#Look at him. He's perfect in every way and there's no reason to dwell on this.

[yassbishimvintage]

Hearts on Deck (2)

A/N: Part two of Hearts on Deck

Over the next few weeks, Cleo barely had time to dwell on that night with Aaron. Work consumed her—photoshoots, brand deals, events, and endless meetings. Her schedule was relentless, and she let it be.

If she kept busy, she wouldn’t have to think about how often she caught herself scrolling past his name in her following list. Or how, every now and then, she’d notice him quietly liking a post of hers—never commenting, never drawing attention, just there.

Still, she pushed those thoughts aside.

Then, one day, her manager called with news.

"Pack your bags," she said. "We just locked in a campaign with a London-based brand. You’ll be flying out next week."

Cleo paused mid-sip of her morning smoothie. "London?"

"Yep. Big deal, too. High fashion, high exposure, all the right circles. Perfect for you."

London.

She hadn’t been there in a while. And yet, the first thing that came to mind wasn’t the campaign or the business opportunities.

It was Aaron.

She hadn’t spoken to him since that night. A few quiet Instagram interactions, sure, but no messages, no calls.

Still, as she sat there, the prospect of being in his city stirred something in her.

Maybe she was overthinking it. Maybe she wouldn’t even run into him.

But as she stared at her phone, her fingers hovering over his name, she couldn’t help but wonder—

Should I let him know?

When Cleo touched down in London, she was immediately swept up in the whirlwind of work. The city, as always, buzzed with energy—traffic moving in a constant hum, people rushing in every direction, the air thick with ambition. But for Cleo, there was no room for distraction.

She barely had time to take in the sights of the city as her schedule kicked into full gear.

Meetings with the brand team. Photoshoots in glamorous studios. Press interviews. London’s high fashion scene was demanding, and Cleo was at the center of it all. She slipped seamlessly between different looks—fierce and confident for a runway-ready shoot, then effortlessly chic for an editorial spread.

There was no room for anything else.

But in the rare moments between appointments—on the car ride to the next shoot, during quiet breaks in the hotel suite—her mind still wandered back to Aaron.

Had he seen her posts? Had he noticed she was in town? She wondered if he was still following her updates, but she didn't dare check.

She had too much to do. Too many eyes on her, too many deals to seal.

Work kept her grounded, focused. It kept her from wondering if the city had a way of drawing people together or keeping them apart.

She was here for a reason, and that reason wasn’t about him. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

One evening, after a long day of meetings and filming content, Cleo found herself invited to a high-profile dinner. The kind of event where you’re surrounded by designers, influencers, actors, and models—all the industry’s top players gathered under one roof.

She arrived at the lavish venue, a sleek, modern restaurant tucked away in one of London’s upscale neighborhoods. The decor was minimalist but elegant, with soft lighting and an atmosphere that felt as curated as the guest list.

Cleo made her way through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with familiar faces and industry insiders. She had her guard up, staying focused on the task at hand, working the room, engaging in conversation. But then, something made her stop.

A familiar laugh echoed through the space—a sound she hadn’t realized she’d been craving to hear.

She turned slightly, her heart skipping a beat, and there he was.

Aaron.

He was standing near the bar, laughing with a small group of people. His presence was unmistakable, even amidst the crowd. He was effortlessly stylish, dressed in a tailored blazer over a turtleneck, his hair slightly tousled in that way that made him look both polished and laid-back at the same time. His hazel eyes caught the light in the room, and for a moment, Cleo couldn’t breathe.

She watched him, not wanting to seem obvious, but not being able to look away. There was something magnetic about him—how he carried himself, how he interacted with people, how he made a room feel smaller and warmer just by being in it.

Then, he turned his head slightly.

Their eyes met across the room. For a heartbeat, everything seemed to still.

Cleo felt a flutter in her chest, but she quickly steadied herself, reminding herself that she wasn’t here for this.

Aaron’s gaze lingered just long enough for her to catch a glimpse of that same quiet intensity. But then, he smiled—a subtle, almost private smile that felt like an invitation.

She had a choice.

To walk over. To acknowledge him. To see where this might go.

Or to stay focused, to keep moving through the night.

Cleo took a deep breath. The pull of curiosity was there. The question of what could happen if they spoke again was on her mind. But she wasn’t sure she was ready to let that feeling take the lead.

Instead, she turned her attention back to the conversation she’d been having, keeping her gaze steady ahead.

But she knew one thing for certain.

London had a way of bringing things full circle.

And this? This encounter was only the beginning.

-

Cleo stiffened slightly, the gentle touch on her shoulder sending a jolt through her. She knew exactly who it was before she even turned around.

She didn’t need to look, but she did anyway. Slowly, deliberately.

Aaron.

He stood behind her, his smile easy, but there was something in his eyes—something soft, like he had been waiting for the right moment to approach. His voice was low and warm, just for her. “Cleo.”

She swallowed, feeling a mix of surprise and something else she couldn’t quite place. “Aaron.” She kept her tone casual, but inside, her pulse quickened.

The space between them suddenly felt smaller, and all the noise of the room seemed to fade into the background. She could hear the slight edge of his accent in his voice, the familiar sound she had replayed in her head more than once since their last encounter.

He tilted his head slightly, glancing at her, a subtle glint in his eyes. “Funny running into you here. Didn’t expect to see you at this thing.”

Cleo smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “London has a way of surprising you.”

He laughed softly, a quiet sound that made her heart skip. “You have no idea.” His gaze flickered over to the crowd, then back to her. “Mind if I steal you for a second? Or are you busy?”

Cleo hesitated, weighing her options. She could stay in the crowd, go along with the dinner and the event. But something about his presence was drawing her in, making her want to break away from the carefully constructed façade she’d built for herself.

With a small nod, she finally said, “I think I can spare a few minutes.”

Aaron’s smile deepened, a little relieved, as he stepped back to let her lead the way.

The moment felt lighter somehow—no longer just a chance encounter, but something more. Something new.

As they moved away from the hustle and bustle of the dinner, Cleo couldn’t help but wonder what this moment would lead to.

“For a recluse you’re out in the open.” She says.

Aaron chuckled softly, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “I guess I have my moments.” He glanced around, taking in the lively scene before them. “But sometimes, the right crowd can make things feel less... overwhelming. This doesn’t feel too bad.”

Cleo raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “And you’re really telling me you’re comfortable in a room full of people?”

He shrugged, a little self-deprecating, but his eyes sparkled with amusement. “I’m more comfortable in smaller spaces. But every now and then, I don’t mind stepping out of my shell. Just to keep the peace.” His gaze locked with hers. “Though, I’d say I’m happier when I’m just talking to you.”

Her breath caught for a moment at his sincerity, the directness of his words making her feel like the entire world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

She shifted slightly, trying to keep her cool. "You’re good at this," she said, trying to make light of the sudden weight in the air between them. "You make it sound easy."

Aaron leaned in just a little closer, his voice low. “It’s easy when it feels right.”

Cleo could feel her pulse pick up again. She wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Her mind was racing. Aaron was a man of few words, but when he did speak, it carried weight. There was something undeniably magnetic about him.

“Well, I’m glad this feels right.” She smiled, but inside, she couldn’t help but wonder how much of that pull was just the moment, and how much of it was something deeper—something they couldn’t ignore.

-

As the first notes of Jon B’s “They Don’t Know” started to fill the air, Cleo couldn’t help but feel the shift in the atmosphere. The soft, smooth melody was familiar, nostalgic even, and it brought with it an unexpected sense of intimacy.

She glanced at Aaron, who seemed just as attuned to the change in the room. He raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin. “I didn’t take you for a fan of the classics,” he said, his voice low as the lyrics began to flow softly through the space.

Cleo smirked, though her heart skipped a beat at the thought of the song playing right now, of all moments. "I know a good track when I hear one." She wasn’t sure why, but she suddenly felt a little more vulnerable, a little more aware of him standing so close.

The song’s smooth rhythm seemed to echo her thoughts, stirring something deeper between them—something unspoken. It wasn’t the kind of music you'd expect to hear at a high-end event, yet it was as if the universe had just decided to press play on something that felt like it was made for this moment.

Aaron’s gaze softened, and for a second, he stepped just a bit closer, the space between them shrinking. “You know,” he said quietly, his eyes fixed on hers, “I never thought I’d hear this song in a place like this. But it’s... fitting.”

Cleo tilted her head slightly, sensing the weight behind his words, but still keeping her composure. “Fitting for what?” she asked, her voice a little quieter now, the beat of the song giving everything a kind of timeless rhythm.

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, before he answered, “Fitting for us. The way this moment feels.”

Her heart skipped again. She didn’t have to say anything. The unspoken understanding was there, hanging in the air between them. The song seemed to pull them closer, in its own subtle way.

Cleo took a deep breath, unsure of how far she wanted to let things go—unsure of how much she was ready to give in to this pull. But the moment felt so natural, so easy with him, that she could almost forget everything else.

Jon B’s smooth voice floated around them, and for a brief second, Cleo allowed herself to lean a little closer, feeling the soft pull of the music and the chemistry between them. “Well, looks like we’re dancing whether we like it or not,” she said with a playful smile.

Aaron’s grin widened, and without saying another word, he extended his hand to her.

Cleo hesitated just for a second, but then, without a word, she took it.

“What do you consider us?” He asks. She shrugs. “I guess friends who go on dates?” She says.

Aaron’s eyes softened as he looked at her, his fingers still gently holding hers. There was something in his gaze—curious, yet vulnerable, as though he was waiting for her answer to mean something deeper.

“Friends who go on dates, huh?” he repeated, a small laugh escaping his lips, but it was a little quieter than usual. He shifted, still holding her hand as they swayed to the slow rhythm of the song.

Cleo shrugged, trying to keep things light, but her mind was racing. She hadn’t really thought about what they were. In the back of her mind, there had always been something pulling her towards him. But she wasn’t the type to rush into defining things. She wasn’t even sure if she was ready for that kind of conversation yet.

“I mean, yeah,” she said, her voice calm but her heartbeat a little faster than usual. “We hang out, we talk, we enjoy each other’s company. Isn’t that what a date is?”

Aaron gave her a soft, knowing smile, his thumb grazing over her hand. He looked at her, his expression unreadable for a moment. “I guess,” he said quietly, “but it feels like more than that to me.”

Cleo’s chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice. She looked up at him, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. There was a beat, a pause, where the whole world seemed to narrow down to just the two of them, and she wasn’t sure how to respond.

He leaned in slightly, his voice low, almost hesitant. “I don’t want to rush anything, but... I feel like there’s something here. Something more than just friends. Do you feel it too?”

Cleo’s heart raced, and she suddenly felt the weight of the moment. Her instincts told her to be careful, to hold back. She didn’t know what to make of this feeling—of him. They had shared a connection from the moment they met, but this? This was different.

She pulled back slightly, her eyes avoiding his for a moment. “I don’t know,” she admitted softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not sure what this is... yet.”

Aaron didn’t seem discouraged. Instead, he nodded, his expression softening with understanding. He gently squeezed her hand, a reassuring gesture. “That’s fair. We don’t have to figure it all out right now.”

Cleo nodded, relieved by his calm response. “Yeah,” she said quietly, her gaze returning to his. “We’ll figure it out when the time’s right.”

For now, the moment was enough. The song played on, and they continued to sway together, the connection between them undeniable but still unspoken, floating between them in the soft glow of the evening.

-

At her hotel, she’s editing posts for her Instagram then she’ll turn her attention to her YouTube channel. Being a full time lifestyle content creator she had to stay on edge.

Cleo sat at the desk in her hotel room, the soft glow of her laptop screen lighting up her face. The steady rhythm of her fingers typing was a comforting sound, but in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but think about the night with Aaron—the conversation they had, the way he made her feel, and that unexpected pull between them.

But work was always her anchor. She couldn’t afford to get lost in her thoughts right now.

Her Instagram posts needed editing first—captions, hashtags, filters—all the details that made her content stand out. As a full-time lifestyle influencer, it was a game of keeping everything fresh, relevant, and engaging. Her followers expected consistency, and she never wanted to fall short.

She scrolled through the photos she had taken earlier, adjusting the colors on one before moving on to the next. Each picture had its own story, each caption had its own voice. It was all about showing the world the side of her she wanted them to see—glamorous, yet real.

She sighed lightly, her mind briefly wandering back to Aaron. He had felt like a moment outside of all this—outside of the hustle, the branding, the influencer persona. She quickly shook her head, refocusing on her work.

Next up was her YouTube channel. The idea for her next video was already half-formed in her mind—behind-the-scenes footage of her day-to-day life, with a focus on some of her favorite skincare and beauty routines. Maybe she’d throw in a little Q&A with her followers to mix things up.

But before she dove into that, she had to make sure her social media platforms were all aligned. Her stories were updated with sneak peeks of what was coming, and she made sure to engage with the comments that were pouring in. She couldn’t afford to let her fans feel neglected, not when they were so loyal.

The pressure of maintaining this constant presence was always there, but it was something Cleo had learned to handle. It was a balancing act, keeping up with the demands of being a public figure, but also staying true to herself.

Just as she finished responding to a few comments, her phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced down, expecting it to be a work-related message, but saw a text from an unknown number.

She hesitated for a moment before opening it.

“Hey, it’s Aaron. Just wanted to check in and say I hope your day’s going well. Maybe we can catch up soon?”

Cleo smiled to herself, her heart skipping a beat. She had been wondering if he’d reach out, but seeing the message still surprised her.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard as she thought about how to respond. She didn’t want to seem too eager, but she also didn’t want to shut him out.

After a moment, she typed back:

“Hey, thanks for checking in. It’s going well, just staying busy as usual. Let’s catch up soon.”

She hit send and sat back, feeling that familiar rush that came with communication in the digital world—always a mix of excitement and a touch of uncertainty.

She quickly refocused on her YouTube plans, but part of her was already looking forward to whatever would come next with Aaron.

Soon a post from the event she recently attended she was tagged in. And so was Aaron. 

Cleo’s phone buzzed again, this time with a notification from Instagram. She unlocked it and saw a new post from the event she had attended recently. It was a photo of the crowd, taken from the side, capturing a moment of laughter between her and Aaron. In the shot, they were both caught mid-conversation, her hand gesturing animatedly, and Aaron looking at her with that easy smile of his.

She felt a sudden warmth flood through her. It was a candid moment, unposed, but it had captured something genuine. The kind of connection she didn’t always expect from the world of curated, perfect photos.

The caption was lighthearted, tagging both of them, with a playful nod to the chemistry between them.

"When two people from opposite sides of the world meet... magic happens. 👏 #LA #LondonVibes #EventVibes #NewConnections #AaronAndCleo"

The post already had a few thousand likes, and the comments were rolling in, mixing curiosity with excitement. People seemed to be taking note of the chemistry between her and Aaron, but the last thing Cleo wanted was to deal with the frenzy of public speculation.

She paused for a moment, staring at the post. The idea of being linked to Aaron in the public eye was both exciting and a little overwhelming. She couldn’t help but feel a little exposed, but she also couldn’t deny how much she appreciated the unexpected connection they’d found.

A few notifications popped up, and she saw that Aaron had liked the post too, his own comment under the photo:

"Great to meet you in person, Cleo. Looking forward to more conversations soon."

Cleo smiled at his comment, finding it both sweet and refreshingly simple. His words didn’t feel forced or calculated. It was just... real.

She considered responding but stopped herself. It wasn’t about playing games; it was just that she wasn’t sure what to say in front of everyone. She’d rather keep things a little more private, especially with the whirlwind of attention that came with their public interaction.

Instead, she decided to focus on the work at hand. She responded to a few more Instagram comments and then set her phone down to finish editing her YouTube content.

But even as she worked, a part of her couldn’t help but think about what this could mean. The public tag, the interactions—they were all signals of something bigger. She didn’t want to rush into anything, but she couldn’t deny the connection.

And as the notifications kept coming, she realized that no matter how much she tried to focus on her work, a small part of her was already looking forward to whatever came next with Aaron.

Tags 🏷️

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[thestarpalace]

Sometimes, when life's got you down, you just need to go relax with your best friend. (Feat. FinFin.)

Technically, a collaborative comic of sorts with Cam and I. We weren't sure who'd be best posting it, so I decided to take it on this time. It's also kinda, half-vent, half-fanart, half-system comic? …Truly, there's many halves at play here. More than usual, one might say.

[im-so-normal-iswear]

Hiii, could I request like the ‘06 gang (Sonic, Shadow, Silver) x reader (platonic or romantic is fine) that’s scared of vaccines/shots since I have to get ones soon and I like shake just thinking about it (I’m really sensitive (idk why) and my arm always hurts way longer than other people’s for some reason)

GRAHH SORRY FOR RANTING I LIKE NEVER EVER DO REQUESTS SO I’M REALLY NERVOUS ANYWAYS THANK YOU SO MUCH IF YOU DO THIS OR NOT‼️‼️‼️

A/n: dw lol, ur not rambling

Triple S x reader scared of shots

Sonic:

Sonic’s the first to notice your nervousness as you anxiously tap your foot. He gets it, sitting still isn’t his thing either, so having to go through something uncomfortable? No thanks! But he’s not about to let you do this alone.

Sonic want to make sure that you aren't just suffering the whole time, so he tried to keep things light hearted. Making jokes, random distractions, etc to get your mind off the shots. Maybe making you do trivia of him

He’s tossing questions at you like, "What’s my favorite food? Wrong! It’s a chili dog AND cola! Gotcha"

When you reach the clinic, Sonic sees how tense you are, so he offers his hand with a smirk. "It's fine, you can hold on if you need to!" He’s playful about it, but his hand is warm, steady, and there for you to grip onto if you need. He’s always right there, "You got this! Think of it as just a tiny pinch!"

Once it’s over, Sonic doesn’t let you dwell on the soreness. Instead, he’s already planning a day full of fun things. "Hey, I know the perfect way to forget about that shot, let’s go grab some food or go to an arcade!"

He’s all about making sure you end the day on a high note, reassuring you every time you wince. He’ll even make you laugh by pretending his arm hurts too, just to keep your spirits up.

Shadow:

Shadow is the quiet support type. He notices how your usual energy fades the moment you realize you need to get a shot, and he can see the worry in your eyes even if you try to hide it. He may not say much, but he’s not about to let you go through this without his support.

