#She seemed to like them well enough back then.

[dilf-docs]

I Can Fix Her (No Really I Can)

jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: jackson's loud mouthed spoiled princess has suddenly gone quiet. what or who could be behind such miracle?

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (20s/50s), pwp, p. in v., oral (m. and f. receiving), brat taming, dacryphilia, pussy spanking, fingering, humiliation kink, dom!joel, sub!joel if u squint, soft!joel (look at that switch sandwhich fr), brat!reader (she's annoying and v mean, you've been warned), denial is a river so take this before the world mourns joel miller again

word count: 5,391 words

side note: new layout my citizens! will eventually update all of the blog but as for now, enjoy this one and the masterlist. quick thing, i just wanted to say that i had a very shitty week and for the life of me, can't find a way to make ttdik pt. 4 not oversaturated with angst bc i wish all men a very pleasant die or how to connect what i've written so far. note that this was kinda rushed; i feel confident of some parts and not the whole thing. just hoping it works for y'all! (based on this request)

Joel Miller isn't who he used to be before.

Life in Jackson has made him... soft. This version of him, tired of a life of killing and running, tainted with blood and regret. But he's now an uncle and a father. Well, used to be. Ever since Ellie had found out the truth and wanted nothing to do with him, he had somewhat become downright pathetic. Joel could be both Jackson's most useful man, even at his age, while also being their biggest wretch. Ah, yes: Joel Miller, the man who lived in the house down the street, alone and certainly worth the townsfolk's pity.

Maybe that's why you couldn't bother to be nice to him. In your eyes, a man like Joel just didn't deserve your time or respect.

But it wasn't personal, really. He happened to, unfortunately, be in charge of your patrol. That, in your eyes, made him your enemy: a person to be defied and picked apart. And the worst part is, in his current position, Joel just didn't have the energy to fight you back.

"You want me to cross that wearing this?" your protest comes in the form of a whiny pitch. "Ew, no. I'd rather be dead"

At least dead, you wouldn't be a bother. He rolls his eyes, rubbing his face tiredly. The rest of the group watches the interaction in silence, expressions pretty much the same.

"I promise 'cha, princess. Ya' wouldn't want that"

The nickname should irk you, but you let it pass. It is no news to anyone that you are indeed a princess: Jackson's resident little spoiled brat.

Sheltered from early starts of civilization's downfall, maybe your parents had done more bad than good trying to protect you and settling early on in Jackson. You had grown to be a pampered bitch who made Joel's patience wear thin. Of course, to keep him busy and distracted, Tommy had assigned you to Joel. And while he'd rather not spend his days on a house too big for a person, he too wasn't exactly excited about having to deal with you on your patrol shifts.

(If you could call them that. You did anything but patroling)

You cross your arms, petty. "I'm not moving unless you carry me"

Maybe your need to defy him also came, partly, because of this: the way he's looking at you right now, a quiet rage simmering in those big round brown eyes that remind you of a kicked puppy, but when they burn, they seem like a forest fire, old remnants of the hunter that had been tamed by domestic life and a broken relationship resurfacing.

It excites you.

All your life, people seemed to bend to your will-- a force of nature: to your cruel harsh icy wind. You kept Jackson down at their knees, but it wasn't kindness, rather your shoe up their throats what put them to your feet.

Yet, Joel... he could be a loser to you, but he was probably the only one you'd met to be insane enough to defy you. The only man who didn't succumb to your fluttering eyelashes, pink lips and princess manners. No, he ignored the way you looked at him and your constant begging for attention, leaving the job to those men who seemed to follow your every step, ready to be themselves a carpet for you to step in. He'd roll his eyes and walk past you like you were the most bland, boring and uninteresting thing in the world: not worth a second of his attention. Joel simply wouldn't entertain your spoiled attitude past replying to a few snarky comments.

And that revolted and aroused you in equal parts.

It's not like you could escape your obligation, but perhaps, the bigger reason you chose to not skip patrol like you used to before his arrival, is to see Joel Miller's sinking ships for eyes try to wash over your rebel flame.

"Be free to stay then" he replies, but you don't miss the way his grip on his rifle turns white. "I ain't carryin' no one"

"I can carry you" one of the guys from your group offers.

(You can't remember his name)

"Sure" you chuckle, victory smile dancing on your lips at the sight of him looking above his shoulder in a barely stolen glance, thinking you won't notice.

But you do.

Joel Miller fucking hates you.

After five decades alive, he simply can't stand the idea of breathing the same air as a spoiled little brat like you.

Joel's seen destruction, loss, hopelessness and blood up close, and the thought of you walking around like the world owes you a favor fills him with vitriol.

He's been alive for fifty-six years so he's simply just tired. Too tired to give a damn about your attitude, despite how you manage to press all his buttons every time you open your mouth.

He still remembers the first time he met you, how you laughed like people did before all civilization was destroyed. You walked with a confident strut, boots clicking against Jackson's streets, every step made with determination. Like you knew just where you were going.

He envied you, in a way. After Salt Lake City, he seemed to have lost his path, all in the name of love. Then, that warm feeling had turned cold and cruel like all things in this world ravaged by pain, and he felt even at more loss than the first time he experienced grief.

But you? You lived everyday with a dismissal so cold it seemed like nothing could hurt you.

He missed that part of him who just survived: hardened by the world around him.

But Jackson tamed him. Ellie made him soft.

And then you brought up that old dark part of him: the putrid black liquid that spewed through the cracks of his new character that made him loved by Jackson. The same one that made people fear one of Boston QZ's most brutal smugglers. It was that vicious anger, red on his vision like the ichor that would splatter on his clothes or cover his bruised knuckles.

He hated you for it.

But that was in the past, and Joel Miller simply didn't care.

Yet, you made him care. Outright forced him to.

In a way, it seemed like you enjoyed this: the banter of contained rage and practiced patience, dripping as a leak until it overflew. You'd shot your bratty remarks and petty complains until he'd turn around and see you. Then, you'd smile, like that's all you needed to feel better. Far superior. And he hated it. Knew your little game, and fed into it, even as he told himself he wouldn't. Like a drug: a destroying addiction.

Joel didn't understand why you took the time to enrage him, having even heard once when he was late for patrol (he overslept), how you talked bad about the, in your words, Lonely Pathetic Man From The House On The End Of The Road.

Joel Miller has been patient. God knows he has. But he isn't religious, and was never the type to let things pass by.

No. Joel Miller was born with impel, and no matter how many love he had to give, the world around him constantly reminded him of the power hidden behind the exertion over others, how alive he'd felt with the gift he'd been given by heaven.

He isn't patient. He isn't a fool. He isn't pathetic: and Joel Miller will take matters between his rugged hands.

Tommy had arched an eyebrow first, looking at just his and your name on the patrol schedule.

"What's going on?" he narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother.

"Found a cabin deep on the forest" curt, "I'ont need lot'a people to scavenge the place"

In the end, he agreed. Who didn't? You, obviously, the reason so many before him had gotten rid of their obligation of you. To flirt with you at the Tipsy Bison? Hell yeah. To have you in their patrol team? God, no.

"Where is everyone else?" you cross your arms above your chest, bracing yourself because of the weather. "Also, isn't this climate not patrol appropiate?"

Joel's not dumb, of course he knows that-- he can feel his aching joints shiver and bones creak because of the temperature. But he also knows he's sick of your shit.

"Ain't you little Ms. Know it all" he mocks, brushing past you, shoulders clashing with the same harsh force the icy breeze does to your face.

"And you're an asshole" you're quick to counter, "bringing us out here in the cold. If you wanted to kill me, you could've made it easier for both of us and done it way back in Jackson"

He rolls his eyes at your incessant bickering.

"Watch y'er mouth" is all he says, the brat hanging dangerously close to the tip of his tongue.

"I'd rather watch my step, thank you very much" you purse your plush pink lips, annoyed. "Have you seen the size of this roots? I will trip and break myself"

He chuckles at your hyperboles and the way you jump in a rather exaggerated manner, more in amusement than irritation.

"Don't think ya' can handle all'at?" Joel taunts. "Gon' break like a doll?"

Doll. It hangs in the air, like the snowflakes that fall into your hair and his eyebrows, the white fusing with his own.

"I'm strong" but it comes out weak.

"Don't seem like it" he's laughing at you again, a sharp annoyed edge to it. "With all that complainin' ya' do"

You huff, your incredulity condescing in the air.

"What's wrong with that?"

"With bein' annoyin'?" Joel quips.

"With voicing out my concerns"

He's walking ahead of you, yet you see his shoulders slump, like he does when he disagrees.

"Those ain't concerns, jus' moanin' and bitchin'"

It's still inside the fun banter you're carrying, harmless, but for some reason, it strikes you in the face.

"If you can't stand me so much, why don't you quit on me, like the others?"

You may seem cold, but there's that cut that always bleeds. Or it may be the need for something that blurs the line between you and those survivors out there who've outlived the worst a man can endure.

Like Joel.

You just can't help wanting it all.

Joel stops on his tracks at your words, response barely above a whisper:

"'Cause I ain't a quitter"

As if that could bring any sense into what had started the moment he layed eyes on you.

You finally reach your destiny in silence, the old cabin hanging by a thread.

"This looks like shit" you comment out loud.

Joel lets out a laugh, a deep rumbling sound coming out of his chest. For a reason, red dust makes it's way into your warm cheeks.

"No, doll. In this world, this ain't shit. It's decent"

You don't miss the way your breath hitches and heart skips a beat at the petname. He doesn't miss the way his tongue burns and his jeans squeeze at the sight of you: powerless.

God, Joel could go to hell for this. (But he'd probably be fine)

"Decent? You're one to talk" it spills out, your fear attacking the only way you know how when you're nervous.

Bite.

You hate feeling weak. You hate how your own game has turned on you.

It seems, Joel Miller isn't just a pathetic man but one who knows how to play.

(You knew this. But now, it's real, not the image you touch yourself to during nighttime, and it's equally both exciting and scary)

The red desire for hunger is there on his eyes. "What's that s'pposed to mean?"

You tilt your head, tone feigning innocence. "I think you know what I mean"

He paces around the room, like your floral scent is too suffocating and the cold isn't enough to shake the fire that burns inside him.

"Spit it" he dares, stopping midtrack. You remain silent, so he walks over to you, face so close, some spit lands in your face. "I said, spit it"

"I think you're pathetic, Joel Miller" yet, for some reason, your heart wavers. What were you even doing? Never had you doubted yourself once, sometimes even finding pleasure in the wicked cutthroat words you'd spew, but today, as his face stands dangerously close to you, his breath ghosting over your lips as his eyes roam over them and you count his wrinkles, it feels wrong.

"'S that what 'cha think, doll?" he chuckles, leaning forward. His lips barely brush against yours by mistake, yet it's enough to send shivers all over your body. "Wanna know what I think? I think you're da' real pathetic burden here. Fucken annoyin' and unuseful. All you know how ta' do is complain' and be a bitch"

"A bitch?" your voice is loud as your roar back, probably because it's coming into your face with the force of a train. But that's how truth feels, and it hurts like hell. "Did you just call me a bitch?"

He laughs, bitterly so, equally irritated as fascinated by how easy it's to see you crumble.

Joel made you out to be this unbreakable force, but at the end of the day, you're human, just like him.

"And y'called me pathetic, s' I guess we're even"

You look crazy: hair disheveled by the wind, chest going up and down and that same craze look on your eyes.

"Fuck you, Joel Miller" you seethe.

It's a simple comeback. No witty retort, no elaborated plot. Just four words, yet it's the way you said it, venomous, with such hostility, like his presence alone made you sick. Your skin crawl. Like the thought alone of being equals couldn't pass through your thick skull, and you had to get rid of just the concept; an ofense.

You pull back, realizing how truly close you were. You then march to the bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

With Joel, there's always a first when it comes to you.

(The first man to catch your attention. The first man to show lack of interest or amusement to your well-known tactics that worked every time. The first man to make your skin crawl like seeing yourself in the mirror. Like you would stare until your image would imprint on your brain, and you'd pick apart every small detail you don't like about you. That was Joel fucking Miller, rolling like thunder, ready to strike over your walls, like he knows where to hit to make you crumble, as if the façade you've built is as much in vain as the hate you carry even with the easy life that's been given to you)

He may be the first man to make you cry.

"Come here!" he shouts, roaring voice reverberating against the walls of the cabin. He swings the door of the bedroom open, finding your satisfied expression as you sit over the old worn out mattress, wiping your tears quickly with a harsh tug of your sweater, coat lying on the dirty floor.

"What?" you ask, as if you hadn't started the fight five seconds ago.

"Ya' think y' can shout and then leave like that?" he spits, "you fucken brat!"

A weird wild spark settles in the pit of your stomach.

"I can do whatever I want"

(The fire. It burns)

He scoffs at your childish response. "Not when y'er under my watch. Like it or not, y'r ma' damn responsability, kid"

Now it's your turn to sneer. "Don't call me that. I'm not a kid"

Of course you fucking weren't: he's got eyes. But goddamn, didn't you act like one all the time?

"Good" his voice adquires a weird tone to it, dropping. "Then strip"

It's like the air's been knocked out of your lungs.

You scoff. "Excuse me?"

"I know you ain't deaf" tone stern, "nor stupid. Are you?"

"Did you just call me stupid?" you raise your voice. Was he going to pull out every single insult from the book? Fair, you think, after you had told him to fuck off in the way you did.

(You were aware your words shoot to kill when you were mad. You had a lot of regrets about that)

"I asked 'cha if ya' were. If there's no answer, I s'ppose that's it"

"I'm not stupid" you counter.

"What?" he's asking you to say it again, like he hasn't heard you.

"You aren't deaf" you repeat his earlier words, eliciting a chuckle out of him.

The windows of the cabin rattle, the cold winter slipping inside the cracks. You shiver yet stand still, not wanting him to misinterpret your body language.

As if you'd ever surrender to him. As if.

"I'm sick of your bullshit" he seethes, "thinkin' ya' can make a clown outta me infront of everyone else, and then look at me like I'm sum piece of meat. Now it's your turn"

"My turn to what?" but this time, your voice wavers. You walk closer, eyelids fluttering.

His uneven breath condensces in the air with a shaky gelid exhale.

"Y'e don't know what you're gettin' into" he warns.

You smile at his barely contained temper. "I think I do"

Joel's body is completely surrounding yours in the bedroom. Before you register, he pulls you by your jaw with his hand.

"Still thinkin' that?" he mocks, thumb pulling your bottom lip down, forcing your mouth open. "Answer me"

But he's pressing his finger on your tongue. You feel yourself starting to drool.

"Ya' really want 'tis, don't 'cha?" his eyes darken, "droolin' like a fucken cockstarved slut. Now strip" his grip tightens, "I won't ask again"

Your body shivers, but no longer because of the temperature drop. A treacherous jolt runs in between your legs at the very first instance of someone putting you in your place. It feels too good to backtrack, but the last remaining drops of sanity plead you to quit.

"Joel" you say his name like a prayer, and he thinks he'd like to see you beg. "I was fucking around-"

"Don't make me repeat myself"

You sit on the edge of the bed, getting rid of your clothes. It's like your mind has stopped working and your body belongs to someone else.

But you want this. Fuck, you had begged for this: sharpening your knife to make your words cut deeper with him until the bleeding was too big to ignore.

You wanted this. Craved it. Needed to satisfy whatever foreign feeling you'd now attribute to your rebellious and spoiled nature.

(You had never been denied anything, and even now, Joel knows this, but can't help and too give in)

"Not so loud now, are we?" he jests, "but 's worth the view, lettin' 'cha run your spoiled tongue off"

He hums with approval at the sight of your body, your pliant energy making his hard cock twitch in his pants.

"You like what you see, Joel?" you ask softly, despite your resistence.

He groans at that, calloused digits grazing the soft skin of your virgin collarbones.

"I do, princess" he answers, lifiting your chin up. "I'll show ya'"

He takes your hand into his bigger one, moving it right onto the spot between his legs.

"You've been bad, little spoiled brat" Joel's voice rasps as your thighs rub together. Y'er lucky I like that"

He pats your cheek. "Wanna make it up to me?" you eagerly nod, desperate for Joel's approval. You hate not having the upper hand, and a part of you thinks you'd get it back if you behave well. "Good girl. Now sit"

He sits next to you, patting his thick thighs. You salivate just at the thought, moving your body over his denim clad lap. "Right'ere"

"Look at 'cha" he parts your legs, a hoarse tks falling from his lips. Joel chuckles at the wet mess that's created. "So fucken wet and I ain't even touched yet"

You feel his rough digits ghost over your dripping cunt, just as his lips had done minutes ago. The teasing sets you on edge, thrill coarsing through your veins. Without warning, his big palm slaps against your cunt, and you feel yourself soaking your folds like you had never ever before.

