smiles everyday. Each and every child within her cabin had some tragedy placed unjustly on them, and so Arlecchino welcomed her arms to them. 

Arlecchino had taught them well, each child could not venture out beyond the woods for their own safety. But the villagers, across all five villages surrounding her forest, had grown bolder, determined to ‘exterminate vileness.’ 

She cannot protect her children for much longer. She will die, and her children–her nest of the outcasts, the abandoned, the cursed, the hurt–will be left to fend for themselves. Even she cannot escape fate, no matter how much she challenges it. That is the tragedy she must shoulder.  

She is tired. 

The warmth of her children, while welcomed, is not the same as the warmth she longs. The warmth of her children does not comfort her at nights when the bloodfire, so she calls it, creeps up, maiming any semblance of sleep. The warmth of her children does not undo or prevent the curse's effect, her arms still remain black, her hands still resembling the claws of a monster. The warmth of her children does not melt her frigid heart, does not make her any more human. 

She longs and longs for something she is destined to never receive. 

Because this is the most she deserves. 

—

One day, a person stumbles into her forest. She is neither a child or a malevolent aggressor. She encounters you, breathless and heaving as you clutch your bleeding side. Arlecchino can tell that you do not bear any spite towards her or her children, but she cannot deem you nonthreatening. 

“A-are you the Knave?” you're able to choke out, leaning against the tree.

“Would you like the misfortune of finding out?” Arlecchino forewarns, extending out her hands and showcasing her claws, remnants of other victims’ blood still on her fingers. You swallow thickly, your hand clutching onto the small dagger behind your back. 

“I'm… I'm looking for my child. They wandered into here and never came back. But… I refuse to believe that they're dead. They're alive, aren't they? You have them, don't you? Let me see them,” you boldly demand, despite your injured state. Your eyes burn with a dangerous determination, a familiar fire dancing among your pupils. 

“Are you unaware? That the Knave kidnaps and feeds on young children?” That was obviously a lie, but an effective lie that has dissuaded most villagers from entering her territory. 

You shook your head. “They're just rumors.”

“And how would you know?” 

You breathe in deeply. “I've heard of you. You're the first cursed child. But, I know why you were cursed. You wouldn't… you wouldn't do that.”

Arlecchino pauses, hesitance in her for the slightest moment. “I am cursed,” she says it like a shield, a wall that defends her from futile hopes. 

“The world isn't as just as most people like us to believe.”

The cursed human breathes deeply. “What is your name?” 

—

You were telling the truth. Arlecchino remembers one of her children yearning for their mother, the only source of comfort before they found the House. She takes you to her home, and you're reunited with your child.

Your child pleads with Arlecchino to allow you to stay, and begrudgingly, she does, to your amazement. You adjust well to living in the secluded home, often filling in for her the emotional support that the children always needed, but she could not provide. The children take to calling you ‘Mother.’ You joke with the children, insisting that Arlecchino was the ‘Father’ in that case.  

Something inside of her stirs when she does. It is both a familiar and foreign sensation, somehow a sweet and bitter taste in her mouth, soothing but perturbing at once. You are unbeknownst to this. 

There are traits that you learn about the cursed once-child, traits that you find endearing, and traits that you later learn to love. Although her words may be cutting, they can carry a tenderness with them. Her hands, that she so frequently despises, protect her children. There is no reason for you not to love them, despite their appearance. She utilizes her cursed status to protect all of you, and for that, how could you possibly see someone who is ‘cursed’ or ‘inhuman?’ 

One night, you lay awake, suddenly jolted by the sounds of scratching, originating from the room besides you. You approach the room, and view the forlorn sight of Arlecchino, hunched over and writhing in pain, the bloodfire overtaking her once more. Pained groans escape from her as her claws dig into the wall besides her, dragging them down as she searches for any sense of grounding. Her eyes glower, the color reminiscent of blood. It is in this moment where she looks nothing more like a beast. 

Still, you do not see her as such. Not when you take her hand, kissing each knuckle and finger, the same ones that had saved your child from danger, the same ones that had saved you. 

“Arlecchino,” you whisper out to her, and it calls out to her soul. The bloodfire weakens, and she gazes at you. Your eyes fill with a warmth that melts her.

“Don't,” she warns with a harsh gruff that wavers, attempting to wrench her hand out of her grasp, but she finds herself vulnerable when you grip tighter. You lean down, bringing your lips on her blackened skin, the very skin that signifies her inhumanity. The black gradient recedes, and you continue until you kiss up to her shoulder. By then, the charred hue only spreads up to her knuckles.

Shock envelops her expression, but she is hardly given the time to process when you slot your lips over hers. She sighs and leans in, bringing up her hand to cup your face. 

Her hands are neither clawed, nor charred at that moment, but the two of you hardly realize until the next morning. The bloodfire inside of Arlecchino dissipates.

Fate can be challenged, and destiny can be broken. Cursed or not, deserving of or not, Arlecchino will take what is rightfully hers. 

[sweetkiitsunez]

❞ 𝐀𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 - synopsis: Lucifer was distracted by his work since he wants to hear your cries ! ♡

❞ warning: nsfw content (18+) + f!sub (afab!reader) + dom!Lucifer + praising + rough sex and fingering + office sex + dacryphilia + overestimated + another round at end + public sex + nipple play

author note: hellooo~!! I apologies for the lack of posting bcs spring semester is getting a bit overwhelming for me <3 anways sorry for the lack of writing and english ♡

"c-careful..." you softly whimper. sitting on Lucifer's lap in his office at Paradise Lost. your thighs are trembling feeling his sharp black nails rubbing the lips of your pussy up and down. You are more grateful that the hospital is slowly getting busy as doctors and nurses are foucsing on their patients, healing them, execpt for lucifer...

"don't worry, I won't hurt you..." he whispers to you softly. he is trying to be gentle with you with his sharps nails, but also rough.

your panties was scattered on the floor since you decided to "test" him. how bold of you for stripping your panties in front of the fallen angel himself. he is difficult to get hard or flustered. he knows what you were doing since he decided to teach you a lesson by not distracting him. you sat on his laps as your back was laying on his chest.

Lucifer's uses his four fingers as he rubs the lips of your pussy. it feels good... you wanted more. "m...more... luci..." you softly beg him. he is picking up the speed as he rubs your pussy side by side then up and down causes your back arches, but luci held you close to him. you bit the bottom of your lip to not make any noises.

"Mhm...! ...A-Ah!" you let out a muffled moan. your eyes rolls back your skull, but you could feel your bottom lip about to bleed. curling your toes and your head is resting on between luci's neck and shoulder. lui is groping your breasts as he twisting and flickering your nipples.

"I'm gonna put my fingers in..." he whispers to you. your mind is a bit foggy, until you feel him inserting his one finger into your hole and then another fingers. Inserting his two fingers inside your hole causes you to tear up and biting your bottom lip harder making it bleed.

"don't scream unless you want to caught..." he whispers in your ears as his two fingers rubbing your insides, slowly pulling out and then back in. this is too much for you, but it feels so good... you don't want him to stop. you feel tears rolling down your cheeks. luci was fast enough to notice it as he grabbed your face. his sharp nails is piercing through your squishy teary cheeks. his venomous eyes staring at your teary eyes. he leans in as he licks your salty tears. you could feel luci is getting turned on right now. his dick is growing from his crotch. you could feel his clothed dick brushing against your bums.

luci wouldn't forget about you as he is fingering you deeper and deeper hitting your g-spot. his thumb massaging your clit causes you cry and moans more.

"I... I... ah! w-wanna come...! luci p-please... ngh... ah...!" you cried pleading him to let you come.

"come my love... come on my fingers..." he kisses your eyelids as he went back licking and tasting your salty tears.

your hands are grabbing onto luci's rolled up sleeves. you are panting and crying as your legs are twitching from this good pleasure. you love his long fingers deep inside your hole. it's hurts since his fingers are stretching your walls. luci is still piercing your teary cheeks as his eyes are still on you. he is in love with your teary eyes and cries. he knows that he is making you feel good.

you couldn't take it anymore as you feel luci's fingers is pressing your g-spot and massaging your clit in circles around and around. eventually, you let out loud cries as you squirt on luci's fingers completely coming and cover his fingers in your fluids.

"ah...ha..." you panted as you lean on his chest, but you could feel luci's fingers pulled away from your hole as your thighs is twitching from the pleasure and covered in your fluids. tears fell from your cheeks, but sudden you feel luci grabbed your face again as his eyes is looking at yours.

"we're not done yet, love..." he said. you feel his crotch raising from his pants.

"one more round, love... your tears are delicious... i wanna mess you up badly..."

after seeing your tears again rolling down your cheeks. he wants to mess you again. ♡

[withonly-sweetheart]

Missin' You

A bad history makes for a wonderful future, right? You're willing to forgive and forget for the man you've always been down bad for.

a/n: OK THIS IS A REALLY OLD FIC... i haven't edited it too much or anything i just added some things here and there yk yada yada did stuff

first smut fic like explicit... ish... whatever. honestly this is just to address the allegations of me being a minor (UNTRUE.) and just for me to see it put out on something official !!

anyways @bunnivievve SHE MADE THE BANNER ART GO CHECK IT OUT ITS ACTUALLY WHAT INSPIRED ME TO DIG THIS FROM THE GRAVE AND REVISE IT!! LYSM GIRL <3333

tw: literal smut. like mdni seriously. also mentions of gore, death, a lot of references to spain just assume that the reader was with leon in the events of re4.

wc: 14.5k

The guy lunges for you, hands outstretched, a determined expression on his face. You step back and slam your rifle against his head, then open the door he was guarding, crushing his microphone under your foot before stepping inside. You grip your gun tightly, alert for potential threats, but it seems they forgot to guard the inside of the room.

"I'm inside," you say quietly, pressing a finger to your ear. The feel of the smooth black metal soothes you. "Permission to—"

"No," Rebecca replies immediately. "Absolutely not."

"What happened to Chris?" you ask, slightly confused as you traverse the room. He had told you he was the commander for this mission.

"I kicked him out because he would’ve said yes," she states simply.

"Sometimes I hate you." You were counting on Chris to give you permission for this. It was your only way to a promotion, which meant more money.

"Your request is denied," she repeats. "Turn back, we're sending in—"

You don't let him finish. You take out the radio that controls the communication device and switch it off. Breaking it would be too risky in case you get yourself into something.

You shoulder your rifle against your back as you press against the wall, glancing into the open doorway. You shine your flashlight once, twice, and one more time before stepping into the room with your gun raised. Almost immediately, relief floods you as you see Sherry sleeping soundly on a bed on the other side of the room. You walk around the table in the center, brushing against the chairs, growing more excited with each step.

This was it. The first mission that Chris had entrusted you with since he learned about Spain and... him. You promised that everything would go smoothly, but he still warned you to be wary of everything. Now it seemed too easy.

You near his bed, heart pounding. Then you smack straight into something, but there's nothing there. You step back, shaking your head, dazed. When you stretch out a tentative hand, fingers shaking, they graze a surface you can't see. You push your palm against it, forming a fist.

"What the…" you whisper to yourself, debating whether or not to report this to Piers. Just as you bring your hand up, you hear the distinct click of a magazine reloading and duck.

The bullet flies past your head, barely missing your skull. You can almost feel it parting your hair. Crouching to the floor, you pull out your gun. Luckily, the table provides ample cover as you stalk around to the other side, keeping your footsteps as still and quiet as you can.

"You're not as quiet as you think," a sultry female voice says. 

Screw that, then.

You grit your teeth and glance under the chair to see a full-length, ebony blue bodysuit with black accenting straps. Blond hair pulled back into a slick ponytail and piercing brown eyes scan the room as her shoes clack on the tiles, slowly nearing you.

You don't recognize her, but her voice stirs something inside you, a faint memory. Those eyes seem familiar. 

You bolt for the door, mind racing. She's too busy examining Sherry, too busy stirring her from her sleep, too slow to stop you from slamming the door behind you. About ten feet away from the room, you circle around the same pathway you used to get inside, to the parking garage just as the door's hinges give way as it crashes to the floor. The woman recoils from an extremely powerful kick, her gaze finding you.

You skid to a stop as her brimming eyes ground you to where you are. She breaks into a run, and that jolts you back to reality. Her... eyes. Sherry, that smart, smart girl sneaks around the back of the corridor to join you.

But as you faintly register her gentle touch, you’re still staring at the woman.

"Jill?" you choke out, a click of recognition. Her footsteps grow louder, more insistent towards you.

You swing your legs onto the motorcycle.

“Wait,” Sherry calls out, voice faint. “Just…”

You grip the handlebars tightly, then turn on your comms. Almost immediately, Rebecca’s voice comes through, panicked. And as everything is going to shit, of course, Sherry collapses in front of you.

"Are you stupid?" she lectures, oblivious. "Why would you turn the only way we can communicate with you off? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

"Calm down, I'm fine," you say, glancing down. "But I think you might want to come get the target."

"Why?" she asks, and you suppose you should be grateful she only sounds slightly angry. "What did you do?"

"Nothing. She just fell."

"I'll send a team out right now—but do not move," she says sternly.

"Don't worry, sir," you reply sarcastically. "I won't go anywhere."

"They're on their way. Please—" Rebecca gets cut off as the revving of another engine startles you. You glance to the other side of the parking lot, the realization that you aren't alone hitting you. Another motorcycle shoots from the entrance, heading for you.

You’re about to make the most insignificant escape in history when you see Sherry lying facedown on the concrete. Great, they're here for her, you think, then quickly lug her in front of you. It's an uncomfortable position, but the other motorcycle is catching up the ramp quickly.

You shoot towards the exit, cradling the girl between your legs as you carefully maneuver between lanes of traffic. You make it to some abandoned wasteland, thinking that you've lost the pursuer.

Then the same flashy, ivory motorcycle bursts through the brush and skids to a stop in front of you. You quickly start the engine again, but they've already caught up. You race alongside each other in silence, and you can't tell if they're here for her because they make no move to try and get her.

You look to your side, and the motorcyclist is looking straight ahead. "Are you part of the team?" you shout over the wind. Their head snaps towards you, but you don't get a reply.

You assume that the defenses will take care of them when you get to the base, so you skip the detour and race straight for it. The walls open, but no one tries to stop the other guy. The new sentry tries to convince the seniors, but they all shake their heads, smiling, as if they know something.

Confused, you swerve around shipping containers, ditch the bike, and sling Sherry’s arms around you, carrying her inside. You can't see where the guy is, so you drag her into the base and into the elevator.

They go through all the protocol—checking identity, running tests, all that bullshit. No one seems concerned that an intruder's lurking inside the base.

What if they don't know? A realization hits you. What if they managed to evade them somehow?

There's no way, another voice, a logical one argues. How could they have? We have the best technology in the US.

Not like that’s done any good shit for you.

A few nurses roll the girl in on stretchers, and you collapse onto the couch.

"You look like shit," Rebecca comments.

"Shut up, you wouldn't know anything about it. After all, your job is to send reinforcements to people that actually need it," you say jokingly.

Your friend fakes a hurt look. "Is that how you talk to your friend?" She sits down beside you, pulling up her tablet. "You wanna know about her?"

"Why not?" She hands you the tablet, and you read the profile. "Sherry Birkin… as in… Raccoon City?”

"That's the one."

"And?" Rebecca's eyes darken, but she tries to hide it behind an innocent smile.

"I don't know, actually. We... never got the data. Only that she’s been harboring the T-Virus for a long time."

"Liar," you say, but you let it go. After all, if she's not telling you, there's a reason behind it. "I like her though. You know, a guy followed me inside."

"Who?" she asks almost immediately. It's so fast that you get slightly suspicious. "I mean... do you know?"

"How should I know?" you say, crossing your arms. "It's not like anyone tells me anything around here. Besides, he practically followed me in."

"About that..." she begins sheepishly.

"What?" you demand.

"We all took a vote," she says quickly. "And we decided it would be better not to tell you about the new arrival because of your past and all the things you've told us, and we thought you might not be happy with it—"

"Just get to the point," you interrupt. "What's going on?"

"So... that guy who followed you in? He just joined, but he's made it clear he's one of the DSO’s best agents. I don't think you know he exists because the admin made it clear we shouldn't tell you."

"And why should I not know about this mystery man?" you raise an eyebrow.

Rebecca shrugs. "Dunno. Apparently he asked to be kept secret."

"So a mystery man who doesn't want me knowing that he exists... hm, wonder who that could be." You pretend to feign ignorance for Rebecca's sake, but your mind's already formed an idea of who it is.

After all these years, he's back for revenge.

"I can't tell you," she says apologetically. "Maybe you'll meet him at that conference today?"

"What conference?"

"Girl, seriously? The one with the agents? About the mission?”

"That's today? Shit!"

"Yeah, you're getting paired up." Rebecca stands and pats her coat down. "I'm going back to the lab. I'll see you later."

<><><><>

"So..." Chris leans back in his chair, resting his head on his hands. He looks oddly relaxed given the situation. "Wesker's not going anywhere since he’s managed to cheat death twice. It won't take long to infiltrate his manor. What now?"

"Either we take action, or we sit and wait," Helena replies, gritting her teeth. She has a somber look on her face. You don't know much about her, but she seems mysterious, as if she's hiding secrets. Then again, aren't we all?

"Why are you here, again?" Piers Nivans, Chris's new recruit, asks with his eyebrow raised.

"I'm on the mission," she chides. "My partner isn't here yet."

"Do you know who your partner is?" you ask her.

"Of course I do," she snaps. "Do you think I'm dumb?"

"Can I... know, by chance?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It doesn't concern you." She turns away from you, crossing her arms.

"So... I guess you'll be paired in case her partner doesn't show." Chris glances at the ground, his expression darkening as he mutters, "I wouldn't expect him to, anyways."

"And how do you know?" you ask quietly. Chris doesn't respond, his face stony.

The air turns awkward, and you sit in silence for a moment longer before Piers interrupts, "So, uh, captain, we should get some sleep."

"Good idea," Chris says quickly. "We need our rest." He stands up, but you grab his arm before he can leave, looking up at him.

"Wait, if Helena's partner shows up..." you trail off, hesitant.

Chris smiles wearily. "Don't worry. You'll still be with her. Trio wouldn’t hurt."

You exhale, relieved, then smile. "I'll hold you to that. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," he replies, shutting the door behind him. You can hear his and Piers's footsteps fade away, and then you glance at Helena. You open your mouth, but she shuts you down before you can say anything.

"Before you ask, no, I'm not going to tell you who my mission partner is, and I'm not interested in getting to know you."

"... I was going to ask if you could hand me that blanket."

You don't know how long you sit there. Helena stares out of the window, legs and arms crossed. You slump onto the pillow, clutching the blanket around you.

"I think that it might help if you learned that you might need to work with me," you say.

"I know," she says simply. "Phase one of the operation happens tomorrow. Get some sleep. And... don't take anything too lightly, okay?"

You don't know what she means by that. You're still thinking about it on the car ride to the manor. As you pull up, you cast a glance at her face, soft and fresh. When you woke up, she was making coffee for you both. You wonder why she switches back and forth with you.

"Alright, people, this is it. Everyone clear on their roles?" Chris’s weary tone holds an undercurrent of urgency.