Shadow isn’t big on comforting words, but he has a way of grounding you when you’re feeling anxious. He’ll place a steady hand on your shoulder, looking you in the eyes. "You’re stronger than this. You’ve faced worse." A bit of a tough love guy.

He knows you’re sensitive and that your arm tends to ache more than others afterward. So, he might take some to reassure you that when you get the shot, it'll be okay, and it won't be as harsh as other injuries you've attained.

When it’s over, Shadow stays by your side, silently making sure you’re okay. He’ll help you find a comfortable way to hold your arm, reminding you to relax the muscles around the injection site to ease the soreness. He even surprises you by making tea. If you wince, he might mutter, "hm, humans and your sensitive bodies..." but he'll still massage your arm, it'll probably hurt more than just getting the shot tho tbh-.

Silver

Silver is the most empathetic. He sees how anxious you are about the shot and starts trying to comfort you to the best of his abilities.

He knows fear is a big deal, and he’s very vocal about it. "Hey, it’s okay to be scared!" Silver’s the type to assure you it’s natural to feel nervous, and he offers to be there for you.

Silver tries to create the calmest atmosphere possible. He takes deep breaths with you, even suggesting meditation or some grounding techniques to help soothe you. "Let’s just close our eyes and focus on something peaceful for a minute."

After the shot, Silver feels terrible seeing you in any discomfort, so he’s extra attentive. He’ll offer to massage your arm if you’re okay with it (it's way more gentle than Shadow) or bring you anything to help ease the soreness, will give cuddles to ease the pain.

All 3 of them:

He’s the one to keep you smiling, whether with jokes or challenges to keep your mind busy. He’d bet Silver and Shadow on who can make you laugh the fastest, anything to keep you from focusing on your anxiety.

Shadow’s calm presence is there as a constant reminder that he's there, I mean if he didn't want to be there, he just wouldn't, but he is there. He doesn’t need to say much, but the way he holds your hand or pats your shoulder speaks volumes. He keeps things practical, making sure you know that your strength is what’s helping you through this.

Silver would be the one to say the gentle words that help you accept your fear without feeling judged. If you’re feeling sensitive afterward, he’d be there. "You did amazing. You’re stronger than you think, and you’ve got us all here to take care of you."

A/n: sorry if you expected Archie silver, you’re getting idw

[3rachaslut]

I would love to request gentle+ comfort sex with Chris where reader is upset and chris proceeds to love the sadness away?

bonus points if it includes daddy but you dont have too if you're not comfortable

are you KIDDING?! i have the biggest daddy kink ever hxvekwn hi twin! 🤍 also i feel like chan is such an amazing lover, like the way he would be so loving to you during sex omg it makes me cry :’(

also, take a shot each time you read the world beautiful xox

chan x female reader

contents: kinda angst but mainly smut. reader is going through some shit. pet names, daddy kink, fingering, domxsub kinda.

MINORS DNI !!!

you couldn’t really remember how long you had been feeling so drained, sat resting on the headboard of yours and chris’ bed, wiping away the endless tears that just kept pouring out of you. work was a lot right now and your self esteem was at an all time low. you usually tried to keep a handle on your emotions as best you could so you didn’t lose your head, but tonight, every thought spinning around your head left you feeling as if you were drowning. you were suddenly snapped out of your thoughts by chris calling your name, accompanied by a knock of the bedroom door. rapidly wiping the tears from your eyes, you try your best to throw a smile his way but there was no fooling him. as soon as he saw your red, puffy eyes and shaking hands, his heart sank.

“oh angel, what’s the matter” he gasps, quickly running to sit next to you on the bed. at his words, you couldn’t help but let out a staggered breath you didn’t realise you were holding. resting your tired head upon his shoulder, he wrapped his hand to cup your head against him, rubbing calming circles that eased the tension in your head slightly. “hey it’s okay, what’s happened?”

“chris.. i can’t do this.” you whine, ambiguity coating your sentence as you cling your arms around him.

“do what love? talk to me.” he pleas softly. you turn your head to look into his eyes and he plants a kiss on your forehead. “talk to me baby, i’m here for you. always.”

“it’s just everything. work is so stressful right now and no matter how well i do at a particular job, they always find some reason that im not good enough. i’m so busy with work that i haven’t had time to see my friends and family and you’re working so much more recently with your new comeback that i’m hardly seeing you and… i’m just… tired. i feel like no matter what i do, nothing is getting better. i feel like im stuck in limbo and i can’t see a way out of it.” you blurt out all at once, continuing on and on and all the while, chris is listening attentively to your words that are crushing him inside. his beautiful angel shouldn’t be feeling this way. he wanted to take all your pain away.

“anyway, i don’t really wanna dwell on it anymore. you’re back home and i haven’t really spent any time with you for ages” you tilt your head to look into his worried eyes and he smiles at you as best as he can. he is worried about you but he didn’t want to keep you talking about it if you didn’t want to as well. you would rant to him when you wanted to at another time if that’s what you needed. right now he knew that you needed a distraction. taking your cheek into his hand, he plants a kiss on your swollen lips in which you deepen. you’ve needed this for so long. you let out a relived sigh at his lips against yours once he pulls away and he rests his forehead against yours.

“my beautiful, beautiful girl” he whispers, causing goosebumps to form along the nape of your neck. you let out an unsure hum at his words. “you are, baby girl. absolutely stunning”

“i just.. don’t really feel like it right now. i mean, look at me. my hair is a mess and my eyes and face are all puffy-” chan interrupts by gripping your cheeks into his hands, making you look into his eyes. those gorgeous eyes you get lost in every time.

“baby.. you’re the most perfect, amazing, beautiful, sexiest girl i have ever seen” he says, tilting your chin back up to look at him, after looking down from shying away at his words of admiration. “look at me” and you do. your worries one by one beginning to float away just by looking at the man in front of you. your man in front of you.

“let me show you how beautiful you are baby girl. please. let me love your sadness away angel” he whispers out, slowly leaning over you and laying you down underneath him. you nod with a smile on your face. how could you ever refuse? he trails two fingers along the entirety of your upper half, starting at your left temple and all the way down to your waistband. your eyes flutter shut at the slightest touch that set fire to your skin. after years, he still had such an affect on you even with minimal touch. he hooks his finger around the hem of your pj shorts and pulls them down around your knees which you assist in discarding. continuing down your thigh, towards your knee and back again, shivers of anticipation took over you.

“i wish you could see how beautiful you look y/n. even more beautiful underneath me..” he teases as his delicate traces get closer and closer to your impatient pussy. you grind your hips upwards in response, now desperate for him to touch you and hum in aggravation when he moved his hand all together. he leans in toward your face and your breath hitches in your throat.

“baby..” chan hums warningly, raising an eyebrow at your gesture. “please…” you mewl out, your pussy throbbing at his dominant tone. “please what babe?”

“please… daddy” you utter and he instantly slides his fingers to rub your clit, your body jolting at the sudden touch. you let out a loud moan, your head tilts back and your eyes begin to roll back in bliss.

“good girl” he praises as he begins to suck marks against your now exposed neck. you begin to shake under him at the stimulation and he slowly trails his fingers towards your entrance. a staggered breath leaves your throat.

“look at me y/n. what do you say?”

“please daddy” you gasp out as he slowly inserts just the tip of his fingers into your wet cunt.

“please what?” he torments. “hmm?”

“please finger me daddy” you beg as he looks into your desperate eyes. you nearly scream out your last word as he shoves the entirety of his two fingers inside you, curling his fingers in just the right spot causing your legs to shake uncontrollably. moans were leaving your mouth relentlessly which only encouraged chris to go faster and faster. the sounds of your wet pussy filled the room and you couldn’t help but cover your face in embarrassment.

“don’t you dare hide that beautiful face from me y/n. fuck- love hearing the sounds your wet cunt makes for me doll” chan says, his voice slightly raised which only added to the arousal you were feeling. “fuck baby you’re so sexy”

“chri- daddy! i’m gonna come!” you nearly scream out as you feel the knot in your stomach threatening to come undone. your head is thrashing against the pillow and your hands desperately cling to the duvet under you. chan worked his fingers faster inside of you and your mouth gapes open. you look up to see his face only inches away from yours.

“then come baby girl” he whispers down you ear and you do. hard. your body contorts so much from your orgasm anyone else would think you needed an exorcism. screams and curses where flying from your mouth as you threw your head back towards the headboard.

“fuck- chri- daddy FUCK daddy ahh” you cry as you ride out your orgasm, attempting to catch your breath as you come down. chan plants kisses on your sweaty forehead and down towards the tip of your nose.

“don’t ever believe you are not the most beautiful woman in the world. at least in my eyes darling”

[specsthesecond]

❤️‍🔥

His molten tears fall down to your face but they don't burn.

He's wanted to touch you for so long. So many nights he's dreamt of this.

Your body under his, his fiery hands tracing the curves of your soft naked skin. His searing hot lips finally kissing yours, finally tasting you. Your own tears hiss into vapour as they streak down your cheeks, your sweat evaporating off your skin.

He knows he should be more cautious, neither of you actually know how well this fire resistant potion works but he's way too far gone now. He holds you so close as you get used to the strange feeling of his blazing skin touching you. You didn't expect it but under the deceptive wisps of flames covering him was a solid amalgamation of heat and you were touching it, you were touching him.

When he eases inside you, you both cry out your shared euphoria. His hot mouth can't seem to leave your skin, your hands can't leave his body. He bottoms out, hard sweltering cock deep inside you. The feeling is so strange but you have no time to dwell on it, his flame lights a fire inside you (literally and figuratively).

You look into his smoldering eyes, wiping away his tears as he sets a sensual pace. It's like he's trying to touch every part of you, like he'll never get to do it again and you can't help but share the sentiment. Your bodies mold together, so incompatible but it feels so perfect.

His fingers touch all the right spots, he's dreamed about exactly where he'd touch you in this moment. His blazing hot fingers rub your clit as his tongue scorches your throat. You cum together, he releases hot magma that has your walls clenching around him, begging for all of it. You wish you could keep him inside you forever.

You're crying again but for a different reason now. This has to end. The potion will wear off eventually and you'll be separated again. Now that you've had a taste how can you let go?

Your tears sizzle away when he gently cradles your cheeks in his hands. You squint through blurry wet eyes, his face says everything he can't say in that moment.

He'll never give up on you. He'll only let go temporarily for your safety but he won't rest until you find a way to be together like you're clearly meant to be, especially now that he's had a taste of you.

You'll find a way.

[aspenmissing]

hiii~ could you please write the arcane mains (especially jayvik) with an asexual reader? thank you~~

ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴄᴇ ᴏꜰ ɴᴇᴇᴅ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ || 3401 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴜᴘ?, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟɪᴛʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜɪʏᴀ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ~ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ʏᴏᴜʀ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!

ᴀʟꜱᴏ, ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ ᴀꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴘᴇᴏᴘʟᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ, ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ɴᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ ᴡʜᴀᴛ. ᴀɴᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʜᴏᴜʟᴅ ɴᴇᴠᴇʀ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ.

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ

JAYCE

Jayce had always been patient. More than patient, really. He adored Y/N, cherished every moment with her. From the way she absentmindedly played with his fingers when they held hands to the way she always found the perfect words to comfort him after a stressful day at the Council.

She was his anchor, the one person who made all the chaos bearable.

But he wasn’t oblivious. He noticed things.

They’d been together for a while now, and while Jayce was never one to rush things, a quiet curiosity had begun to settle in the back of his mind. It wasn’t just the absence of intimacy in the way most people defined it—he never minded taking things slow—but there was something unspoken between them. A line Y/N never seemed to want to cross, even when they were wrapped up in each other, bathed in soft candlelight and whispered affections.

Had he done something wrong? Was she simply not ready, or was there something deeper that she wasn’t telling him?

Jayce had tried not to dwell on it too much. He loved her, that much was certain. But the uncertainty was starting to gnaw at him, and he didn’t want to be left in the dark any longer.

So, one evening, when they were curled up together on the couch in their shared home, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, he finally gathered the courage to ask.

"Hey, Y/N?"

His voice was gentle, hesitant. He didn’t want to ruin the moment—didn’t want her to feel cornered—but the words had been sitting on the tip of his tongue for far too long.

Y/N hummed, shifting slightly so she could look at him.

Jayce hesitated, then ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit of his. "I just—" He let out a soft chuckle, trying to ease the weight in his chest. "I guess I've been wondering... is there a reason we haven’t, you know, gone further?"

The moment the words left his mouth, he felt Y/N stiffen slightly against him. It was subtle, but enough for him to notice.

Jayce’s heart clenched. He immediately backtracked. "Not that I’m upset or anything!" he rushed to say, his grip on her hand tightening as if to reassure her. "I just—if it’s me, if I’ve done something wrong, you can tell me. I want to understand."

A silence settled between them, thick and heavy with unspoken words. The light from the fire flickered against Y/N’s face, casting shadows that danced across her features as she looked down at her hands, fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

"Jayce, it’s not you," she finally said, voice quiet but firm. "It’s not anything you’ve done."

Jayce felt a strange mix of relief and confusion at the same time. "Then… what is it?"

Y/N took a deep breath, as if preparing herself for something difficult. "I just... I’m asexual."

The words hung between them for a moment, and Jayce blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to curiosity.

"Asexual?" he echoed, tilting his head slightly. "What does that mean?"

Y/N hesitated, gathering her thoughts. "It means I don’t experience sexual attraction," she explained carefully. "It’s not that I don’t love you, because I do—so much. But I don’t feel the same kind of... need for intimacy that most people do." She swallowed, watching him closely for his reaction. "It doesn’t mean I don’t want to be close to you, or that I don’t want to share my life with you. It’s just... different for me."

Jayce was silent for a moment, processing her words. And then, he nodded slowly.

"...Oh."

It wasn’t a bad "oh." It wasn’t one of disappointment or rejection. It was an "oh" of understanding—of something clicking into place.

Y/N offered a small, somewhat sad smile, her eyes searching his face for any sign of a reaction she feared. "I get if that’s not what you expected," she murmured. "And if that’s something you need in a relationship, I understand. If—if you want to leave, I won’t hold it against you."

Jayce frowned, his brows knitting together as his chest tightened. "Leave?" He immediately reached out, taking her hands in his, squeezing them gently. "Y/N, I love you. That’s not changing because of this."

She looked at him, uncertainty flickering in her gaze. "Jayce, I don’t want to hold you back from something you might need."

Jayce shook his head. "Y/N, being with you isn’t about that for me. I love you—everything about you. The way you challenge me, the way you make me laugh, the way you make all the stress fade away just by being here." He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing over her cheeks. "Being Asexual won't make me love you any less. It just means I understand you more now."

Y/N’s eyes softened, the tension in her shoulders easing. "...Really?"

Jayce let out a chuckle, pressing his forehead against hers. "Of course." His voice was warm, reassuring. "I mean, don’t get me wrong, I was confused for a bit—I thought maybe I was doing something wrong. But now that I know, it’s just... part of who you are. And I love every part of you."

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, leaning into his touch. "You’re the best, you know that?"

Jayce grinned. "I do try."

She laughed, the weight on her chest finally disappearing. And as Jayce wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, she knew—he wasn’t going anywhere.

He never would.

VIKTOR

Y/N sat at her workbench, fingers absently tracing the worn edge of a blueprint, though she wasn't really reading it. The dim candlelight flickered, casting wavering shadows along the walls of their shared workshop. The quiet hum of the city outside felt distant, drowned beneath the steady thrum of her thoughts.

She needed to tell Viktor.

It had been weighing on her for months, an invisible wall between them that she felt responsible for. Every time she tried to gather the words, shame curled in her throat, swallowing them whole before they could pass her lips. It wasn't as though Viktor had ever pressured her—far from it. He was patient, ever understanding, but that only made the guilt press down on her harder. She felt like she was keeping a secret, a fundamental piece of herself, and the longer she held it in, the more suffocating it became.

Y/N exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the workbench before pushing herself to stand. She turned, eyes landing on Viktor where he sat by his own desk, scribbling away in his journal. His brow was furrowed in thought, the soft glow of the lamp outlining his sharp features in gold. The sight of him made her heart ache in the best way.

“Viktor,” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

He glanced up immediately, always attuned to her voice, to the slightest change in her tone. “Yes, drahý?” (Dear)

Y/N swallowed hard. “There’s… there’s something I need to tell you.”

Viktor set his pen down, turning his full attention to her. “Of course.” He gestured for her to sit beside him, and after a moment’s hesitation, she did.

She wrung her hands in her lap, staring down at them as if they held the answers she sought. “I—” Her throat tightened. She tried again. “I’m asexual.” The words felt foreign leaving her mouth, like they belonged to someone else, someone braver.

A beat of silence passed, and she dared to lift her gaze to meet his. He wasn’t surprised. There was no confusion, no rejection in his expression. If anything, there was something warm in his eyes—something soft.

“I know,” Viktor said gently.

Her breath hitched. “You… you do?”

He smiled, a little sad but mostly fond. “I suspected for some time.” He reached out, his fingers brushing over hers with care, an invitation rather than a demand. “You hesitate before touch. You flinch when people assume intimacy is something expected. I never wanted to make you uncomfortable, so I waited.”

She blinked, stunned. “Waited for what?”

“For you to reach for me first.” His fingers curled around hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “For you to decide what you need, what you want.”

Tears pricked at her eyes. The weight in her chest loosened, something inside her cracking open in relief. “You’re not… disappointed?” she asked, voice unsteady.

“Why would I be?” Viktor chuckled, shaking his head. “You are the most brilliant, kind-hearted person I have ever met. My feelings for you are not dependent on physical expectations. I love you, Y/N. As you are.”

A tear slipped down her cheek before she could stop it, and Viktor reached up, brushing it away with his thumb. She let out a shaky laugh, leaning into his touch.

“I love you too,” she whispered.

Viktor pulled her close, careful, always careful. She buried her face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing him in, letting the warmth of his presence steady her. For the first time in a long time, she felt whole.

And she knew, with unwavering certainty, that she was safe in his hands.

JAYVIK

Jayce had noticed it first—how Y/N would always stop when things got too heated. It wasn’t abrupt or panicked, but there was a moment, a breath, where her body tensed, her hands stilled, and she pulled away with a nervous chuckle or a soft excuse. It had happened enough times that doubt began to creep into his mind. Had he done something wrong? Had Viktor?