"Fucken dirty whore. You ain't no princess, gettin' wet to 'tis" he mocks, "what would daddy say"

"Shut up" you sneer, but your body is full of hormones and treason.

"Not when I'm above 'cha, darlin'. Wouldn't wanna piss me off when I'm the one who decides if 'tis pretty pussy comes or not"

"What makes you think I'll take shit from you?" but it comes out as a whimper. Smack. A jolt runs straight from your pussy, stinging from the contact. "Didn't take it when we where in patrol, why should I do now?"

He laughs, darkly. It's haunting.

"'Cause you want 'tis. And I know you'll be a good girl for me to get it"

You feel yourself dizzy, head spinning as you land on the floor.

"Let's see if I get 'cha to shut up if that dirty bratty mouth of y'rs is stuffed full of ma' cock"

He pulls down his worn-out jeans, getting rid of his belt on a harsh pull. The clinking sound makes you rub your thighs together in a new found anticipation, instead of taking the time to run away from this, whatever the hell this is.

No. He's right.

You want this as much as he does.

(Isn't that the scariest part?)

"Ya' like what 'cha see, y/n?" he's smart to use your same words back, but it's the way he's said your name, like he was always meant to say it, or the angry throbb of his cock, what makes you drool at the red furious tip, dripping with rage and need.

"I think it's your dick who's more excited than me" you taunt, tracing the inner soft skin of his thick thighs. "Practically begging for me to lick it"

His adam's apple bobs.

"Tell me, Joel, when was the last time someone made this pretty big cock feel good?"

"Enough" his fingers grab your hair, pulling you harshly until he drags your mouth onto his cock. "I'm tired of y'er bullshit"

You aren't a stranger, he thinks, with the way you kiss his tip, tongue making a wet circle through the head of his cock. You take him into your mouth, pulling out in a second.

"W-what you do that for?" he asks, breathing rapidly. Strained voice.

You smirk.

"To watch you"

To watch how his eyes had closed as soon as your breath ghosted over his leaking cock, how he threw his head back and gripped the sheets viciously at just your shameless lazy circling. Joel Miller could be in charge, but God, wasn't he touch-starved?

(And for a reason, that was so fucking hot. And, in a way, adorable)

"J-just 'cause I'm-" he cuts himself off, probably out of need or out of embarrassment. "You're not in charge, so don't fuck around with your chances, slut. Imma show you y'r place real quick"

His grip tightens in your hair, forcing himself back into your mouth. Joel was punishing, with the way he's pushing your head down until it was at the base of his cock. You gagged for a moment, eyes closing at the weight of his thick girth on your tongue. 

"Takin' it like a champ, princess. Usin' that mouth of y'rs for good" and then, with a softer tone he adds, "like ya're made for me"

You moan around him as he starts fucking into your mouth, pulling you off quickly, saliva slipping out of your mouth as you gasp for air. 

"Joel" you whine his name, legs pressing together in order to get any friction. 

"Now you beggin'? 'S gonna take more than jus' that, doll" he taunts, but there's a certain wicked softness to the way he traces your cheek as you scramble an attempt. "Try harder, princess"

"I'm sorry, Joel-"

He moves his head, clearly dissatisfied.

"Not Joel. Ya' call me sir when I fuck you"

A mewl escapes your lips.

"Sir" comes out like a faithless prayer, begging to be heard. "I'll do anything, sir, please, touch me"

"Al'ight, but still, it ain't 'nough"

Oh.

The hot tears in the corner of your eyes shouldn't arouse him this much, but the watery promise makes his cock twitch.

"I-I'll do anything, I swear" you beg, the salty tears stream down your cheeks in cascades. "It hurts, Jo-" you whine, "sir, please. Just fuck me goddamit!"

Your once poised voice, now reduced to a whimpering begging mess. Your red rimmed eyes, beginning to puff. It's the way a gloss seems to coat over them, making you look like a doe-eyed deer and not the brat who challenged his every decision and word.

Fuck, isn't he aroused.

"Lookin' so pretty when you cry" he smiles, but instead of wiping the tears, it's his tongue that licks them off your face. "You beggin' that bad to take my cock"

You nod, eagerly so.

"Please, Jo- Just, please. D-don't make me beg" your face feels hot and wet again, "I-I can't take it anymore. Just fucking give it to me!"

"Easy, baby. Can't understand a thing you sayin'" Joel teases. "Where your manners at, besides?"

"Please, sir" he gently pulls you up, humming in satisfaction.

"Goin' crazy over my cock, baby? Y'sure have a nerve to call one pathetic if you gon' act like this, you little brat"

But he is the one moaning when his lips cature your mouth with a fierce impulse, like he wants to devour you whole and swallow your vocals, as to never speak up again.

(But then, he wouldn't hear his name on your sweet albeit snotty voice, and that's a privilege he can't forbid himself from, no matter how annoying you can get sometimes)

"Please" you whisper one last time. He wipes a stray tear with his rough thumb. "I'm yours"

"See, baby? It ain't that hard to shut that mouth of y'rs"

He guides you to the old bed while renewing the kiss, tongues now engaged on a battle for dominance, like even without using your words you'd still need to assert your power over the other. You moan into his mouth when your body slams against the mattress and Joel lands on top, his weight sinking you in the old bed, that creaks.

"I just want to be a good girl for you" you whimper.

"You sure of that? Not gon' be a brat?" and despite his harsh tone that seems to humiliate you, his wandering fingers are gentle with each touch, like if he were to put any more force, you'd break. Joel thinks it's not necessary with you: just with you begging for his cock, he's broken you.

"No, sir" and then you whimper as his mouth dives to the collarbones you had taunted him with before. Joel takes his time, inhaling the musk and savoring the sweet of your skin. Needy whines leave your lips, and he's having the time of his life seeing you surrender so easily, like you had no idea what limits to push, where they'd take you and how you'd pay for that.

"C-Can I touch you?" you whisper, hands itching to tangle on his grey parted hair. He chuckles at the eagerness and tenderness you don't seem aware of.

"S' you can be sweet if ya' want to, huh?" he leaves a fluttering kiss to your chin. "Needy and desperate too. Do ya' want to touch, princess? Remember to use y'r words"

"Yes, sir. I-I want to touch you"

"Thought I disgusted you, hmm? I take you've learnt y'r lesson now?"

"Yes, I've learned. Please, sir, won't do it again" you plead.

"I'll allow ya' to touch, doll" he gives you a smirk, "but 'ts all you get for now"

He lets your hands cling to his coat, taking it off. Then, you proceed to his buttoned shirt, fingers flidding with buttons until you grown annoyed and desperate, pulling the fabric over his head with need.

"Look at 'cha" but there's only adoration, proven so when he starts to kiss the trail of soft skin that goes from your neck to your stomach, making you squirm. "Easy, baby. 'M gettin' down there"

He finally reaches your core, kissing the inner side of your thighs with wet and sloppy lips. His hot breath tingles over your clit, and a beat later, his mouth presses into your cunt, your back arching at the cold contact of his chapped lips against the humid hot of your folds.

You muffle a moan, embarrassed at the whole situation.

"Ain't need to worry 'bout nothin', doll. Nobody can hear us" he grins, tongue flicking your clit. "Wanna listen to your pretty whimpers as I make 'cha feel good"

You cry out of pleasure, the sound escaping past your lips. Joel has a laugh.

"Good girl"

Joel rewards you with another series of minstrations on your bud, licks made with determination only the expert man knows of. He then slides one finger into you, slowly moving it in and out of your soaked trembling heat. 

"M-more" you beg, eager to get more fingers inside you. "Please, more, sir"

You buck your hips to try to get closer to him, meeting his thrusts.

Joel tuts, "What're you doin', spoiled brat? Did I tell ya' to move? You were doing such'a great job... guess I gotta punish you-"

"No!" you shout. "Do anything you want, but touch me, please- touch me!"

He introduces a second finger, raising his brow at the immediate way you clench around him. Joel curls them, robbing another moan out of you.

"Feels good?" you can't answer, as a hard thrust robs another moan from you. "But I'ont want 'cha to think we done, princess. Think I'd let you come, jus' like that? After all's happened?"

"Need you" you tug him closer with your arms holding onto his. "Joel, sir- please"

"Oh, princess" he smirks, "I think you don't know what you askin' for"

Joel grabs his hand around his length, coating the tip in your slicky juices, and then, he presses his length into you in one thrust.

"You're big-" you pant as he gives you time to adjust to his size. Joel then picks up an unrelenting pace that makes moans spill out of you like a fountain, the pace of his thrusts sending you closer and closer to the edge. 

"N-need to-"

"Don't" he seethes. "Ya' won't 'till I tell ya' can"

All you could do is moan, helplessly pinned between his body and the bed. Your whole body shakes in an effort to contain as his hips loose their rhythm, his groans louder as he gets closer and closer to the edge. 

"Al'ight. 'Cause you've been good" his cock drives through your walls with rhythmic melodies. "Cum, princess, but when ya' do, look at me"

You're seeing stars the moment your toes curl and his head falls to clash against your forehead.

(The beads of sweat roll down out of him like trails to follow, and his scarred rugged skin doesn't compare to your soft one, painted with the maroon of his bites and kissing at the skin of your collarbone. The dried up trails of tears. Your begging and desperate voice. His name on your lips)

It only takes a few more thrusts before he spills in you, cock twitching until every last drop of thick hot white cum is pumped into you.

Joel then pulls out gently, pressing a kiss to your forehead before flopping onto you, the mattress dipping even further. With his hand, he removes a stray strand of damp hair, putting it behind you ear with such tender kindness, your heart strings pull.

"In fact, I want ya' to look at me next time y'even think 'bout defying me. See if that mouth of y'ers can talk after 'tis"

A week later, you're back at patrolling.

"Anyone got anythin' to say?"

The group looks at you. You're about to open your mouth, but Joel cocks an eyebrow.

Just like that, and you're gone. Great job, y/n.

"Whatever" you sound meek as you push past him, yet he catches a glimpse of your warm cheeks. "Let's go"

The rest are too stunned to speak, the silence only cut off by Miller's laugh.

"Would 'cha look at that?" he whistles. "Ain't nobody tell ya' miracles don't happen anymore on this goddamn world!"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @chappellsroans

[boyakishantrinity]

This do be a long one.

It wasn't really surprising, in a world where reality and thoughts merged as one, the secret of the demons unbound and the demonic forces. The locals who'd accepted us, forgiven us even after years of war.

That I somehow ended up with a unique skill to hear the whisper of the gods.

At first, it was great, Nervaldi of the eastern seas, would grumble and curse lands for months on end while she waited for the other gods to run checks on whether that affected them in any way.

People would leave, prepare, they'd see the signs of a magical flood maybe a month or two in advance. The waves of energy pulling and pushing harder than any previous record.

But as I grew older, it became clearer. Less of a fog of sounds, my internal mind listening for any signs of hardship or spiteful and random bursts of anger.

They were all human, as reliant on us as we were on them.

But there was always a sort of clear enough difference between them, the innermost earth gods, they'd rarely ever interacted with the far off water ones. Most of their servants and followers would talk for them, safe haven ports spoke to messenger gods or trade caravans would arrive from both sides bearing news.

Even with the train, the vehicles and air machines, the government didn't bother with paperwork beyond noting what occurred and when. In a week, messages could be sent preparing an army across the nation with forces already hunkered down and ready for reinforcements by the months end.

I'd heard of a once in a century hurricane buffeting the western end of the continent, a quarter of the countries marching to help and by now. Well, most of the people were already back.

It was a yearly thing, the gods would come to their sacred lands, their silence for a single month as they discussed the matters of the world.

But gods had started to go missing, the people still had them, but the divine aspect. Their whispers started to vanish. I'd talked to a few friends across continents over the years.

Still alive, living, but their powers seemed to wane and wax. Some would randomly gain massive bouts of power around the same time I'd heard less. Others just. Lost theirs, connection seemingly torn apart and shredded.

I stood at the northern border, the farmost reaches of humanity lived here, the dwarves were a little ways south of where I camped. And here, where the demon continent sat further ahead. The oldest route to their lands, I could hear more clearly than before.

Mumbles, worried tones as who remained continued to chatter about me. I didn't know why, but they'd asked that I come here. To hear them, a mighty discussion, pieces about a corruption of some sort. Other worlds existed beyond our borders, we'd called upon heroes to aid us in the mystic past.

Visions would sometimes flicker into the edges of my sight, possible futures, actions. Most people learn to mostly ignore them.

But I could hear it more clearly, hundreds of disparate voices. Sitting by the hall, the Norse folk growing still as the seer stood up.

“... Run away! Flee!! We must leave!”

Panicked. The man looked at them all, shaking at what he heard. That. Was surprising. The gods knew I could hear their whispers, but if proved my worth to enough for them not to take offence.

And like any group of powerful, they always bickered, chartered and talked. So much that most of their voices were lost. But…

“What the…”

The travelling adventure suddenly slumped. His body crashed against the entrance, the seer was steelier. But he let out a shriek. A strange family, the seer’s. An old family, totally mad but vital to their strength.

“D-d-demon king. Coming.”

His son stumbled, dropped to one knee, stricken with the same vision. The whole family, mother gasping in surprise, the young girl blinked, as she looked to the sky.

“Not friendly. Not friendly bull people.”

Mumbling. Shivering. The young boy, his sister. The pair always near the hearth, tending it, among the most mortal gods. The girl stumbled. Story teller, a face to the tall tales a sibling would tell.

Flames burst from the sky above. The air went still, growing thinner as their voices grew into a cacophony of shout of both worry and surprise.

Too much. It was too much, they'd called my here so I could hear their discussion, but the words. Too late, not enough time. Something about a deal???

Line.

Laughter came from the ice covered ocean, far off the distance. The further tribe had been preparing for war, my mind had figured it out by now. But too cold, never could figure it out when I was distracted.

A rolling bank of black tar, dark light erupting beyond the skyline, mortiem. The collective mass of emotional energies, they all drifted to the other side of the continent, an acidic like magical power. Ours were alkaline, when magic met their anti magic, they'd either cancel out, or power together depending on the resonant frequencies.

The north was particularly dangerous, ice constantly formed, lightning storms gave way for wyverns and the locals were practically known for having the highest quantity of high quality mana attributes.

From his position. The sky was ablaze with elements, ice and lightning, highly controlled electrical currents forming as demon magic based energies and pure magical power clashed against one another. Electrolysis, people were waging a war against… a single person judging off the sounds of clashing, a chorus of roars echoing across the frozen lake.

“HURRY!!”

Panicked, jumping up and down, snow harpy family squealing as the two minor gods of the northern hemisphere rushed towards the river. The village was ablaze in a panick by now, if the seer hadn't shocked them out of their party fever, the sounds of were certainly would.

“Just stuff it in-”

BWAAAAAAAAAA.

Still far off in the distance, villagers heads turning. We'd been at peace since my grandfather's generation, any wars that'd erupted were more military exercises as a sign of strength of both sides by now. Any real wars, well, they were small and practically fought by two very specific sides.

Our world lived through six world wars, the memory was long lived. But it still lived as a cornerstone of our society. And now, well.

Felvian Pergus, extract from A Universal Record of the Northern Alliance.

They crashed against our walls, like a mighty wave of acid striking against the feeble defences Head Scribe Felvian Pergus arranged…

… And a mighty boom, a thundering roar of warriors dropped from the waters. The mighty fort better suited as a diplomatic neutral ground. Stone pillars pulled from the earth through cooperation with our civilized far northern allies and the skills of our craftsmen.

None of that mattered in war, as the might of the stars meant nothing against this so called. Demon King.

Line

There wasn't much of a choice, Lavri helped his father drop the skateboard onto the frozen river. By now, in this weather, the river was completely frozen. They'd migrate tomorrow, but the chaos that'd erupted might as well have been a sign from the gods. Not taking into effect… well, Eli. The strange boy was known across the lands for hearing the gods whisper.