"As clear as it'll ever be." You run your hands through your hair, nerves getting the best of you. Helena’s face softens, a reassuring look in her eyes. You feel like glaring at her. Your feelings about her are "don't trust her" at best.

Piers speaks again, his gaze boring into yours. "We blow this, there's no second chances. You listening, rookie?"

You stiffen defensively. "Hey, lay off, I know what I'm doing."

Chris cuts in. "Enough, we don't have time for this. Helena, you're on watch. Piers, you've got our exit. And—" he fixes you with a steely glare— "don't screw this up."

You nod, anxiety mounting. Helena peers through her scope. "Alright, looks like they're moving in."

Piers steps into position by the getaway vehicle. "Hurry it up, I don't like standing still for long."

Chris hands you your gear. "You're up. Do your job and we all go home, a step closer to beating this asshole. Understood?" You take a slow breath and check the belt, lined with tactical knives and daggers. You slip it under the hem of your dress, hidden from sight but easily accessible.

"He'll tell me the code, right?" You glance up.

Chris gives you a curt nod and a pat on the shoulder. "We're counting on you."

"Jesus, it's like you're expecting me to fail," you say, a small smile curving the side of your face as you turn away. You take a deep breath, then approach the entrance of the manor.

You could get turned away right here. The scary thought flashes through your head, almost stopping you. You could fail the mission right here. You could mess everything up.

"Excuse me, miss," a voice says, giving a small smile. The man to your right, guarding the entrance, extends a hand. "Invitation, please?"

You slip out the thin paper, the fake engravings brushing your fingers as you pass it to him. He gives it a cursory glance and nods to you. You dip your head and step inside.

The air is cooler than the summer air outside, probably due to air conditioning. Your eyes adjust to the dim lighting from the chandeliers, and you're immediately awestruck. A majestic staircase rises up and curls elegantly along the wall, its polished steps gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows. Intricate carvings adorn the banisters and newels, depicting scenes of frolicking angels and mythical beasts.

Even with this masterpiece, there’s still enough room for guests to mingle around the area. Built into the bottom of the staircase seems to be a bar of some sort, at which people laugh and drape their long, nimble fingers over glasses of swirling wine.

You walk slowly towards the staircase, feeling out of place. The carvings seem to come alive as shadows dance across their surfaces, leaping for you, telling you that you don't belong here.

You take a moment to wait for anyone to approach. No one does. You assume your partner must be running late and commence with stage one of the operation: find someone close to the target.

Taking a steadying breath, you near the grand staircase as a swirling sea of aquamarine silk and satin. There's a soft ballad starting to play, and you realize that if you don't find someone to dance with quickly, they might single you out.

Your eyes flit over the glittering crowd, picking out a victim turned away from you, engaged in animated discussion with several others. He turns to the side, exposing his face and laughs, flashing white teeth, then you recognize him.

James Marcus. You would pull up a profile on the man, but there's barely any information about him—known to you, at least. His white hair is chopped back in that classic old-man haircut, and you grimace, wondering if you really have to. Across the room, Chris gives you a look, his eyes holding a message. You can almost hear his voice yelling at you.

Hurry up before he leaves. Another voice argues, what if he doesn't want to dance? How will you keep him occupied and get information?

Only one way to find out. You glide over, catching the tail end of their conversation. "...simply unacceptable, the terms must be renegotiated." You try to make your presence known with what was meant to be a delicate cough, but it comes out as... well, something. It gets their attention. They glance over at you with bewildered eyes. You continue with a subtle, "Pardon my interruption, but might one of you honor me with a dance?"

Please don't have one of those other guys say yes, please, please, you repeat in your head, stealing a look at a burly man standing close to him, his suit looking as if it's about to rip.

Marcus eyes you appraisingly. Oh shit, he's going to— Before anyone can say anything, he suddenly bows. "The pleasure is mine, my lady." Relaxing slightly, you let him take your hand and lead you into the dance.

As you move in time to the orchestra, you try to feel him out, probing for his relationship with Wesker and other targets you had your eye on without arousing suspicion. His answers provide mere grains of insight, but he guards his full thoughts well.

You break away, smiling politely before heading for the bar, another face catching your eye. Just as you step towards the stools, a figure crosses in front of you, stopping directly as you glance up, slightly irritated.

"Hey," the waiter says casually, a tray of drinks balanced in his hand. He's wearing a black mask, the edges fanning out, looking soft and light. You want to reach out and touch them, but you don't. Even though you're glaring intensely at his face, he doesn't meet your eyes. "I don't suppose you're..."

"You've got the wrong person," you say quickly, stepping to the side. He copies you, blocking your path. The target, Edward Ashford, laughs and turns away, calling for another glass of fancy wine. "I think you're forgetting where we are."

"I'm not that certain," he replies smugly with a small chuckle. He still doesn't look at you. "Care for the next dance, my lady?" Great, another distraction.

You argue that if you give him one dance, you'll get back to the target faster. The ball lasts for three hours; you have plenty of time. Besides, you're intrigued. There's something familiar about the glint in this guy's eye, the fall of his hair over his ears.

You place your hand in his, allowing him to sweep you into his arms. He spins you around for just long enough to slide his tray, still clustered with drinks, onto the bar counter without spilling a drop.

You blink in confusion, but he pulls you near the clump of people, and as you move in time to the lively rhythm, he leans in, warm breath ghosting your ear. "Simmer down, Falcon. I believe we have... business to discuss."

You inhale sharply but don't miss a step. So this is more than just a chance. "I see. And what business might that be?"

"Only that I've been assigned as your partner for the duration of this mission. You didn't really think they'd send you in alone, did you?" His eyes gleam with quiet amusement, gaze flickering to the weapon hidden beneath your evening gown, a silent reminder of the danger you're facing.

"They told me," you say indignantly. "They also said you wouldn't show."

"Well, you can count on me, princess," he says, flashing a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes, then glancing down at your dress. You feel silly in it, but Rebecca insisted it was essential to the look.

So, this is him. Your new partner, and somehow you’re slightly disappointed to find he’s nothing like who you expected, at least not based on outward appearances. You fight to control your expression. For now, you simply say, "Don't call me that. We have a lot of work to do."

"We're not going to that guy you were looking at," he says quickly, bristling. "He won't be useful."

"How do you—"

"I just do." You blink in confusion before shrugging. As you circle the ballroom again and again, searching, you notice the amount of weird looks you're getting.

"Hey, they're giving us weird looks." You look up at your partner. "What's with them?"

"Well, we're not dancing correctly," he says flatly. "Maybe that has something to do with it?"

"What?" You kick away the hem of your dress. "Why are you just bringing this up?"

"I mean, I tried getting you set correctly, but you keep slapping my hand away," he says, a twinge of exasperation in his tone.

"We— I— You—" You stutter, a faint heat fanning your cheeks. You thought he was trying to do something less civilized.

"C'mere," he says, his voice suddenly low. He puts a gentle hand on your waist and curls his other hand around yours. He tilts his head to his shoulder. "Other hand, here."

You do as he says, and for the next few rounds, people don't turn over their drinks to look at you as often. There's a foreign feeling in your stomach, igniting fire in your chest.

"Looks like Wesker's enjoying his show," he remarks.

"Maybe he just prefers operating covertly instead," you hiss. "Like we should be. Keep your voice down."

"Perhaps, but we won't get anywhere cowering in the shadows," he replies with an impatient edge that seems oddly familiar.

You frown. "Proceeding with caution is not the same as 'cowering.' Rushing in could jeopardize the entire mission."

"We need to take the initiative if we want results," he insists stubbornly. There’s something in his tone you think you recognize, but you've never met him. Of course not.

"Initiative is one thing, but not without a plan. Discretion is key here," you argue diplomatically.

He scoffs dismissively. "Plans tend to fall apart. Better to act and adapt than overthink ourselves in circles."

Engrossed in your debate, you take a step forward just as he does and collide directly into his solid form. He lets out a surprised "oof" as the wind gets knocked out of him.

Flailing your arms to catch your balance, you only succeed in further unbalancing you both. Your partner windmills helplessly, grasping for any support, and ends up seizing hold of the poor server who had been quietly passing by with a towering three-tiered cake.

The man goes toppling over with a yelp, and the magnificent confection sails up into the air as if in slow motion. You watch in horror as it seems to hover there for an eternity, the frosting and pastry suspended, while you and your partner collapse on the floor in a sweaty heap, the servant stretching his arm in a failing attempt to save his masterpiece.

Time speeds back up as gravity takes over, and with a massive splat, the entire cake slams into you and your partner. Icy frosting and chunks of sponge coat you from head to toe in an instant.

The ballroom falls deathly silent, all eyes now turning in shock to the spectacle you had unwittingly created. Through the mess obscuring your vision, you make out your partner staring back at you with equal disbelief written across his visible features.

Someone storms from a metal door, raising a spatula angrily. "L'ho appena sfornato! You know how long it takes to bake a cake?"

Meanwhile, the server whispers to himself, "I'm going to get fired, I'm gonna get fired, my life is over, I'm so done for," as if it were some reassuring mantra he was chanting.

The cream from the cake bursts forth on impact, now oozing over your shoulders and down your arms in long, dripping ropes. Your hands and legs below are caked in a technicolor mess—swirls of blue, pink, and yellow seeping through the thin fabric of your gown.

Through the haze, you see Chris push through the crowd, crouching down to help you. There's a strangled expression on his face, but he calls out to the crowd, "Sorry, my daughter and her fiancé are new to this. Please accept our apologies and we'll be headed home."

The murmur of people around you, their soft voices and judging gazes, aren't what stings and provokes your forming tears. What hurts is the disapproving look on Chris's face as he lugs you out of the ballroom, the sun heating your chilled arms, and the realization that you've failed everyone.

<><><><>

You slowly tug off the silver mask, then your billowing dress, covered in crumbs and frosting, and throw it aside. You kick your heels off and unclip your hair. It falls across your bare back in cascades of brown dotted with blue, pink, and yellow as you step into the bathroom. You switch the setting to the hottest it can go, which isn't even close to the burning, searing feeling in your chest.

Not the one you felt with your partner, but the one that slowly began to spread when you tried explaining to Chris what had really happened, and all he said was to leave.

"That's an order from your commander," he had said quietly, eyes cast downward. "Now get out of my face."

The scalding water pours over you, but does little to soothe your thoughts. You lean your head against the cool tile and try to process the events of this evening.

It looks like your own commander has lost faith in you, his dismissal cutting deep. As the clouds of steam envelop you, you try to decide your next move. You don’t know if you should abandon not only the mission, but the job entirely. It seems you can’t do anything right, huh?

A quiet knock at the door startles you. "Hello? It's... your mission partner. We need to talk." His muffled voice holds a note of concern that gives you pause.

"I don't want to hear your voice right now." If it were just you, Chris wouldn't have been disappointed. You wouldn't have failed him.

"I have plans. We can still get Wesker," he insists with determination in his voice. His tone gets you thinking. Maybe there's still a chance to prove to Chris that you know what you're doing.

After toweling off and changing into a random pair of shorts and a tank top you find in your closet, you brace yourself to face whatever awaits on the other side of that door. You grasp the door handle and try twisting it, but something blocks it.

"Hey," you call out. "I can't—"

"I know," he says suddenly. "I... don't want you to see me."

"You were the guy who followed me into the base," you say, the realization hitting you. "Who... are you?"

You hear a sound against the door, and the door handle tilts to the side, but the door doesn't open. You suspect he's let go of it, trusting you enough not to open it.

"Sit down with me," he says. You sit down with your back against the door, knees drawn up protectively over your chest.

"Who are you?" you repeat.

A weary sigh comes from the other side of the door. "Let's just say... we have a shared past with the man you're after. A past I've been trying to make right."

You offer calmly, "You don't have to face this alone. If we're honest with each other, maybe we stand a better chance of stopping him."

A long silence stretches before he replies. "Alright. No more secrets between us. I'll answer any questions honestly... if you promise to work with me as a team from here on out."

"Deal," you reply. "So, who are you?"

"A friend," he says with a smile in his voice. "But you can call me Condor."

"Really?" you deadpan. "You can't tell me any more than that?"

"Not yet, sweetheart. You'll have to wait a little longer for that."

As night falls, you decide to do some reconnaissance of the nearby training area. Moving quietly through the shadows, you spot a lone figure practicing maneuvers under the moonlight. You see the mask and know it's Condor (what kind of name even is that?).

At first, you take him for keeping his skills sharp. But as you watch closer, you begin to note subtle details. The graceful yet powerful way he flows from one form to the next, mixing kicks and strikes with fluid precision.

You had worked with agents from BSAA for over two years, and yet no one you'd trained with had this precise style. No one displayed this. It's a style you know well, one you have analyzed endlessly trying to gain any advantage in your mission together. A style belonging to only one agent you had ever seen move with such skill and poise.

His style looks like Leon's. His name sparks something inside you. Watching him just reminds you of heartache—of the months following Spain, searching endlessly for someone who didn't want you to find him, of erasing it from your mind, steeling against memories of him.

He doesn't see you observing from the treeline as he runs through an attack sequence on a training dummy, perfectly focused. But you see every telltale motion, recognizing the techniques you had practiced and perfected as partners long ago.

You continue to watch silently, taking in the bittersweet memories his fighting evokes. It couldn't be Leon, though. You had pulled up his file mere weeks ago, and the database had marked him as MIA. Maybe…

You shake your head and turn away, pressing your back and hands to the concrete wall that separates you. Your chest heaves with heavy breaths, and you feel sweat trickle from your forehead.

It's not Leon. You're imagining things. Anyone could learn such elegant moves like his. There's no chance it's Leon. Don't get your hopes up. You'll just be crushed again. You're not stupid.

Curiosity gets the better of you, as it always does. While he continues training, you stealthily make your way to the armory. Flicking on the lights, you scan the row of lockers until you find the one labeled only with a number—his designation, it seems. Taking a steadying breath, you input the code and swing the door open.

At first glance, his arsenal looks standard issue—a selection of handguns and knives arranged with military precision. But you look closer and notice subtle modifications.

Most oddly, you recognize most of this gear. Old and worn with time, but still vaguely familiar. You brush it off as having seen them in the weaponry store Chris had taken you to when you were a freshly minted agent.

Extra notches filed into certain knife handles. Markings you had seen countless times before, wielded with deadly accuracy and calm focus under pressure. But this could all be from one big brand that created everything, custom-made.

You pick up a knife and run your thumb over the distinct patterns worn smooth from years of use. A memory surfaces of your first lesson with knives, Leon's hands over yours. The thought hurts, so you push it away.

As you throw the weapon back, your eyes fall on dog tags hanging from a hook on the back of the locker. Steeling yourself, you reach out a hand to grasp them when a voice stops you.

"Going through my stuff, huh?" A chuckle escapes him, and you glance at Condor, cheeks burning. "When I said we'd be honest, that didn't mean you could go through my stuff."

"I was just—routine check," you fumble.

"I did my own check yesterday." He crosses to you in long strides, slamming the locker door shut. His hand is still firmly planted on the metal as he leans closer. "You can't lie to me. What were you really doing?"

You purse your lips and try your best not to shiver under his gaze. His eyes wander over your face, a cursory glance that stops at your lips.

"I suppose I should be asking you why you still have that stupid mask on," you retort. The curved, ivory edges of his masquerade mask seem to shine in the dim light, seemingly freshly cleaned.

He coughs and steps back, bringing his hand to cover his mouth subtly.

 "Don't let me catch you going through my locker," he says, half-joking and fully ignoring your question. You nod quickly, not thinking too hard about it, and notice the wet patch staining his combat shirt. He follows your gaze and turns slightly to hide it from you.

"Did you... get hurt?" you ask, slightly curious.

"I'm fine, it's nothing," he says quickly.

"It'll get infected," you reply, your voice a bit louder. "Let me treat it."

"I'll get a nurse to do it," he says, stepping back.

"The nurses aren't on night duty. It's just me and you," you say defiantly, stepping forward. His mouth parts slightly, face flushed, eyes wild through their mask, and he glances to the side as if someone's watching him.

"You won't—"

"No, you won't be going anywhere until I've seen to that wound," you insist, already rummaging through the nearby medkit propped up against the bench.

He starts to protest, but you level him with a stern look. "No arguments. Now sit before you lose any more blood." Reluctantly, Condor begins to peel off his bloody shirt, revealing a long gash that runs from the base of his forearm to his wrist. A flush rises in your cheeks at his bare torso on display, muscles gleaming with a sheen of exertion.

Another reason it's not Leon—Leon wasn't that comfortable with you.

If he notices your reaction, he gives no sign, focusing on the injury. But you see a hint of pink tinting his ears as he sits bare-chested before you, awaiting treatment.

Averting your eyes to the task at hand, you get to work cleaning and dressing the gash with steadier hands than you feel. Your eyes wander over his familiar yet unplaceable scars. One high on his left shoulder draws you in, a long pale line raising questions.

It tugs at something in your memory, just out of reach. You trace the scar gently, trying to place its significance. Your companion tenses at your touch, watching you intently.

"Does this wound mean something to you?" you ask cautiously. He frowns.

"It's a reminder that I'm never safe."

"Wow, uh, okay." At a loss for words, you finish dressing his gash in a bandage and order him to sleep. You watch him stalk off, raising his hand in a goodbye gesture without looking back. You also see him wince at the effort before cradling his arm and scurrying away.

<><><><>

The next day, at the dusk briefing for the mission, you lean back in your chair and sip from a cup of steaming coffee, courtesy of Helena. You sit together and watch Rebecca, Chris, and Piers argue over something on the map.

"You'll kill them if you send them there," Rebecca protests. "Just skip that sector and move to the next one. There's nothing there!"

"We're missing the intel on Irving's future plans. We used to have Sheva stationed there, but we pulled her back to train troops for the scaled invasion," Piers retorts. "Without that information, we're all going to be killed."

"Besides, I have faith in them." His eyes find you. You can't muster the courage to meet his gaze. "I'm sure they can handle it."

Condor enters the briefing room with his arm in a sling. You wince at the splatters of blood streaking across the patchy white material. Obviously, whoever treated his arm was not thinking clearly. He wears a face mask, one of the blue sterile ones. Believe it or not, it does a good job of hiding his face.

Chris stands at the head of the table, maps and reports scattered across the surface.

"Glad you could join us, Captain, even in your state," Chris says. "I know you're itching to get back in the field. Well, I may have a mission that will suit your skills and let you prove to me that you can be trusted to succeed in a mission that should be as..."

"Easy as cake?" Condor offers, a small grin quirking his lips.

"Exactly." Chris's expression mirrors his. At least he's not yelling at anyone.

"Let's get to it," Rebecca interrupts, raising an eyebrow at you. You can hear her silent question—what's going on?

You shrug as Condor takes a seat next to Helena and leans in. You do the same, eager to hear the details. Piers launches into an explanation. "Our troops had to evacuate sector five off the east, but they left valuable information behind. If this were to fall into enemy hands, we would be done for. Not to mention that without it, our whole mission would have to be rethought."

"A small strike team going undercover at night is our best bet." Chris nods to Condor. "You up for a reconnaissance mission, Captain?"