He hated the thought. The last thing he ever wanted was to make her uncomfortable.

One evening, after another moment where Y/N had hesitated before pressing a chaste kiss to his lips and retreating to the safety of their bed, Jayce finally voiced his concerns to Viktor. They sat together in Viktor’s study, the dim glow of the Hextech crystal casting long shadows across the walls. Viktor, ever perceptive, had noticed as well—but he had not drawn the same conclusions as Jayce.

“She is happy with us,” Viktor murmured, fingers absentmindedly tapping against the edge of his cane. “I do not believe we have done something wrong, Jayce.”

“Then why does she always stop?” Jayce sighed, raking a hand through his hair. “I don’t want to push her, but… I need to understand.”

Viktor hummed in thought, gaze flickering toward the door leading to their shared bedroom. “Perhaps we should ask?”

Jayce blinked, then let out a short, breathy laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

Viktor gave him a wry smile. “Because it is. We trust her. And she trusts us.”

With a nod, Jayce followed Viktor into the bedroom, where Y/N lay curled beneath the blankets, a book resting open on her lap. She looked up at them as they entered, a small, sleepy smile on her lips. “You two look serious,” she teased, setting the book aside. “Did something happen?”

Jayce hesitated, but Viktor, always the one to cut straight to the heart of things, sat beside her and took her hand. “Y/N, we have noticed… a pattern.”

Her fingers twitched in his grasp, and she glanced between them, wariness creeping into her eyes. “What do you mean?”

Jayce sat on her other side, rubbing the back of his neck. “You always stop when things start to get, well… heated.” He exhaled sharply. “Did we do something? Did I do something? If we made you uncomfortable, please tell us.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she sat up properly, reaching out to take Jayce’s hand in her free one. “No! No, you haven’t done anything wrong.” She glanced away, chewing on her lip before taking a steadying breath. “It’s me.”

Viktor squeezed her hand gently. “Go on, lásko’.” (Love)

She exhaled slowly, meeting their eyes with quiet resolve. “I’m asexual.”

Jayce and Viktor remained silent, not out of shock, but to give her the space to explain in her own time. She searched their faces for any signs of discomfort or rejection, but all she found was quiet understanding and patience.

“I love you both. So much.” Her voice softened. “But I don’t feel… that kind of attraction. I like being close, I like kissing, I love being with you—but when it starts going beyond that, it’s like a wall goes up in my head, and I just… I can’t.”

Jayce’s shoulders relaxed, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You should have told us sooner, sweetheart.”

“I was scared,” she admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want you to feel like I didn’t want you. Or that I wasn’t enough.”

Viktor sighed, shaking his head as he pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “You are more than enough, lásko.”

Jayce cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over her skin. “We love you, Y/N. You don’t have to prove anything to us.”

She swallowed thickly, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. “You’re really okay with this?”

“Of course we are,” Viktor murmured, nudging his forehead against hers.

Jayce grinned, wrapping his arms around both of them and pulling them into a tight embrace. “You’re stuck with us, love. Whether you like it or not.”

A watery laugh escaped her as she melted into their warmth, holding onto them as tightly as they held onto her. “I think I can live with that.”

And as they lay together that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, she knew—with absolute certainty—that she was loved.

VANDER

The Last Drop was quiet that evening, a rare moment of peace in the Undercity. Most of the regulars had already turned in, leaving only a few stragglers nursing their drinks. Vander sat at the bar, his large hands wrapped around a mug of ale, watching Y/N as they moved around the tavern, straightening chairs and wiping down tables.

Vander had always admired Y/N. From the moment they’d stepped into his life, they had been a steady presence—a sharp mind, a warm heart, and a will stronger than steel. He’d never been one for grand speeches, but with Y/N, he’d never needed to be. They understood each other in ways words couldn’t quite capture.

Tonight, though, something lingered between them, an unspoken weight. Y/N had been quieter than usual, their usual lightness subdued. Vander frowned, setting his mug down with a soft clink. “You alright, love?” he asked, his voice gentle but firm.

Y/N paused, fingers tightening around the cloth in their hands before exhaling slowly. “I… there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Vander straightened, nodding. “Of course.” He gestured for them to sit beside him. Y/N hesitated for a moment before slipping onto the stool, their fingers fidgeting with the hem of their sleeve.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” Y/N began, their voice steady despite the nervous energy in their hands. “About us.”

Vander’s heart gave a small, uncertain lurch, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Alright.”

Y/N took a breath. “I love you, Vander. You mean the world to me. But… I need you to know that I’m asexual.”

The words hung between them for a moment, and Vander saw the way Y/N braced themselves, as if expecting something to break.

He blinked, letting the words settle, rolling them over in his mind. Then, carefully, he reached out, covering Y/N’s restless hands with his own. “Alright,” he said again, softer this time.

Y/N looked up at him, eyes searching. “You… you understand?”

Vander offered a small smile, his thumb brushing over their knuckles. “I won’t pretend I know everything about it. But I don’t need to understand every detail to know what matters.” He squeezed their hand. “You love me. And I love you. That’s enough.”

A breath of relief escaped Y/N, their shoulders easing. “It’s just… I know for some people, that’s a deal-breaker.”

Vander chuckled, shaking his head. “Love, I’m not ‘some people.’” His expression softened. “Being with you, having you beside me—that’s what I care about. Doesn’t matter what shape that takes.”

Y/N stared at him for a moment before a small, genuine smile broke across their face. Vander swore the weight in the room lifted, the tension dissolving like mist under sunlight.

He reached for his ale again, taking a sip before smirking. “Though I gotta admit, I was worried for a second there. Thought you were about to tell me you were leaving me for someone else.”

Y/N laughed, shaking their head. “No chance.”

“Good,” Vander murmured, leaning in to press a soft, lingering kiss to their forehead. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”

And just like that, the night felt a little warmer, the quiet a little kinder. Vander didn’t need to understand everything to know what was important—Y/N was his, and he was theirs. Nothing else mattered.

SILCO

The dim glow of The Last Drop’s lanterns cast flickering shadows across the room, the usual hum of the bar distant in the background. Silco sat across from Y/N in his office, his sharp gaze softened, though his fingers still toyed with a cigar he had yet to light. The revelation had settled between them like a delicate thread—fragile, but not broken.

He had always prided himself on being a man who understood people, who could read between the lines and predict their motives. But this? This was uncharted waters.

“Asexual,” he repeated, more to himself than to her. The word sat foreign on his tongue, not in a distasteful way, but in a way that demanded understanding. Y/N sat calmly, her expression unreadable, though he knew her well enough to notice the slight tension in her shoulders. Not from fear—but anticipation. Waiting for his reaction.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk. “And this means…?”

She let out a breath, her fingers tracing absent patterns on the wooden surface between them. “It means I don’t experience sexual attraction. Or at least, not in the way most people do.” Her voice was steady, but he saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “I love you, Silco. That hasn’t changed. But… that part of relationships? It’s never been something I’ve needed.”

Silco watched her, expression unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he reached across the desk and took her hand in his. A rare gesture of intimacy from him. His thumb ran slow, deliberate circles over her knuckles, grounding, thoughtful.

“I see,” he murmured. He wasn’t angry. Not disappointed. No, if anything, he felt—what was the word? Protective? No, that didn’t quite fit. Devoted? That was closer. He had given up everything for power, had built himself into something to be feared, respected. And yet, here she was, someone who had demanded nothing of him but to simply be. And she was looking at him now, searching for something—acceptance, reassurance.

A smirk ghosted the corner of his lips. “You think I’d love you any less?”

Y/N blinked. “I don’t know.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You’re a fool, then.”

Her lips twitched into a reluctant smile, and he squeezed her hand. “Tell me,” he continued, voice softer now, careful, “what can I do to make things… comfortable for you?”

Y/N swallowed, surprised by the question. She had prepared for resistance, maybe frustration. But this? This quiet, considerate patience? It nearly undid her.

“You already are,” she admitted, squeezing his hand back. “Just knowing you don’t see me differently—that’s enough.”

Silco studied her, then stood, rounding the desk with slow, deliberate steps. He cupped her face with both hands, his thumbs brushing just beneath her eyes, tracing the warmth of her skin. His touch was always precise, never wasted, and now it spoke volumes where words might fail.

“You are mine, my dear,” he murmured, his forehead resting against hers. “That hasn’t changed. Nor will it.”

A weight she hadn’t realised she was carrying lifted from her chest. Y/N exhaled softly, closing her eyes, leaning into the certainty of his touch. And in that moment, with the low hum of Zaun beneath them, she knew that love—real love—had never been defined by the expectations of others.

And neither were they.

[dusterbishop]

have you come here to rescue me (all of this can be broken)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 2.7k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. thank you for all the kind comments and likes! i'm happy i could share this with such a talented fandom.

part one. || part two.

You and Gambit meet before, eh?

Many times

Mais, pleasure’s mine, chér. Gambit’s never forgotten a beautiful woman

You draw your next card at random, and find yourself flat on your back, the back of your head still slick with the blood that pools beneath you. The hit from behind splintered your skull, but this body merely festers with a fading migraine. It is the closest you could get to avoiding death without skipping from this reality entirely. The pain has to keep you anchored, because you can’t count on Gambit to know what to do to keep you here.

Gambit, for his part, stares down at you. He looks like your Remy, which seems like such a strange thought to have. Of course he looks like Remy LeBeau. That is who he is in every lifetime. And yet it makes perfect sense that you halt upon this revelation for the very same reason.

Every Gambit is Remy LeBeau, and yet this one looks like Remy. He has the same strong jawline, the same furrow of his brow, the same black-rimmed red irises. He towers over you, the line of his shoulders set back and perplexed, at least until he crouches down to be closer to your level. Every movement is fluid, graceful. No sign of pain or hesitation. No snarl of distrust or blank expression of disinterest.

Found ya’, chér.

You would laugh if the back of your skull wasn’t just recently smashed in, new body or not. The daze of death’s lingering touch keeps you still as you stare back up at him. He had promised you would meet again, hadn’t he? In another lifetime, at least, he had. You are not the same body that he had been in love with, and yet some part of you can still smell the smoke in the air and feel the buzzing of kinetic lightning across your skin.

He is not your Remy. Not even if he’s looking at you with that same curious intensity. Gamblers could never refuse the call of the cards, and you have a stacked deck.

“Watch it, Cajun,” you tell him. Your voice is scratchy, grating the back of your throat. That explains the weariness in your joints, then. This version of your body is sick in some way. “I know how to wave a stick.”

A knowing laugh escapes him. “Oui, saw ya’ wit’ it. Don’ threaten Gambit wit’ a good time.”

Right, the flirting. Of all the swamp-dwelling boys you could have ended up entangled with, you just had to choose the one with that damned silver tongue. This version of Gambit is no different than the thousands of others you have witnessed in terms of that, at least. Perhaps thousands was even a conservative estimate. How many times have you crossed lives only to find a stranger wearing the face of the man you love?

God, you’re tired of it all. You don’t think you can handle another Gambit right now.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you sigh. “I’m not staying long.”

“S’il vous plait, you should.” He’s smiling, but you know that look in his eyes. Your gaze falls to the inner folds of his coat. You can barely make out the stitched lining where he keeps his cards, but you know that its there. He always had a habit of stitching the pockets in the same spot. Your Remy liked to command full control of the kitchen table to spread out his coat and ensure straight stitching. The cats liked it, too. You would come home to find them all clustered at the table, Remy idly scratching Oliver’s chin while he assessed his work, the other two boys stretched out languidly with them.

Gambit notices your attention, and his smile goes flat. “Where’ve you been my life, eh?”

“Could ask you the same thing,” you shoot back. The fatigue starts to settle deep in your bones. Maybe this body wasn’t sick when you borrowed it. Maybe this is just the effects of your time-skipping leeching over to another form. Your body feels like its burning a low-grade fever. “I don’t want to argue with you, Gambit.”

“Argue?” He looks almost offended at the mention of underlying tension. “Mon chér, you wound me. Dis is a civil conversation, non?”

“Don’t you get tired of talking?” You know he doesn’t. The two of you have spent so many hours sparring both in the danger room and verbally. He likes to make you take the backfoot in both fighting rings. At least, Remy did. This Gambit seems… off.

He almost seems familiar.

“Not when I’m talkin’ to you,” his smile edges with that coy charm. “Why don’ you tell Gambit about your travels?”

It feels like dunking your head beneath tumultuous ocean waves. Your gaze jolts to his eyes. His biggest tell had always been the way his pupils expand, consuming the ringed red of his irises. In some light, at some times, it almost looked as if he didn’t have irises at all. Just an all-consuming gaze of ink-black.

He looks that way, now, staring down at you. Black-eyed and smiling like a rogue, his elbows perched idly on the curve of his crouched knees, hands freely dangling between you. Unarmed, almost, if not for the weight of cards pressed against the cuff of his sleeves. That brand of stitching is new. Your Remy would have been absolutely delighted to see that sort of innovation as much as he would have groaned about not doing it himself.

“Ace up your sleeve,” you say instead. Your head is rattling with a desperate panic. How does he know that you can travel?

Gambit flicks his wrist, the air rushes, and a splayed set of cards stare back at you. Four of a kind. A handful of aces, in fact. Your Remy would be in absolute stitches over it.

“Some, oui,” he says. He looks just as pleased with himself. He always did like to be the smooth-talker. The air whirs with quiet trepidation, charging, turning metallic in the back of your mouth. One of his brows raises the same moment you half-raise your arm, reflecting the same suit of cards back to him. His fingers reluctantly slide closed on empty air.

“So do I,” you tell him. You hold steady when he goes to take them back from you and nearly yank your arm out of reach when his fingers close over your wrist instead. He’s wearing his gloves, but even the slight warmth of his skin pressed against yours makes your mouth go cotton-dry.

“Houdini,” he remarks.

“Not quite,” you whisper.

“Non,” he agrees. He studies your hand for a long moment. The cards are his, of course. You had shifted time just enough to reach across it and claim your prize. Nothing more than a parlor trick in the light of what you have done lately. What is a suit of cards in the face of endless, staggering realities? If you don’t like the way a restaurant cooks a dish, you can cross time until you find the same dish cooked to mind-numbing perfection. If you miss the city bus because it showed up three minutes early, you can change lifetimes to delay the driver by five minutes, the extra two minutes only for good measure.

If you lose one Remy LeBeau, why not venture out to find him again?

And again?

And again.

You know the answer, now. Maybe part of you always did, yes, but the answer is staring you in the face. You cannot ignore him any longer. You cannot skip timelines and pretend that there will never be a Remy like yours again. He was yours because he was not perfectly brought up as a child and ended up with some nine-to-five office job and a three-bedroom home with a white picket fence. That Remy does not have an interest in a strange paradox such as yourself. Neither does the Remy LeBeau that ends up being a schoolteacher, or a stay at home dad, or a volunteer at an animal shelter.

Your Remy was imperfect, and that was why he was the only version of himself that you could love.

This version of Remy LeBeau is still holding onto you. His grip is firm, but not bruising. He’s holding you fast to keep you with him, not to hurt you. You’re too tired to attempt to escape. Every muscle in your body feels leaden and overworked. That’s the other answer demanding your attention, but you let the revelation slip from its leash and ignore it.

“I know what you are, chér .” His grip doesn’t change, but there’s a dangerous riptide swelling in his tone. “What you do.”

“Wayfarer,” you say. It feels flimsy to say it like this, laying flat on your back, Gambit poised gracefully beside you. Remy had been rather nonplussed with the title when you first told him about it. Non, mon coeur, you are Wildcard. Not even Gambit knows your next move.  

“You travel, d’accord?” With the hand still holding you fast, he rubs the calloused pad of his thumb against the rapid flutter of your pulse. It’s nearly enough to make you flicker out of time itself, consequences be damned. His next words are a wistful purr. “You can leave.”

You aren’t sure why the surprise that lances through you hurts so much. Of course, he isn’t your Remy. You know this. He may smile and banter and touch you as kindly as Remy does — as he did, past tense, it’s all beyond your grasp now — but that does not make you something for him to cherish.

It does, however, make you something to use.

“I am always here,” you start, settling into this waltz slowly. This was the other part of your existence that used to confuse Remy. Some part of you hardly understood it, either. You don’t know how every part of a jet plane or automobile works either, though, so it doesn’t phase you much anymore. You had tried to explain it with the T.V. analogy, like your other versions were playing on different screens even if you aren’t tuned in, but that only served to confuse him more. He did enjoy your choice of explanation in some way, at least, by fully indulging in references from his favorite T.V. shows. The conversation had derailed into you hitting him with a pillow, and then you had both unraveled into a different sort of banter.

Not that Remy ever let you get the last word, though. Tuning the channel, he had said seriously, as you had writhed beneath his touch in a breathless rush. Smart-mouthed, smooth-talking swamp boy.

“Some part of me stays here. A variant,” you continue. Gambit waits, those slivered-red irises trained intently on your expressions. How strange to have him staring at you with such suspicion. You could never lie well to Remy LeBeau no matter the version you stumbled across. You could hold back, yes, but he would always know anyway. You have learned to stop hiding from him. It is inevitable that you will admit your life to him in some way, either by choice or by necessity.

“I am here,” you say. “Like I’m sitting in a coffee shop in Paris, reading the morning newspaper, playing the crossword. I can see the empty grid in my head. I know the clues.”

There’s a familiar furrow in Gambit’s brow. You’re suddenly glad he’s holding your hand before you end up surrendering to the urge to reach out and smooth it away. Not your Remy. A touch from you is not the sort he hungers for.

“Paris, eh?” He presses his thumb to your pulse. You wonder if he feels the leap in your heart beat at the touch. “Wha’s got you wandering da Void, then?”

“I didn’t choose to be here,” you admit. “I got… reset, I guess. My mind went to the next version of my body available.”

“Reset sounds awfully dire, I t’ink.” He gives you a pointed look. “Wha’s got you?”

For one long, awful moment, you almost tell him the terrible truth. You almost tell him that you went looking for a version of him that was familiar enough to soothe the gaping hole in your heart. That you found a Gambit that was witty and kind despite his shitty upbringing, one that liked to make you laugh and could keep up with the practice drills you still put yourself through. A Gambit that wasn’t afraid that you would one day vanish and be replaced by some version of yourself that he didn’t love.