Despite his obvious mental pains, he still helped more ships onto the ice. Bags tossed into the ship's entrance. Skates along the bottom allowing them to slide. Ibernia (Think reindeers, but bison) nervous. But they understood enough. They'd lived through the sixth war, this was an invasion of some sort. The Esca’na tu would sail for the south. To spread the word and call the warrior tribes to war.

Black Forest.

We'd known they'd been coming for weeks now, Tu’sbe mon Pelasid lived by the coast. The ice trackers always lived further away, hardier than any Escargo but the strongest were still further south. Any traders would stop there, tourists and pilgrims would approach in reasonable periods. Not since the fourth war, did we prepare for war.

Sure, we'd battled in the snow, preparing for a war. But we lived in the far north, short of the gods dropping from the sky. Or. Well, an invasion.

“MACHI!!”

Ducking a bolt of lightning, ice spike erupting as she glared at the girl.

“PAY ATTENTION-”

Flames erupted from, well. The front. The line was pulling back, from across the lake. The Escargo seemed to be moving out, gritting my teeth with my sword. As I charged in.

Flames and lightning, the Tu'sbe were buffeting the numderskan to their left. A rushing wall of warriors, with Hybernions lumbering forward. A few weeks ago, they’d been forced into service. Bound by chains and magical slaving sigils, the peaceful survivors had ran towards the mountains over east of the kinder lands of Iber.

But some stayed. Stayed and died. Howling. Entering Maji, ice spikes erupting across her body, she'd have to pull them out later. But it didn't matter.

“YOU KILLED TUK- T’K”

Howling. Namē girl summoned the Iber spear. Both birthright and sign of leadership, a minor weapons of the gods. Stolen/fought in a drunken rave by the Drunkard Prince.

The winds of Iber responding to her command. Crackling, the power of Tu'sbe and Namē clans at her hands. Men fell back as the new Demon King looked at the warrior.

Twenty of their warriors were battling the man, twelve on the ground and the rest in the sky. But the Iber spear was a kingdom's worth in an untrained hand. In a trained hand, it made you a god.

“UTA MADRE!”

A howl erupted from the west, lightning had burst across the field. Hunters now charging backwards, retreating as the first Hybernions threw their strikes. Slow and careful to traffic their strikes.

Several fell to their knees in pain at doing this. But they were the Namē, frenemy of the Hybernions, mighty elders roaring. Unable to strike their masters but still fighting against them.

“ENTU!”

Spear Lunging into the demon king. It didn't pierce, the shield was far too strong. But here's he'd absorbed the distortion, grown stronger as they slowed them as much as they could.

“GRETA, MADRÉ! MADRÉ!”

Shouting through her rage, beating him back. The line was already retreating. Glancing behind her as the Demon King slammed against the trees.

Matu roared, howling in grief as they howled into the western line. Unlike the kindly Ents, only brought forth through softer discussion. The empty wastes made Matu, mighty tree people who's winds and light began deadly weapons against the more traditional troops.

Young and feisty, warriors of the fourth war, still working on their strength. Bashing a line into the army. They'd been bred for war, they'd failed to die, so they'd been placed under hybernation. Too dangerous to be kept alive.

The Matu tribes were further south, calling their brothers to retreat, to prepare the fortresses of the north.

“Perterabo!”

Howling her declaration. Mashfe paid as she, yanked out an ice crystal out of her arm. Hardened from her raw power, she'd collapse from the strain later. Her people had kept most their strength, the Demon King was injured now. Her beprto still stood nearby. Watching his yandro as she threw it at the dead Tuk-T’k.

“MADRÉ!”

Line

The Iber were in full retreat now, ice sliding Esca’na Tu watching as the campsite was flooded with the retreating Oster. Trappers, the inland Oster was different from Ostra by being inland trappers. Catching animals and largely being the healers of the Iber.

But every healer knows the body like kneading Wari into Weri. Spikes struck into trees, strings and hundreds of cables of rope being lended and strung as their reva came out of the bendy forests.

Trap holes were filled with sharp spikes or cracked ice crystals. Volatile tree sap, with the mighty Wyvern beasts. Epdra only evolving from the third war here, concentrated pieces of the sap found in the tribe's homeland far in the west.

“That's not a good sign.”

He'd gotten over it now. Serious, a rare side of the seer. Libre, snow harpy, sat by her children. The girl was a libre, feathers covered her body, snow flowers wrapped around her arm as the half human Rev'si looked with his father.

A generic subsect of human, stabilised by the fifth civil war, Iber was better known as the Badlands because. Well, if you weren't staying near the Iber it was a bad idea to bother visiting.

“You think? Chivi Suko hun panic attack Pa Baqi Maji back.”

Cursing under his breath, he'd only act like this. Well, in terrible situations. Falling into a Läze, mud and snow mixed fluid solid space. Dropping from the Bara trees tops. A warrior enslaved into the fifth war, his old man was many things. Afraid wasn't normally one of them.

“... You think we ok?”

Tovba. Speaking in the southern language, looking at his father. Eyes sharp and clear, dolphin bear and human. With increased muscles and a pelt, the rival species rarely mated. But Escargo were for the strange ones.

“Mrmph.”

Grunting. His eyes turning to the front of the ship. Looking over the side as the men swiped at the ice.

They were speeding down the river by now, a near straight path through the forest. Slicked ice canal aiding their speedy movement. The Ibernia snorted as they ploughed through the snow. This troop were both friend and guardian to the Escargo, elders leading the young ones ahead, a handful weaving along the river. We'd be following our old walk ways, normally.

Normally. We'd spend the last day preparing the land for summer. But we'd rushed it. Sure, we could travel in a day, but the warps and the bends of the forest had changed. The demon king broke the old laws, ripping and tearing through them. Devouring the iberous as he seemed insistent on waging war against the gods.

The Iber was far further south than we'd like. Hardly cold enough to make Tiber, but no matter. Cold kegs loaded with the rest of the children as we sped towards the south.

End lol

You’ve always been able to hear the whispers of gods. They’re all always saying different things, so it’s difficult to pick out what any of them are saying at any given time... But one day, you hear all the voices converge into one. "RUN AWAY! FLEE! PLEASE!"

[lucysarah-c]

Mounting Spring Ch.11

Summary: Paradis has opened its doors to the world, and the Rumbling has not yet occurred. The military board insists, "We need more Ackermans!" to avoid ruining Mikasa's life. Levi agrees. Arranged marriage, explicit consent, Omegaverse. Alpha! Levi x Omega! Y/N. Mentions of underage marriage but it doesn't happen, the reader is over 21. Age gap but they are both adults. (I would say enemys to lover but they don't even know eachother to be enemys lol.)

Author note: I've had this idea for so long… Omegaverse is my guilty pleasure, and I decided to treat myself with it.

From the creator of "Not in season?" I bring to you "Mounting Spring" lmao haha sorry it's just that my first omegaverse was rather a success… so I decided to do another.

Masterlist to the previous parts!

Ao3 link in case you prefer to read there!

‘As long as I can remember…’ 

She peeked through the crack of the bathroom door, her small fingers curled around the frame. Steam clung to the tiled walls, thick and heavy, but it did little to hide the figure inside.��  

Her mother lay slumped in the bathtub as if it were a bed. The water had long gone cold. 

‘My mother had trouble conceiving another child besides me.’ 

“Mom?”   

The little girl—no older than nine—hesitated before stepping forward. Her mother didn’t stir, her skin pale, hair clinging to her damp forehead. The exhaustion on her face was impossible to miss.   

“Mom, are you okay?”   

There was a quiet sort of desperation in her voice, a worry too big for a child to carry. Because there’s no fear greater than seeing your mother suffer.   

A cold hand reached out, trembling slightly, and cupped her daughter’s cheek. She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“I’m alright, love.” Her voice was weak but steady. “This will be our lucky time, I’m sure.”   

‘Before my twin brothers arrived… I watched my mother lose pregnancy after pregnancy. Sometimes even in the later months’ 

The memories played in her mind like an old, weathered book, pages worn from being turned too often.   

Sitting by her mother’s side, watching as she wept for another child she’d never hold.   

Hearing the hushed whispers behind their backs.   

"Let’s hope they’re finally blessed with another child." 

“An alpha child." 

Then came the twins. Identical boys. Strong, healthy, perfect in every way. Alphas. 

The apple of their father’s eye. 

Y/N was too young to understand all of it, but she saw what no one else seemed to notice—how her mother, after hours of agony, screaming in pain while the doctors rushed around her, finally sat there, pale and drained. But there was something else, too. A quiet relief. 

It’s over. 

But it wasn’t. 

Then came the triplets. Then Mae. More pregnancies in between—some successful, most not. And with each one, Y/N watched the toll it took on her mother. Harder, more painful, more exhausting. 

With every child added to the household, her mother seemed to slip further and further away.   

At some point, she barely paid attention to any of them.   

"Ma—Ma," little Mae babbled, reaching up to her with chubby hands.   

Y/N froze, the weight of those two syllables sinking in.   

“No, Mae. I’m not Mama,” she whispered. “I’m your sister. Sis.”   

"Do what your sister tells you." 

It became a household mantra, repeated over and over again.   

She learned young—old enough to care for them, but never old enough to have a say.   

At family gatherings, the men—mostly alphas—talked about politics.   

"Well, I—"   

"Sweetie, men are talking. Why don’t you make sure the little ones aren’t breaking anything?"   

She watched as her brothers—some barely ten years old—were drawn into the conversation, spoken to as equals. 

The women played cards, gossiping about things she wasn’t allowed to listen to.   

After all, she wasn’t married yet.   

"They just don’t understand. Omegas are… emotional." 

That’s what they called her when she accepted Dietrich’s courting.   

He had arrived at her home wearing a suit his boss had lent him for the occasion, hands nervously clutching a small gift. A young, freshly promoted MP—not a noble, not a war hero, just a man trying his best.   

"You could do much better," they told her, sighing dramatically, rolling their eyes.   

But he was kind to her.   

And that’s why she chose him.   

Maybe it wasn’t ideal to wait a few years until he had enough savings for a proper marriage. Maybe his house wasn’t the grandest estate outside the city.   

But with him, she could stay close to her family.   

"And with my support, he’ll go far. We’ll grow together. His accomplishments will be mine, too." 

— 

Dietrich’s voice was urgent, barely a whisper.   

"Tell your parents something’s brewing. Here—" He pressed something small into her hands. "If anything happens, they’ll take you in."   

Her stomach dropped. "B-But we’re not nobles… the Scouts are after the royals, not us—"   

He was already moving, already disappearing into the chaos of his duties.   

And then—   

Everything happened too fast. Jewelry, money, anything of value was stuffed into clothes, hidden in hair, tucked into pockets.   

Then came the pounding on the door.   

Everything unraveled at once. 

MP sympathizers of the new government seized her father. Her mother screamed, fighting to free him. 

"Mom!" Y/N rushed forward, only to be yanked back by a soldier’s iron grip. Pain shot up her arm as she gasped.   

"Grab your siblings and get the fuck out if you know what’s good for you."   

The cries.   

Her siblings’ hysterical wails.   

Mae screaming as Y/N tried to shove shoes onto her tiny feet.   

"Y/N! THE CAT!"   

"I DON’T WANT SHOES!"   

"What’s going to happen to Mom?!"   

"We need to go with Dad!"   

"And Grandma?!"   

"QUIET!" 

Her voice cut through the hysteria like a blade. 

For a single breath, the room fell silent. 

"Arthur," Y/N forced herself to stay steady, to be the pillar they needed, "help Grandma walk. Grab her medicine from the nightstand."   

She turned to the others, voice firm, unyielding.   

"The rest of you—hold hands. Follow me."   

Walking in the dead of night with a hand-drawn map to someone else’s house wasn’t in her plans—especially not while she was leading a ragtag band of children, clutching a cat in one arm and supporting a frail, elderly woman in the other. “Y/N, I’m tired,” the youngest whimpered. 

Someone once said that omegas weren’t strong, that they were delicate things meant to be sheltered. But Y/N walked on, carrying her sister and the cat, making sure the triplets stayed close.   

"We’re alright," her eight-year-old sister reassured the others with unwavering confidence. "Y/N’s got us." Blind faith. 

A high-ranking MP took them in quickly, sheltering them from the night. She cut meals into bite-sized pieces for her younger siblings. She wrapped warm clothes around her grandmother’s swollen feet, easing the pain of her diabetes.   

Later, as she sat down to rest, the only compliment she received from an old soldier was, “You’ll be a great mother one day.” The gentle pat on her shoulder made her nod slowly as he murmured, “Maybe soon.” 

She knew what he meant. He was referring to her engagement to Dietrich, his subordinate. 

Later that night, with all seven of them crammed together on the same bed, she pressed a soft kiss to the top of her brother’s head.   

"What’s gonna happen to Dad?" Arthur asked.   

"They’ll be alright," she reassured him, voice steady despite the uncertainty gnawing at her. "They’ll free Mom soon. Then Dad."   

Arthur—who lately had been more annoyance than little brother, as pre-teens often were—held onto her words. Because no matter how much he tried to act grown, he was still just a boy.   

And she was still his sister.   

— 

Now, she sat alone on a bed much smaller than that one.   

It should’ve felt peaceful. Instead, unease pressed against her chest, heavy and suffocating.  She held the letters her siblings had sent to Levi’s office—letters she wasn’t sure had found their way there, but they were filled with tears and hope. 

There was Mae’s messy art, a riot of colorful scratches that barely concealed its underlying chaos. Her little sister, Gretel—one of the triplets—had written a letter on behalf of all three, her neat handwriting standing out among the scribbles: 

“We are back at the manor house of the East. The lake is fantastic for swimming this year! I’m learning to paint with pastels, just like you. Arthur is being insufferable.” 

Then there was Patrick’s note—always the sensible one living in the shadow of his older twin—“I miss you here. I feel invisible,” among other scattered updates. 

But three messages resonated above all else: a chorus of “We miss you,” repeated over and over. 

On the back of Mae’s art, her grandmother’s handwriting read simply, “I am an artist, like my sis.”  Probably because the little girl didn't know how to write just yet. And then came her own mother’s letter: 

“I’m expecting again. Your father and I hope that the next news of a new member will come from you. Make us proud." 

She sat frozen, the words echoing in her mind.   

If Levi weren’t the clean freak that he was, dust would have gathered on her pinned-up hair with how still she remained. Even breathing felt like a task.   

‘How are they going to handle another child?’ The thought twisted bitter in her mouth. ‘Mae is barely looked after as it is… Another baby. The doctor told Mom to stop, said her body couldn’t take another.’ 

Levi’s words crashed into her thoughts, sharp and unforgiving:   

"I need you to grow up." 

She stared at her siblings’ letters, at the love and admiration woven into every word.   

And yet—   

Somehow, time had never moved past that night.  The night she sat waiting for news of her father’s release.  The night she told herself everything would be alright.   

She was still there.   

Frozen in delusion.   

Everyone else had moved on.   

Her throat ached—not from sickness, but from the screams she had swallowed, the tantrums she had never allowed herself to throw.   

At the funeral, she sat alone.  The casket was sealed, ready to be lowered into the earth, ash waiting to be scattered.  She turned to the right.  Her family, laughing, already discussing how they would use the fortune they had inherited.  She turned to the left.   

Levi, muttering under his breath, "I actually always hated Mitras."   

She looked straight ahead.   

‘I’m the only one mourning her,’ she thought bitterly, attending her own funeral inside her head. ‘I’m sorry that my dreams weren’t noble enough.’. Her mind began to craft a speech—a soliloquy. Levi had asked her once if she read the newspapers, if she understood the real issues happening within the walls.   

‘I was never allowed to even think about politics.’ 

‘I’m sorry I’m not good at anything,’ she thought, remembering the way the cadets had stared when she couldn’t ride a horse.   

The way Sasha had lamented the potatoes she had peeled wrong.   

The laundry she had washed just yesterday, still stained, no matter how hard she scrubbed.   

‘I was never taught anything except how to care for children.’ 

‘I’m sorry that it’s hard for me to grow up. I’m mourning the only dream I was ever allowed to have." 

— 

Later that night, in the quiet recesses of Commander’s office after hours, Levi and Hange found themselves sitting down on the main window frame. The memory of Levi’s argument with Y/N still clung to him like a second skin, and the silence between the two soldiers was thick with unspoken regrets and half-remembered frustrations. 

Levi broke the stillness, his voice low and rough with remorse. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper like that,” he muttered, his eyes fixed on the dark liquid swirling in his glass. The bitterness of regret mingled with the tobacco smoke that curled from his cigarette. 