Condor nods, though he holds his injured arm gingerly. "Just say the word, Commander. I'll have our best men ready to move out at your order."

"Good man. Get some rest, and I want you geared up and prepped to leave at 2200 hours." You all stand. "Dismissed."

As you prepare to leave, Condor lingers. He looks up at Chris from his seated position. "I won't let this injury slow us down, sir. We'll get you the intel you need."

"Maybe," Chris says with a half-smile. "Don't get injured training by yourself in the first place." He nods to you with a genuine smile before turning and leaving.

<><><><>

The cover of night provides just the cloak you need as Condor's strike team moves stealthily through the forest. You follow close behind him, determined not to let his injury sideline your efforts. As his mission partner, you’ve vouched to replace the squad medic, Nathan, who will stay behind to watch over the injured soldiers that arrived from sector seven.

You creep toward the enemy encampment, relying on night vision goggles to pick out defenses and patrol routes. Condor signals a halt, then motions for you to join him.

"Take a look," he whispers, handing you the goggles. His uninjured shoulder presses against yours as you peer through and count at least three dozen hostiles milling about. They all seem to be guarding the warehouse where Chris says you would find the information. After surveying the perimeter, you pass the goggles back with your assessment. "We need to map their positions and strengths before heading in."

Condor nods. "You heard the woman. Fan out and record all details. Move fast but stealthy—we can't be spotted. Radio check-ins every 15 minutes."

The squad disperses on your assignments. You realize that you don't know any of them—not even their names, and promise yourself to ask after they return. You hang back with Condor, insisting on keeping his injury immobilized. "Don't overexert that arm," you warn softly.

He flashes a grin. "No promises, but I'll try for you, Doc."

Your heart skips. Then shouts arise almost out of thin air, and enemy fire lights the night as your team engages. You drag Condor into cover. "Time to pull out. Mission's blown. Have they got—"

"We're clear to leave, but they've gotten themselves into a bit of a problem. Turn on your radio," Condor urges.

You do as he says and almost immediately are met with gunfire and the sounds of panicked soldiers.

"I repeat, Captain, we need backup!" A woman's voice comes through only to end in a scream. The radio fades to static.

"Don't assume the worst." Condor stands up, helping you to your feet. "Let's get over there. We've got this."

<><><><>

You definitely don’t got this, you think barely a few minutes later, surrounded by seemingly never-ending hordes of zombies. It's been a while since you've seen those rotting, decaying corpses stumble toward you, but the memory of dispatching them has never been clearer.

"Leon, behind you!" you shout.

"I see them," Condor insists, plunging his knife into an attacker's throat before whirling to face the next. "Watch your six; there's more coming!"

"I've got it covered," you pant, gunning down two more enemies with practiced precision. "How many are left?"

"Too many," Condor growls through clenched teeth, blood dripping down his face from a fresh wound.

"Shit, you're hurt!" you cry out in alarm.

"It's nothing," he retorts. "Focus on staying alive—we'll worry about this later."

Your backs meet in the midst of the fray, fighting off assailants on all sides as if you’re two parts of a well-oiled machine.

"Behind you!" you warn, just a split second before it senses you.

He spins and fires without looking. You feel Condor's guard shift in turn to cover your exposure. "Thanks for the heads up."

"You're welcome," you say between shots. The crowd seems to be getting smaller, but you’re not going to say anything about it yet. "How's the shoulder holding up?"

"It's fine," Condor grinds out through clenched teeth.

Suddenly, you realize that even with dwindling enemies, your rhythm is thrown off by his compromised mobility. Condor struggles to keep up, taking more hits than usual as you fight harder to cover for him.

"We need to fall back," you say urgently, grabbing his uninjured arm. "We can make it back. The others already escaped."

"Not until they're all down!" Of course, he refuses to retreat, stubbornly fighting through the haze of pain. But his sluggish reflexes keep putting you both at greater risk.

When the last of the zombies' bodies litter the ground, the grim smile is evident in his voice, if not his expression. "Think that's the last of them?"

"I hope so." You scan the mounds of decaying flesh, gun at the ready. "Condor, you're looking a little pale..."

He opens his mouth to protest, but instead his eyes roll back. He starts to crumple to the ground before you manage to catch him in your arms.

"Shit, no!" You ease him to the ground, gripping his sides in panic. Blood pulses thickly between your fingers from the wound at his shoulder. "Don't do this to me, stay with me!"

Condor's eyelids flicker open, his gaze finding yours with effort. "Hey... get out of here. Before more come."

"I'm not leaving you," you say fiercely through tears. A weak smile touches his lips. You rip fabric from your shirt to bind a makeshift dressing, tears mingling with the blood on your cheeks. "Why'd you have to play the hero, huh? You couldn't dodge one lousy hit?"

"Had to... keep you... safe."

"Well congratulations, genius, now we're both screwed." Your breath hitches on a sob. "Just hold on, damn it! You're not dying on me, do you hear?"

Condor's hand finds yours, grip tightening with determination. "Not... going anywhere. Promise."

You press your finger to his lips, trying to draw strength from the lingering warmth of his body against your legs. But you know that out in the open, he won't last long without medical help. You have to get to shelter, and fast.

"We never got to learn... to dance," he says quietly. You bring your attention back to him.

"What?"

"Spain... you and I... you knew," he says with a small grin. "You knew... it was me." He gasps for air, and you shake your head.

"I did," you say softly. "I knew it was you, Leon."

You see the flash of his teeth in a quick smile before it vanishes, and a strangled moan escapes Leon's lips. "Just hold on, damn it! You're not dying on me, do you hear? You don't get to leave me twice in a lifetime!"

"Wish... I was... with you," he says quietly. A gentle smile tugs at his lips. "Always... knew you... cared..." His eyes slide shut as consciousness flees from his body.

The heavy thrum of approaching rotor blades cuts through your panic like a knife. You lurch your head to the sky, the sun blinding you, desperation fueling your exhausted limbs into one final sprint.

Waving your arms, you stumble directly into the landing chopper's spotlight, shielding your eyes against the blinding glare. Two medics leap out, bearing a stretcher between them.

"Please, help him!" you scream over the deafening noise, dragging Leon's limp form the last few feet. Your fingers cling to his jacket even as the medics pull him away, wanting nothing more than to keep contact.

For a second, you let yourself think that he'll be alright, then they whisk Leon aboard and settle him behind shatterproof glass, disappearing behind a tangle of cables and medical equipment as the chopper shoots skyward. You take an automatic step to follow—only to smash into an invisible barrier, your bloody hands leaving pale prints on the reinforced hull.

You see Leon's silhouetted form lost amid the bustle of medics working frantically to stabilize his critical injuries. Your shouts are drowned out by the thrumming engines. All you can do is watch helplessly through the frosted barrier, pounding your fists bloody against the unyielding glass.

A kind-eyed paramedic finally takes your elbow gently but firmly, guiding you away as an IV needle slides into your battered arm. You sag against the hull in reluctant exhaustion, unwilling to take your blurry gaze off Leon even as he starts to swim before your eyes.

The medic presses an oxygen mask to your pale face, assessing your injuries with a worried frown. You lazily recognize the face as Nathan's. But all you can really focus on through the haze is Leon’s still frame across from you, bathed in shimmering halos of light from above.

Your bloody fingerprints streak down like tears as you curl onto the cold steel floor, fingers clawing compulsively at the transparent wall between you. All the anger, fear, and desperate longing to bridge that gap come pouring out in a broken sob you can’t hold back any longer.

Through the pane, Leon remains ominously still—the rise and fall of his chest the only indication that he’s still alive. Nathan's hushed whispers are the only reason you feel safe enough to let darkness consume you. You let your eyes close.

<><><><>

It seems like the next second, you open them. Gasping for air, you clutch the arm in front of you.

"Ow..." Rebecca recoils, a grin on her face as she shakes her arm. "Well, I was going to discharge you, but it seems like your murderous thoughts have other plans."

"Never mind that," you reply impatiently. "What about Leon? Is he alright?"

"You knew?" she asks, eyes wide with surprise.

"I'm not as oblivious as you think," you retort. "Now please, tell me how he's doing."

"His shoulder was bothering him a few weeks back," she explains. "I managed to keep him resting it. But it seems fighting like that reopened the injury."

"Weeks?!" you exclaim in frustration. "Why am I only finding out about this now?"

"I thought you were already aware..." Rebecca glances down regretfully. "He was admitted about a week after you."

"So for three years, he's pretended not to know me." The fear for Leon's safety swiftly transforms into an unquenchable fury. How could he deceive you for so long?

"Calm down, he can explain himself," Rebecca says soothingly. "Let's get you to his room so the two of you can talk."

Her words do little to quench your simmering anger, but you nod curtly anyway.

"Lead the way," you say tersely to Rebecca. She gives you a worried look but compiles, guiding you out of the patient room and into the hallway.

You walk in strained silence for a few moments. Your thoughts swirl with questions and suspicions. After six long years apart, Leon owes you the truth. Why did he lie about being here? Why didn't he tell you?

"So how have things been around here?" you ask, your tone hardening on the last word as you shoot Rebecca a sidelong glance. "Is there something else that you've been hiding from me?"

She purses her lips, hesitating before answering. "There's no use taking it out on me. I should have told you sooner, I know. But Leon... there were reasons, I'm sure."

"What possible reason could justify this?" you scoff. "Unless the truth is even worse."

Rebecca opens her mouth to reply but is cut off by a shout up ahead.

"Hey Doc, think you can speed it up a bit? I think I'm dying over here."

Your head snaps forward at the familiar voice. Leon. After everything, you'd know that voice anywhere. A fresh wave of anger and hurt rises in your chest. It's time for answers.

"We're almost there," Rebecca calls back uneasily. "Leon, you have a visitor."

You quicken your pace, bursting through the door with Rebecca close behind.

Leon is propped up in bed, eyes closed as he massages his forehead in apparent frustration. "Tell them to fuck off. I don't want to see anyone right now."

"Leon Kennedy, you open your eyes right this instant," you say sternly, hands on your hips.

At the sound of your voice, his eyelids fly open in shock. "What are you—Why are you up—"

"Save it." You hold up a hand, your ice-cold glare stopping his question dead. "We need to have a long overdue talk. Alone."

Rebecca smiles apologetically at Leon. "I'll leave you two to sort this out. Call if you need anything." With that, she slips quietly from the room.

An uncomfortable silence falls as you and Leon size each other up. You've dreamed of this reunion for years, yet now only outrage remains. He fidgets under your burning stare, opening his mouth hesitantly.

"Look, I know you must have a lot of—"

"Questions? Accusations? You bet your ass I do." You pull up a chair and lean in close, lowering your voice to a furious whisper. "Start. Talking."

Leon sighs wearily, running a hand through his cropped hair. "I'm really not up for this right now. My shoulder is killing me and I just wanna get some rest."

A noise of indignant disbelief escapes you. "Too bad! You don't get to leave me for three years and then play the injured card."

"I never meant to hurt you," he insists, frustration evident in his tense features.

"Bullshit! You lied straight to my face." Your voice rises as your temper flares further. "Was our friendship some big joke to you?"

Struggling to sit up taller, Leon grits his teeth against the pain. "Of course not, you know that's not true. But I had my reasons, okay?"

"What possible reason—"

"I was trying to protect you!" he seethes, immediately recoiling as his shoulder flares up painfully.

You open your mouth to respond, but Rebecca must've already heard the commotion because she immediately rushes in with a syringe at the ready. "Alright, that's enough, you two. Leon, take it easy before you tear your stitches."

He relents with a weary sigh, allowing Rebecca to administer a sedative. Within moments, the tension seeps from his body as sleep claims him once more.

You slump back in your chair, fists clenched in your lap, overflowing with questions that will have to wait. Leon's deception cuts deep—but seeing him injured stirs regret along with your lingering anger.

"Okay, he's in stable condition," Rebecca says with a huff, stepping back and dusting her hands. Her eyes flit to you. "But he won't be much longer, by the look on your face."

You don’t want to admit it, and you definitely don’t say it out loud, but he’s gotten more attractive over the years. I mean, he was good-looking to begin with, but he aged well—taller, with darker hair and eyes, but you still recognize them with the same challenging look in them, daring you to speak out against him.

You clench your fingers together, watching the blood drain from them. "Leon… fucking Condor. You thought you were slick with that name? I'm going to fucking—"

"Come over here and talk it out?" Chris says from the doorway. He leans against the frame, a questioning look on his face as you approach, closing the door behind you. "Alright, so what's got you so worked up?"

"I won't work with Leon," you declare, arms crossed.

"So you know. Who told you?"

"Why does it matter when you hid it from me?" you retort. "I'm not working with him."

"You already have, but whatever," Chris says with a shrug. "We didn't know how to tell you, given how you react whenever he's on TV."

"That was once," you protest. "Jesus, you still haven't let that go."

Chris chuckles and shakes his head. "You acted like he was really there." A wistful look crosses his face. "Ah, I should've recorded that."

"Take him off the team," you insist. "You need me. Besides, you saw how the mission failed when he was there with me."

"That was partly your fault. And the second mission went perfectly fine. True, we might need you," Piers agrees. "But we definitely need him."

"No, you don't!" you protest. "All he does is 'protect' you when you don't need it and then ghost you for six years. And then work in your agency for three years that you only joined to spite him in the first place."

"We can still hear you," Rebecca calls from around the wall.

"Shut up!" you say, louder than you want to. Then you say to them in a quieter voice, "Look, I just can't work with him. Every time I see him... all I can think is..."

"Woah, calm down, I don't need the details," Chris says, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. You flush and swat at him.

"It's not like that! You're insufferable," you say exasperatedly.

"The admins need you to work with him," Piers says suddenly. "Wesker hasn't recovered from you destroying his image, and if anything, your actions have caused him to stray further from the media's presence. In order to get our team back, you need to get everyone to take the bait."

"You have to be kidding me," you grumble, running a hand through your hair. "There's no way I can act friendly toward that guy."

Chris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Look, I know you two have... history. But orders are orders. This mission requires the full cooperation of our team."

"Yeah, easy for you to say," you retort. "Leon didn't ghost you for six years."

Piers chimes in, "I know it's not ideal. But staying committed to the plan is crucial. The fate of our organization depends on it. We've come too far to let personal issues get in the way."

"Be friendly or they're firing you," Chris interrupts. "You have to fool Wesker, therefore the world, into believing that you're friends with him. It's really not that hard. If the target finds out you aren't friends with him, things could go wrong."

"Then get Helena to do it; I don't fucking care!"

"I'll be visiting inside, thanks," Helena says, appearing around the corner. She opens the door and steps inside, leaving it slightly open.

"Just give the man a goddamn chance, would you?" Chris sighs, a troubled sound that makes him sound far older than he really is. "You're always so quick to judge."

"Who else is on the team?" you ask, deflecting the subject.

"Well, we're supposed to have Sherry Birkin and Jake Muller. But right now, it's just us," he says, gesturing to himself and Piers, "and then, of course, Leon and Helena."

"So we're missing, what, a fourth of the team? That's not too much. We can manage without him." You roll your eyes and avert the subject again. "So about my group..."

"You're being grouped with Leon," Chris says flatly. "We argued about this for three months and we decided that Helena's only here for backup, in case something goes wrong."

"Three months? You've known about this for three months?" you sputter, stepping back.

"Wait, why can't I be backup?" you protest.

"Because you know Leon better," he says simply.

"I used to think that too," you say sweetly. "But obviously, we were both wrong."

"We were watching you while he had the mask on—"

"Whose idea was that?" They stare at you. "The mask, I mean."

"That was this guy," Chris says, gesturing to Piers, who flushes.

"It was part Leon's idea too!" he protests. "Besides, we knew you would recognize your partner any day now."

"So you're both in on this, huh?"

"You can say whatever you want, but the moment you're back in Wesker's estate, you better act like the sun shines out of his ass," Chris warns.

You frown. "Isn't that from—"

"Don't patronize me! Now, are you on the team or not?" Chris asks. There's an expectant look in his eyes. Your gut tells you to do one thing, but the agency expects something else from you.

You let your shoulders slump, catching a glimpse of Leon's darkened blond hair from the sliver in the doorway. You shake your head. "Fine then, put me on the team."

"That's what I like to hear," Chris says, beaming, all traces of his bad mood gone.

"So... now what?"

"Now, we wait for tomorrow. You might want to get some rest. You need to look nice for tomorrow." When you tilt your head questioningly, he smiles mysteriously and heads back into the room with Piers.

The door closes agonizingly slowly, and you catch a bit of Leon and Helena's conversation.

"Heard you got grouped with my favorite rival. Trying to steal my spotlight again?" Leon manages, coughing afterwards.

Helena huffs in amusement. "In your dreams, pretty boy. We all know who the real star is around here."

"Of course I do, sweetheart."

Pretty boy? Sweetheart? Since when are they so close?

You shake your head, not wanting to look at Leon any more than necessary, and you certainly don’t want to talk to Helena. You make the decision to head back to your room. You take the elevator up, walk to your door, and unlock it, stumbling inside.

The bedroom door's open, so you shut the window to block out the moon rays. You lay on your bed, resting your head on your pillow, and try to sleep. When you wake up again, the moon has moved further down its path to the horizon, not quite reaching it yet.

Still half-asleep, you pull open your drawers and grab your glasses, wanting to catch up on the announcements you must've missed. The first thing you do is call Rebecca, hoping talking to her might ease your conflicted feelings.

"No way, you called me back!" Rebecca dramatically gasps, covering her mouth with her hand. "I think I'll have a heart attack!"

"Save it," you grumble.

“What's got you so depressed?” Rebecca asks, her voice tinny over your phone’s speaker. On the screen, her brown hair is down, smooth and tame, and she’s poking at one of her dozens of window plants, vibrant shades of crimson and navy.

"The whole mission's going to be shitty." You groan. "Honestly, I don't know what they were thinking, putting us together. I hate his guts."

"I don't think you do," Rebecca replies thoughtfully with a smile. "For someone you hate, you sure do talk about him a lot. And I’m pretty sure you knew about his identity from the beginning, didn’t you?"

"That's only because he's a prick—I would know that from anywhere—and everyone needs to know that," you say dismissively.

"Well," Rebecca giggles, "I think he's quite charming."

"Great," you deadpan. "You can have your happily ever after with him."

"Actually, I meant for you," she says.

"You're exactly like Chris."

"Ew." She makes a face, and you start to laugh, but you cut off when you hear rustling from the entrance. You cover the speaker and peer out of the door frame.

Quiet footsteps approach. You step out of the bedroom. A light flicks on in the hallway, and the person who stumbles into the kitchen is Leon.

"Wait, is that—" you disconnect the call and shove your phone into a pocket. He’s rumpled and half-awake, shoulders slumping as he yawns. He stands in front of you wearing a light blue hospital gown. His hair is a mess. His feet are bare.

Leon freezes when his gaze falls on you. You stare back at him. He suddenly stands up straight, but his face is still bleary and confused.

"Hello," he says, his voice hoarse. "Sorry. I was just... Häagen-Dazs."

He gestures vaguely toward the refrigerator, as if the name somehow explains his odd behavior.

"What?" you respond, bewildered.