You want to tell him that you found a Gambit that you had wanted to keep safe, and he was shot in the back trying to do the same for you. You tore yourself apart to take down the men that did it to him. You died with him and you still woke up within one breath and the next. You had to wake up and hear his voice, except this is not the Gambit that died because of you, this version does not know what he holds onto so tightly.

You want to tell him that three other versions of Remy LeBeau died just as terribly, and you just keep spinning the roulette wheel, and you just keep living.

“That version of me died,” you say. “Shot in the stomach.”

He’s looking at you as if he has never seen such a phenomenon. You suppose, technically, he hasn’t. He used to be one of the lucky ones that didn’t know you even existed. There goes that winner’s streak.

“Do’ya have t'die to… reset?”

You think about lying again. God, you wish you could. “Not always.”

He raises a brow at that, but you don’t offer to elaborate. Instead, you let the cards in your hand release from this reality with a soft whir of energy. Your head feels stuffed with cotton, or perhaps rocks. Maybe this is your mind finally burying itself alive in rebellion of your time-skipping antics.

“Tell ya what, chér.” His fingers loosen their grip on your wrist only to tangle with your own, intertwining your hands. Your breath catches. It’s the only split-second warning you have before he hauls you up to your feet, one hand entangled with yours, the other supporting the small of your back to keep you balanced. You have to shut your eyes against the vertigo that thunders in your head.

“Don’t die,” he continues. “Paris ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, hein? No reason to go dere.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” you grit out. You think you might throw up. Or pass out. Your free hand grips onto the lapel of Gambit’s coat hard enough for your fingers to grow stiff. His hand on your back is a solid, anchoring weight. It supports you more than you would like. Relying on him could be a dangerous game.

Still, your power is a raw, aching nerve burning through your veins. You couldn’t switch without tearing yourself apart, not as exhausted as you are. Considering that this Gambit hasn’t driven a knife into your back, either literal or figurative, it’s easier not to resist when he makes a soft hum and sweeps you into a bridal carry. You keep your eyes closed, and try to ignore the burn at the back of them. A part of you waits for his sound of pain, the impact of bullets thudding into his back. Another part wonders if he will be vaporized from existence by the TVA, just a second before your hands meet.

The third, quieter part of your mind just thinks: Remy.

Gambit, the fourth ace in your suit, doesn’t do any of those things. He adjusts your weight, testing to see if you will squirm out of his grasp, then he begins to walk. He’s strangely quiet. It’s almost a relief in the wake of your draining, familiar conversation. How many times will you have to reintroduce yourself to a Gambit? What could you possibly offer this fate-curious, battle-wary version of the man you love? It’s the sort of question that makes you reconsider your choice to stay.

Stay with a Gambit with ulterior motives, or move on to another life with no guarantee of who will meet you there? Well. When you put it like that, there’s no other option at all.

And, as if he can read your mind, Gambit begins to explain.

[kirain]

Part one of my appreciation project.

@bankabb A fic based in their wonderful art piece here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

The library was small but inviting, a cozy space tucked away from the world outside. A silent refuge. Shelves lined the walls, filled with well-worn books and trinkets that evinced a lifetime of study. The room was usually dim, the windows shut tight, protecting the leather spines from harsh light or the threat of humidity, but today the curtains had been drawn, allowing the pale evening sun to spill across the floor.

A long table shimmered under the amber rays, the surface cramped with half-drunk cups of tea—and a few indulgent mugs of coffee that, in all honesty, shouldn't have been there. But Dahlia couldn't resist. She sat across a wide linen couch, her short frame propped against a pillow, her knees slightly elevated as she took another sip of the sweet-bitter liquid. She had convinced herself she needed it, the book in her lap demanding attention no book ever had.

With idle patience, she turned a leaf, her lips curving faintly—not in reaction to the content, which was dry as parchment, but because she was reading it for him, her fingertips fondly tracing the margin of the page. Emmrich. It was his work, his world. If she wished to understand him beyond shameless flirting and the necromancy she'd already perfected, she had to meet him in the places where his mind dwelled, even if it meant enduring the dull intricacies of subjects she refused to touch even as an initiate.

Normally, she loved to learn, revelling in the opportunity, but this was a difficult read, even for one as intelligent as her. Yet, it didn't frustrate her, it made her admire him more. Emmrich was a man of great renown among the Mourn Watchers for a reason—brilliant, unwavering, and passionate about everything he pursued.

"...can you read?" a quiet voice broke out.

Dahlia's head snapped up, her violet eyes narrowing. Emmrich stood in the doorway, dapper as ever, a slow smile stretching across his face.

"Oh, very funny," she huffed, snatching up an aptly named throw pillow and flinging it at him, playfully.

"What?" Emmrich laughed as he caught it with ease. "What did I say?"

"You mocked me," she giggled, taking no offense. "You asked if I could read!"

Emmrich's smile faltered before a wholesome chuckle escaped his throat. "Darling, I said, 'Is it a good read?'"

A shy blush spread across her cheeks. "Oh. I thought—" She pressed her fingers to her temples, rubbing at the tension. "I'm sorry, I must have been lost in thought."

"A scholar after my own heart," he teased. "What are you reading, anyhow?"

Before she could answer, the tall, striking man ambled towards her, his expression keen and curious, his accessories gleaming in her spectacles. Suddenly, a flicker of embarrassment stirred in the pit of her stomach, her knees clenching to cover the book. She didn't want him to know she'd sought out his writings not to study the Fade, but to study him.

Then, it struck her like lightning to a spire—perhaps the text itself wasn't difficult. Perhaps the real reason she struggled, the reason she kept flipping back and rereading the same lines over and over, was because her fantasies ran rampant: imagining the way he must have looked hunched over his desk, eyes sharp with focus, his slender hand flexing along the pages as he obsessed over every word, every stroke of his quill.

"Oh, it's... well—" she stammered, but it was too late.

The couch dipped beneath Emmrich's weight as he settled by her feet and, without preamble, gently grasped her leg, shifting it just enough to see the title. Veilbound: A Treatise on the Fade and the Nature of Transcendence by Professor Emmrich Volkarin. He paused, and for the briefest moment, Dahlia could have sworn she saw his cheeks flush—just before he smoothed it away, hiding any trace of humility behind a sly grin.

"You poor thing," he quipped, leaning closer. "Must be boring you to tears. Some of my closest colleagues haven't been able to get through it."

Not for the same reasons, she hoped.

"I admit, it's not the most thrilling read," she jested.

"How dare you," he laughed, his grip on her leg tightening in all the right places, his thumb stroking her sensitive calf.

She looked away, flustered by the affection. "But I... I'm reading it for you."

The words left her mouth before she could consider them, and Emmrich stilled, something unspoken passing through his gaze. This beautiful, bright, compassionate young woman—even after that night in the Necropolis, even after she bared her soul—he still couldn't believe she wanted him.

And he wanted her. Carnally.

"Is that so?"

With one swift motion, he pulled her legs out from under her, guiding them around his waist. The force of it, harmless as it was, earned a startled gasp as Dahlia slid down into the cushions, the book tumbling from her grasp. Her glasses slipped up to her forehead, her vision blurring before she hastily adjusted them. When her sight cleared, her pulse thrummed in her pointed ears.

Emmrich was on top of her, one hand warm and firm against her thigh, the other bracing himself beside her. His face hovered only a hairsbreadth above hers, his hazel eyes heavy with desire.

"If you wish to know me better," he purred, his voice a shade lower, richer, "all you have to do is ask. I'll share my expertise with you for hours."

Dahlia swallowed, her blush deepening, but she soon gave him a daring smirk. "Anatomy," she challenged.

"Ah, my favourite subject," he grinned. "Though perhaps a bit redundant for an accomplished healer?"

His sharp wit, his effortless denial of her relief—it was enough to drive her mad.

"Maybe I'm testing you," she teased, but the quiver in her voice betrayed her, her defiance cracking under his relentless charm. "Y-your job is teaching. Mine is doing. And you know what they say—those who can't do, tea—"

His lips crashed into hers far too quickly, thrusting the air from her lungs. The kiss was deep, consuming, his tongue tracing along the seam of her lips before delving inside. He tasted her, savoured her, worshipped her with every slow, intoxicating stroke, coaxing a soft, muffled moan from her core.

"Mmph..."

She melted beneath him, her fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his waistcoat, helpless and hungry. When he shuffled closer, pushing into her crux, she shivered, his heat setting every nerve ablaze with longing and desperation.

And he didn't stop.

Dahlia's toes curled, anticipation flooding her senses as his hand traced a slow path up her thigh—up places that made her squirm—before sliding to the back of her head. With the extra leverage, he pushed their lips harder together, the pressure teetering on the edge of pain. Yet, somehow, he knew exactly where to hold the point of ecstasy, as if he knew her body better than she did.

"Darling..." he rasped, parting from her only a moment before devouring her lips once more.

Time ceased to be, the world fading from memory as their mouths danced in a rhythm of wet, eager sucks and slurps, a symphony of need and devotion.

A guarantee of pleasure to come.

When Emmrich finally pulled away, a thin strand of saliva following his lips, Dahlia was left breathless, her chest heaving in rapid succession. She didn't speak; she couldn't, but her eyes locked onto his—lidded, wanting, and silently begging for more.

He obliged, reaching for the hem of her trousers.

"I think you're ready," he whispered, his voice thick with promise, "to learn exactly what I can do."

[shartletswritings]

You've Dug Your Own Grave

CHAPTER 4: Kirranari

TW: Minor violence (honestly nothing compared to arcane) This chapter was so much fun to write omfgggg I hope that you guys enjoy!!! It was NOT beta read, so warning for that. We die like men or somethin like that (i was too impatient and wanted to get this out for you all and I will probably be editing any typos I missed over the next few days) I also had NO intention of making it over 8000 words, but here we are 0.0

You try to not let it get to you. You really, honestly try to not let that brooding, stupid, big eared man get to you. You try to forget that he let you pin him down. That he stared into your eyes for longer than a regular person would. Who cares if he smells like flowers. You certainly don’t, that’s for sure.

            If nothing else, it gives you a necessary distraction from the letter left in your apartment. That is a… problem. But what the hell can you do about it? Tell Ekko? From what you’ve seen, the man will probably take you on as his own personal mission; desperate to find a way to free you from your demons. You don’t want that, not even a little bit. What you want is to leave every part of your life behind and start fresh with the Firelights.

            Chross found your apartment, he didn’t find you. He’ll have no reason to think you’ve started working with the Firelights, so your safe. Er… mostly safe. As safe as you can be from a man who has a whole goddamn army of soldiers hired for the sole purpose of gathering intel on people. And you’re clearly a bigger target than you thought you were. Maybe it was foolish to think he’d let you leave; Chross isn’t one to let his ‘possessions’ slip from between his shriveled, boney fingers.

            You pick yourself up from the floor of the training room. Everything is fine, you tell yourself, desperately clinging to the mantra like a learned monk. Besides, there isn’t anything you can do right now. Except get my mask. Right! Jordyn said they’d be finished today. That’s a perfect distraction from both the Hush Company and your current chirean-shaped problem—you aren’t sure which is more pressing, honestly.

            After a quick shower, you dress yourself in your own clothes, finally. You had forgotten how nice it was to wear something that was both clean and your own. Your sweater may be ratty and stained but it’s your sweater dammit and you slip it over your head with a sense of pride. What have I become? Someone who’s proud to wear their own clothes? Jannah help you. You run a comb through your hair and walk back to the courtyard towards Jordyn’s tent.

            They smile as they see you approaching, hopping off their workbench with a thump. “I was wondering when you’d be gracing my presence this morning. How did it go at your apartment this morning?” You can tell they’re toeing around the more obvious question: Malia told me you pretty much shut down out of nowhere and said nothing the whole way home.

            “It was fine, a bit weird being back for the last time, ya know?” You can not open this can of worms right now.

            They eye you from the side as they reach to grab something from the table but don’t question you. “Right. Anyways, I’ve got your mask all ready for you. Let’s see it on.”

            They take that widened stance again to get down to your level, gently slipping the mask over your face. You do your best to not dwell on the way their hand grabs your jaw to tilt your head up a few inches.

            The mask fits snuggly over your face and you’re pleasantly surprised that you still have a full field of vision. “It feels good, does it look okay?” Your voice comes out distorted and echoed—must be the voice box Jordyn was talking about yesterday.

            “Ya look great,” they smirk down at you, standing back up, “here, take a look.” They hold up a small mirror in front of you. The face of a white rat with large, dark eyes gazes back at you, and you… fucking love it. It feels right; all the nights you’ve spent sneaking in and out of small spaces, you find yourself surprised you’ve never thought to identify with the animal before Scar brough it up as an insult.

            “Jordyn, this is amazing.” You slip the mask off.

            “I didn’t wanna say anything, but in the moment a rat felt like a… er… bad choice. But it suits you, pip squeak.”

            You bristle slightly, furrowing your brow at the nickname, “Pip squeak?” You aren’t that much shorter than them.

            Jordyn laughs, “Yeah, my sister had a pet rat named Pip Squeak when she was a kid, fits you pretty good if you ask me.”

            You cross your arms, letting the mask dangle in your hand, “I guess.” You mumble.

They put a hand on your shoulder, attempting to suppress a chuckle. “It’s affection, newbie, I’m not bein mean, promise.” Their face lights up as though they just remembered something. They mutter over their shoulder at you as they turn back to their workbench and fumble around, “I almost forgot. Lemme get you the clip.”

“Clip?”

            “Yeah, for your mask. Gods damn it all, I just saw it.” They fumble for a few more moments before turning back, holding a small silver clip triumphantly in their hands. “Here, I’ll put it on.” You look down at them in abject horror as they kneel in front of you to fit the clip onto the waistband of your cargo pants. “It’s magnetic,” they continue, “If you slide your mask down on it, it’ll stay on till you slide it off. Designed it myself.” They wrap their large hands around your waist to pull themselves back up to standing, only letting go once they take a step back. “There, try it out for me?”

            Unable to piece together a properly witty remark, you follow their instructions in silence. Despite your discomfort at their brazen proximity, it is pretty cool; the mask hangs securely off of your pants. You nod approvingly and muster up a smile. “It’s great.” You pause, completely unsure how to end this interaction. You eventually settle for, “Well, I gotta get to dinner.”

            While you don’t actively slap your forehead with your hands as you walk away, you come pretty damn close. As if everything that happened today wasn’t enough, now you have Jordyn to deal with. Don’t flatter yourself, you scold, that’s just probably the way they are, right? You add it to the growing list of things you force yourself to not think about and walk into the mess hall.

            Apparently, you’re late to dinner; nearly every table is full of Firelights. It is easy to forget just how many people live in this community, and how few of them are soldiers like yourself. A table of children catches your eye and its another good distraction. Ekko’s righteous speeches are beginning to worm their way into your brain, despite your best efforts to prevent it. Everything you will do for the Firelights is ultimately for these children, so they can grow up in a world that isn’t eating itself alive. Two days in and I’m already going soft, you think as you fill a plate up and sit down at a table of fellow soldiers.

            You are so lost in your own thoughts when you sit down that you don’t even notice the argument until Scar’s drink is knocked onto the ground. He snarls at a soldier across from you and stands up.

            “Scar. Sit back down.” It’s Ekko, the strength in his voice surprises you. It’s easy to forget how much of a leader he is.

            To your complete surprise, Scar’s response is even harsher, “Don’t fucking start.” He storms out of the mess hall, leaving your whole table in stunned silence. You’ve seen him upset, sure, but never directed towards Ekko. Whatever happened must have been bad. Was it you? No it couldn’t be…

            “What the hell is his problem?” You ask Ekko once the emotional temperature begins to cool.

            “I wish I knew. He’s been in a shit mood evening.” He responds, his voice back to its normal cadence.

            You chance a look at the man Scar was arguing with. You can’t blame him, you currently wanna yell at the big bat-eared man yourself. He has that way about him; that awful, innate ability to get under your skin without trying. Still, to see him this visibly upset? In your experience he is more of a quiet loathing type of angry as opposed to whatever it was he just did.  

            Conversation eventually returns to normal: discussions of raids, population growth, shimmer levels. You tune most of it out and continue eating your meal when your name draws you out of your reverie. It’s Ekko again.

            “That sound okay?” He asks, his eyes searching yours.

            “Hmm? Sorry.”

            “The briefing. Tonight, in my workshop.”

            You fumble to put his words to meanings in your brain. Right, tomorrow’s raid. You can distantly recall being told you’d be going on your first job on the way back from your apartment this morning, but you weren’t exactly in the headspace to take in any information.

            “Yes, I’ll be there,” you finally respond.

            Ekko smiles, “Glad to hear it.”

            It is a small group gathered in his workshop, waiting for Ekko’s game plan in the quickly setting sun. Everything is coated in a soft pink hue, and you find yourself watching a small bug walk directly into a fly-eating plant, the jaws closing so slowly that the fly doesn’t even realize it’s being devoured. A shiver crawls down your spine as it finally closes shut.

            You can put a name to every face you see in the room, which isn’t really that impressive considering there’s six of you waiting for Ekko’s arrival, but you give yourself the small victory. Scar is, as usual, leaning against a wall and looking like he’d rather be doing anything else. Malia and Eve are chatting in front of you and the other two soldiers are standing in silence. Everyone turns when Ekko walks in, giving him their full attention.

            “Good to see you all here,” he looks around at everyone, eyes finally landing on you. You shift. He pulls out a floor plan and spreads it on the table in front of him, waiting for you all to gather around him. “We recently got a tip of a shimmer factory in the wharf district. It isn’t a huge operation so taking it down won’t be difficult.” He points to a door on the side of the building. “They stop production around midnight, and this is the only active entrance after they close down for the night. From what we can gather, it’s pretty understaffed, so getting in and out shouldn’t be a problem.”

            One of the soldiers behind you speaks up, “How much are they producing. Like, how large of an operation is this place?” He points a finger to the map. “This building is massive.”

            “Actually, not that much.” he looks at Ekko curiously. He continues, “but we do know it is a central hub for transfers out of Zaun and into foreign markets. Not only that, but we have reason to believe it is also used as a storehouse for other factories, meaning it’s connected.” He looks up at you, “If we can get any information out of this factory before we burn it down, we could get the location of several other factories around the undercity.”

            “You want me to get into the overseer’s office?” You interrupt and the rest of the group turns to look at you. “Er… that is why you want me on this job, right?”