Hange leaned back, a pained groan escaping him. “Mh… God, I miss the old times,” they said, their tone wistful as they recalled a simpler era. “When my only worry was convincing Erwin to let me capture a titan, and the only bitching I heard from you was about how shitty the mess hall was.” 

A sardonic smile tugged at Levi’s lips. “The mess hall is still fucking shitty,” he replied, a flash of humor breaking through the cloud of melancholy as he flicked away a stray ash. 

Hange’s laugh was short and half-amused. “And hearing you complain about your marriage life wasn’t on my bingo card,,” they added, their eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Neither mine,” Levi admitted, taking a long, measured drag from his cigarette before passing it over. “I understand her, but who the fuck understands me? Sometimes her stubbornness gets on my last fucking nerve—I wish I could just force her to listen.” 

Hange’s gaze softened with both empathy and playful challenge. “You lost your temper around your omega. That’s what alphas do, right? She must be used to it by now. You know what would force her to obey? An alpha’s glance and bonding.” 

Levi scoffed, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head. “Tch, don’t start with you too. I get it—if I were an omega, I’d be fucking tired of being bossed around.” 

The commander shrugged as if the issue was too big for them to bother solving—too big to even care about solving. “Seriously, why are you even asking me?” they asked, exhaling a slow stream of smoke. “I’m not married.” 

Levi clicked his tongue, raising his glass. “Who the fuck should I ask, then? Nobody I know is married.” 

Hange rolled their eyes, a reluctant grin tugging at their mouth. “Uhhh, Nile? He’s married—with three kids.” 

Levi grimaced in pure disdain as he knocked back the alcohol. “Ugh. But Nile’s an idiot. Forget it.” 

Then, with a conspiratorial glint in his eye, Hange leaned in as if sharing a well-kept secret. “Or… you could do what Erwin did when he and Marie used to fight. He’d close the jars so tight that she’d have to ask for help—son of a bitch, that man knew how to keep things in line.” 

Levi’s expression softened into a half-smile, touched by the absurdity of the memory. “...Maybe I understand why they broke up,” He swirled his drink thoughtfully. “He must’ve been a delight of a boyfriend for her to drop a high-breed alpha and settle down with a stupid beta like Nile, whose brain is as thin as his beard.” 

Hange shrugged nonchalantly, their tone light yet laced with sympathetic resignation. “Oh well, at least she could leave. Y/N can’t divorce you, so..” 

The night air was cool—just enough to take the edge off the heat. Neither of them spoke, but in unintentional synchronicity, they inhaled deeply and exhaled in exhausted unison. 

A moment of silence. Glasses emptied. Cigarettes burned to the filter. 

Then, Hange leaned forward, their tone shifting from playful to serious.  “So, have you told her already?” they asked, their voice low and insistent. 

Levi exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting to the rim of his glass. “Not yet,” he admitted, the admission hanging heavy in the stale air. 

Hange’s eyes searched Levi’s face as they pressed further. “Lev…” “Lev…” they dragged out his name, hoping the single syllable would knock some sense into him. “The longer you let this run, the harder it’ll be to fix.” 

Levi’s hand tightened around his glass as he spoke, the weight of his decision palpable. “I’m planning to take her with me to Mitras—one last weekend with her family and friends. After that, I’ll tell them about the move.” His voice was steady, laced with bitterness. “Tch,” 

Hange arched an eyebrow thoughtfully. “Maybe she’d appreciate it more if she knew she’d be leaving this place for at least a year. Give her the chance to say a proper goodbye,” 

Levi shook his head. He had already made up his mind. And once his mind was set, there was no changing it. “She should be able to enjoy it without that weight on her.” 

Hange sighed dramatically. “Give her some freedom. That would calm her down.” 

Levi stood up with a quiet grunt, stretching slightly, ready to leave. 

“Or,” Hange offered as if it were an afterthought, “you could just apologize.” 

Levi frowned. “I’m not apologizing. I’m right.” 

Hange chuckled, shaking their head. “God, you’re so lucky the divorce petition never passed.” 

“Tch. Goodnight, four-eyes.” 

“It’s three now!” 

— 

The first morning, she tried to help with kitchen duties but gave up quickly after struggling to light the enormous stove—nearly burning her hair in the process. Connie and Sasha chuckled at the sight. 

“I can’t take this,” she muttered under her breath, hearing Mikasa’s reprimanding slap land on the back of Connie’s head, followed by his loud, “HEY!” 

‘I know it’s not much. I know I should laugh about it,’ she thought, but she simply couldn’t. It wasn’t about the kitchen duties or waking up early. It was everything else. ‘Am I asking for too much? Just one day without being enclosed, dragged around, or laughed at?’ 

“Where were you?” 

That was the only thing Levi said when she stepped through the door. 

‘Are you fucking kidding me? You tell me to get a job, and then wonder where I am?’ 

Needless to say, the rest of the week passed in silence—not out of comfort, but because neither of them had the energy to deal with the other. It was a cold war. Whoever broke first would be both the loser and the winner in a situation where there were no real wrongs or rights. 

‘I’m not asking for much.’ 

‘You treat me like a child. You enclose me like a child. You boss me around like a child and then get mad when I do something. Sorry that I haven’t done much since I got here—half my time has been spent locked up like a damn prisoner.’ 

‘I should’ve said that better. That was just me bitching.’ 

‘I know you’re not a bad person.’ 

It wasn’t a battle of egos. It was a battle of endurance. Who could take more? 

A subtle clearing of the throat broke the silence. 

“Y/N. Come here,” Levi called. 

Since their last argument, she had gone back to avoiding him—staying shut in the attached room when he was around and only coming out when he was gone. Lately, that had been most of the time. She assumed he was avoiding her, but judging by the dark circles under his eyes, the truth was he had been working extensive hours. 

“Yes?” She peeked through the door, her expression wary. 

White paper and a pen sat atop his desk. His knuckles tapped against the surface. 

“Write to your family and friends. I need to travel to Mitras for an important meeting.” 

Her eyes flickered with interest, stepping fully into the room. 

“One weekend,” he continued. “I already booked a room at the Military Hotel. Go, hang out, and…” 

‘Give her more freedom.’ 

“…do whatever the fuck you want.” His voice carried a resignation so heavy it was hard to disguise. 

“And you?” she asked in disbelief. 

“I’ll be at a military board.” 

“All weekend?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” 

“Important stuff. None of your business,” Levi concluded. 

She didn’t press further—not this time. Instead, she stepped forward to pick up the envelopes, only to be stopped by him. He held the hotel reservation on her eye level, forcing her to meet his gaze. 

“One weekend,” he said firmly. “You hear me? Just one.” 

She knew what he meant: ‘Don’t get your hopes up. We’re not moving. This is a one-time thing.’ 

But she didn’t withdraw the silent challenge in her eyes. Neither of them was happy. Neither of them had let it go. 

Something felt off. 

Peering past the chamber’s curtain, she observed how the cadets had spent the week packing boxes instead of training. How the hallways had become more crowded with unfamiliar faces—people moving quickly, rushing, the air thick with an unspoken urgency. 

Something was happening. 

“Are you all coming?” she asked as they prepared to leave, her voice tinged with suspicion. 

The entire squad was gathered out front, ready to depart—far earlier than necessary. To her surprise, despite the mild temperatures, they were back in formal attire: white uniforms, high boots, and long green trench coats. 

“Ah, yeah!” Sasha started, but a sharp nudge from Connie cut her off. 

“It’s an important meeting,” he finished vaguely. 

Y/N smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s fine. You can tell me,” she insisted, mostly because she wanted to feel included in something. Anything. 

“State secret,” Eren said with all the determination of someone taking his role way too seriously. 

Her resigned smile wasn’t out of understanding but out of quiet depression. 

‘I wish… I didn’t feel excluded all the time.’ 

The only reassurance she had left was that, in a few hours, she’d be surrounded by the girls she grew up with. That, for one fleeting weekend, she’d have something to hold onto—a shared memory, an inside joke, a place where she still belonged. 

A loud exhale accompanied their tight embrace. “Y/N! God, it’s so good to see you!” the brunette exclaimed as they pulled apart. “Come in!” 

“Oh, Anne!” Y/N cried, moving to hug her friend again. But Katharine gently raised a hand, signaling for restraint, her gaze flickering downward. Y/N followed her eyes and gasped at the barely noticeable bump. “Oh, my goodness, congratulations!” 

As the six young women settled around the tea table, a maid entered, gracefully serving each of them. “Thank you,” Y/N murmured as she received her cup. 

Two toddlers toddler about, arms raised in silent pleas to be picked up. Two newborns, barely past two months, nestled in their cradles. One pregnant woman. And then—her. The other women sat poised with perfectly styled updos and elegant dresses suited for the occasion. Y/N’s eyes flitted over the scene, noting the difference in attire. Her friends exuded sophistication and maturity, while she still wore the handful of dresses she had brought when she moved—all remnants of her single life almost childish. Their hair was pristine, likely done by a professional or personal maid. And then, there were their hands. Each bore two gleaming bands: a heavy diamond engagement ring and a wedding ring, some adorned with additional jewels. Instinctively, Y/N withdrew her own hands from the table, hiding them in her lap. 

But the movement drew more attention than it concealed. “Tell us, Y/N! Did you take the opportunity to get your ring cleaned while in the Capital?” 

“Oh, yes!” The lie slipped out effortlessly. The oldest of the six omegas, only a few months senior to Y/N, regarded her with piercing blue eyes, scanning her up and down before offering a measured smile. She was the owner of the house. Y/N’s gaze flickered over their necks, where bite marks proudly declared their claimed status. Some had faded into scars, while others, like Anne’s, were still red and fresh from recent nuptials. 

“We’re so glad to have you here,” the hostess continued, the others nodding in agreement. “Are you and the Captain looking for houses in the area?” 

Y/N took tiny sips of her tea, attempting to make it last. “Yes… well,” she gave a nervous chuckle, “Yes.” 

The second lie. 

“It’s complicated,” Sussy chimed in, her voice sympathetic. “The economy has been unstable with all the new laws and changes. The Capital isn’t as safe as it used to be.” 

“Yes! John and I just bought a house, and it wasn’t easy!” Anne, the youngest at eighteen, placed a protective hand over her small baby bump. 

‘Since when do we discuss politics?’ Y/N mused, surprised by the shift in conversation. 

“With so many people moving to Wall Maria now that it’s habitable again, finding good help has been a nightmare,” Anne added. “We had to hire one of those… underground girls.” 

Y/N froze, lowering her cup. “What?” She turned sharply to Anne. 

Anne merely nodded. “It’s a new policy. The government is offering work opportunities to them, and households get a tax break for hiring from the program.” 

“I told you to keep an eye on that woman,” Grace spat, the oldest of the group. “They can’t be trusted.” 

“Let’s talk about something less dreadful,” another interjected smoothly. “I’ve already put in a good word for all of us to ensure our children are accepted into the academy.” 

A round of polite applause followed. Y/N forced a smile and clapped along. 

“I’m telling you, Y/N, the director adores me. I’ll make sure yours gets in, too.” 

“Cindy, you’re a miracle!” someone gushed. 

But Y/N sat frozen, her smile brittle. ‘Mine?’ Levi’s words echoed in her mind: I hate those posh schools. 

“They’ll be classmates!” Grace and Anne clutched hands, excitement in their voices. Both were clearly pregnant again. 

“Your bump is so big!” 

“The doctor thinks it may be twins. A true blessing,” Anne beamed. “A multiple pregnancy will prove my worth.” 

It was common knowledge that high-bred omegas were more likely to bear multiples—a testament to their value. “Congratulations,” Y/N murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt detached, as though she were observing from afar. 

“It will make John happy. An alpha with children is a happy one,” Grace commented while slicing her treat. “And that means he’ll have a good excuse to spoil you—finally get you a maid worthy of your status.” 

“Grace...” Anne sighed, exhausted. Clearly, this was a repeated conversation. 

“You heard the priest,” Grace said matter-of-factly. “They are not like us. Their way of living is different. They carry diseases.” 

Y/N clenched her jaw but, before she could take a bite of food, she whispered in disbelief, “That’s a horrible thing to say, Grace.” 

An unspoken rule dictated that one did not challenge the owner of the house, especially the eldest of the group. 

The brunette met her gaze with a cool, assessing look. “It’s the truth. I’d do anything to protect my children,” Grace said, each word a challenge.  A pause. Then, deliberately, “If,” she emphasized the word cruelly, “you ever have yours, I’m sure you’ll understand.” 

Y/N’s throat tightened. “If?” 

Sussy reached over, placing a gentle hand over Y/N’s in silent reassurance. 

Grace, unaffected, dabbed at the corners of her mouth with almost clinical precision. “I actually know a great doctor…” 

Y/N exhaled sharply. “I was very stressed, Grace,” she bit out, each word laced with controlled fury. “Very.” 

Grace raised her hands in mock innocence. “I’m just saying. You wasted too much time waiting for Die, and with your mother’s history, it’s best to start sooner rather than later.” 

“Let’s change the subject,” Sussy urged. 

The rest of the conversation faded into background noise. The words blurred together, a droning hum like cicadas in the training fields. Y/N’s fingers fidgeted in her lap, her mind drifting. Distant. Detached. Delusional. She smiled when required, gave practiced responses. But only once did she lift her eyes from her lap. 

“How was the hangout with your friends?” 

“Uh?” 

The question snapped her out of it. She raised her eyes to meet Levi, who was half-dressed—white uniform pants on, boots, shirt half-buttoned, and a towel around his hair as he scrunched out the water. She frowned in confusion. “Weren’t you working?” she asked, almost sleepy. His presence felt like a supernatural activity—when had he arrived? When had she arrived? Since when had she been sitting back in the hotel room? 

He frowned back, looking more concerned than she did. “Yeah, I came to take a shower before the late-night meeting,” he replied. “I just told you so.” He tilted his head toward the open bathroom door, steam still billowing out, his body shifting slightly as if to give her space to check for herself. 

“Why?” 

“Because this city is fucking hot and humid, and I was tired of feeling all sticky,” Levi muttered, moving around the room as he finished dressing. He buttoned the cuffs of his shirt with practiced ease. 

She looked back down at her lap. Her fingers weren’t fidgeting anymore. There was a small, folded piece of paper resting there. ‘I found it under the door, right?’ The thought felt distant, like a memory that wasn’t hers. She unfolded it carefully. 

I just want to talk. Tomorrow, 15:00. —Die 

And an address. 

“So?” Levi pressed. 

Quickly folding it back up, she blinked. “Sorry, what?” She glanced up at him. 

Hands on his hips, his sharp eyes scrutinized her. “Your friends. How was the hangout?” he repeated. Then, after a beat, “You okay?” 

“Good,” she nodded—small, quick movements. “Very good.” 

Maybe he should have pressed further. She didn’t seem there, not really. ‘Maybe she’s still mad. Or tired from the trip… or the heat… maybe her blood pressure dropped a little.’ His mind searched for excuses as he accepted her answer, pressing his lips into a thin line. 

“Good then,” he finally nodded to himself. ‘She had a good time. That’s what matters’. As if any little moment of enjoyment that weekend would make his own task easier in the long run. 

“Tomorrow… your folks?” he checked, making himself a mental schedule of her activities. “Or are you going tonight and staying there?” 

‘Tomorrow.’ Her eyes flickered with something, a momentary spark. She swallowed. Then she smiled. “Yes.” 

She lied. 

Her family wasn’t in the capital. They had moved to the countryside to escape the summer heat. 

“Alright then.” Levi pulled on his long green trench coat, which felt like it weighed a hundred pounds in this weather, but mandatory was mandatory. He rummaged in his pocket. “Take a cab, okay? It stays light late, but don’t walk too much.” he said while pulling out a few bills and leaving them on the nightstand. Without waiting for a response, he moved up to her and ruffled her hair a little. “Stay safe.” 

In barely more than a whisper, she replied, “Sure.” 

Before heading for the door, Levi glanced back at her, as if debating something, then added, “We’re leaving early tomorrow, so be back before 17. Don’t get caught up, alright?” 

She only nodded, forcing another small smile. 

It was a bad mix, the perfect combination for the worst outcome. Maybe, in a theater, it would be represented by a wailing song that grew faster and faster, the tempo rising until it detonated—slowing, then finally cutting off as the main character reached the peak of insanity. Or perhaps, it would be shown through all the colors quickly withdrawing, leaving everything in a monotone shade of gray, as the feelings stopped working. Until the only one left was the wish to go back in time—to make it all stop. 