He crosses to the freezer and grabs a small box of individually packed ice cream, showing you the Häagen-Dazs logo printed across the front. "I was out. Knew they'd stocked you up."

"Did you—do you raid everyone's kitchens?" you ask accusingly.

"Only when I can't sleep," Leon replies. "Which is always. Didn't think you'd be awake." He looks at you, deferring, and you realize he's waiting for permission to open the box and take one.

"No," you say firmly.

"Why not?" Leon whines, a sound you’ve never heard from him before. It's oddly satisfying for him to push back against your refusal, but after all these years, conversing with him feels like a foreign practice.

You shrug and roll your eyes, and his face lights up as he grabs the box anyway.

"Have you practiced what you'll say tomorrow?" he asks suddenly.

"Yes," you reply, bristling immediately. "You're not the only professional around here."

"I didn't mean—" Leon falters. "I only meant, do you think we should, uh, I don’t know, rehearse?"

"Do you need to?" you retort.

"I thought it might help." Of course he thinks that—he's probably been around the world, mingling with all kinds of people. He’s never thought you could handle yourself, and it seems he still hasn't changed.

You walk toward him, unlocking your phone. "Watch this."

You line up a shot of the Häagen-Dazs box on the counter, Leon's hand next to it, and the side of your face as he glances up, confused. You open Instagram and add a filter.

"'Nothing like,'" you narrate flatly as you type a caption, "'midnight ice cream with my new partner.' Posted." You hold the phone out for him to see. "There's a lot of things worth overthinking, believe me. But this isn't one of them."

Leon frowns at you over his ice cream, looking doubtful. "Does this mean we're okay?"

"Oh, no," you say, a sappy smile on your face. "We'll never be okay. What you did was unforgivable." Dramatic, but it works.

"Well, uh, thanks." His eyes meet yours, and his icy blue eyes are full of emotion, glazed like they're brimming with tears.

"For what?" you say, your voice softer than expected.

He opens his mouth to say something, then closes it, lips pursing. "For the ice cream," he mumbles quietly. It's a goddamn box of ice cream; just take it.

"It's fine. Now, are you done?" you ask. "I was on a call."

Leon blinks, then folds his arms over his chest, back on the defensive. "Of course. I won’t keep you." As he leaves the kitchen, he pauses in the doorway, considering, leaning against the wood.

"I didn’t know you wore glasses," he says finally.

He leaves you standing there alone in the kitchen, the box of chocolate-swirl ice cream sweating on the counter, and the faint wish that he had thanked you for something else.

<><><><>

The drive to the interview is hot and stuffy, and it probably didn’t help that the driver refused to put down the windows and that you were seated right next to Leon, your legs almost brushing.

In the room, stylists twist Leon's hair into elaborate patterns that fall over his eyes, casting shadows over his pale blue irises. He gives you a crooked smile with the side of his face as a makeup artist dabs his cheekbones with powder.

Leon’s wearing a sweater that matches yours, except unlike you, he looks like he’s attending a private school in England over the summer, spending his days playing polo and betting on horse racing.

You don't understand why Leon needs makeup. He already looks fine, but you suppose "fine" won't suffice for the rest of the world—or Wesker. You realize you’re glaring at him and quickly look away.

"Alright, let's go over this," Helena says quietly, crouching near the edge of the couch you're sitting on. "You need to make it seem like you've been close friends with him, kept in touch for a long time."

"Got it," you say, slightly bitter. "Why couldn't you do this?"

"Because I didn't want to."

"And you thought I did?"

"It doesn't matter what you want," Helena says, but a small smile has crept onto her face. She shakes her head and glances up at you, eyes flitting to the complex camera system. "Do what you need to. Remember what's at stake here."

You nod, and she stands, dusting herself off before walking away. Someone shoos all of Leon's artists away, sending them scrambling like a school of fish. A voice counts down, and you glance at the preppy interviewer sitting near you, smiling eerily.

"So, you two, you look cozy over there," she says, waggling her eyebrows in a way that makes you want to throw up. "Let's hear a bit about yourselves before getting to the main questions, huh?" She turns to you, wide eyes boring into you.

"Uh, hello?" you begin unsteadily, introducing yourself. "I've been working as a government agent for around five years, skilled in combat and medical fields, and have been..." You falter here.

"We've been friends for a long time," Leon finishes for you. "Contrary to what happened at the gala, we're very close, and what occurred was just a misunderstanding." He smiles warmly at the camera, and the interviewer's own smile only grows.

"So, you've been friends since the Raccoon City Incident of 1998, yes?" she asks, directing her pen toward both of you.

"Uh..." Leon's eyes cut to you.

"Yes," you say for him. "It's almost like we've known each other for our entire lives."

"Mhm, yup," Leon affirms, like the easier thing for him to do is lie with a sweet smile on his face, the smile you know sends your knees buckling and stomach fluttering.

"Now, here's the biggest question on everyone's mind," she says, leaning forward in her seat. "Two special agents working together to serve the government. It sounds like a romance novel!" She giggles.

"I'm... sorry?" Leon tilts his head, and by the confused look in his eyes, you see he doesn't understand the full length of what the woman said.

"I understand what you're implying," you begin.

"What, wait, you do?" Leon turns to you, raising an eyebrow. "What does she mean?"

"Go ahead. Tell him what I mean," she says, eyelashes fluttering. She waves the camera over, and you feel the gazes of multiple people on you.

It's Leon. He'll laugh at the implication and wave it off. He's your Leon. The one you know. You can trust him.

"She, along with the rest of whoever 'everyone' is, thinks we're dating." The room holds its breath, Leon's expression unchanging. Then he smiles.

"Are we?"

"No, stupid."

"Women," he says, scoffing and turning to look the other way. The camera zooms in on his face, and you can see a smile creep onto the side of his lips.

"Leon has very readable emotions," you say, immediately getting his attention. He snaps back to you, eyes meeting yours in a challenging glare. You sit forward, and he copies your movements, his glare cast downward as yours is cast upward. Your faces are so close that your noses could be touching.

"My partner has visible reactions to everything I do. I guess I'm just too handsome for her to leave alone," he says smugly, a smirk curving his lips.

"Fuck off, you self-absorbed prick."

Leon leans forward. "Are we giving them something to talk about?"

You meet his gaze without flinching. "No."

Leon smiles strangely. "Your reaction says otherwise."

Your temper flashes. "Don't flatter yourself. I couldn't care less what people think. What even were we?"

"You know what we are," Leon says, meeting your gaze. His eyes, however much they've darkened over the years, are still his, full of emotion. There's something different now, though. There's something guarding them, some kind of emotional barrier to keep from showing too much.

"I used to think I did," you say. "But I don't think I do anymore."

"Why are you acting like this?" Leon asks, his voice suddenly angry.

"Like what?" you retort defensively.

"Like it's my fault this happened!" Leon says. "Did you honestly think I was gonna come meet you right after risking my life multiple times to save you and Ashley? Not everything is about you! I have people to meet, duties to fulfill, and places to be!"

"Your life doesn't have to be about me!" you protest. "All I wanted was to know that you were at least alive!"

"Maybe I should've," Leon says, sounding genuinely guilty. "Maybe I should've called you once, and then let the government kill you? Is that what you wanted?"

"Government... kill me?" You pull backward. "Why would they—"

"They threatened to find you if I didn't leave you the day we got back to the US. They thought I would tell you government secrets and they would get leaked." Leon crosses his arms and tries his best to look away from you.

"But... I don't understand," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Don't they know that you always put your work first?"

"I usually do," Leon agrees. "But... Ashley might’ve gone to ask if you could be added to her team."

"Team... like, security?" you ask. "Of course they said no! What was that girl on?"

"Actually," Leon says sheepishly, "they said yes. They figured if you survived through all that with no training, you must have raw talent. They liked that."

"So... why was I not with you and Ashley for these past six years?" you ask accusingly. Leon's eyes darken.

"Because I refused," Leon admits. "I didn't let them get to you. I told them you would be too big of a burden and that I'd take all the responsibility to keep you safe." Leon pauses as he runs a hand through his hair. "Because..." He trails off. "Look, I made a mistake. I know I should have called you after those six years. But I thought that you understood why I had to do what I did. I was protecting us."

"I don't need to be fucking protected by you, Leon," you growl. "Seriously, you thought I couldn't handle myself? That I need a big strong man to follow me everywhere because I'm too weak to protect myself? Jesus fuck, I'm not Ashley!"

"You're not Ashley," Leon acknowledges, anger in his voice as he flushes. "But you would've gotten yourself killed without me in Spain, watching your back!"

"You would've died from a blood infection if I wasn't there," you retort, crossing your arms. "You wouldn't have lasted a day without me."

"Why couldn't you trust me? I knew you would survive. You just had to wait. Why couldn't you wait longer?"

"I waited six fucking years, Leon," you say, tears stinging your eyes. "How much longer did you want me to wait?"

"I don't know." Leon mumbles. "Maybe two weeks. Maybe a decade. How am I supposed to know? They don't fucking tell me anything." His feet shuffle on the floor.

"A decade?" you laugh dryly. "We're getting pretty damn close to that milestone, aren't we?"

Leon’s eyes flash dangerously. “You know it isn't that simple.”

“It was for me,” you retort. "I grew to depend on you, and you left."

Leon leans in closer, voice dropping to a fierce whisper. “If you thought I would do anything other than that, you’re more naive than I thought. You have no idea what was really at stake.”

You match his tone, eyes glittering. “Enlighten me then. Go on, tell me where you really were.”

Leon recoils slightly but quickly masks it. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“Coward,” you spit.

“Watch yourself, rookie. You’re treading on thin ice.”

You lift your chin defiantly. “Or what, Leon? You’ll leave me again?”

A muscle ticks in his jaw. Finally, he straightens, avoiding your eyes. You regain notice of the cameraman, peeking out from behind his set, mouth slightly open. “We’re not having this conversation here.”

"Cut the cameras," the interviewer hisses, tracing a line along her throat. Her earlier giddiness seems to have vanished. “Actually, you know what? Cut all that out. He’ll have my head if that government shit airs.”

"No need." You grit your teeth. "I'll be taking my leave. Helena, let's go."

Your questionable friend stands up with you and walks out the door.

"Was that really the way to tell him your feelings?" You slump your head against the wall.

"I don't know how else to." Your eyes well with tears that sting. You swallow painfully past the lump in your throat and stand up straighter. "What's with you?"

"I don't follow," she says cautiously.

"The flirting. The pet names. You think I can't hear?"

"We have history. I don't like him in that way."

"Leon and I have history too," you reply coldly. "So I hope you'll understand why I'm quitting the mission."

"You can't!" she bursts. "We need you!"

"You need Leon more," you say flatly.

"I understand this is difficult for you," she soothes. "Working so closely with Leon again after… everything. It's a lot to process."

You say nothing, staring numbly at the floor.

Helena presses on gently. "If you feel you need space, we'll respect that. Your well-being is what matters most right now. We need to make this believable."

At this, your head snaps up in surprise. "You'd… let me quit?"

Helena nods. "This is about more than just the mission. It's about you finding your way forward, in your own time and way."

You think of this during the car ride back, in a separate car from Leon, and all the way to the base. And all you can remember is the anguish he caused when there were miles and miles between you, when you forgot the sound of his voice, crying for it at night.

So you might’ve taken a few drinks, waiting for someone to fetch you.

You might’ve let the alcohol get to your head.

What does it matter when you let Leon get to your head too?

Crying out helplessly, silently. Wishing for solace.

<><><><>

You storm up to your room, emotions raw. You throw open the door to see the person you just cannot stand, Leon Scott Kennedy, at your desk.

Leon looks up coolly. "Trouble knocking?"

"It's my fucking room, you..." You seethe, hands balling into fists. "You miserable piece of shit."

Leon raises an eyebrow. "To what do I owe this hostility?"

You step forward, flicking out your knife, all your emotions welling up inside you. You find the strength to slam him back against the wall and press the knife against his throat.

Leon grunts in surprise, but his eyes gleam with interest rather than fear. "I see you've come ready to play."

You press against him threateningly. "Give me one good reason not to end you here and now."

"Fuck, you've gotten good with that thing, haven't you, sweetheart?" The term stirs something inside you. His expression is suppressed, and he makes a strangled sound deep in his throat.

"You... you—" You break away from him, shivering. You collapse against the wall, your anger evaporating into a wave of despair so vast you think you might drown in it. Leon lowers himself beside you against the wall's solid support. His proximity feels both foreign yet familiar.

"I wasn't happy where I was." He lets his head lean back onto the wall, gazing up at the moonlit ceiling. "I hope you know that."

"Say I do," you begin half-heartedly. "What'll it take for you to be happy again?"

"You," he responds almost immediately. "I don't want you to be mad at me. God, you're all I need to be happy, doll."

You move closer. "What was that?" you say teasingly, resting your head on his shoulder.

"You heard me," he chastises.

"What about Helena?" you test.

"I..." He looks away sheepishly. "Let’s just say my efforts to get over you were in vain."

"Is that so, pretty boy?" Your lips quirk in a smirk as Leon sharply inhales, eyes fluttering closed.

"One more time," he says, his voice rough velvet against your ears.

"Hm?" you ask innocently. His eyes open, and when they meet yours again, stormy seas roil beneath the surface.

"Call me that one more time, and I swear I'll—"

"Make me, pretty boy. Prove you mean what you say."

Leon’s eyes burn into yours as he struggles to maintain control. He leans in close, whispering harshly, "Do you really want that?"

Your breath hitches at the intensity of his stare, your heart pounding in your chest. But you can't resist the challenge. "Go on then," you dare him, your voice barely audible. "Prove it."

Leon’s lips twitch into a grin, the tiniest hint of satisfaction lighting up his features. He pulls you closer, your bodies pressed tightly together. His hand moves to cup the back of your neck, his thumb brushing softly against your sensitive skin.

"I don't think you understand what you're asking for, doll," he warns softly. "This isn't what you want."

You reach up to grip his wrist, using it to guide his hand lower, tracing a path down your spine toward the curve of your hip. Your eyes never leave his, the challenge still present in their depths.

"I'm not sure you'd know," you counter, your own voice low and sultry. "But I know exactly what I want."

Leon’s breath hitches, his grip on you tightening as you slide your free hand up his chest to grasp the lapel of his jacket. Panic flares in his eyes, and he pulls away, standing up afterward. You follow his movements, watching his gaze on you.

Did you go too far? You quickly reach out for him, trying to reassure him with your eyes that you didn't mean anything, but he steps back, shaking his head minutely. His breathing is labored, his gaze never leaving yours.

"Are you drunk?" he rasps, taking a few steps away from you. At your silence, he shakes his head again. "We can't do this. We shouldn't. Not while you're like this."

But even as he tries to distance himself, you can see the fire in his eyes refuses to die down.

"Why not?" you retort, mirroring his movements except forward until you're once again only a few steps away from each other. "Because you still care about me? Because I bring out feelings you'd rather bury alive? This isn't about me being drunk; this is about you being too much of a coward to admit your feelings!"

Leon clenches his jaw, his chest rising and falling rapidly with each labored breath.

"You want me to admit it?" he snarls, narrowing his eyes dangerously. "Fine! Yes, I still care about you. I even love you. But that doesn't change anything!" His fists clench at his sides.

"Then why fight it?" you whisper, feeling boldness surge within you. Your hand reaches out tentatively, tracing along the edge of his shirt where it meets his waistband.

"Because it leads nowhere good," he growls, catching your wrist before you can venture any farther. His grip is firm, but not painful.

"Maybe somewhere better," you murmur, looking up at him with wide eyes. Desire courses through you like wildfire, igniting every nerve ending with its heated touch.

"What if I hurt you?" His eyes flash with fear.

"You underestimate me, Leon," you murmur. "I'm not as breakable as you think."

"Please, don't push me," he breathes hoarsely, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "I don't know what I'll do if you keep pushing."

"Why don't you understand that you don't get to decide everything? It could be my relationship too!"

Leon’s grip on your wrist tightens as he stares into your eyes, searching for understanding or defiance.

"You don't get it, do you?" he snaps, his voice low and dangerous. "I tried to protect you before, and look where it got me! Another man could've had you!"

"And now?" you question quietly, trying to reassure him with soft strokes against his palm. His heartbeats pound beneath your fingertips, syncopated with yours.

"Now..." Leon swallows hard, looking away briefly before meeting your gaze once more. "Now... I have you. And despite everything, that scares the hell out of me."

You glance up and kiss him.

The tension crackles in the air, thick and palpable. He leans closer, his voice a low growl. "And I'm telling you, I'm the last thing you need."

Your heart pounds in your chest. "Are you suggesting someone else?" you dare to challenge him.

"Fuck no." His eyes narrow, a flicker of jealousy crossing his face. Then, in a swift movement, he pins you against the door, his hips pressing against yours. The relief you feel at his answer is quickly replaced by a surge of pure desire.

"Good," you breathe, tilting your head up to meet his. You capture his bottom lip between yours, sucking gently before nipping it with your teeth. "Because I only want you, Leon."

Your words seem to break something within him. He finally gives in, your mouths colliding in a kiss that is hot, fierce, and utterly out of control.

Need pulses through you as he grasps your backside, pulling you flush against him. Your back grazes the wall as you use it for leverage, pushing closer to his strength. You wrap your legs around his waist, locking your ankles behind him. Your nightgown rides up with the motion, but you don't care. All you can think about is the way he's kissing you, the way his mouth moves against yours, the way his tongue dances with yours.

The world narrows to this kiss, this moment, this man. He is yours. Or maybe you are his. It doesn't matter, as long as he keeps kissing you.

Heat floods your body as his mouth trails down your neck, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"God," he murmurs against your skin.

Then, you're moving. You hear a crash as your desk chair hits the floor, and the next thing you know, you're sprawled across your desk, your legs wrapped around his waist. He leans over you, his fingers tangled in your hair as he devours your mouth once more.

You kiss him back with a hunger you've never known before. Your hands reach up to brace yourself, knocking over anything and everything in your way. Time seems to stand still.

"You'll hate me in the morning," he says between kisses, his voice husky. "You don't really want this."

"Stop telling me what I want," you breathe, threading your fingers through his hair. You tilt your head, giving him better access. He takes it, his mouth moving down your neck to where it meets your shoulder.

Every touch of his mouth to your skin is like a spark igniting a flame. You gasp when he lingers on a particularly sensitive spot, taking his time.

"Unless you don't want me," you whisper, a flicker of doubt creeping in.

"Does this feel like I don't want you?" He takes your hand and guides it between your bodies. Your fingers curl around his length, feeling the evidence of his desire. You whimper, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his need. "I always fucking want you," he groans as you squeeze him. He lifts his head, his icy blue eyes locking with yours. You see the raw desire reflected in their depths, mirroring your own. "You walk into a room, and I can't look away. I get anywhere near you, and this is what happens. Fucking hell, I can barely think when you're around." He thrusts his hips into your hand, and your stomach clenches with anticipation. "My problem isn’t with wanting you."

"Then what is?" you ask, your voice trembling with desire.

"I'm trying to protect you," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "From me."

He's right. You know he's right. But in that moment, you don't care. All you want is him.