            Ekko smiles that mischievous smile you find yourself growing to love, “That is exactly what I want you to be doing.” He turns back to the others. “The rest of you should focus on clearing the building out and getting rid of all the shimmer you can, let her handle the office. That okay with you?” You nod. Of course it’s okay with you, this is what you do best.

            “And if the overseer happens to be in and decides to send out an alarm as soon as they see her?” Scar says. You glare up at him. He doesn’t even spare a glance towards you.

            “Then I’ll handle it.” You bite back. Ekko glances between the two of you but says nothing.

            “Right, well… You’ll head out tomorrow around 11:30. Does anyone have any questions?” Everyone shakes their head. “Great,” he claps his hands, “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

            You turn to leave with the others, but Ekko calls your name. You bite back a groan, not in the mood for a lecture about Scar. “Are you comfortable with this? I’m sorry I put you on the spot back there. I know you’re used to stealing shimmer, so I assumed you would be okay getting documents instead. If you don’t think you can handle it, it’s okay.”

            You stare at him for a second before answering, “What? Oh no. This is what I’m best at.”

            He arches an eyebrow at you, “It is?”

            “Yes… Er… how hard can it be right? Just some papers.” You purse your lips.

            “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” He asks. It isn’t accusatory like you were expecting. He phrases it as any other question.

            “Yes.”

            “And you aren’t gonna talk about it, are you?”

            “No.” You really, really don’t want to, “Unless I need to.” Fighting the urge to scratch at the branding, you cross your arms.

            “I won’t force you, it just… might be nice to get some things off your chest is all.” If only he knew the half of it.

            “Well, when I need a therapy session, I’ll be sure to come to you.” It is harsher than he deserves but you can’t really help it. His smile falters and he looks almost hurt. With nothing left to say, you turn and walk out the door, heading straight to your room. It’s been a long fucking day.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            You’re in a much better mood the next morning. The sunshine in the courtyard that hits your face as soon as you walk outside helps exponentially. As does your warm cup of tea and bowl of rice porridge. You can make this a good day. You’ll stick to your mental list, kick ass tonight, and go to bed a better person than yesterday, right?

            You walk back into the courtyard after finishing your small breakfast to see a gaggle of kids sitting in a circle in the dirt. You had no intention of going up to them—you meant to go back to the training room. It isn’t that you don’t like kids, they’re… fine. You just don’t really know what the hell you’re supposed to say to them, always worried you’ll say something too violent without meaning it. Especially with these kids. Growing up with the Firelights is a hell of a lot different from growing up in the undercity.

So it comes as a surprise when a young girl who can’t be older than 4 runs up to you and tugs at the sleeve of your shirt. “You’re the new lady, right? My ma told me about you.” She smiles up at you, golden brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. Damned kids, they’re like vultures. Little, adorable vultures.

            “That’s right,” you answer. Your voice isn’t exactly harsh… just uninterested.

            “Come meet everyone!” She tugs at your sleeve to lead you back, and you let her despite yourself.

            You crouch down to get eye level with the group that soon surrounds you. A small redhead looks at you with what must be the largest eyes you’ve ever seen. “I heard your name is Pip.” A girl next to him snickers.

            “And who told you that?” You already know who it is. Damned Jordyn.

            The kid slaps his hand to his mouth to try and muffle his laugh, “I’onno,” he says, feigning innocence.

            You furrow your brows at the kid and he shrinks back a little. It twinges your heart to see so you stick a tongue out at him and his smile returns slowly. “Alright! You got me! My name is Pip Squeak. But you can’t tell the adults alright? I’m trying to work on my tough guy persona” You puff out your chest and flex dramatically. He laughs and the sound is like music to your ears. You reach out and grab his sides to tickle him. The kids around you erupt into hysterics.

            “Get her!” one cries.

Suddenly, you find yourself completely swarmed by young children. You let them wrestle you to the ground. A girl with curly, blonde hair jumps onto your stomach and does her very best to tickle you back with her chubby, ungraceful fingers.

You gently push the kids off of you and stand up at full height, letting out the best monster noise you can manage. The kids scream playfully.

You sit back on the ground and they surround you with wide, curious eyes. “Well? You all know my name. It doesn’t seem fair that I don’t know your names.” The kids consider your request very seriously, murmuring and glancing between one another. Finally, the redhead speaks up. They go around the circle and rattle of their names in varying degrees of clarity. As you listen to them, that increasingly familiar pang of envy begins to gnaw at your gut. These kids don’t know how lucky they are, and you pray to the Gods that they never figure it out.

            A young woman comes out of the door to a small wooden hut built into the wall. She walks over to your group holding a small bundle of fabric. “Alright kiddos, it’s nap time,” she says, her voice soft and melodic.

            A collective groan erupts from the children surrounding you. One small voice speaks in protest, “Nooooo but we wanna hang out with Pip!”

            The woman looks at you suspiciously, “Oh. Pip you say?” Her voice is playful. You can’t recall the woman’s name, but you’re certain you met.

You shrug your shoulders at her and ruffle the hair of the girl clinging to your leg. “How about I come with to get ready for your nap. Whaddya say?” This answer seems to satisfy the kids, and your group makes its way back to the hut. Inside you see what seems to be a nursery; toys and books fill the shelves lining the walls and a row of small cots are placed off to the far side of the room.

The woman turns to you as the kids begin to settle into their individual cots. “My name is Jess, by the way. I know they can be a handful; I appreciate you giving them your time.”

            You shake your head earnestly, “Not at all!” You look down at the bundle in her arms and realize it’s the baby you saw Scar holding on your first morning here. “Is that Scar’s kid?”

            She nods, “Yeah, this is Aster.” She looks down at the sleeping child and smiles. “Hey, I don’t mean to throw even more at you, but do you think you could hold her while I get the kids down for their nap?”

            Before you can even answer she is placing the baby in your arms and walking back to the toddlers in their beds. You freeze, staring down at the creature in your hands completely unsure what to do. You don’t think you’ve ever held a baby before. Aster shifts at the sudden change but settles quickly in your arms. You go through what you think a baby needs while it’s being held: head is supported, she’s not upside down, you’re pretty sure she isn’t going to drop out of your arms. You can do this. You’ve killed people dammit, sold shimmer, run from enforcers. You can hold a baby for a few minutes while that poor, overworked woman deals with the kids she needs to look after—you aren’t really sure she’s overworked but you know you would be if you had five toddlers to take care of and a baby.

            Aster begins to fuss in your arms, her tiny, chubby face contorting and she begins to whimper. You can handle this. You try to think what people do with babies. You remember Scar rocking her, so you do your best to rock back and forth, throwing in a “shhh” for good measure. By some miracle it works, and Aster begins to settle, her face relaxing and her quiet, pitiful whimpers subsiding. You smile down at her. She is really fucking cute. Like… sure, every baby is ‘cute’ but this kid… Wow. You realize, the longer you hold her in your arms, that she smells familiar. It takes you a second to place it and then it clicks. She smells like flowers. She is the reason Scar smells like flowers. You don’t really know how to process this information, but it makes your heart do funny things that you don’t like one bit.

            You don’t even notice that Jess has tucked the kids in. “She’s a little angel, isn’t she?” Her voice is soft and quiet as she looks down fondly at the sleeping infant in your arms.

            “Yeah.” You look back up at her, “I don’t know where she gets it, probably her mom. Can’t be from her dad.” You don’t even think about what you’re saying before the words leave your mouth. Oops. You bite your lip.

            She laughs, “No, Scar is really great with her. Don’t tell him I told you this, but he gets a little misty-eyed every time he drops her off in the morning.” You look at her incredulously, of all the things you could picture Scar doing, crying is just above apologizing.

            “Who is her mom, anyways?” You finally risk asking the question that’s been on your mind from the moment you saw Scar with the baby. Purely out of curiosity, you remind yourself, not for any other, more personal reason. You force yourself to remember the list. Not that it matters anyways, if anything you should feel sorry for whoever gets stuck with Scar.

            “She… isn’t around anymore.” Jess’s once relaxed and open demeanor seems to shrink back a bit. You make a mental note to not push that anymore, with anyone.

            You sigh gently, looking back to Aster. You need to leave and get ready for the day, but you find yourself wounded at the thought of leaving her. What the fuck is happening to you? Jess seems to notice your hesitation, “You can come visit whenever you want. I won’t tell Scar, Pip.” She uses the name affectionally and another part of you melts. Maybe I do like kids… who’da thunk it.

            After prying Aster out of your arms and back into the much more experienced care of Jess, you return to your original goal of the training room. It is empty when you walk in, which you tentatively take as another good sign for today.

            The punching bag seems to be mocking you as it sways lightly from its chains, so you resolve to show it no mercy. It is your kicks this time, not your punches, that takes the focus of your workout. It isn’t like you’re planning on fighting Scar again… but it would probably be good to be able to throw a few kicks without getting your ass handed to you.

            By the time you finally leave you are dripping with sweat and exhausted, but you feel good, damnit. And no one came to interrupt, which is even better. You take a cold shower and spend the rest of your afternoon mentally preparing for tonight’s raid.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

            Malia and Eve are already waiting near the hideout entrance when you make your way down. Malia smiles at you and Eve puts the butt cigarette she was smoking out on her shoe. “Didn’t know you smoked,” you say.

            She shrugs and says nothing, silently offering you one. You shake your head, and she shrugs again, pulling a fresh one from her pocket.

            You adjust the straps of the bag slung across your back. This actually feels pretty natural for you: waiting to break into a guarded facility. If you weren’t with the Firelights, this would feel exactly like any other night. You’re wearing your usual uniform of black, skintight clothes and wearing a bag big enough to put whatever you find away safely. The knife attached to your hip is a welcome, familiar weight. Really, it’s ironic how full circle you’ve come: stealing information to stealing shimmer and right back to stealing information. You laugh out loud, and Malia looks at you, you say nothing.

            Ekko walks up with the rest of the soldiers to see the six of you off. He looks you up and down and a flash of concern ghosts over his usually bright eyes; you should apologize for how you acted yesterday. Not in front of everyone else, of course, but you make a mental note to talk to him later.

            “Everyone feel ready?” His tone is normal which makes you feel a bit better—not that you thought he was one to skulk. You all nod in agreement. He goes over the plan one last time before opening the door and watching as the six of you walk away.

            The sounds of footsteps echo down the stone tunnel as you walk. Your torchlight illuminates Scar as he leads the group down the tunnel, his large back blocking most of your vision. It feels wrong to break the quiet, but you can’t stand to walk in silence and resolve to making small talk with Malia who walks besides you.

            The wharf is close enough that you don’t take hoverboards—which you would have much preferred even just to show off your improvement—and it only takes a few minutes by foot before you are standing outside of a massive building. The smog of the city always mixes eerily with the mist rolling off of the water and the red lights glowing outside of the factory adds to the unsettling atmosphere.

            “Can’t believe this was under out noses the whole time,” Eve’s voice is distorted slightly from her mask, and it reminds you to slip your own over your head.

            “We can’t go around checking every building in Zaun,” says the soldier wearing a cat shaped mask behind you.

            “Still. I’ve probably walked past this godsdammed place a thousand times and they’ve been shipping out shimmer the whole time. Pisses me off.”

            “Will all of you shut up?” It’s Scar’s voice. You had forgotten how fucking sinister he looks in his own mask—not that he isn’t terrifying without it. “Malia, you take out the guards at the door. The rest of us will follow in once they’re down. You,” he looks at you now, “don’t fuck it up, got it?”

            “I can handle myself,” you hiss. This fucking asshole.

Malia is already walking towards the guards, her demeanor completely different from her prim, postured norm.

            She stalks over towards the two guards sitting outside of the door, keeping low to the ground. They don’t notice her until she lets out a long, low whistle. One of them picks his head up and calls out into the night. Malia says nothing and continues her slow advance, this time standing up straight.

            The other man notices her finally and flicks his cigarette onto the ground. “You better turn around and go back to where you came from,” he calls menacingly.

            Malia snaps her head to a harsh angle, staring the man down, almost like a crow. Right, duh. Makes sense, that’s her mask.

            Suddenly, faster than the men can react, she rushes them and plunges a knife into each neck. They don’t even have a chance to yell before they topple to the ground, choaking on their own blood.

            Your group begins to advance slowly. Sure, you could follow them into the main room, wait for them to clear out any goons, before finally being allowed to go into the overseer’s office once they’ve made sure its safe for you, like Scar would probably prefer. Or you could do it your way. You like the second option much better

            Breaking off from the group as they enter the now unguarded door, you scramble up a low wall and onto a small window ledge. Gently, you pry the window open and drop into the warehouse, silent as a cat. You find yourself on a high balcony overlooking the factory floor. Barrels of shimmer sit in rows below you. You take a moment to situate yourself from what you can remember of the floorplans you looked at last night. If you’re here… then… Right. The door at the end of the balcony must be the entrance to the hallway that leads to the office. This is child’s play, you think.

            You walk down the balcony, keeping yourself low to the wall. Footsteps around the corner catch your attention. You duck behind a pile of boxes, and you silently pull your knife out of your belt, just in case. You don’t exactly like killing people, but you’re not against it if the situation demands a bit of violence. Luckily, the man rounds the corner and keeps walking, completely oblivious to your presence. You wait a moment for him to be out of earshot before slipping from your hiding spot and continuing down the balcony.

            Carefully you open the door to the hallway and slink inside. The door at the end of the hallway must be the office and a rush of confidence surges through your veins.

            Getting inside is painfully easy, the damned door isn’t even locked. The room is nice, you suppose, but you’ve seen better; this factory is pretty clearly a low-level supplier. Finding the information isn’t too difficult either. Once you make it inside of the pathetically locked filing cabinet, you are rewarded with several folders full of papers and a quick glance at them confirms that they are, in fact, records of dealings with other factories and warehouses. Ekko’s information was sound.

            You turn to leave, feeling very smug, when a small, locked case above your head catches your eye. It is slightly out of reach, so you hop onto the filing cabinet to pick the lock. It is harder to crack which makes you even more intrigued; whatever is in here must be worth safeguarding. Just as you click the final pin in place, Scar’s sharp voice catches your attention.

            “Kirranari!” You whip around, nearly falling off the cabinet. “You were supposed to stay with the fucking group,” he bites from behind his mask.

            The door to the case opens before you get a chance to ask him what the hell he called you. You turn back to see what it is you gained access to. It’s a case full of… alcohol? That’s what this overseer was so intent on keeping safe and not the pages and pages of confidential dealings?

            You are about to tell him off when the same man you saw on the balcony rounds the corner. He startles when he sees the two of you and whips out a pistol from a holster along his chest.

            You know you should jump out of the way, or duck, or something, but you find yourself frozen. His face… You didn’t see it before, but there is no mistaking it. The harsh angle of his once broken nose or the scar running down the side of his face; this is absolutely one of Chross’s enforcers. You can recall so clearly the smarmy grin on his face whenever you were brough into his office for one of your many fuck ups. Your stomach churns uncomfortably. What the fuck is he doing here? I thought this was one of Silco’s factories.

            A bullet fires from the pistol, and you don’t even react until it wizzes past your ear, imbedding itself into the wall just a few inches from your head. The man is dead on the ground before you can think to move, Scar standing over him, bloodied spear in hand.

            He whips around and walks over to you. Heavy hands coming down on your shoulders brings you back to reality, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” You don’t have an answer.

            Once again, bile threatens to spill up from your gut. You force it back down. “S-sorry, I just… wasn’t thinking.” Your voice is much weaker than you want it to be.

            “You could have fucking died and all you have to say is that you weren’t thinking?” He shakes you, claws digging into the sides of your arms.

            He’s right, you think, bitterly. The letter has you jumpy. For all you know, the guy stopped working for Chross after you left. And even if he still did, it’s not like he could recognize you under the mask. Pull yourself together.

            You let out a long, low sigh, still looking up into Scar’s mask. “I found booze!” You say, bringing an arm up as far as you can with his hands still holding you in place—as though that negates what just happened.

            He snarls and lets you go with a shove. “Don’t fuck around like that again,” he says before walking out of the office and back towards the balcony, stepping over the body in the hallway.

            You will yourself to snap out of it as you place the bottles into your bag alongside the folders. You don’t know exactly what the alcohol is, but it looks strong and expensive, which is exactly what you need.

            You are met by the other soldiers on the floor of the factory. “Any luck?” Malia calls when she sees you approaching. Scar must not have told her.

            A nod, “Yeah, tons of information. I’ve got it all in here.” You throw a thumb back towards your bag and she gives you an approving thumbs up.

            They make quick work of sloshing cans of gas around the factory and once everyone is our, Eve lights a match from her pocket and tosses it into the building. Fire catches immediately and it isn’t long before flames begin to lick at the sides of the shimmer barrels. No one remains long enough to watch it blow especially knowing the crowd such a large fire will attract, and you are all several meters away when an explosion sounds.

            You gnaw on your lip beneath your mask the whole trip back, reducing it to a bloody lump. I need to figure my shit out, now. This stupid anxiety is beginning to become a serious problem. Private panic attacks you can handle, but nearly dying in front of Scar? Really, being in any state of venerability in front of him is a problem, regardless of whether or not it’s life threatening.

            You adjust your bag without thinking and clinking of bottles in your bag drags you from your thoughts and Eve shoots a look back towards you. “Doesn’t sound like papers in there.”

            “She found alcohol in the office,” Scar says, not turning back as he leads your group through the mazes of tunnels.

            Malia perks up, “Oh shit really? Is it any good?”

            “I couldn’t really say, but it was locked up like it was.” You say, reaching into your bag and pull a bottle out, handing it to her.

            She adjusts her light onto the label, “Holy fuck. This stuff is really expensive. Good find, Pip.”

            You groan, “Not you too.” Fucking Jordyn. She shoots a masked look back at you and giggles, jogging off to show the man in the cat mask, who hums appreciatively.

            Most of the hideout has gone to bed by the time you return, but you’re greeted with a small welcome party. You slide your mask back onto your belt and smile at them, desperately trying to put the last few hours behind yourself. Sure you almost died, but you got what you needed from the factory, that’s something, right?

You pull the folders out of your bag and hand them to Ekko who flips through them quickly. “Holy shit. This is huge, I can’t thank you enough,” he says and hands them to a woman next to him, asking her to take them back to his workshop to look at later. Malia calls you back to the group and you oblige.