The hotel was lovely. It was obvious that Levi had never used his rank to secure a stay there because he seemed just as lost as she was upon their arrival. Though, the most confused of all was the receptionist, who could hardly believe he had actually made a reservation. Maybe, under different circumstances, she would have been delighted to be there—the gilded walls, the expensive furniture. The dining room with its individual tables, each set apart like small islands of exclusivity. 

“Ma’am,” the waiter bent down as he placed her meal before her. “Enjoy it.” 

She managed a bittersweet smile. But he frowned—tears were slipping from her eyes. 

There’s something so peculiar about watching someone unable to hold back a cry. A disconsolate cry. No anger, no fear—just plain hurt. 

The chef’s carefully prepared dinner, the candlelight, the posh accents in every corner. The MPs in uniform moving in and out, the shadows of women in expensive dresses switching tables to laugh with friends. The camaraderie as soldiers lit cigarettes and chuckled, the older ladies who knew exactly what to order from the bar, the children of important members running around. 

Everything that should have given her a sense of belonging—didn’t. 

‘If I don’t relate to them,’ she thought, recalling the two separate tea gatherings with different groups of friends, ‘then who do I relate to?’ 

She lifted her eyes, observing the scene. Every table was filled with company—girls brought to impress, families, soldiers. But the table for two had only her. Her salty tears seasoned her meal as she gripped her fork. She imagined the cadets chatting over the meeting, Levi smoking with Hange, her family gathered by the lake at the estate. 

‘The streets are full of strangers.’ 

There’s a world in between being alone and feeling lonely. And there’s no quieter pain than watching everyone else enjoy life while you stand on the outside, untouched by it. 

“Your folks?” Levi’s question echoed in her mind as she hid her face in her hands, muffling her silent cries beneath the lively music of the musicians hired to brighten the night. And a foolish regret surfaced—a wish. 

‘I should have told him. I should have said that they refused to travel to meet me. That my friends are strangers now. That it doesn’t have to be Mitras or Sheena, I just want to be close to my family, be there for my mom… that I promise, I swear I promise I’ll try harder. But if he could just stay over for dinner—’ 

‘I simply… don’t want to feel alone another day.’ 

— 

“Y/N, I’m back.” 

Jacket tossed onto the bed, fingers tugging at his cravat, Levi rolled his neck to the side, feeling like he was boiling in his own clothes. But then—silence. 

Too much silence. 

“Y/N?” He moved through the ridiculously large room, crossing to the bathroom and dressing area, knocking once. 

Nothing. 

“Oi, brat. You in there?” He knocked again before opening the door. Not even a mouse inside. 

A quick glance at his pocket watch. 16:30. 

“Fine. Let’s give her some time. I said 17.” He muttered to himself, but whether it was his soldier instincts, his Ackerman blood, or the sharp sense of an alpha, something felt off. 

He folded his clothes, put away the papers regarding the upcoming expansion in a secure spot, and even refolded her clothes, despite the fact that she had already done it herself. Made the bed. Re-folded his own clothes. 

And before he realized it, he was tapping against the glass front desk of the hotel. 

“Have you seen a girl—” he corrected himself quickly, “My wife?” 

The receptionist frowned, looking momentarily confused. “She left earlier today, sir.” 

“No.” Levi shook his head. “She left last night.” 

The girl hesitated, her brows furrowing slightly. “I’m pretty sure she had dinner here at the hotel last night, sir.” 

Levi blinked, exhaling sharply through his nose. “So, the whole family came here for dinner?” It was one of the best hotels—he figured that could’ve been the reason. 

A brief, unreadable exchange between the two staff members behind the desk. 

“Ehm…” she hesitated, making his mouth run dry. “I could ask the kitchen staff if you wish, sir, but I’m fairly certain she had dinner alone last night. And she left a couple of hours ago.” 

A cold weight settled in his gut. 

“She rented a cart?” 

“She left walking, sir.” 

It was the calculated calm of someone feeling anything but that. 

Running a hand through his dark hair once, then again, he turned on his heel and strode briskly down the corridor, almost knocking into Hange along the way. 

“Hey!” they protested. 

“Have you seen Y/N?” Levi cut in immediately. 

A beat of silence. 

“She isn’t with you?” 

“No,” he deadpanned. “I’m asking because it’s funny.” 

Hange let out a nervous chuckle, but the grin vanished as they took in Levi’s state. 

“You’re kidding, right?” No response. “You lost her?” 

“I didn’t lose her,” Levi snapped. “I gave her the weekend and told her to be back before 5 p.m.” 

“You gave her THE WHOLE WEEKEND?!” 

“You told me to give her more freedom.” 

“Since when do you take me seriously?!” Hange yelled, as if the very idea was absurd. 

— 

She gasped each time she glanced over her shoulder. It was broad daylight, the sun beating down on her, making her sweat. Her skin itched from the burn. There was no one chasing her—only her own conscience. She wasn’t checking because she feared being followed. She was checking because she still hadn’t decided whether to turn back or keep going. 

Unfolding the paper, she reread the information and double-checked the streets. It’s the right direction. 

She wasn’t entirely sure what had pushed her to agree to the meeting. The little lies she told herself were, ‘We’ll just talk, and Levi said I could spend time with my friends, and deep down, Die is my friend.’ 

There’s nothing more accusatory than an unjustified fear. If there’s no guilt, there should be no fear. But if there’s fear, there’s guilt. And if there’s guilt, then there’s an unbroken vow. Reduced to simple terms, it really is that simple. 

For a moment, her worries faded as she walked between the meticulously shaped bushes of an open park. Then, she saw him. Sitting down, waiting. 

Her body froze. Her heart fluttered, and despite the heaviness in her chest, a small sense of relief washed over her. The moment their eyes met, she couldn’t stop herself. She rushed forward and embraced him tightly, her arms wrapping around him with a desperation she didn’t expect. He held her back, his arms strong and warm. 

She allowed herself to have this. Just this. Being held tightly. They sank into the bench, clinging to each other. 

“I missed you,” he whispered. 

But she only hummed. Somehow, she couldn’t say the same. Her heart hadn’t particularly missed him—perhaps just the companionship. His large hand stroked her back gently as she buried her face in his chest, and for a second, it felt like everything she had needed. But each breath she took, each inhale that carried his scent instead of Levi’s, made her stomach turn. 

“I just want to talk,” she whispered. “It’s been a very difficult few months.” 

He buried his face in her neck, their hair tangling together. “Of course.” He ran his hand up and down her back, offering a comfort she didn’t know she needed. 

“I—I thought I was mad about all this. The whole arrangement,” she admitted, her voice hollow. She let it all spill out—how difficult it was to adapt, how being far from everyone she knew was consuming her, how lonely she felt spending days on end completely alone. “I thought I was mad that Levi dismissed all my wishes like they were pointless. Everything I thought was important…” She hesitated, referring to her dreams of what a family should be. “But… I’m not sure anymore. The people I used to know—they’ve become horrible.” 

His fingers never stopped their soothing motion, but she could feel her own chest tightening. She wiped away a stray tear and added, distressed, “Or… maybe they always were, and I just never noticed.” 

Doubt crept into everything. Was the sky blue? Was the grass green? She wasn’t sure anymore. What was her role in all this? She only knew one thing. 

“I just wish I didn’t feel so alone,” she confessed softly, her voice muffled against him. 

The life of a scout—and, in particular, their partners—could be incredibly lonely. It wasn’t for everyone. In their tight embrace, she sought support. Someone to confide in, just as Levi did with Hange. 

Dietrich didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pulled her closer, his body warm and protective around her. They stayed like that for a while, their heads resting against each other’s necks. She could feel his breath on her skin, and he seemed to inhale deeply, as if trying to take in more of her. 

Then, as if the weight of the moment had shifted, he finally spoke, his voice low and serious. 

“Come with me,” he said, his words heavy with meaning. “Leave him. Leave Levi behind. Without his claim, we can start over—somewhere else. You and me.” 

Her heart lurched. She pulled away slightly, just enough to look at him. His words hung in the air between them, and a chill ran down her spine. 

“Wait…” she murmured, her brow furrowing. “What are you saying?” 

Dietrich’s gaze was intense. His fingers traced her wrist, his grip gentle—almost soothing. 

“You deserve this, Y/N. Your family has to manage on their own. You deserve happiness.” 

His words confused her. Running away didn’t align with any of her worries. If anything, it was the opposite of what she wanted. She’d never be able to see her family again. Her sister would suffer social scrutiny. She’d be forced into hiding somewhere unfamiliar, uprooting her children into a life of shame. 

She frowned. Unlike Levi, who had claimed that sacrificing for family was noble but should have been her father’s burden, Dietrich was asking her to throw everything away—for him. It was selfish. It was nothing like what she stood for. 

“What are you talking about?” 

Her pulse quickened, her mind racing. The weight of it all threatened to suffocate her. She pulled her hand back slightly, her heart pounding in her chest. 

“I… I can’t,” she stammered, her voice unsteady. “I—I have my sisters. I can’t just leave them.” 

Suddenly, his warmth didn’t feel soothing anymore. His touch felt repulsive. Sticky. She tried to slip her hand away, attempting to break the contact—to set a boundary. 

A sharp gasp escaped her as his grip tightened around her arm. 

“Die?” she whispered, hating how quickly fear crept into her voice. 

“Come on, Y/N. Come to your senses,” he growled, his tone shifting—hardening. “After everything I’ve done for you… Are you really just going to leave me like this? Who do you think you are?” 

He’s kind, her own voice echoed in her mind. 

Was he kind… or had I just always done what he wanted? 

Like a church’s stained glass, its beauty was lost once shattered—leaving behind only sharp, dangerous pieces. 

“You’re hurting me,” Y/N whispered, trying to stand. His grip didn’t loosen. “Dietrich. You’re hurting me,” she repeated, louder this time. 

“I’ve been chasing you since day one. Always offering my help. You came all the way here, and now you want to leave?” he hissed, his hold tightening, his voice low and threatening. 

“You said you just wanted to talk.” 

The letters. The visits to her balcony. Knowing her hotel room. Without the rose-colored innocence that had once tinted their past, it all felt alarming. And as people around them turned to watch—parents ushering their children away from the growing argument—her instincts took over. The words came naturally, so naturally they even surprised her. 

“I’ll tell Levi.” 

The moment she said it, she realized something. Despite everything—the arguments, the fights, the silent treatments—she wished he were here. At dinner. At this moment. 

But for Dietrich, the shock was different. 

She squeaked in surprise as he grabbed her other arm, his hold firm. 

“Really? You trust him? After all the years we’ve known each other?” 

“I don’t recognize you,” she murmured. 

“Hey. Let her go.” 

The voice was sharp, commanding. 

Y/N barely had time to process it before Dietrich’s grip loosened. A woman stood a few steps away, arms crossed over her chest. She was tall, her posture unwavering, her gaze locked onto him with unflinching authority. An alpha. 

Dietrich hesitated, as if weighing his options, but she took a step closer. 

“I said, let her go,” she repeated, her voice like steel. She was slightly shorter than him, but clearly tall for a woman. Her fierce not backdown eyes and deep exhales through the nose left a clear sign. ‘Back up or we beat each other up, here and now,’ 

Families nearby were already watching. A few mothers were shielding their children, sensing the tension. If he didn’t let go, this would turn into a real scene. 

His fingers twitched before he finally released Y/N’s arm. 

She stumbled back, instinctively cradling the spot where his grip had been. The bruises would bloom later, but right now, she just needed to get away. 

The woman turned to her. “You okay, sweetie?” 

Y/N nodded quickly, though her hands trembled. The woman’s sharp gaze flickered back to Dietrich. 

“Walk away,” she told him flatly. It wasn’t a suggestion. 

For a moment, he looked like he might argue. Then he scoffed, eyes dark with something unreadable, before turning on his heel and disappearing into the park. 

Only when he was gone did Y/N finally let out the breath she’d been holding. 

“Come on,” the woman said, her voice gentler now. “You live close by?” 

Y/N hesitated. She hadn’t even thought that far ahead—hadn’t thought beyond running. But now that the moment was settling, the weight of what had just happened crashed over her. She felt raw, exposed. And suddenly, the idea of walking back alone, through unfamiliar streets, felt unbearable. 

So she nodded. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“We stick together, right?” the alpha girl said with a bright, reassuring smile—probably because friendships between female alphas and omegas had always been straightforward. 

— 

“Hello, I’m —” 

“Miss!” the rush on the receptionist voice exalted her. “Your husband has been searching for you,” there was no scolding in her tone, just a statement of fact.  “Do you need me to call him?” 

Y/N shook her head quickly. “No. I—I’ll go up now.” 

The receptionist studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Alright, dear. If you need anything, let us know.” 

Y/N barely mumbled a thanks before turning toward the stairs. Each step felt heavier than the last.  

Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached her door, pressing her palm against the wood for just a second before slowly pushing it open.  

Inside, the room was in a flurry of movement. Levi was buttoning up his uniform jacket, his belt only halfway fastened as he moved with sharp, efficient motions. Putting his soldier uniform back on for reasons that she didn’t know. Across from him, Hange was talking rapidly, tying back their hair. Papers were scattered over the small table, and the air was thick with tension. 

Levi’s head snapped up the second she stepped inside. 

The moment their eyes met, she saw it—the way his whole body went rigid, like a wire pulled too tight. His expression darkened, but before she could react, he was already moving. 

She flinched. 

It was instinctive, her body recoiling before she could stop it. Levi didn’t notice it, or else he would have wondered why she reacted that way. The last thing he expected was for her to think he could ever harm her physically. But he was too focused on bigger tasks. His hands reached for her—one gripping the back of her head. And then, with a force that almost made her knees buckle, he pulled her in and pressed his lips firmly against her forehead. 

It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t soft. It was tight, almost desperate. 

His breath was warm against her skin. His grip unwavering. 

Then, against her forehead, he muttered, “Where the hell have you been?” 

Her lips parted, but no sound came out. 

Levi exhaled sharply, relief mixed with frustration. His eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted, and his fingers tightened in her hair. “Where the hell have you been?” he repeated, exhausted. 

Behind him, Hange slumped into an armchair, throwing their head back with a loud exhale of relief. 

Pressed against each other, their breaths mingled—inhale, exhale. She had feared the worst, and Levi… Levi buried his nose in her hair, waiting for the familiar warmth of her scent to soothe his racing mind. But—his nostrils twitched. His brow furrowed. His eyes blinked slowly as the realization sank in. 

‘That’s not her smell.’ 

His instincts bristled. ‘Neither mine.’ 

Every one of his alpha alarms went off. 

Levi pulled back just enough to see her face. His sharp gaze swept over her, scanning her, reading her like a battlefield. Then—his nostrils flared. His expression shifted instantly. 

His eyes dropped. 

They landed on her arm. 

Bruises. Dark imprints of fingers already forming against her skin. 

Levi’s face darkened. His entire body tensed. His fingers twitched against her shoulder, and when he finally spoke, his voice was low. Too controlled. 

“Who did that to you?” 

His tone sent a shiver down her spine. 

Y/N swallowed hard. “I…” She hesitated as the sharp sting of his anger thickened in the air, suffocating, consuming. Her pulse quickened. “Sorry.” 

Levi’s jaw ticked. “I didn’t ask if you were sorry. I asked who did it.” His words came through gritted teeth, his glare locked onto her, unwavering, demanding. 

“I… I didn’t know him like this,” she murmured, her voice faltering. Levi’s scent filled the room, thick and overwhelming, making her wrinkle her nose. 

A loud pat landed on both their shoulders, abruptly cutting through the tension—like a cat strolling between two hissing rivals. 

“What MATTERS,” Hange emphasized, shooting a look at the Captain, “is that she’s okay, and we can leave.” They forced a smile at the girl, ruffling her hair before pressing a quick kiss to her head. But the sharp scoff through their nose gave away what they weren’t saying aloud—the scent clinging to her wasn’t the one they expected. 

“I take it back—you stink less,” they muttered to Levi, hoping to lighten the mood. 

But the cold, steel-eyed glare of the Ackerman told them his fury was far from over. 

“Calm down,” Hange murmured under their breath. “You’ll regret it.” 

But it was a well-known fact—there were three things you simply didn’t mess with when it came to an alpha. 