"I don't need protection," you whisper, your voice barely audible. "I want you."

And with that, he takes you. He takes you hard and fast, his movements relentless, his kisses demanding. You move together, a tangle of limbs and desire, until the world around you fades away.

You cry out his name, your body arching against his. He holds you tight, his breath hot against your ear.

"I've got you, darling," he promises. "Let it out."

"Shit," you gasp, as the pleasure builds to an unbearable crescendo.

He takes you over and over, never stopping, until you are both lost in the throes of passion. All that matters is the two of you, lost in a world of your own.

Finally, he collapses on top of you, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with raw emotion. You look up at him, your heart overflowing with love and desire.

"I’ve never lost control like that," he says, bracing his weight on one arm and brushing your hair back from your face with the other. The move is so gentle, so at odds with what you’ve just experienced, that you can’t help but blink, then smile.

"I know. I've noticed." The smile morphs into a full-out grin. "Not that I’ve ever had something to lose control of before." He laughs and rolls you to his side, keeping you close and cushioning your head with his biceps. You look to your mahogany desk.

"Did I…"

"Ruin your desk?" He lifts a brow. "Yes."

"Oh." You can’t find it in you to be embarrassed, so you brush the backs of your fingers across the stubble along his jaw.

"To be fair, I was messing it up when you walked in. I also might've broken your dagger stand." He grimaces. "I’ll get you a new one."

You blink. “That was…” You didn’t even get the man’s pants entirely off, and your gown is haphazardly hanging from one shoulder.

“Frighteningly perfect.” He cups the side of your face. “We should get you cleaned up and to sleep. We can worry about… your room tomorrow. And one more thing."

You look up at him questioningly. "Yeah?”

“You really should try to be more careful."

"I am!" you exclaim. His eyes narrow. "Mostly.”

"Well, if you weren't so reckless, we wouldn't be having this conversation." He sighs. "If what you said about our agency got out, what would have happened to you?"

Your gaze drifts away from his, and you bite your lip. "I know."

"Good, because now you're going to listen to me." He leans forward until your noses touch. "No more taking chances. No more being careless. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good girl." He grins, a crooked curve of his swollen lips. "But don't worry, we'll figure something out."

"Thank you." You lean against him and rest your cheek against his chest.

"Of course, princess," he whispers back, stroking your hair.

"I'm sorry for what I said earlier," you say quietly.

"It's okay, sweetheart," he replies, kissing the top of your head. "We all have our moments."

"I just wish things were different sometimes," you whisper.

"Me too, baby," he responds, wrapping his arms around you tighter. "But we'll make the best of it, yeah?"

"Yeah," you say, nodding. "Thanks."

"Anything for you, princess," he mutters back, dipping his hand back between the both of you, snaking around your body.

“What are you doing?”

No response, only silence. Leon smirks, you feel it on your neck. You’ve missed that smirk, and he makes sure that you tell him.

Guess you never realize how much you miss someone until they’re gone, huh?

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

Slow Dancing in Circles

Ascended Astarion || Astarion x f!Tav || ao3 || Masterlist

Rating: M , +18 Word Count: +1.4k Warnings: Ascended Astarion, abuse, mentions of sex (dub-con?, no description of sex act), mentions of death, adult themes.

And so it’s just you and him going through the same old motions, following a routine of his design—you always do, these days. Or decades. Centuries? Who knows? Not that it matters, no. You’ve been doing this for a very long time. Agreeing. Smiling. Fighting. Fucking. Dancing. Crying. Blood. So much blood. Even when this ballroom is long dead, the Gate is still bleeding red—for you, he says. Always for you. 

a/n: said I wouldn't do AA content but I talk a lot, apparently. Written in a frenzy. Another not so edited work, because I'm playing around with my writing lately and also try to chill a little. And it's 3am, make of that information what you will.

The Vampire Lord’s hand is clasping yours tightly as you dance around his empty ballroom. There’s no music accompanying you tonight—there was once, but not anymore. You can’t say when it crept in exactly, the heavy silence in this grand room. You only know that the music faded gradually, once upon a time, so slowly that you only noticed its absence when it had long fallen silent. Not that it matters, now.

The Lord of the house and you—his consort, his bride, his little love—are the only guests this room has seen in years, but you still know the steps of this dance by your cold, undead heart. You’ve gone through these same motions thousands of times before, and still, the Vampire Lord insists on guiding you through them. It’s not that he fears you’ll forget your place in time—you can’t, because he seldom wastes an opportunity reminding you.

Follow my lead, little love, he purrs into your ear. It’s not like you could do otherwise.  

And so it’s just you and him dancing through a withering ballroom, old grandeur slowly crumbling under years of silence and moonlit dust. One step forward, two steps back. Left. Right. Left. Left. Spin. Back. Back. Forward, please? Back. Left. No, pet, start again. There’s no end to this dance, unless the Vampire Lord wishes so, and he never does. 

And so it’s just you and him going through the same old motions, following a routine of his design—you always do, these days. Or decades. Centuries? Who knows? Not that it matters, no. You’ve been doing this for a very long time. Agreeing. Smiling. Fighting. Fucking. Dancing. Crying. Blood. So much blood. Even when this ballroom is long dead, the Gate is still bleeding red—for you, he says. Always for you. 

You’re hungry, little love. 

Are you? You must be, because he is. The Vampire Lord is insatiable. And so you must be, too. It’s just another step of this dance. Drinking. Sucking. Waiting. Killing. Damning. Fucking. Blood. So much blood. Love…? Once, maybe. You can’t be sure. Not anymore. Not since your fangs have grown dull. Not since you’re dancing in empty rooms. 

There is no need for you to hunt, let alone starve—not when the Vampire Lord is providing for your every need. Has he ever not done that? No, you haven’t known a night of hunger in his house. How very kind. What would you do without him?

You should be grateful, little love. 

He’s right. There’s no need for you to prowl dark alleys. No drunks, no whores, no rats to taint your pretty mouth with. Only the very best for you, pet. So the Vampire Lord brings you a handsome virgin when you’ve been good, and you always are for him. Gifts you an elf that has seen so many centuries, they’re carved into their beautiful leathery skin. Lies down a girl before you whose belly is so swollen with child that you can’t tell one heartbeat from the other. Their blood is calling to your instincts. You urge to pierce their skin with your fangs, but—  

We ask before we bite, little love.

Yes. May you have some blood, please? Of course, pet, of course! A feast just for you! Who else would it be for? Who else would matter as much as you do?

Come, eat right up, little love!

The moment your food arrives in your chambers it’s pale-faced and stupid with mortal agony. You don’t particularly like that. Their blood has an odd taste to it when the servants had to wash piss and shit off their fear-paralysed bodies right before serving them to you. They’re still alive but stink of death; it’s distasteful. Pitiful. You hate the way they look at you. But you don’t tell the Vampire Lord that. It would be ungrateful, wouldn’t it? 

I said eat, little love.

And doesn’t he feed you so lovingly, even when you reject his generosity at first? You don’t even need to use your own fangs to rip out their throats, he’s angry enough to do it for you. All you need to do is drink. Consume. Live. Please, even if you don’t want to. Listen to skin ripping and bone breaking. Screams fading into music fading into silence in the once-grand ballroom. Life fading to dust. 

The Vampire Lord knows you prefer the ones that are already half-drained of life when they’re brought to you—he knows everything about you. You like them better because they don’t move. They don’t scream. They don’t go through the same motions over and over and over again. All they need to do is die. They’re as good as gone when the Vampire Lord takes the last of their blood in his mouth, pulls you into a heady kiss. They don’t know that their essence drains from his mouth into yours, down your throat, and all you need to see are glassy eyes when the hunger you haven’t even felt has finally been sated. 

Good girl, little love, you’re so very good for me.

You wish you had been more like them, once upon a time, already gone instead of being consumed by fear. Stupid with love. Giving what wasn’t yours to give. Back then—when was it; does it even matter?—when your hands hadn’t yet been drenched in the blood of countless souls. Back then, when all you wanted was to protect the man you…No, it doesn’t matter. Not anymore. Even thinking like that is very bad of you. And yet, the Vampire Lord already knows of your wish. He knows it so well that you’ll never find the words to tell him of it yourself. He doesn’t want to hear of your wish, so silence remains. And it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

I need you, little love.

The Vampire Lord fucks you the same way he dances with you—slow, but firmly. Holding you as close as your bodies allow, lest you vanish into one of the many empty rooms in this grand eroding house. That’s when you love him most. This body inside you is the only thing that still feels like him—the man you loved, once upon a time. Always. What was his name again? He had a silly laugh, you remember, and he was so very sad. Scared. He loved you so much.

Nothing feels as good as you do, little love.

The Vampire Lord plunging into you isn’t scared, nor is he very sad. He’s long over such mortal whims. He’s frantic, though, most of the time. He thinks he’s hiding it, but you went through the steps of this dance so many times that you can glimpse past the mask. He loves you still—his consort, his little love, his prisoner. 

Not that it matters, because it’s just him and a shadow of yourself dancing in a crowded ballroom at all times. Seven thousand damned souls are tugging at your skirts, you can feel their grasp as much as you can feel the Vampire Lord clasping your wrist, his nails digging into your skin. They’re one and the same, death and him. 

Follow my lead, little love. Follow my lead.

The Vampire Lord drags you over ash and bones and blood, so much blood that it makes your head spin. He’s a puppet master pulling the strings of all that’s dead and he won’t ever let go of you—you can tell by the smile on his face that doesn’t reach his all-seeing eyes. It never does. 

You want to hurt him. He knows.

What is it, little love?

You hate him. That man who stole your lover, once upon a time. No, you have to admit that’s not quite right. You were there, too, after all. You’d given him the dagger and then held down your lover as the Vampire Lord stripped himself of the man he was before. You two killed him so very thoroughly, except for his body there is nothing left, now.

“I love you,” is all you can say. They’re not your words, not anymore. 

I know, little love, you always will. 

Sunlight is breaking through dusty old curtains. The Vampire Lord spins you dangerously close to the soaring heat reaching for you. Why doesn’t he just let this house go up in flames? It would be no trouble. You always burned so bright, once upon a time. It would take but a moment.

But burning isn’t part of this dance. Left. Death. Back. Hatred. Back. Eternity. Spin. Tears. Right. His name started with an A. Right. Aeterna amantes. Forward, please? Lovers forever. No, pet, start again. There is little love left, but, as you’re slow dancing in circles through this tomb, you know that eternity has only just begun. 

[angel-of-the-moons]

Can you do a fic where Hobie and reader are really good friends and she's just horny af at the moment so she asks him if he has a friend that'll fuck her with no strings attached cause she don't want a relationship. Hobie ends up doing her.

Oooooooh! I actually have never written something like this before!

No Strings Attached

(Like literally also listened to the song by *NSYNC while writing this don't judge me pls I still like boy bands :'>)

Hobie x Fem!Friend Reader

Because I'm tired of repeating myself: HOBIE IS AGED UP IN THIS FIC

TW/CW: NSFW, Smut, Sex, PIV sex, condom usage, safe sex (wrap before you tap!), friends, FWB(?), marijuana/weed smoking, some booze is involved, hook-ups, nipple piercings, nipple play, sensitive nipples, Bratty(?)Reader

MINORS DNI I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR CONTENT YOU CONSUME

🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸🎸

It was a typical Saturday night, you were chilling in your flat with Hobie, shooting the shit, watching some stupid program on the telly, drinking some foul-tasting beer and passing joints back and forth between the two of you.

There was an uncomfortable silence that annoyed the fuck out of you.

So you decided to break it.

"Hey, Hobes?" You coughed slightly, passing the rapidly shrinking smokeable to your friend.

"Yea?" He asked as he took the last drag as deep as he could, letting the smoke out through his nose with a soft sigh.

You leaned down and got your grinder and papers, beginning to prep another joint to be inhaled by the two of you; Hobie taking another swing of his beer as he watched you and waited for you to finish your thought.

The sickly almost sweet scent of pot wafted the air around you like a foul incense; but you two were hardcore potheads so the smell was more comforting to you than anything.

"I really need to get laid." You sighed boredly, and look at him as you blindly roll the paper between your fingers, bringing it to your mouth to lick it before giving that final twist.

"Fuckin what--" Hobie choked on his beer, setting it on the coffee table as he looked at you, his pierced brows raising just to check if he heard you right.

"Look, it's been a while and a vibrator can only do so much before it gets boring. And forget shit like Bumble, can't trust freaks on the web." You snort, rolling your shoulders before you look back over at him.

His jaw was hanging open slightly.

"You got any friends that'd be willing to hook up? Not looking for a whole thing... just a one time or even just like... fuckin' booty calls at this point." You finish.

"Uh..." Hobie settled back on the sofa and looked at you, his mind drawing a blank. Both for available friends he knew you could trust and words to finish a thought.

"It's alright if you don't, I just figured it'd be faster to ask you." You smirk at him like it was the most casual request in the world.

You let Hobie drop his head back as he looked at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought; lighting the joint and taking the first hit.

Interesting. Not often you were able to render Hobie Brown speechless. Not since he walked in on you walking around in nothing but your panties that one time because he didn't fucking knock on your front door before letting himself in--

"Shit." He mumbled. "Hell... I'd do it, 'f ya comfortable."

You almost drop the joint onto the sofa.

"Wait, what--"

"You got rocks in ya ears?" He grinned, suddenly regaining his momentum.

"I said I'd be willing to fuck you if that's what ya want. Hell, it's been a while for me, too."

He leans forward and takes the joint, pulling it between his lips before leaning back comfortably, taking another nice deep drag as he breathed it out in a cloud.

You blink dumbly.

"Oh."

"Is that an I'm not interested "oh" or a Shit, really? "Oh"?" He smirked, coughing a bit.

You chew your cheek in thought. You didn't trust anybody more than Hobie, you'd been friends for years. You had so much dirt on each other you could probably pin murders on either one of you (metaphorically).

"This doesn't have to be anything more than sex." You tell him.

"I know." He replies.

"This isn't some kind of declaration of love--"

"Noted."

"I still want to be friends."

"Good, cause s' do I."

You fall into a silence again, before looking back at him.

Hobie had his head tilted expectantly at you, waiting patiently for your decision, not wanting to make a move without your go-ahead.

"Ah, fuck it." You say, turning so you can crawl over him, straddling his lap, splaying your hands over his chest before pushing him down into the cushions.

"This is just a... casual thing. Nothing else has to come of it. We can still go back to just bullshitting like we always do."

"Already said that, luv. Read ya loud 'n clear. So's that mean you're in?" Hobie smirked, his large hands quickly grabbing and kneading your ass through your pyjama shorts.

You finally grin back down at him, gripping your t-shirt and swiftly pulling it over your head, the chilly air of your flat sending goosebumps up your spine as your nipples hardened.

"Hey hey hey!" Hobie said, sitting up so his face was right at your breasts, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he looked at them.

Hanging from your cute, perked nipples were two stainless steel bars with little chains and a small metal flower hanging from them.

He was immediately transfixed.

"When did ya get these?"

"I got them like, six months ago when--"

Your voice dies in your throat when his mouth latches onto one of them, pulling the chain between his teeth, tugging it with his tongue as he pinches the flesh with his teeth.

"Shit!" You gasp, being caught off guard.

You always had sensitive nipples, and deciding on going with piercing them had not been easy. The artist at the shop however loved it, she kept bringing up previous clients who were the same.

Since you had those bars put in? It made everything feel worse. That's secretly why you liked the chains. The way they gently tugged on the fabric of your shirts or bras always had your head a little fuzzy in the best way.

And Hobie? Right now, Hobie was downright abusing your nipples, his tongue and teeth tugging, rolling, flicking and nipping at them; taking great care to make sure the chain didn't get snagged on his own piercings, both tongue and lip.

You already felt a heavy pool of arousal start to drip straight from your core, and when Hobie turned his mouth to the other neglected breast and toyed with the chain between his fingers on the one he left, your hips bucked against him of their own accord, the friction from the growing his jeans sending searing jolts right through your shorts, panties, and straight to your clit.

"Fuck..."

Hobie's hands were both occupied now, one hand gripping and squeezing the tit he was biting and sucking now, the other toying with the piercing on your other nipple.

One of your hands gripped at your hair and the other held onto the back of the sofa as Hobie continued to abuse the sensitive flesh, and you whimpered when you felt a wave building up already just from the stimulation he was applying there, alone.

"Fuck." Hobie growled into your tit, the vibrations from his voice making your breath hitch. "You're fuckin' soakin' through."

"C-can't help it--" You panted, urging him on with a roll of your crotch onto the bulge in his jeans.

"You gonna cum like this, eh?" He grinned, looking up at you with your nipple between his teeth, his fingers snaking down to press the soaked fabric of your shorts and panties into your aching sex.

The sight alone has your pussy drooling lasciviously.

You manage a breathless nod and he moves his mouth back to the other nipple, tugging the chain he just abandoned with his fingers.

"Then fuckin' do it. Don't jus' grind in 'ta me, luv."

Hobie presses hard, your swollen clit craving the friction he was promising as he strokes it through the offending garments with his hand.

You make a mewling nose as you buck into him, his mouth latching on and sucking your nipple, as if he enjoyed the metallic taste of your piercing on his tongue as he pinched and tugged forcefully, drawing your orgasm out sharper and faster than any previous sexual partners had from you.

"Hoo-oollly shiii-iit!" You moan into the smoke-heavy air.

Hobie grins and bites down a little harder this time, and that sends you careening over that edge, your mouth opened in a weak groan as you cum, gushing through your clothing and onto his hand, the excess dripping onto his jeans.

Hobie continues to stroke you, helping prolong your orgasm as you dumbly hump into his hand.

He pulls away to allow you to breathe, bringing his wet fingers up to his mouth and slides them in, his tongue laving around each digit as he sucks them clean.

"Not bad. Sweet. You must be drinkin' that pineapple juice again, eh?" He grins up at you.

You smirk down at him and shake your head.

"Fuckin' git." You chuckle.

Hobie grunts and grabs you by the thighs, practically knocking you onto your back, narrowly missing the arm of the sofa as he lifts and pins you down, all but ripping your shorts and panties off.

He looks like the cat about to eat the canary.

And you're the canary.

"You gonna sit there or do something?" You challenge.

Hobie laughs at you and leans in, the promise of a kiss barely there on his lips, before he pulls back, unzipping his fly and tugging his aching cock free.

"Uh, hey Hobes--"

"Yeah, I know. I got one or two." He waves you off, reaching for his old beat up leather wallet (that was honestly more duct tape than wallet at this point) and tugged out two gold-foil packages from between some notes.

He tears them apart and tosses the spare onto the table with his wallet and rips the other open with his teeth.

Hobie rolls the latex down his length, the rubber promising a good time with the ridges and bumps along the length of it.

You grin and bite your lip. This was promising to be a great night. You wonder why you haven't asked him to do this sooner.

Before you have a second to realize what's happening, Hobie deftly picks you up again and spins you around, so your back was pressed against his chest as he spread your legs over his thighs, your pussy bare and exposed as he reaches down and spreads your lips with his fingers, toying with the delicate, weeping flesh, there, avoiding your puffy clit entirely.