You see Scar pull Ekko aside. The conversation looks heated, but you don’t have the energy or the drive to try and listen in. If Scar has a problem with you, he can say it to your face.

            Once greetings are finished and Scar and Ekko have rejoined the group, you pull a couple bottles out of your bag and hold them up for everyone to see. “Anyone up for a bit more?” Not a single person denies your offer and a few minutes later everyone is crowded around a table in the empty mess hall.

            Jordyn emerges from the kitchen with a tray of assorted, unmatching cups and you begin to pour out healthy servings of the alcohol into each. You give Jordyn a questioning look with an arched eyebrow, pausing at the cup in front of them. They smirk and nod wordlessly. So much for not touching anything.

            Ekko holds his own cup up and everyone looks at him expectantly, “To a job fucking well done.”

            Cheers erupt around the table, and everyone takes a drink. You down your drink in one gulp and—to your surprise—so does Scar. Malia wasn’t lying when she said this stuff was strong and you wince as it burns a path down your throat and into your belly.

            You don’t intend to drink as much as you do, but as soon as Jordyn pulls out a deck of cards and proposes a drinking game, you know you’re done for. The rules don’t make sense even after they are explained several times to you and you find yourself losing more than anyone in the group, which doesn’t help in your confusion.

            After about three shots too many you realize it may not be the worst idea to get some food in your stomach—anything to soak up the alcohol. As soon as you stand, it’s as if all the alcohol you have consumed throughout the night finally decided to kick in and… woah. You can’t remember being this drunk. Come to think of it… you can’t remember much of anything.

            You stumble towards the general vicinity of the kitchen and begin rooting around for something to eat. Once the door is closed, the laughter and conversation from the table is muffled and you take a moment to drunkenly enjoy the silence. Only one light is on over the sink and it’s just so peaceful in here… what did you come here for again?

            Food! Right.

            Coordination, you find, is extremely difficult and it takes you three tries to get your hand on the cabinet door. You yank it open triumphantly and—not realizing how close your face was—proceed to smack yourself directly in the nose. “Owwwww,” you groan out, a hand going to clutch your aching nose.

            A barking laugh startles you and you jump around, a yelp stifled under your hand. Scar is leaning against the counter looking annoyingly sober. “What the fuck do y’want?” Your words are slurred, and you struggle to keep him in focus, making your glare look more like a confused stare. Fuck, I’m wasted.

            “Wanted to watch the show.” He folds his arms across his insanely broad and muscular chest. Damn. Has he always been this hot? You blink. Where the hell did that thought come from?

            “Ya know… I should pro’bly thank you… for uh… savin my life.” You look up at his stupid, handsome face.

            He angles his chin up and looks down at you. “You should.”

            “But I won’t,” your giggle is light and hysterical and if you were sober in this moment you’d be kicking yourself for acting like a teenager. Get a grip, but your drunk mind refuses to heed any warning. You think you can remember having a list or something… what was it again? The memory is a blur, and you give up.

            He rolls his eyes but doesn’t snarl at you like you were expecting. You turn back around and pluck a loaf of bread from the cabinet, shoving your hands into the bag and pulling a couple of slices out.

            You turn around and hop up onto the counter to face Scar who is still standing there. Why is he here, anyways. He stares intently as you take a mouthful of the plain bread, chewing intently as you look back at him. Your brows furrow, with a mouth still full of bread you ask, “Why d’you hate me so much?” The question isn’t harsh, you genuinely want to know. “I mean, I know we got off on a bad foot or whatever,” your legs swing from under you, bouncing your heels against the base of the counter.

            “I don’t hate you.” He sounds uninterested but not bored.

            “You act like you do. You always have tha’stupid snarl on your face,” you take another mouthful of bread. Scar says nothing. “I just think you could stand to be a l’il nicer, s’all.”

            The door of the kitchen opens and Jordyn pops their head inside, smiling when they see you. “Pip, I was missin you. Come on back.” They sound about as drunk as you are. You hop down from the counter and, after taking a moment to get your balance back, walk back into the mess hall.

            The group is slightly smaller than when you started. Ekko has already left with Eve and a couple others, leaving only you, Jordyn, Scar, and the two other soldiers that came on your raid today. You plop down on the chair next to Jordyn and feel their arm fall over your shoulder. Maybe you should care, but it’s nice to have someone close to you. Especially as muscular as Jordyn. You’re pathetic. Scar would feel better. Bet he’s warmer. He was practically on fire yesterday in the gym.

            The memory of the gym twists something strange and deep in your gut. You push your hair out of your eyes. Your clothes feel too tight, and the air around you feels too hot. You need to leave, to get some fresh air. Jordyn, mercifully, doesn’t react when you jump out of their grasp and stumble for the door. “M’ goin to bed,” you mumble before pushing out into the cool of the night.

            You practically moan at the feeling of the night air on your skin; this is exactly what you needed. To be out of the noise and the heat and the people. It isn’t enough, you realize, you need more. Practically tripping over your feet, you make your way to the hoverboard that has been left out near the entrance to the mess hall.

            “Don’t.” A familiar voice behind you calls, “you’re gonna snap your neck.”

            “Am not,” you bite back to Scar, not realizing how fucking childish you sound. You place the board down and step into it.

            Right before you can start it up, a hand wraps around your wrist. “I said don’t. I saved your life once today, don’t make me do it again.” A shiver rolls down your spine. What is this man doing to me?

            “I-” words fail you as you look up into those green eyes. “M-maybe yeah…”

            His brows furrow at something, but before you can ask, he is lifting your arm up and pushing your sleeve up. Your heart tuns to ice and your stomach clenches painfully as he gazes at the branding in your flesh. This is it, you think in a drunken, terrified blur, they’re gonna think I’m a spy, or untrustworthy, or even worse: pathetic. Gods, you don’t want that. You can’t bear the thought of pity.

            Scar, seeming to notice the fear in your eyes, says nothing as he pushes the sleeve back down. “You need to get to bed.” His voice is soft and lacking its usual sharpness. You suck a breath in as all the tension leaves your body. Fuck. Your knees go out and you feel yourself tumbling towards the floor. He grabs you again, wrapping two large hands under your arms and hoisting you back up. “You’re wasted.” He sounds unamused.

            “Nuh-uh.” Even you know it’s a lie. He just… looks at you. You push yourself out of his arms and start to walk back through the courtyard and to your room. You get about two steps before you stumble again and this time there is no large chirean to catch you.

            He walks over and peers down at you. “You gonna let me help you? Or did you plan on crawling back to your room?”

            You scowl at him. “I don’ need your help, pretty boy.” Gods damn it all, did you say that out loud? From the way his lips twist, you did. You slap a hand to your head, dragging it down your face. “Fine…” you mumble, cheeks burning.

            Tentatively, you reach your hands up, expecting him to pull you back to your feet. So it comes as a complete surprise when he bends down and wraps one arm under your back and another under your knees to lift you completely, as if you weigh nothing. He must know what he’s doing, right?

            You struggle in his arms for a moment—whether it is out of a genuine desire to be put down or simply to save face you don’t really know—and he only tightens his grip. “You couldn’t walk two steps; I don’t have the patience to watch you stumble all the way back. Now quit squirming.” His tone is surprisingly gentle, you stop resisting, leaning your head against his shoulder and take in his smell for the second time. It is still just as irresistible.

            You’re quiet for a while and you realize that it is almost… nice? It’s nice to be carried by him; despite how absolutely insulting it is to your agency. You feel safe—which is not an experience you take lightly. “I met Aster this morning,” you finally say, voice quiet in the night air. He looks down at you for a moment but doesn’t stop walking. “I don’t really like kids but… she’s pretty sweet. An’ she’s lucky to have you as her dad… I guess.”

            He lets out a woosh of air that could almost be considered a laugh. “Glad you think so.” You close your eyes and stay silent for the rest of the walk back to your bedroom.

            He lays you down in your bed with a surprising amount of gentleness and you flutter your eyes gently open to see him staring down at you. There is a look of… something in his eyes. He turns to leave and you feel a pang of sadness. “Scar,” you call almost inaudibly. His ears twitch and he turns back towards you, “please don’t tell Ekko…”

            You see in his gaze that he understands what you mean. The branding. “We’ll talk tomorrow, Kirranari.”

            “Wait,” he stops and turns back to you, looking only slightly exasperated, “wha’s that? Kirranari? Ya said it back in the factory… I think.” The word stumbles from your lips in a butchered pronunciation compared to the way he says it, which is almost… reverent.

            You can’t read his expression, “’One who sneaks’. It’s chireanai,” he rolls his eyes at your lack of comprehension. Hey, I’m drunk, not like it’s my fault. “It means ‘rat’.” He closes the door without waiting for your answer.

            You fall asleep with a stupid, drunken smile on your face.

I knowwww chirean’s don’t technically speak with words but indulge me. I love sweet, soft Scar so bad guys. He’s my favorite DILF. Ok, gonna go write chapter 5. I love you all so much, thank you for sticking with me for this silly little story that I have put way too much of myself into. Oh well!!

Tag List: @kiannaf @awenthealchemist @calciferthelivingfire

[worldlxvlys]

one choice

part 6 of the CRUSH series

bsf! matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: angst, mentions of sex, cursing

a/n -> hope u like <33

read the previous part for context !!

MATT’S POV

when my eyes fluttered open, i was immediately met with a pillow that wasn’t mine. i knew this pillow though, and those sheets.

i had forgotten where i was momentarily, until i looked over and saw her. her eyes were closed, lips parted slightly while she slept peacefully.

she looked angelic, the soft rays of the sun seeming to make her glow. she moved around in her sleep last night, leaving her barely covered by her blanket.

i couldn’t help but let my eyes wander her body, taking in every feature. her smooth skin was littered with dark marks all over, and the blanket left little to the imagination. before i knew it, i was hard again.

it took everything in me to fight the urge i had to take care of it right there next to her. what would she think if she woke up to me jerking myself off to her sleeping form?

oh my god, what was gonna happen when she woke up? she would want to talk about what this meant for us, but i couldn’t handle that.

what if this was a one time thing? what if she wanted nothing to do with me after this ? did i fuck up our friendship? i had to get out of there.

i got up quickly and quietly, careful not to make any noise while i got dressed. when i was done, i pulled her blanket over her so she was fully covered. i looked around for a pen and paper to leave her a note, as i didn’t want her to get the wrong idea.

ok, she has nothing to write a note with. i’ll just leave her a text.

well i could have done that, if i had realized i completely forgot my phone in her room before i left. i didn’t make this realization, however, until i had gotten back home.

so not only did she think i was the type of guy to fuck and dip, but i also couldn’t avoid the conversation that i was running from in the first place.

it’s not that i never wanted to talk about it, i just wasn’t ready for our friendship to change yet.

was running away the best way to handle the situation? definitely not, but i only had so much time to decide what to do before she woke up.

so basically, my overthinking ended up screwing me over. doesn’t it always ?

what was wrong with me? this was the girl who made me feel safe and loved, and now i couldn’t even talk to her. how did i manage to fuck up this badly?

one choice. one choice stemming from my fantasy-filled thoughts is all it took. and the decision i made last night led to more poorly made choices. choices that i wouldn’t have made had my brain not been corrupted by her.

her face, her smell, those perfect little moans that fell off her lips, she had a way of making me ignore every logical thought that my brain produced. i was so desperate to finally have her in the way i’d only dreamed about for years.

now if i didn’t fix this, i wouldn’t have her in any way.

———

READER’S POV

when i woke up, matt was gone. the spot where he had slept next to me was cold, meaning he hadn’t been there for a while.

for a second, i questioned whether last night was even real. had i really fallen so deep into my delusions that i started to believe them? i found the thought to be worrisome, but i tried not to dwell on it as i got up and made my way to the bathroom.

when i caught a glimpse of the hickeys decorating my skin i felt relief wash over me. i wasn’t going crazy. just as quickly as it came, the relief was replaced with a new feeling; embarrassment.

i seriously let myself think that he would want something more. hell, he marked me like he did. but he didn’t treat me like i was his best friend, he treated me like i was a one night stand.

maybe he had a valid reason for leaving. i tried to talk myself out of the rabbit hole of assumptions i was about to go down, and picked up my phone.

once a few hours had passed without him returning my texts or calls, i knew. he was done with me, he had to be. why else would he just leave without warning and ghost me?

i should’ve know this was going to happen, people always leave me in the end. it just never occurred to me that matt could be just like everyone else.

——

MATT’S POV

when i got to her house, i let myself in using the key she had given me. “y/n?” i called her name, not receiving an answer.

i pulled out the ice cream i had bought her on the way to her place, putting it in the freezer for her.

when i got to her room, she happened to be fresh out of the shower. she wore nothing but a towel, her eyes widening when she saw me.

“matt?” she asked before rushing over to me, pulling me into a tight hug. the water droplets that coated her skin soaked into my t-shirt, but all i could focus on was the fact that she was in my arms.

i inhaled the scent of her fruity body wash, eyes falling shut as i rubbed her back soothingly.

she then pulled away, smacking me upside the head with her heavy hand. “don’t do that again matt, i thought i scared you off. i thought you hated me- i thought i lost my best friend”

i cupped her cheek gently, “i could never hate you, and i’m not going anywhere. i was just overwhelmed, but i shouldn’t have just left life that. i’m sorry, i was gonna leave a note, but then i couldn’t find anything to write with. and i was gonna text you but i left my phone here and-”

“matt, it’s ok. i’m just glad that you’re here now” she whispered. “but there’s nothing to be scared of, i mean- last night was just the heat of the moment, right? i mean, it had to be, why else would you leave like that” she whispered the last part to herself.

shit. this was the problem, i didn’t know what the night before was.

i didn’t know what i wanted, and i didn’t want to hurt her in the process of figuring it out. what i did know, was i wasn’t going to lose her because i got greedy. so, i decided i would figure it out later, but for now: “yeah, that’s all it was”

“so, we’re good?” she asked. “we’re good” i confirmed.

“good. then i’m gonna get dressed and then we can watch something?” she posed the last part of the sentence as a question.

“yeah, and i brought you ice cream” i told her, watching her face light up at the news. “wow, you thought you really messed up, huh?” she asked as she grabbed her clothes to change into.

“i did really mess up, but i won’t do anything like that again” i told her. she just smiled at that letting out a quick, “i know” before moving to go back into her bathroom.

“wait, you’re seriously going into another room to get changed? did you forget how we spent last night together?” i joked. admittedly, it was probably a little too soon to crack jokes like that.

“last night never happened” she spoke before closing the door.

shit, why did that sting a little?

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @nickgetsmewetter @meg-sturniolo @yamamasjumpercables @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07 @breeloveschris @luverboychris

[lightlycareless]

Do you think you could write a little something about Naoya jerking off to Y/N but they’re yet to be together or they haven’t had sex yet so it’s just pining and fantasy x1000000000. Like that almost pathetic type of yearning/lust that leaves him feeling embarrassed after he’s finished TEEHEE. Obviously you don’t have to write it since it is so…shamelessly horny lol but at least now you too can have that image of Naoya in your head >:3

Hello!!!

Pathetic Naoya is 100% in character; the type of guy to portray himself as all macho and such but the moment his loved one touches him he's nothing but a trembling, squirming mess.

Luckily, this prompt is a two-way one, meaning we'll get one with Y/N's pov hehe, but in the meantime let's do Naoya's 😏

warnings: smut. not really explicit, it's like all in naoya's mind. still, minors DNI. slight highschool au? it's very early in their relationship. naoya has an awakening lol.

The honeymoon stage in your relationship finishes quite quickly.

Not in the sense that Naoya’s adoration for you dwindles; no, of course not. If anything, it just grows stronger the more time he spends with you.

It’s more in the manner of the innocence behind the relationship; the early stages of such and how most of his desires dwelled in simply holding hands, embracing you, and above all, doting you with endless gifts just to see that adorable, flustered reaction of yours—and naturally, to make you happy.

But that all changes when you… well, provoked him. An unprecedented gush of summer breeze accidentally lifting your skirt and giving him a glimpse of your underwear, a cute white and pink heart patterned panty that remains imprinted in his mind for the rest of his day.

For the rest of the week. Till the dead of the night…

And if that wasn’t enough, to see you during training was—

Like some kind of precocious teenager, Naoya just needed one look at the way your breasts bounced whilst running to have him completely hypnotized; the sight constantly teasing him throughout the day, he couldn’t even talk properly without being a stammering mess! At one point he had to temporarily ignore you just to hold some decorum.

Especially given the way that refused to settle down, becoming even worse as days passed: your mere presence was now enough to rile him up. You didn’t have to do anything specific, by simply sensing you near, he stirred alive, and no cold shower was to ease him.

Soon, his last resort became his only solution, right after his arm “accidentally” brushed against your boobs, quickly heading back to the dorms once the school day was done to put an end to this whole…  problem.

Perhaps the only surprising thing out of this was how long it took him to act—succumb to his desires, so to speak—since Naoya’s never been one to shy away from doing what he wants, especially when it comes to his pleasure.

Already an expert at the matter, it didn’t take much for him to get in the right mood, just by following through with any of the scenarios that have been torturing his mind for the past few days would do the trick: but he’d still end up going with his favorite, the reason why all this spiraled out of hand in the first place.

Now that his little secret is out, Naoya will not deny that the thought of your breasts has crossed his mind a few times prior to this situation. From the cute, pastel colored bra he presumes to be matching with your panties—to the soft, warm skin underneath you diligently covered yet slyly teased him with whenever approaching you. It’s almost like you knew what you were doing! So close to his grasp, and yet—

It wasn’t of utmost importance for him to see them to tell they were perfect in every sense of the word; fitting perfectly in his hands for him to tease and enjoy; especially those sensitive, perky nipples, he would die to pinch and suckle, watching you squirm underneath his touch and yet, cannot keep away—not when he’s keeping you in place.

“They’re soft, princess.” He’d murmur, latching his lips onto your buds and gently biting it, making you moan in return. “Sweet too, probably ‘cause of all those mochi you eat.”

“Na—Naoya! Don’t say that!” you blush, and he simply smiles, relishing your taste.

But ultimately nothing compared to your cunt, the precious mound he cannot wait to claim, taste, see—though it’s already a given of his ownership.

He daydreams of the moment he’ll be able to make you his, imagining how he’d place you over his bed, with you shyly yet dutifully keeping your legs open and giving the shrew sight of your pussy for his sole eyes to admire.