Never imply someone has it bigger than them. 

Never suggest a woman in their inner circle is unworthy. 

And above all—never mess with their territory. 

Alphas were territorial, jealous creatures. They could even be envious of a damn pillow if their omega clung to it too much in their sleep. Those soft, fragile little things could get away with anything—because they were their soft, fragile little things. And some bastard had dared to rub his stink all over his. 

Levi’s teeth ground together so hard it hurt. 

‘Why don’t you come and piss on my face while you’re at it?’ 

He was seeing red. 

"If I were mad, you’d know," Levi had told her in the early days of their arrangement. On the way back to the Scouts, she had confirmed that. 

“Lev...” She reached for him once they were back in his chambers—away from the prying eyes of the cadets, all eager to uncover what had happened. “Can we talk?” 

But he seemed so distant. 

“I have work to do.” 

‘Well... now I know,’ she thought, picking up the cat that had eagerly greeted her. Her body felt drained, as if every last bit of energy had been siphoned from her. 

“This simply can’t get worse,” she murmured. She tried her best to do a tea and wait. Once again, back at the office. Alone. 

— 

The pressure that his fingers applied to the bridge of his nose was so strong that the pain of it overcame the migraine. Strong footsteps echoed in the corridors as cadets moved aside to make way. Since the Scouts were almost wiped out, more and more people had been joining their ranks, and Levi was not enjoying the crowded halls. 

"The day I decide to call all this shit off, I'd like to see them surviving without me," Levi thought, clenching his teeth. The stress was taking a toll on him lately and with had just happened, it wasn’t helping to work with a clear mind. The military was expanding so much, particularly the Scouts, and they simply lacked soldiers in higher positions to handle everything from mundane tasks like organizing lines to making highly important decisions regarding the Marley issue. 

Swinging the door of his chambers open, his eyes fell on her. She was looking out of the window, book in hand and cat on lap, dying of boredom as if she were either waiting for rescue or for her death. His grimace was a mix of empathy and annoyance. The sting of betray hasn’t wash out. 

And the horrendous weekend he was having, having to listen to all of Zeke’s demands from the other side of the damn world, was simply not helping. Slamming the door shut made her turn and look at him. “Levi. I made te—” She was eager to try to fix things up thought she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to fix. There’s not fixing something that didn’t exist. 

"Pack your stuff, we're moving," he spat out, already moving to his room to gather the few belongings he actually had. He threw the black trousers of his uniform out of the drawers onto the bed to pack them, regretting the decision as soon as he saw his immaculate, perfectly washed trousers covered in cat hair. 

"Moving? Moving where?" Y/N jumped from her place at the window and followed him, excited. Her eyes shone brightly, feeling her prayers had been answered. 

Eyes shut as tight as his clenched teeth, he took a deep breath in and out. He was fond of animals, and the white cat was lovely, but the fur was something he wasn’t getting used to easily, and it just added to his day. 

"Where are we moving?" she insisted, not sensing his lack of patience. "Back to Mitras?" 

Levi, trying to find any remaining good mood inside him, turned to his side and raised an eyebrow. "No," he said, "To the south." 

The excitement dropped substantially, and she frowned at him. "We ARE in the south." 

That made Levi quickly realize this was not going to be a quick and easy conversation. "No, we are in Wall Rose.". Suddenly the whole reason for taking her to the hotel, the weekend off and all the rest that unfolded made a reason. As if he had forgotten why he went to the kitchen in the first place. He thought he would have more time, but the order had been passed down as they travelled back to the scouts facility. Early Monday, it was official. The coastal expansion was on. 

"I'm not moving to Shiganshina," she said, arms crossed, eyebrows drawn together, and her voice raising. 

Levi sighed as he folded one uniform. "Lucky for you," he said, each word dripping with his remaining patience, "we're not going there." 

"Then… where?" 

Levi knew he should have delivered the news more gently, but he had no time to spare and no energy left to deal with her lately. "South, we're setting up a camp next to the coast. Construction has already taken place, so we'll have a room. Pack your stuff; we're leaving by horse to arrive sooner and organize everything. The luggage will be taken by carts that will probably take a week to reach." 

"What?—NO!" she quickly complained, her voice filled more with tears than anger. "I don't want to go to the end of the shitty world!" 

"The soldiers from Marley are already arriving, and we need to be there to make sure everything evolves as planned—" 

"Aren't you listening to me?!" She screamed loudly enough for Levi to close his eyes at how it reverberated in his ears, only fueling his headache. "I'm NOT moving there. We will be in the middle of nowhere; there’s no communication with the walls. I want to be closer to family, not there." 

She had felt isolated inside the walls. She couldn’t imagine living in a remote camp with no communication or way to travel around.  

The air began to fill with her scent, demanding she wasn’t submitting. Challenging him, and Levi felt how each breath he took through his nose was tinged with it. He had no good temper left, and her insistence on asserting dominance was the final straw. Her even daring to assert dominance over him. Her, the omega the government had saddled him with. 

Turning to his right, his piercing eyes locked onto her. "Don’t," Levi ordered, his own pheromones mixing with hers and warning her. The stare of a high-breed alpha, his own body warning her that fighting with him was a bad idea. Maybe it was because he had been hearing demands from Marley soldiers and allies all day long, people challenging his authority. But Levi wasn’t going to allow an omega to step on his dominance. He had been, in his opinion, more than good and patient with her—probably more than any other alpha would have been. He wasn’t one to use his stare to force omegas to do what he wanted, but he was having none of it. 

Lips trembling, fists clenching, deep frown, and her eyes struggling to keep eye contact. Fighting against her own biology, she could feel how each fiber of her body trembled in trying to maintain the resistance. Eventually, she couldn’t keep it up and looked to the side, breaking the stare and lowering her head in submission. 

A long sigh left his nose as his demand withdrew once she ceased the claim. “Pack your stuff,” he ordered, lowering his voice sensing that the rebellion was over. 

But it hardly was. “I’m not going. I’ll move in with my parents. I’m not going to some rotten, muddy camp in the middle of nowhere.” 

Levi shook his head. “You’re coming because that’s the arrangement between your parents and the military board. So pack, and that's the end of the deal.” 

“No! I don’t want to go, I’m not going to pack!” 

“NO!” 

Her complaints echoed in his head as the headache pounded against his skull, his teeth clenching so hard he was even showing them. “ENOUGH!” His hand slammed against the drawer, the loudness of it ceasing all noise. The room fell silent, and the scared cat ran to hide under the bed. 

Levi finally turned to fully face her. “We are going to do this whether you like it or not,” his voice harsh and leaving no room for interruptions. “It can be the easy way or the hard way.” 

Raising his hand in the air, showing three fingers. “I have a meeting, and in three hours I’ll come back and pick you up. Either you pack and get ready for when I return, or you don’t pack and not only will you be in a shitty, muddy camp at the end of the world stuck with me, but you’ll do it without any of your fancy stuff. And I warn you, there are no stores there.” 

As he left the room with the same urgency he came in, he said, “You choose!” 

But as the door was slamming shut, a cadet interrupted him. “Ehm… Captain?” The tremble in the kid’s voice indicated he sensed the environment was not conducive to another demand. “Commander Hange needs a signature?” 

“Fuck off!” 

I must admit. I cried like a baby writing the dinner scene. I'm a sensible soul. If nobody felt bad this chapter, its ok… I'll just throw myself from the top of the walls lol. Here! A joke to break the angst: "So… we lost another mom?" Armin asked as they were forced to wait for their higher ups. "Another?" Jean asked confused. "First time?" Eren asked back. I PROMISE. That next chapter their will be COMMUNICATION and fluff. I PROMISE.

Link to my masterlist and my other works if you feel like checking them out. Tags!: @nube55 @justkon @notgoodforlife @nmlkys @humanitys-strongest-bamf @quillinhand @thoreeo @darkstarlight82 @aomi04 @levisbrat25 @fxnnyackerman @secretmoneybearvoid @trashblackrainbow @l3visthighs @hannieslovebot @flxrartsstuff @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored @starrylevi @rithty @mariaace @ackrmntea @emilyyyy-08 @levisfavoriteteashop @katestrophes @katharinasdiaryy @ackermanswifee @levistealeaf @an-ever-angry-bi @youre-ackermine @searriously @blackdxggr @storiesofsung @abiatackerman @braunsbabe @moonchild-angel @galactict3a @lemonsupernova @hyuckwon-my-husbands @heyitsd1yaa @sydneyyuu @love-for-faeries-go-burrrr @mandaax @sugacor3 @r0ckst4rjk @vegetasgirl2799 @catiwinky @pinksaiyans @sparklykeylime Wanna join my tag list? Here!

[missmimii]

୨ৎ －𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐏, 𝐁𝐀𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐏 | 𝐌 + 𝐂－𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐎

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which the reader is needy, spoiled, and used to getting her way, she plays them both like a dream—until their patience starts to wear thin.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. 18+, Dom!Matt, Soft!dom!Chris, Fem!reader, Threesome, fingering, breeding kink, dry humping, oral, mentions of cock-warming, choking, gagging, praising, pet names, detailed sexual encounter, degradation, P in V, language, Dom/Sub dynamic, mentions of bruising or marking, ass grabbing, dirty talk.

𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈!

“Pay attention to me.” Y/n gasped out, her voice soft and needy as she grasped his knee with a shaky hand.

“I am.”

Matt insisted dryly, his eyes never straying away from his phone. His thumb rolled down the screen endlessly, making the girl whine. She wanted to snatch his phone away plop down in his lap－but she knew he was actually studying for an exam had the next day. It didn’t stop her from begging however. Despite wanting him to do well on the damn thing－she was spoiled, and wanted him.

Her head shook softly, a gentle whine emitting her lips as she grasped his larger hand that was resting on her bare hip. “No, more.” He just drawled out a hum, before scrolling to yet another note. “Touch me.”

“I am.”

“No.” She shook her head again, this time the whine edging onto her tone as she began to get frustrated. Was I spoiled? Maybe. Did I care? Not at all. She just wanted him to touch her－ He doesn’t understand. Matt let out a questioning hum and tilted his head up, meeting her gaze－just barely enough to show he was even listening. “Please.”

Her eyes flicked to his phone that rested in his free hand, faintly seeing the boys hand opening a new note. “What’s got you so upset, hm?” The girl’s eyes squinted on him, trying not to snap at him. “I want you to touch me.” She uttered, the sass in her tone apparent as ever as Matt rose a brow.

“Oh?” He drawled lowly, taking a small pause as he slowly read over something. He wasn’t even paying attention to me. “I thought you’d be content, I gave you my thigh to hump and you’re still complaining? You seemed to like it last time, hm?” She huffed, toes curling against the mattress as she sat back on his thigh, that he generously raised for her to grind on. “I do like it.” She mumbled, cheeks tinting a soft hue of pink.

“Then say ‘thank you’ and be quiet.”

The girl frowned gently, gripping his knee behind her as her hips slowly moved at their own accord. Her sensitive pussy grinding down onto the rough denim of his jeans, making her whimper. “..Thank you.” Matt just hummed, squeezing her hip in acknowledgment.

If it were any other situation she would’ve assumed that it was just foreplay－or his way of teasing her. But this time, his attention seemed to be solely on his never ending notes. Soft gasps and whines tumbled from her mouth, not even trying to hold in the slightest of noises from him. He wasn’t necessarily doing a bad job, giving her just enough attention to not make a big fuss－but not nearly enough to where she kept quiet.

Matt’s palm ran up and down her side, a constant reminder that he knew she was there, making her heart flutter－and her soaked cunt ache. Wetness dripped onto his hard thigh, the denim darkening underneath her sopping bundle of nerves as she rolled her hips forward, panting.

She should’ve waited－she knew that. When he’d told her that he had to study for his finals exam her entire face fell, making him chuckle. They’d been busy all day, running around with the other two brothers, filming, and anything else you could name. And when they finally got home, slipping her pink camisole off her shoulders, and her lacey little skirt down her thighs－all she wanted was for the boy to touch her. She was starved of his touch.

He told her to wait. But she didn’t want to wait－so she didn’t, plopping herself down in his lap. Completely nude－demanding he gave her attention right then. Like the spoiled brat she was. “Are you almost done?” She said, whimpering as he slightly raised his thigh up into her pulsing cunt.

This was maybe the fourth time she’d asked? Making Matt’s eyes lift to hers. “I’ll tell you when I’m done, sweetheart.” Her lips pursed, suddenly finding the silence much more appealing. She couldn’t even find it in her to mumble out a response. Not when he looked at her like that.

The girls eyes batted, rolling back softly as she moaned. Her thighs clenched around his muscular one, grounding her pussy down onto the fabric as she felt the rough friction pressed against her clit. “－mmm.” Her lips parted, a soft yet sharp moan tearing from her mouth. Was she usually this expressive?

Eyes opening for a moment, they locked in on him. Matt’s tired blue eyes flicker in the dim light of his phone screen, the glow casting sharp shadows across his angular face. Black hair falls messily over his forehead, a contrast to the rough stubble that dusts his sharp jawline. His large, veined hand rests absentmindedly on her bare hip, his fingers adorned with rings that catch the light when he moves. The ink winding up his arm disappears beneath the fabric of his sleeve, a silent story etched into his skin. He scrolls, distracted, but there’s an effortless weight to his presence—a quiet intensity that lingers even in stillness.

She whined at the sight, wanting to nudge his phone away and beg for him to fuck her. No－he’s studying. She tried to remind herself sulkily, but it didn’t really work because he looked so fucking good. “Done?” She checked meekly, voice somewhat softer and timid since it’d been mere minutes since he’d told her to be quiet.

Matt’s hand was a steady weight on her hip, completely still as it served as a reminder that he was giving her at least a tiny bit of attention. He squeezed, cold rings pressing into her skin. “What did I just tell you?” She whimpered, heart skipping a beat as she realized her slip-up.

“..To be quiet.”

“And?”

“..You’ll tell me when you’re done.”

Matt hummed. “Mhm, so why are you talking?” His tone was curious, as if he was genuinely interested as to why she even thought about opening her mouth. “Sorry.” She mumbled a soft apology, feeling scolded as he squeezed her hip again. “It’s okay, little girls can be a bit forgetful.” Matt flicked his gaze to her, watching as her hips began to move faster as he spoke. How cute. “Let’s try a little harder this time.” Her toes curled again, swooned by his soft yet condescending tone. He looked back down at his notes, like she wasn’t even worth looking at.

A needy whimper spilled from her lips as her eyes fluttered shut, her hips rolling forward in a slow, desperate motion. Her cunt, raw and dripping, sending a steady pulse thrumming through her entire body—like she had a heartbeat everywhere. “Mmm.”Another soft whine. Her hand drifted over her stomach, tracing the path she wished was his, fingertips ghosting just above where she needed him most. She froze there, trembling, resisting the urge to break. I have to be good.

Her breath came uneven, chest rising and falling in shallow, aching gasps. The restraint burned almost as much as the heat pooling between her thighs, the weight of it pressing down on her, making every second stretch unbearably long. Her fingers twitched against her skin, aching to slip lower, to chase relief—but she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

Instead, she squeezed her thighs together, a futile attempt to ease the throbbing need. It only made it worse. A frustrated whimper left her, high and breathy, her body betraying her resolve as his thigh was the barrier between her aching pussy, the friction making her sob out. She imagined his touch instead—his large, veined hands gripping her waist, the cool press of his rings against her burning skin. He’d know exactly what to do, exactly how to unravel her, how to make her beg even when she was already falling apart.

She needed it.

The thought alone sent a shiver down her spine, a fresh wave of heat rolling through her. Her nails dug into her stomach, a last-ditch effort to ground herself. I have to be good. But God, she was losing.

Reaching the end of one of his notes of too many, Matt lifted his head to give the girl a look. This somewhat startled the girl, causing her hips to stutter as she whimpered. He tutted through his teeth－looking unamused. His hand guided her hips forward again, helping her pick up the rhythm as she dripped more onto his thigh. “You’re being good.” He commented offhandedly, like he didn’t expect her to.

Whatever.

He tilted his head slowly, watching her with a lazy kind of amusement, like he had all the time in the world. The movement was subtle, almost nothing— “Do you want a treat?” His grip on her hips tightened just slightly, the pressure enough to remind her who was in control. “If you ask like a good girl, I’ll give you one.” God.