"Jus--fuck--Hobie!" You squirm, gripping his forearms with your hands with an impatient whine.

"Ay, you're the one bein' a brat, luv. Brats don't get rewarded for bad behavior." He hummed, continuing to play with you like he had not a care in the world, teasing your hole, gliding back up again--but still avoiding your clit.

"N-now you sound like those fuckin' assholes in charge!" You grunt, impatiently trying to arch into his touch to get the friction you crave so badly.

Oh, you shouldn't have said that.

"Oh, am I now?" Hobie hummed innocently, his mouth at your shoulder.

You could feel the bastard smirk as he pulled his hands away from your slick and aching cunt, making you whine in protest.

You were quickly silenced when one of his hands smooths between your shoulders and forces you forward a bit, his other hand guiding your hips where he wanted it as he lined his cock up.

"Y-yeah you f--ffffuuuuuck!" Your voice raises in pitch when he slams you down on his dick, splitting you open in the most delicious way possible.

He groans at how tight you are, feeling your velvety walls squeeze and flutter around him through the condom.

"Oh, fuck, luv. Goddamn." He hisses through gritted teeth.

When you tried to straighten back up again, his hand goes back to in-between your shoulder blades, forcing your upper body forward again, his other hand kneading your ass and spreading your cheeks as he started ruthlessly snapping his hips up into yours, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth as he watched his latex-wrapped cock get swallowed by your greedy cunt again and again, already leaving a nice, creamy little ring towards the base of the condom.

Fuck. This was hot. One minute you two were hanging out, chilling, and now you're pitched over as Hobie just ruts into you like a horny animal.

"Fuck!" Hobie grunted, pulling you back against him, one of his hands snakes around you to tug on one of your nipple piercings, making you moan pathetically.

"Don' make me do all the work, luv. Help me out." He pants in your ear.

The only sounds you can let out are breathy little "ah's" and "fuck's" with each grind of his hips.

Your arms have to stretch to grip at something, anything to give you a bit of leverage as you just keep bouncing on his cock with everything you have, the ridges and bumps of the condom combined with his calculated thrusts hit every single spot inside of you; his hand fondling your piercings sending fresh sparks down your spine, driving your second orgasm closer and closer to crest.

"Fuckin'... damn. Look at you go." Hobie chuckles heavily in your ear, sweat beading and dripping down his brow.

"Taking me so nice... Bouncing on my dick a good girl." He hisses when he feels you tighten up around him.

"Shit, you're so fuckin' greedy--" He growls, fucking up into you with more force, your tits bouncing so much now that one more tug of your piercings send you over the edge, your vision blurring slightly as you cum around Hobie's cock, still pummeling your cunt with purpose.

Your pace slows a bit as you whimper and whine, and that isn't enough for Hobie.

He forces you back over again, gripping your hips in his hands as yours grip the coffee table in front of you for stability.

"Not... fuckin'... done yet!" He grunts, his hips completely lifting off the cushions with each roll and thrust as he chases his own orgasm, the squeezing muscles of your pussy choking the air out of his lungs as he feels his balls draw taut.

He grits his teeth tightly, his abs flexing with effort as he fucks into you, his cum spurting and filling the condom as he huffs and groans, riding his orgasm out like you were some sex toy.

He pulls you against him, his cock still inside you, twitching as you both breathe heavily, your head leaning back against his shoulder.

"Fuck... god." You groan with satisfaction.

"Yeah, you just did." Hobie grins like the cheeky shit that he is.

"Fuckin' git." You laugh, smacking him with the back of your hand softly; his hand catching yours as his thumb caresses your knuckles.

"Wanna go for round two?" You snicker.

"Well, we got one condom left." He tilts his head.

"What are friends for, right?"

[m30wk1ttycat]

drunken greenie

contains: alcohol mentions, drinking, mentions of newt's attempt pairing: thomas x fem!reader summary: you find out that thomas is a softie when he's drunk.

you were a track-hoe. just like newt was now, after the whole 'incident' with his leg. you were also very friendly and caring. you were like the mother the gladers never had - correction, didn't remember -, since you were the only girl. when the boys in the gardens got hurt, you were the one to take care of them. it wasn't like they got hurt in the garden often, but when they did, you were there to help. after the 'incident' in the maze, you and newt grew closer. you always brought him food, water, whatever else he needed. you had no clue what happened, but if he didn't want to talk about it, you wouldn't bring it up. but since then, it was pretty much safe to say that you and newt were basically inseparable. he was thankful that you were there for him, that you were there to comfort him when he got nightmares. you were also very patient whne he refused to eat. somehow, in the end, you always coaxed him into eating at least something. for that, he was thankful. hell, he was thankful for you.

♡

just a casual day in the garden, you and newt were picking strawberries that frypan needed to make jam. he wiped the sweat above his eyebrow, looking up into the sky for a second. "god, it's hot," he complained. "sure is," you agree, but now you wonder if it's this hot in the outside world. you shake off the thought, and get back to harvesting the strawberries. but before that, you popped one in your mouth. newt gave you a look. "what? i'm starving." "i'm sure you are," he said. he'd scold you about eating the strawberries that frypan needed to make the jam, but then you heard the ear piercing sound coming from the middle of the glade. the box, the elevator-like thing that arrived each month with a greenie and supplies. before you both made your way over the box, you grabbed another strawberry. newt sighed, shaking his head at you. "what?? it's just two, that's nothing!" "whatever," he scoffed and got up. he extended his hand. once you took his hand, he helped you up. looking down, you saw the greenie, his hand above his eyes. he was scared - just like you once were when you arrived here, in a glade full of boys -, seeing about fourty-ish boys and one girl, that girl being you. when gally got him up, the greenie obviously panicked. he ran as fast as he could, only to trip over his own feet. he fell face first, too. the boys all started laughing at the poor boy - all of them except gally. you weren't laughing either. with a small shove with your elbow, newt went silent. the only thing keeping him from laughing was his own hand over his mouth. later that day, during the bonfire, newt offered the greenie moonshine. gally's recipe, apparently. the bonfires were fun, yes, but you'd rather sleep the rest of the afternoon without having to suffer a terrible hangover. and the moonshine tasted disgusting, too. it made your throat burn for about thirty minutes after you first sipped it on your own bonfire night those two years ago. never again. the only times you'd attend the bonfires were when alby was too tired to supervise, as the first-in-command. in that case, newt, as second-in-command, would be left to watch over everyone. meaning that you wouldn't have to listen to alby's rules for the bonfires. but even then, you were only there for a while. not that you'd expect it, but the greenie - who you now knew as thomas - came by, slurring his words and hanging onto anything his hands could grasp. in this case, the doorway. "hii!!" he said, smiling. you let out a small gasp, startled by him. you didn't really expect him to visit you, of all people. especially not now, when you were just chilling in your hut. "hi, thomas," you greet him, looking up at him from your hammock. he stood by the entrance to your hut, a smile on his face. it almost made you forget that this was the same person who was too shy to talk to you when alby introduced him to the track-hoes he'd be shadowing. he stumbled, almost tripping over his feet - only that this time, he wasn't running towards the maze like a few hours ago. before he could hit the ground, you caught him. he immediately wrapped his arms around you.

"are you okay?" you finally ask, "what are you doing here?" "newt didn't say you were busy, so.." "and the other question?" he hiccuped, giggling. "yeah, never better." he tightened his grip around you, pulling you close to him. he frowned for a second, but then went back to giggling. the boy was like a walking mood swing, if that even exists. "where's newt? i thought you were with him." "with minho and the others. he's okay, i swear," he said. his voice remained soft-spoken, even when he said "you're the best, y/n."

and then came more of his rambling. it was cute, though.

"you're not like minho or the others," he said, his words slurred.

"yeah?"

it was very random to hear, in your defense.

"yeah," he confirmed. "you're nice, nicer than anyone here."

thomas paused for a second before continuing. "i like newt, but he's too.. i dunno, too teasing."

"he's a sweet one, i promise," you said.

"but i like you. more than i like any other glader here. that's how you call them, right? gladers?"

you nodded, returning his hug. "yeah, tommy."

he muttered something into your shoulder, something about you calling him 'tommy'. it was only now that you noticed that his fingers were toying with the hem of your sleeves.

he let go for a second, his legs struggling to hold him up - at this point, it was you who he was counting on to support his weight, since his legs felt like jelly.

"wanna lay down for a second? you can barely walk as it is, tommy," you remind, looking at him. for a moment, he didn't speak. when he did, you could only heard him whisper a 'yes' of sorts. you hold him up and help him to your hammock, setting him down. before his head even hit the pillow, he fell asleep. so, you decide to watch over him, just in case if he threw up or got sick. his breathing evened out, his chest rising slowly. at one point, you were sure you heard him mutter something in his sleep. but you weren't sure, you were tired, too.

in the middle of the night, you were startled awake from a nap you didn't even know you took, when thomas shifted in the hammock. when he saw you sitting on the ground, he squinted his eyes. "y/n?" he whispered. you turned your head towards him. "yes?" "are you mad at me?" his words sounded ridiculous to you. why would you be mad at him? "..no. of course not," you responded. he shifted again, looking up at the ceiling. his mouth opened a few times to speak, but no sound came out. the one time he managed to talk, it came out like a quiet murmur. "i'm sorry," was what you could make out. "what for?" you asked. he bit the inside of his cheek in thought, contemplating his next words. "..i don't even know. i just don't want you to be mad at me." "i'm not mad at you. and don't be sorry," you said. "promise?" "i promise. just go to sleep, you'll feel better in the morning."

you knew you were lying about him feeling better in the morning. he probably did, too. he'd be lucky if he didn't suffer a horrible hangover in the morning. and judging by how drunk he seemed to be, he'd be suffering for sure.

"good night, then," he whispered, turning to lay on his side so he could look at you. he spoke again after a few minutes, spending a minute thanking you for letting him stay at your place - if you could even call it that, since it wasn't even very spacious, and only had a hammock, a chest to store your things, a wooden table, with a small, wobbly chair with uneven legs, but it was still something. silence. again. you assumed he was asleep, judging by the soft snores and mumbles you heard from him. before you knew it, you, too, drifted off to sleep.

[angelizs]

[Octopus piercing - Jade Leech]

Summary: Hand slipping down from his cheek to his chin, you pull away to take in the whole picture. Jade, octopus piercing covering his whole ear, skin flushed a delightful shade of light pink, eyes looking at you the whole time, entranced. 

Notes: gn!reader, based on the early concept of punk Jade, in this household we like flustered Jade who's down bad while also being a tease, now I'm certain he had a punk phase at some point and still has the piercings!

"Oh? What's this?"

Your voice rings out in the otherwise silent room, being quickly replaced by the sound of clinking metal.

Jade turns his head around your direction, tilting it to the side in interest. If you had been looking at him, you might have noticed the ever so slight widening of his eyes as he realizes what you found (you always do, as attentive to his expressions as he is with yours), but alas, something else had caught your eye.

It's as if the air in his bedroom stilled and time had stopped for a moment as you lift up your hand to look closer at your finding. He watches attentively, wanting to drink in your reaction.

You don't disappoint (you never do). Your lips part as you let out a breath of amazement, your eyes shining as they reflect the light of the jewel. Something so simple managed to mesmerize you. Your fingers delicately, as if afraid they could break it, toy around it, spinning it from one side to the other, taking in the texture and the coldness.

Jade gets so deep in watching you he almost forgets his comeback. Almost.

"Prefect, you shouldn't mess with other people's things, it's not very polite."

You turn to him, making him feel exhiliration tickle down his spine from having your attention on him, your humorous smile directed at him and only him. 

"You didn't seem to share the sentiment a few months ago, huh?" You refer to the little... incident with Azul's contracts at the end of the year. It was all water under the bridge now, but you still liked to tease them about it.

"These were very different situations, wouldn't you say?" 

For emphasis, he lowers his voice and slides to the side you're seated on his bed, his leg touching yours and his face close enough you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to, but not enough for his nose to touch yours. 

There's a hitch in your breath, so quiet that if it was anyone else they would have missed it. Jade doesn't. His smile turns more genuine at the corners.

"No, I don't think so." 

Instead of trying to get away, you stay where you are, attracted like a moth to the flame. Your hand comes between your faces, putting the object of your fascination in display.

It was an octopus tentacle piercing, one that would curl around the top of the ear and pass through the earlobe. It was quite detailed, with all the suction cups carefully craved in silver.

"It's beautiful. I didn't know you had other earrings."

There it is, that curious look in your face, the one that promises to deliver endless entertainment. He decides to indulge you to see where you're heading with it, although he already has an inkling.

"That must be because I only use this one nowadays." He touches the signature scales earring he's using. "But there was a time I was still experimenting with my appearence. I suppose I couldn't bring myself to get rid of them."

"It's a bit hard to imagine you using anything other than this one, but..." Your gaze turns to the octopus earring, evaluating it, before sliding to his face again. Jade feels as if he was being examinated from the inside out, as if you could investigate his very soul from the intensity of your stare. "I think this one would look pretty good too."

"Shall we check?" 

His fingers do quick work of taking off the backing and pulling his current earring away from his ear, leaving it bare. He puts it on the nightstand and turns around, exposing his side to your ministrations.

You stare for a second, caught of guard. "May I?"

"Of course, go ahead."

You hesitate for a second longer, hearing him let out an amused huff of laughter, before your fingers approach him. You tuck the longer strand of black hair behind his ear to give you space to work. In the process, your warm hand brushes against it, making him shiver. 

Taking your time, you let your touch ghost his cold skin, captivated by such a rare chance to be so close to his space. You notice, for the first time, that there are more little holes alongside it, where other piercings might have been before. The image you conjure in your head is charming enough to make you smile.

The pad of your thumb strokes his earlobe before you insert the post and screw the back, holding it in place and sliding the cuff to hook it on his upper ear. 

Your hand stays in place as you admire your work, rubbing the helix absentmindedly. You hum, your other hand cupping his cheek to turn his head in your direction so you could see how it looked.

"Something's wrong?" You whisper, noticing how he feels warmer under your touch.

Jade's pupils look slightly blown when his eyes meets yours. "Go on." It comes out in a rushed breath. 

Humming once more, your smile widens. "As you wish." 

Hand slipping down from his cheek to his chin, you pull away to take in the whole picture. Jade, octopus piercing covering his whole ear, skin flushed a delightful shade of light pink, eyes looking at you the whole time, entranced. 

"What's the veredict?"

"I was right, you know. It does look good."

"Is that so?" There's something to his tone, something you can't quite name.

You turn his head around, enjoying the thrill you get when he complies and lets you do as you please.

"Actually, maybe I wasn't."

At this, he turns around by himself, a calculating look on his face, trying to guess what you where going to say. He catches up just before the words leave your mouth, but it doesn't make them any less enjoyable to say.

"It's more than good. You look lovely."

The sincerity in his answering laugh is elating.

"You flatter me, prefect. If this is the reaction I'll get, then I might change around my looks more often."

"There's more, right? I'd like to see them too!"

The pleased glint in Jade's expression turns into mischievousness as he pulls away from you, moving to get up.

"Perhaps another time. This would take time I can't afford without risking running late to my shift at Mostro."

"C'mon! Just one more!" You hold his arm before he can move out of your reach, looking through your lashes at his towering form. "Please?"

Sighing, he concedes. "If you insist so much, I suppose we could look at another one." You cheer, pulling him back to where he was, already looking through his other piercings in the drawer. "For a price, naturally."

You only deadpan at him, earning an amused chuckle.

"My, my, what's with that face? Can you say you weren't expecting it?"

"Of course I was, it is you after all. What will it be then?"

A sharp grin exposing his teeth blooms. Most would be scared by it, but the only thing passing through your mind is how this expression goes quite well with this new piercing.

"Not backing down? Very well. How about you participate in this week's Mountain Lovers Club meeting?"

"Deal." There's not even a moment to blink before you agree. Truly, you didn't mind going on his club meetings. In fact, they were very enjoyable most of the time, and if that would make him happy you could sacrifice a few hours from your day. Besides, you were having a lot of fun with your new discovery. "Now, how about this one?" 

You show him the piercing you chose, a little fish skeleton that looked cheaper than the other one. You thought it would look quite cute.

"This was a gift from Floyd, so I'm rather fond of it." You can tell it's true from his softer tone. "We have a deal, you can go ahead."

Letting you have full access to his ear once more, you explore the options where you could put this new piercing. Since the other one covered a good part of the available space, you decided to insert it on the helix, where they wouldn't clash.

You carefully hold it on one hand while your other supports his ear. It's almost reverent the way you insert it, treating it like it was a precious jewel, watching intently as it pierces the skin and appears on the other side, nimble fingers screwing it in place.

Like before, you take his chin between your thumb and index finger, taking in the sight of him. Your lips pout as you think, his eyes darting to stare at them as if in a trance before quickly glancing back to meet yours.

"If feels like there's something missing..." You mumble, thinking out loud. "Oh! Maybe if I just..."

Without further explanation, your free hand combs his hair backwards, messing with it enough to get a spiky look that could rival his twin's. The strand of black hair you had tucked behind his ear gets loose, only half of it staying in the place you left.

Thumb gently rubbing his skin, you push his face away. The messy hair alongside the piercings made him resemble a delinquent. If it wasn't for his awestruck expression, Jade would look quite intimidating. 

"There you go! You look great!"

A second passes where he just stares at you, as if taking this moment in and commiting it to memory, before there's a signature smile adorning his face.

"I trust you did a good job then."

"Nah, you already did before, I just tweaked with a few things here and there."

The amused huff of breath he lets out warms your fingertip. You feel your cheeks getting hotter. 

"I see. In this case, thank you for your assistance. Hopefully Azul will be able to appreciate this new look as much as you do."

Imagining Azul's reaction to his usual put together employee going to work with such a carefree look makes you chuckle.

"I have no doubt that he'll love it. Not as much as I do, but close enough."

"That's a relief, seeing as I have to go now in order to not get late." 

He gets up again and extends his hand to you. You take it, letting him help pulling you up to your feet, standing so close you're pressed against his chest. You can feel his hum resonate through it. Your arms embrace his torso to keep you balanced.

Before you can make a comment, his hand holds your chin, mirroring the position you were in minutes ago, while his other tousles your hair.

"I enjoyed our time together, it's truly too bad it had to be cut short. Let's meet up another time for you to look at the other piercings, yes? There are quite a lot of them, after all."

"I'd like that." You close your eyes to enjoy his touch, leaning into it.

"I'm sure you do." Jade's teasing actions turn softer as he starts to stroke your hair affectionately. "I'll look forward to our next meeting, prefect." 

His tone makes you open your eyes to peek at him. It sounds far too tender, far too sincere. His smile betrays nothing of his thoughts, but you know he said the truth. 

"Me too. Make sure to prepare a special activity for the club meeting since you'll have a special guest!"

"I'll do my best to keep you entertained, don't you worry. I'm sure you'll enjoy what I have planned."

"You sure know how to make someone curious." You tease, hoping he'd give you a hint at what he had planned, but no luck.

"I'm afraid you'll have to wait and see."

You sigh exaggeratedly. "That I'll do." 

"I promise it'll be worth the antecipation. Now, I truly must get going." 