Naoya’s breath would hitch soon after placing his fingers besides your lips and spreading your slit open, unable to look away as he zealously takes in everything: from its enticing color to subtle twitches, and of course, soft whines whenever he’d so much as breathe onto your sensitive clit…

He’s unable to stop himself from placing his tongue at the bottom and take one long stride along your cunt, enjoying your deliriously saccharine slick and the suffocating pressure of your soft thighs instinctively clamping around his head.

And after Naoya’s had his fair share of teasing you, it was time for the main course.

If your walls were already agonizingly tight in his fingers and tongue, it was only exhilarating to imagine how it would feel with his cock buried deep within you—he’d probably die when doing so!

Ah, to spend his last moments of life enjoy the burning, gooey feeling of your walls holding on so strongly onto his cock, as if the briefest moment of emptiness were pure agony, would be a nice way to go; but of course, Naoya doesn’t intend for his life to end right then and there, not when there were many, many more things he’d like to explore beforehand with you.

Such as his eventual release, his deepest desire demanding to claim his rights over you by painting your walls white with his thick, burning seed; to do so as many times necessary until your cunt was shaped as his cock, rendering your pleasure useless unless with him. As it should always be. Will be.

Obviously, he’s quite aware of the risks this act conveys—presenting problems either are too young to even consider—but never too ignorant for a solution: your face is a very suitable option too.

Which you’d gladly take as well, your beautiful, flushed face looking up to him as you eagerly squirmed and pressed your legs together, eyes tight shut but mouth wide open while presenting your tongue, a look that wantonly urged him to finish quickly, reward you for being such a good girl, before going ahead and doing it all over again.

Surely there’s no way he’d think you were actually satisfied with that one time, right?

“Naoya…”

His hand tightens around his shaft, fervently moving up and down as you then look at him with those pretty eyes of yours that always made his heart skip a bit—but now, filled with lust, just made his cock grow even harder.

“C’mon Naoya, gimme your cum!” you’d cry, desperate for his precious seed no one else but you deserves. A privilege only the love of his life could have. “I want it, baby, please!”

“Y—Y/N!” he breathes, his grip stronger, his conviction angrier.

“I need you…”

“Fuck!”

The mess he ends up doing that night is one that makes him elated for having chosen the bathroom to takeout this activity, far bigger than any he has done with other women as center of his desires, but as expected for the first time touching himself at the thought of you.

And yet, even when he’s got an immediate issue to worry about, whether cleaning up or coming down from his orgasmic high, all that he could feel was the shame his release left him ruminating on, his mind disgracefully admitting he had tainted your innocence, the loving, perfect image he had of you with his own perversions—all because his inability to keep his impulses on check, take things slow as you were undoubtedly hoping he’d do.

Because why would you avoid anything remotely similar to the subject, if your heart wasn’t far away from this travesty?

Those around him were right to think he was undeserving of your love, of your patience. Naoya was nothing more than a monster, slave to his own filthy desires, it was only a matter of time before he succumbed to them and tried to pull you along.

However, even with all that burdening turmoil, that didn’t stop him from seeking his release yet again soon after, and again, and again, and again… Naoya lost count of how many times it took him to finally calm down, completely unaware of time as he eventually grew tired, cleaned up, and headed to bed with intentions of placing order back in his mind.

You deserved better, is what Naoya said to himself as he eventually yielded to slumber, a good man.

But oh, if he only knew you had done the same too.

Let's not forget that while Naoya is a huge pervert by himself, Y/N is too lol. Usually the one to have all these kinks that has Naoya thinking "oh wow I never knew you could do that but YES let's try it out."

Perfect for each other, as it should always be.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this small piece of a pathetic Naoya 😏 while I initially just intended to write this it also inspired me to do something for Y/N so be on the lookout for that 🤭

Thank you so much for sending in this ask 🥺❤️ and for your patience as well ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Now, take care and hope to see you soon!!!

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

𝐇𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

Pairing | Yandere Jungkook x Reader

Word Count | 1,542

Warnings | +18, smut dubcon(?), somnophilia, pussy worship, pussy eating, tongue fucking, fingering, male masturbation, Jungkook is desperately horny, cumming on her, body worship, breast/nipples worship, explicit language and descriptions, kidnapping, Jungkook is absolutely obsessed, this is not for minors.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | If she had paid attention earlier to the sin that dwelt behind those obsidian irises, she would never have trusted it.

If she had noticed earlier the devouring love that dwelled in his corrupt heart, she probably would have fled.

She had done none of that, and now she had to come to terms with her new reality.

➢ Author's Note | Third chapter of Happy Ending arrived, enjoy your reading, my dears 🥰❤

Chapter List - I - II - III - IV - V - VI - VII - VIII / The End

That same night, a shadow wandered around the young woman's apartment. It had not been difficult to get there, as he had already thought, those windows were too old and easy to force, he could not allow Y/N to live in such a place. If a novice like him had managed to open the window facing the kitchen so quickly, then an experienced thief would have been able to do even better. He looked around, scrutinizing every nook and cranny, being very careful not to make any noise, noticed a pizza box on the table, with Coke cans scattered around, was very careful not to step on a single one - mentally cursing at the girl's mess - and headed for what he guessed was her room.

He opened the door slightly, which squeaked faintly because of rust, but that was not enough to wake the girl who lived in the apartment. Y/N must have been a very heavy sleeper, the boy thought. Jungkook was there for one simple reason, to take Y/N away and make her live a better life with him. Normally an art professor would not have made that much money, but professor was not his only job, he thought with a grin. The school's principal, Kim Seokjin, had his hands in everything, and someone like Jungkook was right for him. He then looked around, studying the environment to get an idea about his beloved's tastes, finding a variety of references to anime and manga, as well as books and flowers. Nothing that hinted at a passion for fashion, but of that Jungkook did not worry, he would see to it that she was dressed cute and perfect, just for the pleasure of his eyes.

Reaching just to one side of the single bed, he stared at Y/N sleeping blissfully with only part of the blanket to give her warmth, the tender lower lip protruded invitingly and Jungkook felt the urge to squeeze it between his teeth, tasting its softness. He shivered slightly when he took a flap of the blanket, pulling it aside. He slowly uncovered Y/N's body, revealing something that made the man's brain go haywire. Y/N slept in only a tank top and panties even in winter. It was a comfortable habit for the girl, but for Jungkook it was like a wedding invitation, literally. His eyes did not break away from the bare skin in the slightest while enough light filtered through the window to make that vision heavenly for him.

He slowly knelt down, a hand flew within inches of her calves, he did not know whether to touch her that way or not, she was not conscious, it would not be right, would it? The boy found himself gritting his teeth, it would only be a caress, a gentle caress. He gently laid his fingers on one calf, held his breath at the smooth sensation of her skin against his fingertips and continued with the slow ascent, felt his lips dry up when, having reached her knee, Y/N decided of her own volition to spread her leg wide, leaving a wide view of her intimacy covered by the blue panties, at which point Jungkook's blood concentrated in one spot. He took that sign as a Y/N response to continue. He climbed onto the bed gently, positioning himself right on top of the young woman, his hand opening on her inner thigh, the softest and most tender part of her leg, felt that buttery texture under his fingers and did the same with the other, thus bringing both legs apart for him, he sent down watering at that scene so erotic that it nearly drove him mad.

He felt powerful as never before in his life, he could do anything he wanted to her and she would continue to sleep blissfully. The young girl's tightly closed eyelids cast lash shadows across her cheeks, she was so serene in sleep that Jungkook found her enchanting, so much so that he leaned over her, stealing a sweet kiss on her cheek, in love with that pure little fairy of his. His. He watched for a possible reaction, but she continued to sleep. Not content, he descended lower, to the tender breasts enclosed in that wide camisole, lifted the pale fabric finding himself face to face with what, he knew, would become his favorite damnation, studied with hungry eyes the perfect color of those still soft and relaxed little buttons, barely touching with a finger the velvety, graceful circle of an areola. He trapped the tender nipple with his lips, sucking it tenderly inside his warm, moist mouth, felt it plump under the strokes of his tongue and found himself nibbling on it without too much pressure, sending small, sweet twinges to the young girl's sleeping body. Y/N, for her part, turned her head slightly, opening her mouth slightly in a moan that her brain could not fully register.

Jungkook cupped the other breast, stimulating it with the tip of a finger, squeezing it lightly before devoting his mouth to it as well, and the more he engulfed that tender flesh, the more his cock throbbed uninterruptedly in search of its dose of forbidden caresses. A pop resounded from the room as he let go of his grip on the young girl's now abused nipple, went down with moist kisses all along the girl's chest, with his sweet prey's breathing rising in response, thus reaching the lower abdomen licking a small trail around her navel, moaning silently at the taste of that skin that he would also have gladly bitten into, but he could not risk waking the girl up in the midst of his fun, so he merely descended lower and lower, reaching to the fabric of her panties. With the tip of his nose he pressed against her covered pussy, ecstatically inhaling the natural scent of her essence, he felt himself salivating and his own boxers got a little wet, he pressed his erection against the mattress moving slightly to give himself some relief, not satisfied he peeled back the fabric of the panties and almost thought he would come there on the spot. The rosy flesh of the folds opened under the pressure of his index finger, revealing the swollen clitoris and the sweet slit from which sweet transparent liquid was already leaking.

Jungkook gave a long lick that from the young woman's narrow entrance reached up to her clitoris, encircling it with the tip in a tender and insistent caress; on another occasion the boy would have cried out in the most bewitching pleasure, but he forced himself to enjoy that taste in silence. Y/N unknowingly thrust his hips into the man's ravenous mouth in a soft, slow rhythm that delighted Jungkook. That to him was the ultimate proof that the girl accepted his intimate attentions without regret. He used two fingers to stimulate the young woman's lit and pulsating clitoris, continuing with the tip of his tongue to penetrate the tight and wet slit, sucking the small quivering lips together with the unconscious girl's legs, continuing to poke and pull at that pearl now stiff and ready to explode between his index finger and thumb, teasing the soft flesh ever more insistently. "Mm... Ah...!" the girl's back arched slightly, exposing more and more of her intimacy to the boy, her body tried to keep up with that forbidden pleasure, in her mind Y/N was dreaming, dreaming of Jungkook and in her dream the boy was doing to her just what the real Jungkook was joyfully enacting in reality.

He willingly swallowed the young girl's fluids with yet another tongue caress, then replaced his fingers with the latter, cradling the pulsating clitoris in velvety lashings, penetrating the now-soaked entrance with his fingertips, the girl rigidly propped her feet up on the mattress, opening her mouth wide and frowning in a shrill howl, which was prolonged when her clitoris succumbed to extreme pleasure following a light bite from the boy, his teeth weakly crushing that taut pearl, now at the 'extreme and that gesture was enough to release its violent contained pleasure. Jungkook detached himself from Y/N's quivering body, lowering his pants and boxer shorts, took his already dripping cum cock in his hand and leaned over Y/N beginning to pump himself several times, ran his thumb over the scarlet tip increasing the speed of his thrusts, before pouring out a large amount of cum with a choked cry, smearing the girl's breasts and panties with the sticky white liquid. He looked at his work of art with devotion and affection, stroking his cock in an attempt not to let up again on those gentle discharges of pleasure, until it became completely soft again. He adjusted his clothes, retrieving tissues from the girl's bedside table to wipe off his semen, silently praying that the sweet, spicy taste of Y/N would never disappear from his tongue.

God, he would have taken her again and again on that bed, but he shook his head to himself , Y/N deserved better and wanted her awake when it happened. He wanted her to see with her own eyes how much love he would be able to give her.

[lovings4turn]

જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐎𝐋  . . .  (𝐆. 𝐑.)

— two things are definite: you like george, and george likes you. unfortunately, you two seem to be the only ones who don't see it.

+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! love this song and i was so excited to use it for a george fic, so i hope you enjoy <3

“oh mate, you’re joking.”

“shut up!” george huffed, running the palm of his hand down his face in exasperation. “it was not that bad.”

he could defend himself all he liked, because in spite of that, george knew it really was.

this was possibly the third time this month that george had fumbled his chance to ask you out, and alex was beginning to grow tired of his friend’s constant pining and lingering stares. 

“here’s what you’re gonna do,” alex said, his voice growing more serious as he looked george dead in the eyes. “you’re gonna ring y/n, and you’re gonna tell her you forgot something at her place. a shirt, socks, anything.”

"but i haven't?"

"not the point," alex groaned. "you're gonna tell her that, so you have an excuse to turn up there. this is your chance. don't be a stupid. tell her you think she's cool, that you like her, something to charm her."

george still wasn't convinced. his brows were pinched together as he ran over alex's plan in his mind, able to find a thousand different ways it could go wrong for him.

"right. and what happens when she realises that i haven't actually left anything there, and i just look like a massive twat for showing up?"

alex wasn't sure that he could take any more.

"mate, you can't just sit around and wait for some sort of fairy tale ending to come out of nowhere for you. at some point, you're just going to have to confess to her."

though he was being assertive, alex was still trying to be supportive, laying a hand on george's shoulder and delivering a friendly pat of encouragement.

"i can promise you she's probably thinking the exact same thing right now, anyways."

george scoffed, his answer hanging in the air unspoken. as if.

unbeknownst to george, alex was a lot closer to the truth than even he may have realised.

the events of the afternoon were playing on a loop in your mind as you tried to dissect every last piece of your interaction with george, from how he'd greeted you - a brief side hug and a smile - to how he'd said goodbye - a weak effort to get you to stay and a silly, yet endearing, wave.

was this your life now? driving yourself mad over even the smallest little details, all because of some stupid feelings?

when you'd first started developing somewhat of a crush on the mercedes driver, you made a promise to yourself that it would never become a thing. and you had kept that promise for roughly four months, until you made a huge error: revealing your feelings to someone else.

ever since you had let it slip to a friend that you actually quite liked george in ways that far surpassed the platonic label, you'd been - for lack of a better phrase - absolutely fucked.

now you had people to fuel your delusions, try to convince you that george had to feel the same way, and no, of course he wasn't just being polite when he offered you his jacket, you fool. outside interference and reassurance should have made you more confident in your feelings, maybe even push you to confess, but instead they'd had the opposite effect.

the weight of the word 'hopeless' in hopeless romantic had really started to resonate with you. though you weren't allowed to dwell on your misfortunes for too long.

some may have chalked it up to fate, some may have attributed it to a divine power wanting to laugh at a poor mortal, but whatever the reason, your phone rang with an incoming call from george.

the stupid candid photo you’d taken as a contact picture flashed up on your screen, and the automatic smile that painted your lips made you want to yell in frustration.

"y/n, hi!"

pathetic was the perfect word to describe you, thanks to how utterly gone you were for george, as the mere sound of your name leaving his lips was enough to make your heart jump.

"sorry, know i only saw you a few hours ago, but i just remembered that i think i left one of my mercedes shirts at yours when i was there the other day."

you didn't even think twice about it, why would you? george had left countless items at your place in the past, and he would leave more in the future.

"no problem. y'can always come by and get it, i'll try and grab it for you."

george's chest ached at how ready to help you were.

"yeah? you're a lifesaver, y/n, really. i'll set off now, should be there in about fifteen minutes."

brief 'see you later's were exchanged, and the moment you set your phone down onto the coffee table, your hunt began.

you didn't recall seeing one of george's shirts anywhere around, but previous mishaps had enlightened you to the fact that things could turn up anywhere. you'd thought that the shoes buried right underneath your bed were odd, until a sock turned up in your bread bin a few weeks later.

nothing was off limits anymore.

yet, somehow, no matter where you looked, you couldn't find the fucking shirt. frustration slowly nibbled at your mind, the sound of a knock being the only thing to break you from your frantic search.

an annoyingly attractive george russell greeted you when you swung open the front door.

in all of the years he'd known you, george thought this was the most adorable you'd looked.

your hair was in disarray, the strands unkempt as though you'd been running your hands through it over and over again. your face shone a little, and you were clearly a little out of breath, if the small, panting gasps you took were anything to go by.

your apartment was a mess, and george quickly realised that you'd turned your entire place practically upside down to try and find a shirt that wasn't even there in the first place.

guilt began to bubble up in his throat, and george hoped that, after today, it would all be worth it. he only had one chance, and he wasn't going to fuck it up.

before he could allow doubt to creep into his mind and sow seeds of regret, george lifted a hand to cup your jaw. the feeling of your soft skin against his palm elicited a gasp to slip from his mouth. the parting of his lips provided you with the perfect opportunity to meld your lips together in a chaste, sweet kiss.

feelings went unspoken, for now. time would grant you the chance to properly word every last affection you harboured for one another at a later date.

besides, george was a firm believer that actions spoke louder than words, and this kiss was living proof.

george forced himself to pull back, his forehead resting against your own, and he believed that to die like this would be a blessed fate. because you were definitely going to kill him when you found out the truth.

"i lied, by the way. there was no shirt," he mumbled, blue eyes meeting yours with a wince.

"you fucking dick."