His voice was low when he spoke, rich and edged with something dangerously smooth. The question rolled off his tongue like he already knew the answer, like he enjoyed dragging it out just to watch her squirm. His thumb traced slow, absentminded circles against her burning skin.

“Please.” She didn’t hesitate to beg, heat pooling in her stomach as fresh wave of arousal tightened low between her hips. He made it sound so easy, so simple—just ask. But the way he was watching her, the slow, deliberate weight of his gaze, told her it wouldn’t be.

His hand dipped between her thighs, fingers pressing firmly into the soft flesh, just enough to make her breath hitch. Then, he squeezed—deliberate, commanding. The pressure sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between her legs, soaking into the fabric of his pants. He felt it. She knew he did. “I said,” he muttered, dragging his fingers along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. “use your manners, and ask like a good girl.”

She whimpered, lips parting in a quiet pout, frustration flickering in her eyes. Her body trembled with need, every muscle tight, wound up from the unbearable teasing. But she knew better than to keep him waiting. Knew better than to test his patience when he was already looking at her like that—like he was enjoying dragging this out just to watch her fall apart. “Can I please have a treat, sir?” Her voice came out soft, almost fragile, but the plea in it was unmistakable.

Matt looked at her for a moment before his eyes squinted with a smile, the predatory gaze in his eyes making her shudder. “Of course.” Heat pooled low in her stomach, almost unbearable as he gently pressed his middle and ring fingers against the wet, soft skin of her pussy. “Ah－” she whimpered, lips parting in a silent gasp as she pressed on against his thigh harder.

“Does that feel good, hm?” Her stomach tensed as he circled the tips of his fingers around her aching bundle of nerves, making the area raw and drip, the movement of his fingers almost lazy－yet so skilled. “Uh huh,” she bobbed her head breathlessly, whining as she rolled her hips forward to meet the friction of his hand. It felt so good－and god, was she happy she didn’t touch herself.

Matt let out a soft, pleased hum while slowly dipping the ends of his lengthy digits in her tight little hole. “This is your treat, you can use it however you please.” His fingers slowed as he picked up his phone with his other hand once again. “You can cum if you want but I’m fucking you when I’m done. Whether you’re sensitive or not.” And he knows I will be.

She whined at his words, feeling her gut flutter and clench. His fingers were unmoving, still pressed to her opening as he allowed her to do as she pleased. She made a small sound as he pressed his middle finger down onto her clit. “What do you say?” Oh.

“Thank you sir.”

Matt hummed. “Good baby.” The man praised, eyes closed in on his phone screen. The praise made her moan－shifting on his thigh as she adjusted her hips to her liking. Because it was her treat. “Mmm－mmm.” Using her hand to grasp his knee from behind, giving her balance as she rolled her hips into his fingers－whilst simultaneously grounding her hips onto the rough denim of his thigh.

She wasn’t sure if she’d even be able to hold back an orgasm－or if she even wanted to. But what she did know is that sensitive or not, he’d fuck her. Matt liked to fuck with her often－overstimulation one of his favourite tactics. He’d pull her into his lap and fuck his fingers into her for a good hour, rubbing into her walls even after she came for the third time.

She whine, cry, scratch－ beg him to stop, even as she dripped all over his hand, clenching around his fingers oh so tightly. “Shit－please.” A whiny moan drew from her lips, nails digging into his thigh as she felt his fingers press against the wet skin. More. She wanted him to fuck her－but this felt so good.

The girl’s head tipped back as she moaned again, breathy and high pitched－making her desperation evident. Matt was hard, she could feel it against her knee. Fuck, she wanted nothing more than to grind against his clothed cock, rub against him till he couldn’t take it anymore and undid his belt－flipping her over and fucking some sense into.

Her mind began to haze over, unable to think about any other than how good it felt. The girl’s eyes ran over every part of him, his hands, his jaw－wanting to sink her teeth into his skin, leave marks that would last for days. Matt’s neck was already littered with small bruises and marks, the boy uncaring about who could see them, which make her heart flutter.

I wanted to mark him. “Mmm.” Strings of whines emitted her lips as she rolled her hips into his hand, the tips of his fingers gently－lazily nudging her opening. I want people to know he’s mine. It was an overwhelming urge to show people who he belonged to－something primal.

Her breaths picked up as she moved her hips, becoming more needy and breathy as she stared at him with a star-struck gaze. He’s so beautiful. The thought of others seeing him made her heart plummet to her gut, a drawled out whine eliciting her lips.

Why do they get to look at what’s mine?

She tried to remind herself that Matt knew. He knows he’s yours－but it didn’t feel like enough. Others don’t know. With a frustrated whine, she reached down and pushed his hand out of his lap, where his phone was resting. Sitting up, she fully placed herself in his lap, a soft moan of content tumbling from her pursed lips.

Matt didn’t say anything as she adjusted herself on his lap, making herself comfortable as she pressed down onto the bulge in his jeans with a whimper. He just watched, leaned back against the head board with a calculated look in his eyes, waiting till she found the perfect spot before speaking. “You done?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, nodding as she leaned down. “Mhm.”

He didn’t bother touching her again, seeing as she could easily grind against the tent in his jeans. Instead, he opted to wrap his arms around her waist, looking at his phone that hovered behind her back. If her mind wasn’t so clouded with lust and need, she would’ve questioned why he hadn’t scolded her. But it was, so she didn’t.

She moaned while starting to rock back and forth against his clothed cock, the ridge just slightly dipping between her lips, nudging her sensitive clit－her perky tits pressing into his defined chest. “Fuck.” She whimpered, dipping her head into his neck－licking as stripe up his pulse.

Matt shuddered underneath her body, offering a small squeeze to her hip of acknowledgment. Teeth nipping at his skin gently, sucking－licking, biting. Anything she could do to leave visible marks. He didn’t make a move to stop her－or to let on that he disliked it, so with a moan she bit down. Now they’ll know he’s mine.

Only a moment later she stiffened. But they’re gonna fade in just a day or two. “No－no－” she mindlessly babbled, whining needily as she rutted her sopping cunt against his length. It’s not fair, she mentally whined－letting out a soft noise of displeasure as she grounded her hips onto his cock.

Her nose turned into his neck, inhaling with a shaky breath. “Mine?” Matt hummed softly, lifting his hips a bit.

“Hm?”

“You’re mine?”

Matt hummed once again, understanding her. “Yeah, I’m yours baby.” His lack of hesitation made her heart slow down, her body falling a bit. “You’re mine?” He mumbled, eyes flicking from his phone to her.

She nodded quickly, babbling incoherent whines as she dug her finger tips into his hard shoulders. “Mhm, m’yours.”Matt nodded so gently, running his large hand up and down the span of her back comfortingly. “Then calm down, you’re getting yourself all worked up, sweetheart.”

“Cause,” she panted, feeling her abdomen tighten. “－you’re mine.”

Matt chuckled softly, patting her back. “I know I’m yours, so calm down.” His voice low and stern, soothing her as he set his phone aside. She began to panic for a moment, feeling his strong hands guiding her off of him－but just as she opened her mouth to complain, “No－” he gripped her hips, leaning us forward as her back fell against the mattress with a soft hmph.

Matt’s rough yet gentle hands ran up her thighs, spreading them as he kneeled between the gap. “Why’re you getting so upset, hm?” Using one tattooed hand to undo the buckle of his belt, her eyes lowered with a small－silent moan, seeing him take his leaking cock out. He was already rock hard, pre-cum pearling at the tip.

One hand pressed down onto the left side of her hip, the other already moving to grip the underside of her thigh. Her mouth fell open, a sharp moan tearing from her throat as he gave her no warning－just pressing his tip to her tight hole, and pushing in. No sounds could leave her mouth, pure and utter shock filled to her core.

Fuck.

“Mm, keep em’ down,” His rough hands pressing her hips down as they rose off the bed, immediately fucking into her with zero mercy. He gave her no time to adjust or prepare－to his well endowed state, her words were trapped in her throat, unable to form anything as she was so stretched and filled.

Eyes looking down at Matt’s large length fucking into her hard, still in utter disbelief that he slid into her with no warning. “Fuck!” Heaving out a sharp moan finally, her head fell back into the pillows whilst her back arched. Her eyes rolling back with a choked mewl as she felt him bury his cock into her to the hilt, the tip of his length kissing her cervix in a bruising thrust.

Matt’s hands, adorned with heavy silver rings, gripped her waist with a bruising force－the cool metal biting into her skin. Grunting, “You calm now?” He gritted, inked fingers flexed as she writhed beneath him, not letting her scramble away as he used her like a toy. The tattoos curling up his forearm stark against his pale skin, she tried her best to manage a nod, barely managing the breathless “Uh-huh.” She emitted.

Dark strands of hair fell messily over his eyebrows, damp with dewy sweat as his face shadowed the sharp angles of his jawline. A deep grunt tumbled from his chest as he caught his bottom lip between his teeth, drilling into her mercilessly. It was so fucking deep－she swore she could feel him in her throat.

His pelvis grazed her ass as he rammed into her, dragging his thick, veiny length along her tight walls－feeling almost suffocated in her sopping cunt as they clenched around him. “Mmm－mm.” Whines and babbles tumbling from her pouty lips. Matt hummed in satisfaction, feeling his lips twitch into something smug.

Fuck her dumb.

Her stomach knotted as she thought about him cumming in her, he’d mark her. Matt groaned, leaning forward－the chain woven around his neck swaying gently. “Fuckin’ pitiful.” Her neck arched as she threw her head back further, a breathless whine escaping her aching lungs as tears drew. It feels so good.

When her hips kept trying to lift from the bed Matt got fed up, leaning down and hooking one of her legs over his shoulders while driving his cock into her even deeper. “M－Matt,” she whimpered, clawing at his back. His jaw tightened as he only picked up his pace, unrelenting. His muscles tensed, tattoos shifting with every sharp thrust－ring clad fingers digging into her thigh, branding her beneath his touch.

Her mouth opened with a gasp as he began to drill into her over and over, hitting that sweet spot in her that made her entire body jerk every single time. “S’so good－fuck!” She sobbed out, Matt’s hand gripping her thigh to keep her still－fucking her as he pleased. He’s so deep, it’s so deep－

She clenched around his girthy cock hard, so close to cumming that even if he’d just touch her clit. Whining desperately as he spread her open beneath him. His rings glinted under the dim light, catching the flicker of movement as his hands worked over her body with practiced control. Inked skin flexed as he dragged her closer, his blue eyes dark and hooded, drinking in the way she trembled beneath him.

Matt tried to keep his whimpers and grunts to a minimum, but fuck, did it feel good. His cock was so warm－and hugged. her cunt sucking him in like they were meant for each other. “Shit.” He whimpered. Her nails clawed at his forearms, tracing the inked patterns there, but he didn’t falter. No hesitation. Just raw control.

Suddenly her heart plummeted to her gut, panicking as he started to pull out. “No－no－put it back, it’s mine－” Matt grunted, gripping her thigh and rolling her over.

“Hush.” His rings dug into her skin as he held her in place, thumbs pressing into her hips like he was marking her as he pulled her flush against him－sliding back into her with a groan. “See?” He breathed out.

The scent of sex and sweat clung to him, wrapping around her senses as he caged her against the mattress. “All that whining for what? I told you I was gonna fuck you, didn’t I? Did you think I was lying?” His dark hair was a mess, strands sticking to his forehead, but those icy blue eyes never lost focus. They burned into her body as she struggled to stay upright, trembling as cum and arousal drenched her inner thighs.

Drool leaked onto the mattress as she parted her lips, fisting the sheets as he fucked into her from behind. “Thank you－thank you.” Her toes curled, whimpering loudly as her hips ached.

“Mhm.” He interrupted her babbling, thrusting into her deeply.

The girl was aching－everywhere. Sweat and cum clung to her skin like a second skin, and her hips burned. It didn’t matter when or where he fucked her, this position hurt. Anytime he’d fuck her doggy she could feel him in the deepest way possible, filling her with every damn inch he packed.

Matt pressed a hand onto her back and pushed her down when she kept attempting to sit up. “Just stay down.” He chuckled, sounding mean. She whined at his tone, struggling to not let her arms give out. It hurt. With every thrust she could feel herself being split open, her snug walls raw and igniting with a pleasurable fire that shot through her core.

By the end her face was pressed into the sheets, nipples dragging across the cover as he held her hips up, fucking into her as he pleased. “A－ah!” Matt grunted, biting on his bottom lip at the view. He watched as her tight pussy gripped his cock, tightening around his length every time as he pulled out－seeming as if she didn’t want him to, despite her small sobs.

“Oh.” She heard him mutter offhandedly, a small hint of amusement in his breathy tone. “Did you hear that, doll? I think Chris is home.” A moan tore from her throat as he squeezed her hip, brain still fuzzy from being fucked so dumb. Chris. “Let’s show him how cute you’re being, yeah? You know how he gets when you’re like this.” He’s gonna scold me.

She moaned incoherent as he slammed into her, drool dampening the white blanket underneath as she felt her body buzz. He was so big－s’so good－she whimpered into the mattress as Matt ran his palm up her right ass cheek, groping the skin roughly. She knew she was in for it now.

It took a few minutes for Chris to actually enter the room－the door creaking open slowly and deliberately. The girl barely had time to register the sound before a familiar voice－smooth, and a little amused－broke through the thick air. “Well, isn’t this a pretty sight?” He stood in the doorway for a moment, leaning against the frame as his eyes flicked between her and his brother.

Matt grunted as he pulled her cunt back onto his cock while fucking into her, her moans drowning out into the soft bed. “Took your time.” He murmured, his voice flat and unimpressed. Chris hummed, leaning off the wall as he stalked toward the bed. “Sounds like you’re complaining, did you not have your fun?” Matt just scoffed, hearing her soft cry as his palm made contact with her ass.

“Mm－hmm.”

They always did this. Dragged on a casual conversation while one of them fucked her－and it made her feral. It was like she wasn’t even good enough to acknowledge, let alone include. “－and you guys finished?” Matt gritted out, a rough hand sliding down her back, inward－curling around stomach, before his two fingers began to swirl around her clit furiously－making her scream out.

“Yes－because apparently someone had to study.”

Matt just shook his head while chuckling, breathless as he felt her walls squeeze around him at Chris’s statement. “Oh, I was.” Y/n shuddered, her gut fluttering as she suddenly felt two hot－daggering gazes on her. Chris felt the corner of his mouth lift into something that wasn’t quite a smile－seeing as her thighs trembled. “Yeah?” He tossed his phone onto the bed, tipping his head over at the mess of a girl. “What’d you do to her?”

Matt scoffed. “What makes you think I did something?” He muttered, tightening his hands around her hips while pulling out slowly－making her whine. “She wanted this.” Matt patted her hip with a small ‘hm?’ The girl felt her body tremble as Chris rounded the bed, whimpering as he placed his large hand on the edge of the bed. “Oh?” Kneeling down in front of her, he met her eyes. Or tried to. “Is that true baby?”

Her eyes were hazy and unfocused－blinking over and over to try to form a coherent response, but failed embarrassingly. Matt patted her hip. “She’s a little out of it right now, so she’s not really making much sense. hm?” A moan tore from her lips as he slammed into her, jerking her body as she felt his cock twitch inside of her cunt.

Chris lowered his eyes back onto her, watching as her body trembled and fought to stay up as Matt fucked her with zero mercy. He watched as drool pooled onto the mattress, her expression so dumb－so pitiful. “You’re fucking her pretty hard.” He muttered, running a hand across his jaw as his lips twitched in amusement.

Matt grunted, feeling her walls clenching around his cock. “That’s kinda the point.” Again. Matt groaned as his cock was being suctioned around the girl’s wet cunt－not letting up as he slid out. “Fuck－you’re suffocating me here, baby.” Throwing his head back with a pained whimper as she pushed her ass back onto him.

“Can’t help it.” She whined.

Chris hummed, feeling the girl shiver under his touched as he ran a hand over her lower back. “You just gotta－be a little nicer, Matt.” Matt and Chris met eyes, the elder brother catching the teasing glint in the younger one’s eyes. Sadist. Matt huffed out a sound of amusement, nodding a bit. “Yeah?” Gripping her hips tighter, he took his advice.

Nicer.

A abrupt moan－overlapping a shriek bubbled from her throat as Matt picked up pace, pounding into her ruthlessly－the tip of his aching cock slamming against her cervix in a painful thrust. “F－fuck!” She sobbed, fisting the sheets as he never let up.