Leaning down while his hand combs your hair backwards, his lips leave a fleeting touch on your forehead, an almost kiss that leaves you wanting more.

"Until we meet again, dear."

With that, he leaves the room in quick strides, leaving you alone to process what happened. Your hands shoot up to your forehead as you splutter, trying to get your thoughts in order. 

Just what was that?

Sighing, you decide you'll have to wait until the mountain lovers club meeting to confront him. It's shaping up to be quite an eventful day and you can feel your excitement bubbling up.

Jade sure knew how to keep someone on their toes.

Glancing one last time at the nightstand, the light catching on his scales earring laying there innocently, you leave to go to your dorm.

Your thoughts turn to the mental picture of Jade, flushed face and blown pupils, messy hair and piercings on his ear. Involuntarily, your lips shape into a giddy smile. 

There was a jewellery shop at the island's city, right? Maybe you'd take a look at which piercings they had next time you go run errands.

BONUS SCENE!

"Azul! Jade's here!" Floyd's excited giggle rings out in the otherwise silent office as he opens the door with a bang.

"Finally! I was starting to think he forgot about his shift..." Azul trails off as he takes in the sight before him.

Right next to a smiling Floyd was Jade. His outfit was in perfect condition and his posture was as formal as always. Still, Azul couldn't stop staring at the different hairstyle and piercings he was using.

There was a time when they were first years and very new to living on land in which Jade decided to experiment with his appearence. He got a lot of piercings and cut his hair in what could be known as a "punk hairstyle", contrasting terribly with his buttlerly personality. He seemed to find it very amusing, but after getting in trouble with the teachers for breaking the dress code and getting bored of the usual reactions he'd get from the other students, he decided to take them off and let his hair grow, going back to his usual look.

So it was quite a shock to see them making a comeback, although in a much tamer way than how he used to be.

"What... what has brought this back?" Truly, Azul thought he'd gotten used to the twin's antics by now and couldn't be surprised anymore, but they always found a way of surpassing expectations. 

"Yeah, I wanna know too! When I asked you to put them back you just ignored me." Floyd pouts, crossing his arms and slouching dejectedly.

"It's a long story, but it started when the prefect and I were studying in my room..."

"Wait, you know what? You can stop right there, I don't want to know. Please just get to work." Azul sighs, massaging his temples.

Whenever Ramshackle's prefect was involved, there surely was some crazy story following, and they were already behind schedule as it was.

"Of course, as you wish." Jade agrees with his usual polite smile, but no one in the room was fooled by it. They both knew he was extremely amused by their curiosity. 

"Awn, I wanted to know." Floyd complains, whining. 

"Perhaps I'll tell you another time. Right now, let's get to work, shall we?"

With a groaning Floyd in town, Jade walks out of the door as if nothing was amiss. Azul simply accepts that he'll have to deal with this new development and decides to have a talk with the prefect later. Not that it would change much of anything. When Jade had his mind set on something, he didn't stop until he was satisfied, and for some reason or other he seemed to be interested in experimenting again.

The Octavinelle dorm leader could only wonder what had caused this sudden interest.

Masterlist

[darkpuppysuit]

WARNINGS:  Mainly physical abuse with mental abuse as well.

MATURE 18+ MINORS DNI 

Vague hybrid abuse, DEATH, eventual SMUT, and more if I missed any. Chapter one and future chapters will be a lot longer than the prologue so buckle up buttercup.

There is also a POV change in the future chapters.

The only descriptive words I'll use are blue eyes, septum/lip/tongue piercings/gauges/tattoos.

Now, onto the beginning of it all.

"How dare you disobey me girl!" He growled, I can't help but flinch but I'm held back by the chains hanging from the ceiling. "Please, I'm sorry I was just, so hungry. I haven't eaten in days. Daddy please." He hits me with the belt again and a small yelp leaves my lips and I fall limp but still conscious and the chains around my wrists twist painfully . "You don't need to be eating all that food, too fat! Why do you think I locked the damn fridge!" He screams only to wave the belt around and pelt me with the end of it leaving behind an instant red welt and I can barely react before he's grabbing me by the jaw his fingers digging into my round cheeks, forcing me to look him in the eyes.

"You better be a good girl to your husband because if you act anything like you are right now he will surely do worse than me! I'll make sure he knows how to discipline you the correct way." He waves his hand around the soundproof basement and roughly throws my face towards the ground but again my arms are cuffed to the chains above me so I don't meet the cold concrete below. "I promise I'll treat him like a king daddy just please, stop hitting me I beg you." I whimper as blood, sweat and tears drip from the cut on my lip and across my brow. He huffs smirking to himself, chuckling even, before throwing the belt to the ground and walking towards me unbuttoning his pants.

The next time I come to was early the next morning, I was back in my bedroom upstairs all my cuts I had received the night before cleaned and bandaged. I try to sit up but I'm stopped by the throbbing headache pounding in my skull, I lay back down with a grunt as I cover my eyes from the sunbeam that just flashed me in the eyes.

"God fucking dammit." I groan and slowly sit up, still groaning in annoyance from my pounding head, then of course my alarm for school had to scream bloody fucking murder in my left ear and I jolt upright. "Son of a bitch! I'm so fucking late! Fuck fuck fuck!" I curse under my breath as I scramble to get dressed for school, nothing fancy just the normal black skinny jeans, black band tee, a flannel and a pair of converse.

I yank my bag off the back of my desk chair and run out of my bedroom like a bat out of hell. Making my way through the living room quietly and just when the front door is within arms reach is when my father clears his throat from his chair. "Forgetting something?" He purrs, obviously still hungover from the night before. "O-of course not d-daddy." I choke on the last word turning around quickly to place a kiss on his cheek before practically running through the door, closing it gently and almost running the whole way to school.

I barely get to first period by the skin of my ass, if it wasn't for the couple making out in front of my locker for two minutes longer than necessary, I wouldn't have to sprint before Mrs. Luce closed her door. "Okay class, today we are going to start reading a book called The Graduate..." Her voice was quickly drowned out by my best friend Emily nudging my shoulder with her own. "So did your father bang you up or did you fall into a thorn bush again?" She asks sarcastically while giving her red hair a flip over her shoulder. "I really don't want to do this with you right now Em." I lean over to whisper to her then take out my notebook.

Now, Emily has been my best friend since my mother died in a car accident coming home from her nursing job across town. A truck driver had fallen asleep at the wheel causing his truck to hit the side railing and flip completely over crushing her car like a soda can, like it was nothing. But that was eight years ago and I wasn't all that close to my mom like I wanted to be because after she had me she went into a deep depression. She had her good days though and those are the days I will never forget.

Does Emily know that my dad beats me for anything I do that he finds wrong?

Yes.

Does she know what happens after he's done beating me?

No.

I could never burden her with that knowledge because knowing her the police would get involved and fuck, if my dad ever found out that I told her I'd be dead within the hour and thrown over a bridge somewhere. I can't help but shiver at the thought as I glance at her for a second before responding. "Even if I did fall into a thorn bush you'd know it was bullshit within a second." I pop back, she rolls her eyes as the teacher clears her throat and our heads snap back to the front. 

"We graduate this year!" Emily yells into the bustling hallway of our local high school with her arms stretched above her head and lets out a yawn. "Just a few more months and we are outta here!" She beams with a bright boxy smile which is infectious and I smile back at her my eyes squinting. "I think I might go live with my grandparents after graduation. They live out on this eighty acre farm far away from the city and I think being out there will just help me get my fucking shit together." I grumble imagining the life I could of had if I stayed with them after my mother died.

"Then you would live so far away from me!" Emily whined as she wrapped her arms around my shoulders in a lazy fashion that has her body slumping into mine. "Girl get the fuck off of me! You're so heavy!" I tease and she feigns hurt by clutching her chest with her mouth hung wide open. "How dare you! Are you calling me fat?" I laugh softly and close her mouth for her with my index finger. "Of course not babes, if one of us is fat it's me" I scoff and keep walking towards the exit with her right arm still over my shoulder.

"You are not fat Y/n/ m/n! You are curvy and gorgeous! Don't let what your father or anyone else says to heart because that's how they tear you down to their level and nobody wants that." She pouts jutting out her bottom lip for a dramatic effect and for a bonus she gives her best puppy eyes. "Oh come on you know it was just a joke, I know okay." She lets out a huff of air that has her red curls fall against her freckled cheeks. "I just want you to know you're worthy of real love okay? Don't ever doubt that, please."

As we walk out of the front doors the quarterback of our stupid football team comes barreling towards the stairs pushing past me causing me to fall backwards and hit my head on the last step. "Fuck!" I yell slowly sitting up to touch the back of my  head only to pull it back to reveal a dark crimson liquid sitting on my finger tips. "Holy shit Y/n! Do I need to call an ambulance?" Emily the ever caring friend is kneeling above me, the sun suddenly becomes too bright and I close my eyes only for the black void around me to start spinning. I open my eyes again as I try to focus on her face. "I-I'll be f-fine Emmy. D-don't worry about it." I stutter hard and quickly lose consciousness, the last thing I hear is her yelling for help as she called the emergency services.

I wake up a few times in the ambulance as they asses the damage to the back of my head but other than a few fuzzy faces, muffled voices and a faint beeping noise is all I can hear when I'm not entirely lucid. 

Once I wake up again for the second or maybe third time I'm sitting in a hospital bed with an IV hooked into my arm and a blood pressure cuff sitting on the other. I groan at the blinding lights above me as a nurse walks in and turns them down for me. "Good evening Miss, L/n?" She looks to me from her clip board with a fake smile plastered on her face and I give her a slight nod.

"You've received a concussion and there is a few other scratches and bruises around your neck and arms. Not only that but you seem to be very dehydrated and malnourished, although." She looks over at me again this time from the computer located to the left of my bed and instead of her fake smile from before, her face adorns a disgusted look with her brows knitted together. "You seem to be fine." I roll my eyes at her and scoff.

"Well fuck lady next time just call me fat the first damn time why don't you?" I snap glaring at her with squinted eyes, I jump a little when Emily practically breaks the door down and comes rushing to my side. "Oh my god Y/n! I thought you were dead! You've been out for hours!" She sits on my bed and envelopes me in a hug then leans in close to my ear to whisper. "He's in the waiting room, has been for the last two hours, he looks pissed as all hell. What do you want me to do?" I look up at her with tears in my eyes and I hold them back but I know she can still see the fear behind them.

"Tell him that I'm awake because I have a feeling they're going to tell him anyways." I shoot the nurse one more glare before she walks out of the room taking her cheap perfume smell with her. "Do you want me to stay? We can call your grandparents and you can stay there?" She has always urged me to get the hell out of this town and away from my father as soon as I turned eighteen last summer but I always gave her some sort of excuse to stay. "I thought you said it was too far?" I half joked earning a teary eyed smile from her. "There is no distance that can separate two soul sisters." She gave her signature boxy smile but even that felt forced. 

Just when I was about to speak again my mouth instantly shuts when I smell the alcohol pouring from the man I hate the most, my father. "Hey sugar. How are ya feeling?" He asks sickeningly sweet, laying it on much too thick I wince worried it would give me a toothache. "I'm okay, Emily was quick on her feet, calling the ambulance when she did." I say in a hushed tone and pick at my fingers letting my head hang low staring at the off white blanket draped over my legs.

"That's good to hear, thank you so much." He turns to Emily who has to fix her resting bitch face into a small smile as she tries not to scowl at the horrid thing in front of her. "Of course, just looking out for my soul sister." She briefly looks down at me, winking, before nudging my shoulder with her arm lovingly. "Right." He pauses looking between us before he clears his throat to say something but the doctor comes through the door and he quickly shifts his gears to focus on the man." Hello everyone, I'm assuming you're her father?" He asks in his baritone voice like a cowboy with years of roughing it out in nature for a few years, his voice has a nice gravel tone to it as well.

Please keep me overnight, please please please, I repeat over and over inside my head as the doctor looks over my charts again. The next sentence that comes out of the doctor's mouth confirms my worst fear. "Her concussion isn't as bad as previously thought and she seems to be doing better I don't see any sway in her motions while she sits on the bed so I don't see why you couldn't take her home today. Is that something you want to-" my poor excuse for a dad quickly interrupts him at the thought of taking me home early. "Yes, yes please I just want to get my little girl home." My father speaks pretending to be worried about me, I begin to say something in an act of defiance but the words slip back down my throat when he shoots me a warning glare and I quickly shut my mouth. "Perfect, I'll get the paperwork!" He walks out of the room leaving Emily and I with my shit father.

I don't know what day it is, but what I do know is that I'm starving and my stomach is trying to eat itself alive as it roars out a low growl and my stomach flips when I dry heave because of the nausea swirling around my head. I can't keep a coherent thought long enough to collect myself up off the thin mattress on the cold basement floor the only thing shielding me from the cold wisps of air is a single brown, blood stained sheet.

I hear footsteps to my left and flinch hard and scramble towards the corner of the brick wall behind me and try to make myself as small as possible as he stalks towards me. "You're awake. Good." He pats my head as I stare off at the ground behind him and he takes a deep breathe only to sigh in annoyance. "I'm sorry for all of this. You know ever since your mother died I haven't... well, I haven't been the best father to you." He leans down to my level with his hands on his knees but I don't react too lost in my own headspace, still focusing on the growing wet spot from the pipe above.

That's when I receive a blow to the side of my head and I fall sideways onto the ground with a thud. My vision is blurry and I roll over just enough to see something silver in his hand. "Look at me when I'm talking to you bitch!" He yells, I'm shaking with fear and anger as he continues screaming profanities at me. "This is what I get for letting you go to that public school, boys probably touch you all the time huh?" He spats and I flinch when he raises his hand to me and he chuckles. "Pathetic whore. I bet you're even sleeping with your best friend too. You two seem awfully close to just be friends. Tell me sweetheart, how does she taste?"

It's in full view now and my eyes widen at the sight of a gun in his hand, fear clouding my mind and I need to think and fast if I'm getting out of here alive, I can't do this anymore the beatings with starvation all of it. I stare at it for a moment before I quickly stand on my knees and knock him over his head hits the brick wall while the gun slides across the concrete and I scramble to grab it. 

I stand shakily on my feet with the gun in hand and aim it at the asshole sitting at the ground, he looks up at me after he wipes the blood off with his sleeve, fear evident in his eyes. "Now just, hold on a second Y/n." He puts his hands out in front of him as if that would deflect the bullet that I could release by pulling the trigger.

"Please baby, I just- you remind me so much of your mother I- I couldn't help but try to protect you in any way that I could. Please baby I'm your daddy, I don't want to hurt you." I stare at him, tears streaming down my red cheeks as he tries to use my mother as an excuse for me to not pull the trigger and all I see is red. "Hurt me?" I say softly. "Hurt me?" I scream as my hands and body shake with adrenaline coursing through my veins. "YOU WILL NEVER HURT ME AGAIN!"

*BANG*

*BANG BANG BANG* 

I don't remember talking to the police or walking out to sit on the back of the ambulance or the EMT patching up the gash on my forehead near my hairline. What I do remember is Emily running towards me with my grandparents behind her trailing as close as they can at their old age. "Y/n? Y/N! I heard what happened oh my gods are you okay babydoll?" I look up at her my cheeks wind bitten, my eyes red and puffy from crying. "I did it. I killed him. I murdered my own father." My voice void of all emotion and despite how I look I let go of the breath I was unaware I was holding and put my face in my hands taking a shaky breath.

"I'm free." 

After the police have gotten my statement on what all happened and a timeline for what has been going on for the last eight years, when I get to the part about what my father did after he had nearly beaten me to death on more than one occasion, a state of mind where I couldn't say no or fight him off, Emily looks at me like her whole world just came crashing down into an unyielding forest fire.

She doesn't say anything, she knows talking about the bullshit of it all would only makes things worse, turning to my grandparents I greet them and they give me hugs and positive words before they have me pack a suitcase or two and come out to the farm. Standing behind their old hatchback I turn to my best friend with tears in my eyes and hers too.

"Well, I guess this is it huh? You're really leaving me." She pouts and I giggle at her words on her adorable face as she pulls out her boxy smile. "Don't miss me too much okay? When you finally get your license." I give her a knowing look before she waves her hand in front of her face while rolling her eyes, I reach out and grab her hand swinging it loosely between us.

"Please come and visit? I'd hate to live a life without my soul sister next to me." She chokes out a sob and a sniffle before wiping away her salty tears. "Fine, but, if that horse nips at me again like it did when we were kids. I'm turning it into glue." She playfully nudges my side as we share one last hug as my grandfather tucks the last bag into the trunk.

Time flies while helping my grandparents take care of their eighty acre farm. I'm always outside doing something whether that's helping passer by's and their hybrids (which is still something I have to get used to, hybrids I mean) find the right walking trails or simply taking care of smaller hybrids who have come across the farm because they had been running from the hybrid control van, some don't even make it outside of the city and dark alley's much less all the way out here but the ones that do have a remarkable will to get the hell out of dodge. 

My grandfather passes away four years later and the work that has to be done outside takes a toll on my grandma so I tell her to leave the yard work to me. Once she left it to me to keep everything in order outside everything began to run smoothly again, more hybrids seemed to come in for either a quick meal or to rest and leave by morning. It was never more than maybe two or three hybrid's at a time and I got to learn about them from the ones who weren't too scared to talk to humans, I've almost been bitten three times within the first few weeks of being at the farm, lesson learned. 

"Grandma, you know you can't be up and down like this. You're doctor said to stay in your wheelchair if you have to move around and ask for help when you obviously need it." I scold her and she grumbles in defeat, I've caught her trying to reach the top shelf yet again for the third time today. I set my grandfather's old cowboy hat on the hook next to the door as I take off the leather vest and throw it over the kitchen chair at the table.

"I know dear, you were outside tending to the horses and cows, you already have so much on your plate and I didn't want to disturb you. I know how much you love it out there and don't think I don't notice you keeping an extra eye out for any hybrid in need either." I smile down at her very short stature and reach up to grab what she needed from the top shelf, barely but I got it. "I know I just... with the stories I've heard from the hybrids that have come and gone and the endless medical training I've gotten by stitching some of them up. I feel so sorry for them grandma. They've had a shit hand dealt to them, I just wanna help where I can, if I can."

She looks at me with a small smile on her face and taps my cheek with her cold hands. "You are just like your mother, a heart of gold and a willingness to help anyone who needs it, no matter the cost. One of these days you're gonna find a good man who treats you like the treasure that you are doll, I just hope I'm here to see that day." I scoff at her as I take off my work boots and set them next to the front door. "Grandma, you know I hate it when you talk like that. Now, please will you just sit down and eat dinner with me? I'll make some breakfast for dinner, the way you like, crazy lady."

It's not even a few weeks later that my grandmother is admitted to the hospital, the doctors going through every test they could think of as I sit in the waiting room in my work clothes about ready to bust through those double doors and give those so called doctors a piece of my mind for taking so damn long. A few more minutes pass and I feel a tug at my bell bottom jeans.

I look over my phone to see and little coyote hybrid, she's wearing a pretty pink dress and princess shoes with a small crown on top of her head wrap. "Are you a cowboy?" She asks innocently as she pulls the bottom of my pants crumpled in her small pale hand. I lean down to her level as her owner and what looks to be her mother walk up behind her, I lean in close and whisper in her ear like it's the world's most precious secret.