[akashirl]

this is the part where i use tumblr as a diary. consider this whatever you'd like but i need to get this off of my chest.

i love sei so much. so, so much. it's immeasurable. no matter how happy or sad i am, no matter how strong or apathetic my feelings are, there is always warmth in my heart caused by him. it's a comforting feeling, knowing that he's here for me. even in his own, different way, we managed to be together in this universe, even if distant.

he just makes my heart flutter like i'm a little kid receiving a letter on valentine's day...everytime i look at him, i feel nervous due to unexplainable reasons. trust me, i don't know what it is either. is it because of my feelings for him or am i just getting lost in his eyes, once again?

love is a beautiful feeling. he reminds me of such everyday. he is everywhere, he is everything i see. all of my daily experiences, completely dominated by my occurring thoughts of him. sei is always present, one way or another.

you may find this a little bit unhealthy but it really isn't. when i was at my worst, he motivated me to become who i am today. i am still recovering, that is true, and i won't say that he saved me -- because as much as it looks like, he didn't. i was the one who saved myself, with him by my side, supporting me unconditionally. that is what true love feels like. i will never get to thank him enough for his presence in my life. it won't ever be enough.

and it's not like there isn't a pattern. in every room i'm in, in every media i consume, in every place my mind takes me, in every corner of my head -- he is there. i find him, over and over again. he truly is my soulmate. that much i know it's true.

he just makes me so happy and contributes to my mood more than anyone else in the world.

watching him grow as a person and become who he is today made me realize just how much i love him. even if he feels undeserving of love after his defeat -- even if he blames himself for not trying his best, even if he is still dwelling on his lost childhood and teenage years. i will be there. i will always be there.

i've said this before but it all comes down to how warm he makes my chest feel. it's the best feeling in the world - love. and being with someone who you care for and understand more than anyone else...it's priceless.

i was going to say that i am glad i found him but the truth is that we found eachother. the red string of fate put the both of us on a heart shaped lock, unable to escape -- not that i'd ever want to.

i just want to hold him in my arms and tell him that everything is going to be okay. that there's more to life than loss and unfortunate events. that he's more than a body, that he's so much more than the storm inside of his head, that he's so much more than a young boy inside a big house. i want to see him happy, i want to see him enjoying life to the fullest, something he hasn't been able to do. i want to see him smile. i want to let him know that perfection is so, so subjective -- and that in my eyes, all of him is perfect. cracked, broken, shattered, screwn over again and again -- dealt with as if he was nothing but a tool to success...i want him to know that he's more, so much more than that.

i want to see it in his eyes that he's content. sei deserves all the love this world has to offer, and i have the entire love of the world stored inside my heart.

loving him feels like having a taste of the sweetest cloud as well as feeling a spear cross your heart. it's an uncertainty how every day passes by -- ruled by thoughts of him. i miss his presence, his eyes, his touch, him. more than anything in this world...

i mean, how could you not adore such a kind soul? there is so much of him to love. sei is so deserving of it. love is not earned; but if it was, you can bet he'd be the absolute winner.

i don't say the word "love" a lot due to past traumas but there is no other word capable of explaining the fluttering feeling in my chest. and still, the word does not feel strong enough. i hope i make sense.

i just love him so, so much. it's a delight having him in my life, even if we have to be apart.

sei really is my safe place. my one and only. my love is immeasurable and my heart is sinking. in another life, you and i will be reunited. i just know it. you were made for me -- just like i was born to meet you.

♡

i doubt anyone has read this but if you did, i apologize. i just needed to talk about this somewhere and tumblr seemed like the perfect place. i just couldn't keep it in.

[peachsayshi]

˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳ minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags:  mmf threesome; geto x gojo x reader; smut

notes: you can blame my horny state of mind for writing this. 

wc: 755

satoru gojo is disgusted with his behavior. he hates that every interaction with you, his best friend’s girlfriend, results in his cock straining against the fabric of his pants. all alone in his bedroom, he slips his hand underneath his boxers to do everything he can to relieve himself, and he whimpers pathetically from the slightest contact. the walls to his shared apartment with suguru are way too thin. he can hear your muffled moans, the sound of your whines feeding his heated state as he pumps even faster. when he closes his eyes he thinks about how suguru fucks you, pictures how pliable you look underneath his large frame and tries to imagine the squelching sounds your pussy makes as suguru pounds into your cunt. he cums all over himself, sinking his teeth into his pillowcase as a single tear trickles down his blushing face. he swears he’s going to stop, that he would finally get a grip on these urges but he’s caught in a vicious circle. it’s a dirty little secret he conceals - but the guilt wraps around his neck like a noose whenever you or geto smile in his direction. 

you love how much you’ve integrated yourself into suguru’s life, especially when it came to his cherished friendship with satoru. he always spoke so fondly of gojo - and sometimes you wonder just how close they were prior to you dating. you only recently began noticing a slight shift in satoru’s behavior. you tried not to dwell on it at first, and merely assumed that he was just going through something. but one night, when you snuck away from suguru’s bed to use the bathroom, you approached the door and noticed a strip of light peeking out from underneath the frame. you could hear low grunts coming from the other side, and your stomach coiled because you immediately picked up on what was happening. satoru was moaning softly to himself, cursing under his breath until your name left him like a broken plea. you quickly turned on your heel, marching straight back to your boyfriend’s bedroom in utter shock. 

suguru laughs when you tell him the story. you were anxious and worried, but your boyfriend merely chuckled to himself with indifference. “poor guy. he hates being alone. he must be getting frustrated, and it looks like he isn’t getting any action,” he explained with genuine sympathy, before proceeding to point out that he was the only reason why gojo managed to get laid in the first place. “I've been neglecting my duties since we got serious,” he pointed out with a shrug. you were surprised that he wasn’t more alarmed about the situation, but suguru reassures you that satoru wouldn’t cross any lines. at this point, you wanted to satisfy your own curiosities and you boldly asked suguru if he’s ever helped out satoru when he was this deseprate. “it’s happened a few times,” your boyfriend honestly replies, “but satoru and I know it doesn’t mean anything...” 

the heavy silence is only broken when you shock suguru with a suggestion, by stating that maybe the two of you can assist satoru in his current predicament. your boyfriend’s eyes glimmer with excitement - and he can’t help but think what this could mean for the three of you in the future. 

“is this better, satoru?” suguru murmurs, his thumb tracing over gojo’s throat as he looks down at him. 

he’s standing next to the edge of the bed, while satoru lays out flat across the mattress. his best friend nods his head, panting heavily as his slender fingers press into the meat of your thighs. he’s watching you grind your hips back and forth with hooded eyes. his abdominals sink when you drag your nails across his torso, and you can’t help but smile over how pretty he looks melting beneath you. 

“fuck, she f-feels...she feels amazing...ugh, you’re so perfect...” he cries, choking out a sob as you slowly raise your hips before dropping your weight back down over his length. 

suguru raises his brow with approval, and tucks his bottom lip between his teeth as he eyes you hungrily before flashing you a tender smile. 

“she really is...” 

his fingers curl underneath satoru’s frosty locks, and he lightly massages his scalp. “you act like such a needy brat when you don’t get what you want...” he huffs, bringing the tip of his leaky cock against satoru’s lips, “now be a good boy and show me how thankful you are.” 

[cupidkay-666]

“Corruption”

Warning: Cnc, Knifeplay, breeding kink if you squint, cuckholding, unprotected sex, choking, praise kink, degradation, etc. 🫶🏻

“Darling, we are going to be late for church.” Your heard your boyfriend yell up the stairs of the small town house that you and him had bought 6 years ago. “Coming!”, you yelled back down. This was an every Sunday routine. You would get up in a separate bedroom than him, the two of you would eat breakfast together, and then you would take alittle to long in the shower because you couldn’t stop touching yourself under the hot water. It was all the same routine just like every other day in your ordinary life. You looked into your closet before deciding on a light pink frilly dress. It was your favorite.

As you walked down the stairs you saw Jack, your boyfriend of 7 years. He was tall, with a skinny build, he had golden hair and light green eyes. He had on a light blue button up shirt, with white dress pants and polished shoes. So put together. Always. “You look beautiful as always y/n .” He said in a sincere tone. You looked down at your figure to take in what he was seeing. You looked at the way your body curved, you hade a slimmer waist compared to the rest of your body, your hips were noticeably larger than your waist accompanied by thick thighs and a plump rounded ass. Not to mention your breast, they weren’t huge, or small. Just a perfect medium.

As you rode to church, you wondered if your figure had anything to do with the fact that jack hadn’t touched you. Of course he had kissed you and held your hand but nothing more in 7 years. Was he simply not attracted to my body? Was he with me out of sheer convenience? You pushed the thoughts aside and got ready to put a smile on your face as you entered the church. The service was nothing out of the ordinary. After, you and Jack went to the same diner you went to every Sunday. The rest of the evening continued how it always did and always had.

The next morning you woke up for work and quickly got dressed. You threw on a cute tan skirt that fell right above your knee, a white v-neck sweater, and some loafers from under your bed. You left your hair down, it curled at the end as it fell to the middle of your back. You worked at the local paper office as an editor. The work day went by without anything of interest, that is until you was getting ready to leave. That’s when you got a text from Jack saying,” Hey Y/N I’m going to have to stay late at work. Which means I won’t be able to pick you up from work tonight, do you think you could walk home or take a bus?” You looked at the text message with an unsettled look. Instead of letting your boyfriend know of your worry, you simply text back “that’s fine! I can manage.” If the truth was know, you didn’t really enjoy the idea of being alone at night. You decided there was no reason to dwell on things out of your control and started up the sidewalk, you was only a few blocks from your house after all.

As you was walking home, something stopped you in your tracks. You had caught a whiff of cigarette smoke that make your head feel alittle fuzzy. You turned to see bright neon lights blinding you. You looked up at the sign and began to mouth the words,” THE LEAKY BARREL” in huge bold letters. You shuffled your thighs as you felt your core become warm. You took a step forward…. Was this huge red fucking flag in front of you the change of scenery you needed? Was god tempting your temptations?

You couldn’t stop yourself when your feet began to carry you through the front doors. As you entered the establishment you took in the environment around you. It was dark, you could barley make out anything in the small building, you could see tables and chairs scattered about, and a few slot machines in a corner, as well as the many eyes that were tearing you apart as you walked to the bar to find a seat.

“What will y’a have?” You looked up to see an attractive man, with short voluminous hair, he was tall…taller than your boyfriend, he was absolutely huge, his muscles were quite apparent under his black tee shirt, you noticed the name tag on his shirt “Dean”. You looked up to his eyes to see the darkest black eyes you had ever seen. You felt your breath fall short as you responded “Could I just get a water with lemon, Dean.”, you emphasized his name as you looked at his name tag back to him. Loud thunder of laughter came from him as he turned to get you a drink, “Ok princess, a “water” it is.” You felt your cheeks flush at the nickname. As he sat your drink down you looked down at the clear liquid. As you took a huge drink you felt alarms go off in your head, “not water… NOT WATER”. You felt your throat burn and your eyes start to water at the brims. You couldn’t stop yourself as you started to cough immediately. Through strangled coughs you managed,” What was that?!” You looked up at him with a piercing stare. “Calm down princess it’s just liquor, you’ll be fine. To come into a bar and order water is a joke.” Dean said while trying not to chuckle at you. You rolled your eyes and started to sip on your drink while in deep thought about your relationship. What would Jack think if he saw me here? Drinking? You had barley noticed when Dean had slipped into the back room to make a phone call. The more glasses you had to drink, the less you seemed to notice. Like when it was just you and Dean left in the Bar. Or when a tall man had took a seat right next to you. You turned to peak at the man just to realize he was wearing a mask. That’s when reality hit you. You needed to leave. As you got to your feet everything felt heavy, like the force of the earth was dragging you down. You slowly made yourself to the front door just to realized it was locked…. But why? When did the doors get locked??

A cold chill ran down your spine as you heard Dean speak from behind you “Sorry princess, doors are locked…. looks like you’ll be staying here tonight.” And with that Dean grabbed you by the waist and hoisted you over his shoulder, through your panic you saw the masked man start to close the blinds on the front wall of the bar. Nobody would be able to see you. You started to kick and scream but Dean just chuckled lightly “Nobody is gonna hear you princess…. Except me and him.” He said as he gestured towards the masked man. Dean took you to the back room of the bar and threw you on a cheap bed. As soon as you tried to get up to run he was on you, cuffing you to the bed rails. You could feel the tears flooding your eyes as you realized you couldn’t do anything but beg. “Please, please I have money in my purse just take it and I can leave” your voice was barley more than a whisper. Dean just looked at you and back at the masked man “What do y’a say? I’ll leave it up to you.” He was speaking to this masked stranger. My heart dropped when he just silently shook his head no in response. This pleased Dean as his lips curled up into a slight smile.

Before you could react Dean was holding you by your waist as the masked man ripped the skirt from your body. “Not as innocent as you seem princess…. Tsk tsk tsk, lacy red panties.” Dean said as his mouth seemed to start to drool. The masked man spread you legs open so they could get a better look at you. You turned your face away from them. The humiliation was too much. The masked man used his index finger to feel you through the light fabric of your panties. He brought his finger up, when Dean saw he grabbed you by your hair to force you to look. “Soaking fucking wet, for two strangers. Awww turns out our little princess is just a needy little slut.” He said as he started to grab into his pocket. His hand returned with a huge pocket knife. Your breath stopped as you started to thrash around violently. Dean’s voice is the only thing that made you stop immediately “It’ll be your fault if this knife accidentally slips and cuts you Princess, if I was you I would calm the fuck down and be still for me.” You felt the knife cut your tight fitted sweater from your body. “Goddamn look at those, absolutely beautiful.”, Dean said as he took in your breast cupped in a red bra that matched your panties. He wasted no time cutting the bra down the middle, the second the fabric was gone your tits sprung free. You could feel the cold air hit them immediately. You was humiliated at the light moan that left your lips. Both men took notice of the noise that came from you. “Looks like princess is going to enjoy this more than we thought.” Dean said as he moved down to your panties to cut them free.

“Please… I’m a virgin. Please don’t do this… what will my boyfriend think…” you could barley look at them as you croaked out the words. Deans eyes glazed over in lust,” shhh shhh princess don’t worry about him right now, you have too men here happy and ready to split that tight little virgin pussy in half” he said as he softly caressed your cheek. “By all means you can get started first, I plan on starting up here anyway” he said to the masked man behind him with a smirk. With that said, Dean took one of your breast into his mouth and started to suck away at your rosy pink nipple. Using his other hand to flick and pinch the other breast. The masked man was just looking at you, you could feel his eyes on you through the mask. He settled in closer to your core, when you tried to close your legs he spread them open and landed an open handed slap to your pussy. This must have enraged him because nothing could’ve prepared you for the two thick fingers being stuffed in you. You screamed as you felt yourself stretch around his fingers. Dean looked up and was simply mesmerized by the sight. He moved down to get a better look while rubbing circles on your clit as the masked man continued to probe you with his fingers. “Look at the way she’s sucking you in, fuck she looks so fucking tight…not to mention how wet she is.”, Dean said before looking back up at you slightly. You was trying your best to hold it in, but when Dean started doing circular motions on your clit you couldn’t stop the small high pitched noises from escaping your throat. You didn’t know what was about to happen but you could feel your abdomen tighten, your head start to become blank, and you knew it was coming. “God I can’t wait to stuff this little pussy full of my cum” Dean whispered in a low growl and that did it, you came hard around a strangers fingers. You felt the tears fall from your cheek as you let out a sweet moan. The masked man held the two fingers up while looking directly at you. He slide his mask up slightly just enough to lick his fingers off before smirking and returning the mask back into place. “My turn, don’t worry I’ll break her in for you.”, Dean said as he patted the masked man on the back and began to strip his clothes from his body.

You couldn’t help but admire his body, he was absolutely beautiful. He came up close to your face “If I uncuff you, are you gonna be good for me?” He whispered in my ear. I turned my head away from him too embarrassed to look at him and replied “Yes…” “That won’t work princess, I need a yes SIR” he said in a dark tone as he pulled my hair so I would have to face him. My eyes were burning from his gaze. He looked at me like he was going to devour me whole on the spot. “..yes sir.”, I whispered. “Good girl, you are finally learning your place Princess.”, he said as he kissed my forehead while unlocking the cuffs. “Now I want you to lay just like that, and spread those pretty thighs for me, be a good little whore for me now.”, he said as he positioned himself in between my legs. The whole time I couldn’t stop from looking over at the masked man who was quietly just watching this all unfold. Dean was positioning himself at my entrance, lightly rubbing the tip of his cock at my wet hole. His cock was longer than it was thicker, with distinct veins, his tip was more girthy than the rest of his shaft. “Ok princess, now just hold real still for me, gonna make you feel so fucking good.” He said as he started to push himself inside me at a slow pace.

“Oh god, it’s too big!” you pleaded as you tried to squirm away from the burning stretch in your pussy. “No God here princess, just us. Now sit still so I can take good care of you” he said as he pushed into me further. You couldn’t stop yourself from squirming away, just as you thought maybe you was getting used to it, you felt him grab my hips and slam his whole length into you. A gut wrenching scream pulled through your throat, you could barley hear him when he growled out “I told you to fucking sit still, fuck you feel amazing around me, and would you look at that, so you really was a virgin….. well not anymore.”, he chuckled. “He started to move at a agonizing pace, you could feel him in every crevice of your pussy, you could feel him beating into your womb. You felt yourself start to lose focus of everything as you felt your body because overly hot. “Awe look at that, she’s already becoming a cock drunk little whore, hmm maybe she needs something to pull her out of her bliss.” Dean said to the masked man in the corner. Dean pulled completely out of you and flipped you over to where your ass was in the air before slamming back into you all at once. The second you went to moan you felt your mouth become full. The masked man had stuffed his cock down your throat. He grabbed the back of your head as they fucked you back and forth between them. His cock was bigger and longer than Dean’s. You was starting to lose the ability to breath it seemed like. “Goddamnit I’m getting close, fuck, can’t wait to fill you up.”, you heard Dean moan from behind you. “Fuck you’d like that wouldn’t you princess, to feel my cum all in your tight wrecked pussy.” You didn’t have it in you to protest, plus how could with your mouth stuffed to the brim. You felt the hot ropes shoot through you as Dean finished. He pumped it all deep into you so none of it was wasted.

Just then they both pulled out at once. Your body went limp and you fell to the mattress. “I think I’ll leave you two, y’a know to get better acquainted with eachother.” Dean said as he planted a kiss on your forehead. The masked man flipped you back over on your back, you could barley keep your eyes open through hooded lids. He noticed this and immediately slapped you hard across the face. Your eyes popped open immediately. He never spoke. It was terrifying. He simply unzipped his pants and positioned himself between your thighs. Unlike Dean who took his time more, this man didn’t. He slammed his full length into you without warming you up at all. Using Dean’s cum as lubricant. You lost your breath as you felt him bottom out in you. He lifted your legs above your head and started to reach into the depths of what felt like your entire soul. “Please please I can’t take it, it’s too much! Please it hurts!”, you cried out but he wasn’t listening. He continued to absolutely fucking wreck you until you was a teary eyed, drooling, wet mess. When you wouldn’t stop crying he placed his hand around your throat and squeezed until you saw stars. Causing your pussy to tighten around him more than you knew possible, it felt like he was absolutely ripping you apart. Just as you was about to fall over the edge he whispered “who knew an “innocent” thing like you would actually just be a filthy fucking whore.” That did it. You immediately began to cream all over his cock, and he followed right after you filling you completely with his cum. That voice. It was familiar. Before you could think it through, your reached up and pulled the mask off him.

“…..Jack?”