"I'm something better, a cowgirl." I lean back and watch the little girls expression change from curiosity to confusion. "I thought only boys could do that." She states as her mother reaches for her hand. "Girls can do things just as good, if not better, than boys can you just have to put your whole heart into it and never give up." I give her a little high five as she turns to her owner with bright eyes and a new obsession.

"Johnny! I'm gonna be a cowgirl when I grow up!" She jumps up and down as her mother whispers to me. "Thank you, we took Dove out of her room so she could exercise her little legs a few minutes ago. She's been so drained since her last chemo but seeing and talking to you has brought the light back into her eyes, thank you, so much." I give her a small nod as she shuffles to catch up to her daughter and owner but it's when I see him hold her close and kiss her on the lips, maybe he wasn't just her owner but perhaps a lover?

"Y/n L/n?" I hear a male nurse call out from around the corner, his face is pale and I could tell he doesn't do this regularly. "Yes, that's me. So what's wrong with my grandmother?" I ask and quickly close the app I was just on and the man stays silent and I scoff with a small giggle at the end to deflect the worse. "She's okay, right?" I say slowly as I walk towards the nurse and he chokes on air.

"Spit it out." I close my eyes and take a deep breath. "Please, I'm begging you dude." I bring my hands together in front of me and he finally says the words I had been dreading to hear. "Your grandmother passed away a little while ago. The cancer-" I hold my hand up to keep him from uttering another word.

I knew my grandmother was sick but I didn't know she had cancer. "Why type of cancer?" I cross my arms and look up at the man who seems to have sobered up after I snapped at him. "Breast cancer, st-stage four." He stutters and I fall to my knees with my face in my hands bawling as he awkwardly tries to comfort me. 

A few weeks later her funeral is held out by the weeping willow I planted when grandpa had passed away, in four years it's grown quite a bit easily making it the biggest tree out by the small pond out on the back forty acres. I sit there and stare at the cold headstone my tears have long since dried up and all those who had came long gone for about three hours now.

I sniffle and lay the flowers on both of their graves. "You weren't supposed to leave me yet." I let out a sob as I start to cry again. "You were supposed to, see me healthy, and happy with someone I love and who loves me just as much in return. You s-said- y-you sa-" I break out into a full crying meltdown and our new grey mare I've named Dove after the little girl from the hospital starts nudging me with her nose and I can't help but giggle.

"I know Dove, it's just all so sudden. They left me literally everything they had in their name. The house, the trucks, the endless amount of money that came from who knows fucking where. The equipment, the entire eighty acres? It's a lot, how am I supposed to do this all myself?" I ask Dove like she could answer me, she just shakes her head. "I know baby. I'll get it done, no matter what, for them."

For the next three years I do my best to keep the farm up and running. I keep my horse and the neighbors horses in the stable during the winter just around the large hedge separating it from the backyard of the house. I didn't have to but I sold the other two horses to make the workload a little easier on myself and about a quarter of the cattle to keep my head from spinning. I got a few little chickens and put them in the hen house located at the edge of the big empty backyard.

I stand on the wrap around porch one early morning with an energy drink in hand instead of coffee because I have a lot to do before the storm rolls in later tonight. Buckling my spurs into place over my boots and get to walking to the stable where Dove sits in her pen waiting for the morning workload to begin. "Hi sweetheart, ready to get started?" I pat her neck and she chirps with what seems like excitement then she happily shakes her head and I take her bridle and saddle off of the nearby wall with a big smile and get her strapped in before we start with herding the cattle to the feed mill. 

By the end of the day the storm clouds have rolled in and it's slowly starting to rain. I have to quickly close the cattle gate before the calves can high tail it out of there, it's their first big storm I have no doubt they can feel it coming to a start. I put a lock on the gate and run over to Dove and jump onto her back grabbing the straps and pull her to the left when the rain really starts to come down." Come on sweetheart let get the fuck out of here and get you back to your pen." I urge her to go faster when I hear the impending thunder and I catch a glimpse of lightning closer than I would have liked.

Dove is settled in with a weighted blanket and her eye shield on. "Don't worry love Dove, you'll be okay, I wish I could take you inside with me." I rub her nose and down her jaw and neck before a deafening crack of thunder booms over head making me jump two feet into the air, my hair standing on end and I quickly move around trying not to be struck by lightning and lucky for me my hair starts to lay flat on my head again.

"Okay, that's enough for tonight. I'm leaving now." I pull my jacket over my head and start running towards the house, once inside I take my wet jacket off and toe off my boots as I shiver. "Fuck it got cold fast, that has to be a new record." I light the logs in the fireplace and take my soaked pants off, laying them over the gate in front of the fire to dry out so I can wear them in the morning to fix the damage this storm is no doubt going to cause.

Taking a deep breath to relax and unwind I sigh when my stomach growls loudly, the only thing I had today was that energy drink. "Ugh, this whole eating to survive thing is so annoying." I grumble as I haul my big ass off the floor and pick at the fire before walking towards the kitchen and I feel eyes on me and I freeze in front of the sliding glass door leading out to the stable.

Looking out to my left afraid to see a face or glowing eyes staring back at me, lucky for me I only see my reflection against the darkness outside before a bolt of lightning strikes a nearby tree scaring the shit out of me. "Fuck! Calm down Thor this isn't a competition!" I shout softly from the safety of my house when a loud clap of thunder shakes the ground under my feet. "Okay! I'm sorry!" I shrink back into my kitchen scared I could be smited (smoted?) at any given moment. 

After I make breakfast for dinner, which I made a little more than I had originally planned because the storm outside kept distracting me from the task at hand. I look back out at the stable from the window above the sink and catch a glimpse of something or actually, a few somethings, run into the big red barn where Dove is housed and my heart jumps into my throat.

What if they steal my horse? Not to mention the amount of farm equipment located in that barn that will cost an arm and a leg to replace if any of it comes up missing. Then there's my grandparents old trophies and pictures from when grandpa would ride bulls and grandma being a barrel runner.

All those memories that could be destroyed within a matter of minutes if I didn't go out there and find out who or what those shadows are. I growl a few curse words as I jump into my pants and slide my boots on then grab my hat off the hook before throwing my thick jacket over myself and zipping it up. I take a deep breath as I grab the handle to the back door and brave the storm to get to the barn across the way. 

Tag List: @socksfirst1

[kanmom51]

JK 28 July live

I'm exhausted. Can't seem to catch up with the speed JK's doing these lives. And every single one is louder than the one before it.

So, this is me posting about the live on the 28th, all while I haven't yet for the previous live, and just after he had his latest one.

But I guess here it goes, cause better late than never.

So the 28th live. Well, truthfully it was 3 lives.

1st he ended after close to 3 minutes because of the angle of the camera.

2nd was lagging and he eventually turned off after around 4 minutes.

He did manage to tell us the ice creams he likes concluding he likes savory.

He likes savory and JM likes rabbit spit. Ok then.

Don't blame me for being like this. It's JK's fault. Well, actually, it's JK and JM's fault, cause man did they come on hard in that next third live that followed.

Peeps, this one was a doozy.

This short live, and even shorter Jikook interaction (started pretty much at the start of the live and ended at around the 15 min. mark) is up there as one of the best Jikook lives. And JM wasn't even in the room for it, lol.

If you would have asked me a couple of months back if this day was in the making pre-enlistment I would have said no. But hell, something has shifted in the past few weeks. Like really SHIFTED. When I compared Jikook's Silver day dinner in NY to Tainni's Parris stroll, I knew what I was talking about.

And now, I take you a Taenni stroll and raise you a frigging JK half naked in bed live just having a flirt fest with his bf.

Subs are out, I suggest you all go watch it. It's short and easy to follow and JK makes sure to read out JM's comments and he's flirty and cheeky and totally informal and forgets what the word honorific even is. The man is in his element.

And JK, he's pushing. Pushing hard for JM to do the live together. Again and again. Just showing us in real life what it means to pursue the person you want to be with, you know the "love of my life", whom he wants to go live with him. And JM, well JM he's being flirty and playful, and when he gets a little too flirty, he catches himself and deletes his comment, lol. But JK he catches on and he continues.

And after sending JK a photo to show him he's not in a state for a live, a photo that JK doesn't get to see just yet, JK is disappointed but accepts it. And then JM dips and tells JK to spend some time with us, cause when they are at it, it's only the two of them, lol.

That's it in an essence, but there is so much to unpack from that, I don't even know where to start.

Maybe not with Jikook. Maybe I'll start with JK, our super masculine manly man calling his new piercings pretty.

Ok then. Now that I got that out of the way how about we talk about JK showing us outright that their relationship, it ain't no usual hyung dongsaeng relationship. No way, no how.

In the more or less 15 minutes that JM stays on the live and the conversation between them JK mentions JM's name 18 times, out of which twice adding the ssi and only 7 times adding the hyung. And not only does he 'forget' the hyung, at some point in the live he calls JM by his name and uses his flirty Jimin-ssi, but he also dares to speak to him saying his name with an authoritive commanding tone. JK spares absolutely nothing to get JM do that live with him.

Also, out of those 7 times JK says JM hyung most are when he's talking about him and not to him?

Do we actually remember who the hyung is there? Cause it feels like those two have already forgotten it, lol.

JK tried it all. He tries asking then flirting, then going assertive.

JK tries the logical path - we are both bored.

He tries batting his eyelashes and he even goes down the emotional manipulation path with a little guilt tripping.

He even goes aego on JM. That lip pucker was not for us. Good cover up (or not so) with the "I'm checking out my face and need to lose weight".

He literally tries it all, lol.

JM, ma man, you are a much stronger soldier than I would ever be, lol.

Thing is this.

JM knows he has to be strong here, when he has JK at arms length, cause he also knows that the second JK is near him, that's when he will lose his composure.

I kind of think it goes back to JM once admitting to us that he couldn't do a live alone with JK because they would get lost in each other and forget we are there.

Well hell yeah, that's exactly what we're banking on. Let the Jikook live begin.

Maybe, just maybe if the live is pre-planned and on neutral ground. Maybe then he can manage to have some kind of control. But like this? Just out of nowhere? No preparation?

JM is a strong soldier, but when it comes to JK he loses that battle. And he knows it, lol. So that would be a big fat no on an unplanned live with JK for him, lol.

And let's go right back to the flirting that was going on right in front of our faces. Because I mean, how can we not? How can we not keep talking about this? This was friggin' wild.

JM with his "I can handle it", his "I'm scared of you" and "he's going to hit me", and should we mention his "I'm not easy" (will get to that one in a sec)? Yo, and what's up with that pic he sent him mid live and telling us all he just did?

And JK, omg JK, with his satoori and informal and just that tone. That tone he was using with JM. Because all those words, and the dropping of the hyung they are only a part of it. It's the tone. The bloody to die for tone he was using talking to JM.

And his reactions to JM's comments.

JK's reaction to JM's "I can handle it", omg, that giggle and the smile after saying it again...

See I can't help but wonder... was that JK giggling because:

a. he knows jm can handle it as he's quite familiar with his chesties besties; or

b. he knows that JM's lying cause he most definitley cannot handle his chesties besties.

But seriously, can JM handle it? Can he really? Handle his chestie besties??? Perhaps from afar off camera, lol. And that is just another reason why JM thought it better to not have that live.

Food for thought. LOL.

We were literally third wheeling the whole time.

Even DT Parker could see it.

He sees some of it, but unwilling to go the full mile.

And that's also why JM decided he had to put an end to it, dip and let JK have a little time with army (which was another 10 min. of which 5 were him telling his goodbyes), lol.

Oh, a few more points.

What about "I'm not easy", ok, let's talk about that one for a minute.

Ok, so it's not 100% sure who deleted that one. My money is on JM. He knew EXACTLY what it looked/sounded like, and realised that perhaps this was him taking it once step too far, lol. I doubt it was someone in the company that deleted it, because if you go to the live and press live chat you can actually see that both the comments that were deleted are still there, lol. So, seems to me that this wasn't a company move and more a JM one. Because adding this to the tone, the lack of honorifics, the totally thoroughly flirty conversation between the two of them, this could be a little bit of a deal sealer, and maybe JM thought it to be just a little too much.

Did we talk about the song JK sings right after JM joins the live?

JM, ma man, you are a much stronger soldier than I would ever be, lol.

Thing is this, again, JM knows he has to be strong here, when he has JK at arms length, cause he also knows that the second JK is near him, that's when he will lose his composure.

And a little more I noticed (I don't really think it's so little though):

JM, of course, knows JK's schedule.

I know there are a few translations on this, but the official ones are pretty clear, and they also align with what JK told us in the first live, having to wake up at 1:20 pm. And there is also this:

JM was calling JK - Jung kook. Which is not something he's done that often. And it feels like this might also have to do with JK's change to his Weverse account, changing his name to Jung kook, perhaps wanting to have a more mature/adult image.

Oh, and how is this not exploding on SM?????

Like wtf? How has this not been all over the place?

The ease in which this was said. He'll grab his toiletries and go over to do the live? Shower at JM's before? Shower at his after? Do the live, shower and sleep over? Whichever of these you go with it's god damn fucking loud.

The man lives what? A few minutes away from JM? And yet he needs to pop over to his place to shower? And again, how naturally this was said, kind of like it's A THING they just do. Like, let's get real here. First of all, yeah, it's a thing they do, and he just told us that live!!! and second, I'm not sure he needs a full bag of toiletries. He probably has most of them already there on his side of the sink, or if there is a his and his sink, then next to HIS sink.

Also, and this is a question I'm still asking myself - did JK say this intentionally? Was this a slip of the tongue or was there intent. Either or is loud, but intent means he wanted us to know this, while slip of the tongue was that he just let himself act naturally with JM, which included that "I'll come shower at yours".

And JM? I didn't hear a no to the "I'll come over and shower at yours". Just a not now to the live. So...

Ok, enough is enough.

We still had another what? 10 min. approx. after JM left.

Did anything really happen in those 10 min.? Nah.

Well, one thing maybe. JK said he'll try to go live during his breaks while recording, cause he's sad he only got to perform in front of 280 army only.

Which he did.

And me writing these lines after watching that live just sitting here and laughing my head off. Because BURN BITCHES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, that's it.

We might not have gotten an actual Jikook in same room and same frame live, but we sure did get a JIKOOK live. And it was as loud as (minors hands over your ears) FUCK!!!!

And everything I mentioned there, my friends, is why it's ALWAYS better to watch the live and not rely solely on the translation accounts. Translations accounts are great, but they don't convey the tone.

Oh, and did we see this?

Cause what the hell?🤣🤣

And for funsies:

Now JK has to stop. Just stop. Like take a couple of days off, go be with JM for a little and let me catch my breath goddamnit.🤣🤣

[xiaoscarasimp]

A Cat and Mouse Game

A friend and I were talking bout how theres only cat boys and girls so I decided to do a fic with a mouse girl reader and cat boi scara (lets be honest: it's canon)

This is just kinda horny drabble lmk what you think

Warnings: NSFW, AFAB! reader, predator/prey dynamics, little bit of blood play, nipple play, degradation(he calls you whore/slut) and slight size kink (no not my usual shenanigans) Minors DNI

Cat boy Scaramouche toys with his darling mouse girl by playing with your folds to where you're bucking your hips against his fingers desperate for relief. As you sit in his lap, he runs one of his long fingers up your slit, sending shivers down your spine and nibbles your sensitive little mouse ears. Your thin little tail thrashes in partial distress from the other powering pheromones the cat boy is putting out but also arousal.

You feel a tingling in your body as he runs electro through your pussy, nerves contracting and expanding how ever he wants them to. He shocks your clit first, then prodding a finger in your entrance he shocks you again, causing a waterfall to gush on your fingers. 

“Oh, what would the rat colony say if they saw you like this? A simple whore that can't get enough of me?” He taunted you. “Never forget I'm in control.”

“I'm not a r-rat, I-I'm a mouse.” You manage to gasp out. 

“Heheh. Same difference. Stupid rodent who will be my fucked out whore.” 

He leans back and flips you around so you're facing him, his dick prodding your back side. You grind your wet pussy on him, but he grabs your hips, forcing you to stop, little whines escape your lips. The cat boy silences these whines with a deep kiss, thrusting his tongue down your throat. His fangs end up drawing a bit of blood as he pulls at your bottom lip, causing you to whine even more. The taste of blood made his eyes light up; how could it not? Taste of his prey on his lips? The most delectable.

“S-scara, plea-” you try to pause the action; things were moving too fast. His member was now slotted perfectly between your supple ass cheeks, leaking precum over your skin. 

“Shh,” He cooes as he pulls away from the kiss, a red string of spit connecting the two of you. “Hush, darling. My cute little dinner's getting all worked up over nothing. Relax.” 

For a brief moment, his predatory face relaxes into a soft expression, almost like he cares, before his eyes narrow and go on the attack again. Scaramouche rubs his weeping cock against your folds, stimulating you to produce even more slick. He starts attacking your neck next, fangs piercing the skin and drawing small droplets of blood not unlike a vampire. As he does, you not only make little moans, but also little squeaks. You almost go limp from this attack, your mouse instincts tell you to freeze while the semi-rational part of you demands more. 

“M-more,” you moan. “D-devour me.”

“Gladly.”

He bites down even harder, his thicker, furrier tail wraps around your thinner, hairless tail. Your ears twitch in agonizing pleasure; it just hurt so good. At this point, even if you wanted to escape, you absolutely could not. 

Once your neck has been thoroughly claimed, he lines up the tip at your entrance, smirking the entire time. Not wanting to waste any time, you slam yourself down on his cock, moaning and gasping, as you do. Luckily for him, you are already so wet and lubed up from the teasing earlier that you hardly need any time to adjust to his size before bottoming out and grinding on him. He notices the little tummy bulge from where he filled you up so thoroughly, so wonderfully. Scaramouche starts rubbing your clit, sending little electric shocks through the sensitive bundle of nerves, walls clenching with each little pulse. 

If he wasn’t careful, he’d finish before you did.

To help speed up the process, he leans up and puts one of your small nipples in his mouth and dances electro on his tongue as he swirls the bud around in his mouth. You arch your back in equal parts pain and pleasure, showing off even more of how much he was filling you up. Excited by your reactions, he uses his fangs to tease the bud even further, raking them across your delicate skin, tasting blood as he goes. 

“S-scara!” You’re getting close, the pain, the pleasure, the overwhelming smell of sex in the air are all making you close to unraveling. 

“Y-you like that, you cock hungry slut?” He grabs your hips and moves you along at his pace, interrupting yours. “Cum all over my cock, whore.” He stimulates your clit even further, your walls clenching so hard he was worried that he’d never be able to get out. 

In a race to last place, you both try to hold out for as long as you can: kissing, biting, making out, marking, maiming skin. You finish first however, but he wasn’t long behind you, painting your insides white. You slump down on top of him, making little content squeaks between heavy breathing while Scaramouche was purring. The vibrations were enough to put you to sleep, curled up on his chest, his seed leaking out of you.

“You did so well,” He murmured through purring. “Next time, I’ll devour you even more.”