Chris chuckled softly after the small exchange, walking back over to the mess of a girl－kneeling back down in front of her. He continued to just watch her, silently. Eyes roaming her face and body as her cunt got abused, dumb moans and whines emitting her raw lips. “He’s being mean, huh?” Looking unaffected－just smug and bored.

The girl wanted to sob－already knowing what they were doing. They’d tease her, play with her－a good game of good cop, bad cop, until she was on the brink of falling apart. And it was a game she never won. Chris waited patiently for her answer, seeing her physically trying to piece the words together.

“Mean?” Matt drawled while rolling his hips into her. “She begged for this, you should’ve fuckin’ heard her.” He uttered, teeth gritting together as he replayed the scene in head. “Even after I let her grind against my thigh －She threw a fit until I fucked her.”

Chris cooed while reaching out to run a hand down her hair, making her lean into him with a whimper. “Such a pathetic little thing －of course she’s gonna beg to be fucked.” A small sob bubbled from her lips－eyes fluttering as he continued to run his long fingers through her hair. “He’s being mean, I know.” His soothing voice making her feel secure, but she knew it was all apart of his game.

He looked like Matt in some ways—same sharp jawline, same deep-set eyes—but where Matt carried a brooding edge, Chris was deceptive in his softness. The way his baggy jeans hung low on his hips, the simple black tee stretched over his broad shoulders, the way the silver rings on his fingers glinted under the low light—it all played into the illusion. Like he was the gentler one. The sweeter one.

But she knew better.

“It’s because you spoil her that she’s like this.” Chris mumbled gently to Matt, yet his eyes never faltered from hers. The corners of his lips twitching as his brother snapped his hips forward －making her cry out. Who was really the meaner one? Matt was the one doing it－but Chris was enjoying seeing her struggle.

“Mm? Are you saying I shouldn’t fuck her?”

Chris playfully jutted his bottom lip out, wiping away a stray tear from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t say that,” it’s so much. “She begged so nicely, didn’t she?” Matt hummed, making Chris huff out a small sound of acknowledgment. “of course you should fuck her .. but,” dropping his hand next to her head, the girl whining at the loss of his touch. “You let her cum every time. She just expects now, huh?”

Her nose crinkled as she felt her gut clench, knowing she’d cum any second now－whether she had permission from them or not. She moaned breathily, trying to nudge her head back into Chris’s hand－making his lips twitch up, before he began to pet her head again. “We have to say no sometimes, hm?” He looked at his little girl, her wide eyes so innocent－and unaware. “If we let her cum every time, she’ll expect it.”

All of a sudden his words sat in, small rushed whines blowing from her lips as she pushed her head into his thigh. “No－no, please－” she sobbed out, whimpering as Matt swatted her ass. “See? She thinks begging can get her her way every time.” Chris hushed her softly, tutting while running his fingers through her hair. “Don’t cry－you can cum this time baby.” Grunting as he felt her nails dig into his pant leg－he knew he was being an ass.

It was so easy to when she was this worked up. “It’d be mean of me to say no, wouldn’t it?” He’s so deep. Matt watched the interaction between the two with a hooded gaze, cursing as he felt himself at the brink of cumming into her hot－soaked, cunt.

He puffed out a sound of amusement. “And you called me mean.” I’m gonna cum. The sound of skin slapping together echoed in the air, along with the desperate moans muffled into the mattress from the girl.

“Please.”

Chris rolled his gaze down to her, a lazy smirk on his lips. “I don’t think she even knows what she’s begging for Matt.” Matt hummed, hearing her sopping walls squelch around his length－the more he fucked into her the more her thighs began to twitch in sensitivity. “Doesn’t she sound so cute when she begs though?” He teased, pressing a hand on her back as Chris began to undo his belt.

“Hm.” Chris hummed, pushing himself up, the mattress dipping slightly as he sat on the edge. His fingers moved with deliberate slowness to his belt, the subtle clink of metal breaking the quiet. She stilled－her fingers curled into the sheets, and she turned her head just enough to glance back at him. Her lips parted slightly, breath hitching as she took in the sight of him: the way his hands moved with purpose, the way his jaw tightened in quiet restraint. “Ah,” Chris murmured, dragging his thumb along the outline of her bottom lip.

“Open up baby.”

She swallowed, her pulse a steady drum against her ribs. “Chris…” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper, but thick with expectation. Matt chuckled at the girl’s body’s reaction as Chris pulled his hard length from his jeans－tipping her chin up with his free hand. “Stick your tongue out－no－don’t talk. Just listen to my words－” Matt drowned out the interaction between them－too close to his own release to focus on anything but.

Fuck. He whined to himself. She was so warm, and wet－so fucking wet. Even as he stretched her with his cock he could still feel how tight she was, the way her walls tightened and released around his length over and over. Her whines－her moans－her everything. It all brought him closer to her milking him of everything his cock had.

“Good girl－fuck.” Matt was broke out of his own head at the sound of a thick, choking sound followed by a sharp gasp for air. “Thasssss’ a good baby.” Tears were brimming at her eyes as Chris pushed her head down－drool dripping down her chin as she swallowed around his cock.

She heaved and choked－gagging around his thick cock, tears dripping as her body kept jerking forward when Matt slammed into her. “F－fuck,” his moans became more whiny, thrusts sloppier－at the edge of his release. “M’gonna cum－fuck, baby, you’re gonna make me cum.” Matt whimpered, pulling her pussy back on his cock with one final thrust, before he was releasing ropes upon ropes of his cum into her hot cunt.

Her walls tightened around him whilst her gut clenched－gagging around his brothers length as she moaned. Her orgasm hit her like a brick－ the girl’s entire body trembled as she soaked his aching cock with her release. “Ah!－m’sorry－I’m sorry!” She sobbed out, as her thighs shook.

Chris lifted her head with his hand, tutting as his tip rested against her chin. “Shhh－it’s okay. You’re okay.” He ran his thumb over her chin, her lips－smearing both her drool and pre-cum across her pouted mouth.

“Stick your tongue out for me, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice low, coaxing.

Her breath caught, but she obeyed, parting her lips and letting her tongue peek out just enough to tempt him. A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he lifted a hand, his large fingers tilting her chin up before his thumb traced along the plush curve of her bottom lip. “Mmm－isn’t she a good girl, Matt?” His touch was slow, deliberate, the pad of his thumb dragging gently across her tongue. The sensation sent a shiver down her spine—soft yet firm, teasing, completely in control.

“A veeery－good fuckin’ girl.” He grunted, a whimpering mewl eliciting her lips as Matt rocked his hips forward a few times. “A good girl who’s gonna take every fucking drop of my cum.” His cock fucked both his and her’s cum into her dripping hole, a wet slapping around hitting their ears.

“Yes.” She moaned at his words－wanting nothing more than to be filled by his release, his cock to stay put inside of her as she succumbed to her exhaustion.

Chris lingered, pressing his thumb down just slightly before pulling away, his eyes never leaving hers. “You like that?” he murmured, the mockery slipping effortlessly from his lips. But there was something knowing in his smirk—like he was already thinking about what else he could make her do.

The room was thick with heat, the weight of their attention pressing down on her like a force of gravity. Matt’s large hands skimmed down her sides, slow and deliberate, while his grip remained firm, grounding her between them. It was too much—too overwhelming, too intoxicating—and yet she didn’t want it to end.

But they had other plans.

Chris hummed, his fingers brushing over her pulse point, feeling the rapid flutter beneath his touch. “You did so good for us, sweetheart,” he murmured, the praise melting into her skin. “But I think that’s enough for now.” Watching as her chest heaved, her skin dewy and pink from being so worked up.

Matt, still behind her, exhaled a quiet chuckle, his hand giving her thigh one last squeeze before he leaned back, looking entirely satisfied. “You’ll take what we give you,” he said, his voice a low, steady command. “And you’ll wait until we say you can have more.”

Her breath stuttered, her entire body still trembling, but she knew better than to argue.

Chris smirked, leaning in just enough that his lips ghosted over her ear. “We’ll be nice and let you rest,” he whispered, voice dripping with amusement.

“For now.”

୨ৎ－ @fratbrochrisgf @jetaimevous @sturniolosarethebest @stonermattsgf @st7rnioioss @endereies @mqttittude @conspiracy-ash @bamsblooming @thecrawlys @whore4mattsturniolo @sturniolo-szn2 @amayaaaho @sturns-mermaid @loser4lifeeee @leoslaboratory @sturnsxbitvh @delilahsturniolo @baebadoobee4ever @tezzzzzzzz @courta13 @watercolorskyy @surprisecurlyfriesbackup @matts-247 @mi-co-uk @sturniolosluttt

[bluecollarmcandtf]

The Best Volunteers are... Disgruntled Daddies...

This fine specimen here is exactly what I'd call my "guilty pleasure." The kind of man who'd rather be sipping a beer than sitting through my stupid little hypnosis show. The blatant disregard for my profession is written all across his stoney scowl. The only time he's met my gaze is to roll his eyes and frown.

"Let's get this over with," he huffed as his wife shoved him up and out of his seat.

"Get up there, Steve!" she giggled excitedly, "Dr. Dormand chose you!"

I flashed the woman a mischievous smile, making her bubble up with even more excitement as the couple's two young boys stared back in awe. Their father figure shuffled up to his seat on the stage, and slumped down in the chair, spreading his legs and sighing as if all of my showmanship were beneath a man like him.

"So, Steve, is it?" I ask, rounding the man, walking with my usual performative flourishes.

"Yes," he grunts.

"You don't seem to eager to be up here?" I hiss, "Is it possible you are nervous?"

"Nope."

A few chuckles sound in the crowd. I'm sure they're all thinking that there is no chance in hell of hypnotizing a man as stubborn as this.

"You have a lovely family, Steve," I smile brightly and step behind the man, planting my palms on his shoulders, "What brings y'all out here tonight."

"Vacation," he grumbles, sneering at my hands on his body before continuing, "My wife thought a hypnosis show would be fun."

He says it as if I'm already proving her wrong.

"Thanks, Steve...LADIES and GENTLEMEN!" I announce, addressing the whole room, "What if I told you that Steve here has already fallen under my control? He just doesn't know it yet."

There are a few gasps in the crowd, but mostly scoffing. Steve just shakes his head.

"MY EYES..." I say, rounding the chair to peer directly into the man's gaze, "...do all the work for me. You can't stop staring can you?"

Steve doesn't answer, but his brow furrows and his lips tighten as he tries to look away, to look anywhere aside from my stare. He's realizing he can't.

"...HOT!" I continue, "This room is so hot, Steve. I don't know how a big guy like you can bare it in that suffocating Hawaiian shirt and cargo shorts. You must be itching to pull them off, to finally feel some relief!" I lean in, wrapping an arm around the increasingly docile hunk of a father. "You know, nobody here would judge you if you did take them off. In fact, we'd all be happy for you to be comfortable, Steve!"

I break eye contact with the man; his eager eyes reluctantly pulling away from my own like he already misses them. My arms raise at the crowd dramatically, garnering some cheering for Steve, who now has a dazed look on his face as he sits in the chair, deciding what to do. I already know what he'll decide. He just needs a few seconds to relent and five in to my suggestions.

With a deep exhale, a grin of relief washes over his face. The childish glee seems unnatural on him, though I suppose that's just because I've only ever known Steve to scowl and frown.

"Well, ladies and gentlemen," I purr in triumph, "It looks like this one is ready to comply!"

Steve hastily drags his tacky Hawaiian shirt off his shoulders, tearing it down and off his arms. His cargo shorts are next, as he jumps up and fumbles over his belt buckle, before dropping them to the floor. Just like that, I've got this daddy standing in front of dozens of audience members in his pristine white undergarments.

"Oh, that's better..." he sighs in relief, stepping out of his shorts, "...it's so hot in here."

"Yes, Steve, this room is BOILING HOT!" I quip back with a quick wink at the audience.

Amid the cackling voices of the crowd, I clock the man's wife doubling over in laughter as their two sons squeal in delight. She tries to stifle her amusement enough to get a photo with her phone. I bet they've never seen their daddy outside in his underwear, and some permanent evidence of the event would be great to pull out at any future family events.

"Jesus..." Steve mutters, pulling at his undershirt, "It's still boiling in this place."

"I'm sure you're SWEATING BUCKETS, Steve, but you can't take anything else off," I pat him on the back, already feeling a thin layer of moisture, "It's not that kind of show, folks."

The crowd laughs at my innuendo and my volunteer chuckles awkwardly. I think the guy might even be blushing.

"No need to be nervous, Steve," I say, rubbing lower and lower on his back, "You know why?"

The dazed father of two looks back at me with genuine interest, asking, "Why?"

"Because you're HYPNOTIZED, of course!" I cry joyously, "I could tell you to do ANYTHING, and obeying wouldn't bother you one bit!"

"It wouldn't..." he tells me, saying it more like a statement than a question. His empty brown eyes find my gaze again. In just a few minutes he's become completely dependent on my stare. He's proving to be more programmable than most.

"KNEEL!" I command

He drops to the floor, almost falling on his face as he races to follow my instruction. His eyes never leave my own. At this point, the man is basically looking at me with total trust and adoration: he's like putty in my hands.

"Well, folks, you can't deny this! Can you?"

I look down at Steve as the crowd stares in awe. A man like this, kneeling on the ground like that, wearing nothing but his sweat soaked underwear; it's the kind of sight to give people ideas. This man might be a married father, but he's pretty built. He might not groom his body hair, or cut back on his growing beer belly, but he's a specimen the whole room can appreciate. Now that he's hypnotized and glossed up with sweat, he doesn't mind the wandering eyes.

The only eyes he cares about are my own.

"That's it, Steve," I say with the same tone as somebody praising their pet, "You're good at being HYPNOTIZED."

"Thank you," he articulates the phrase awkwardly, like all of his brainpower is being directed towards obedience, not silly things like words or thoughts.

"Don't forget my title," I say with a smirk to the audience, "I worked hard for that degree."

"Yes," he corrects himself, "Thank you, Dr. Dormand," with the same slow drawn out cadence of a brainless lackey.

I glance into the crowd. Most of them are still giggling. Steve's wife seems to have swapped photography for videotaping. I'm sure her husband would appreciate have his entire humiliation recorded his buddies to see. At her side, the two boys seem to have grown restless and disinterested, tugging on their mother's sleeve for attention. I do so hate when people bring children to my shows. Sure, this is a vacation spot for families, but I prefer my acts for a more mature crowd. Still, I'm not above some improvisation of my routine...

"Steve," I say, needlessly calling his attention when I've already captured it entirely.

"Yes, Dr. Dormand?"

"You're a WORM!"

I snap my fingers, ringing a loud crack through the auditorium that makes everyone jump. It also seems to break poor old Steve's mind, reducing it to truly believing he is a worm.

The crowd goes wild, the children scream in delight, and people stand up to get a better look as Steve writhes on the dirty stage floor. His arms and legs seem useless. For that matter, his face and basic senses seem so too, as he simply contracts and extends his thick hairy form, flopping himself across stage in a ridiculous fashion until his shirt is dragged off.

"Steve, the WORM!" I announce, gesturing towards the pathetic man with a dramatic flair.

My audience sees the ridiculous sight of a 30-something year-old acting ridiculous and applauds, but I see more. I notice the way the globes of his fleshy ass flex and then jiggle as his hips thrust the ground. His underwear, thank god it's still on, tightens around his crotch as he slams his package into the floor and drags it across the stage. He even leaves a trail as he moves, like some sort of human slug, soaking up the stage's dust and leaving his bodily moisture in his wake.

I need to move on before my own excited package becomes noticeable in my slacks.

"Steve!" I command back the attention of the human worm, bringing the room to silence.

"You're a DOG!" and I snap my fingers!

My sweaty little worm barely has a second to rest before his arms and legs come back to life, suddenly useful again, and he jumps up to his hands and knees. Steve's tongue rolls out of his mouth, panting since he still believes this room is boiling hot, and suddenly the man is bounding about like a massive 200lb puppy.

Once again, the crowd eats it up.

"Daddy's a dog!" one of his boys screams!

"Oh, he'll never believe this!" his wife snorts.

I let the crowd have their fun, entertaining any suggestion they have. Someone wants to see Steve act like a chicken. Another wants to see him leg an egg. Still more suggestions come in. I don't even have time for another volunteer with the audience's eagerness to exploit this man for their entertainment. I suppose there's something so universally indulgent in seeing a big serious guy like this, normally intimidating and standoffish, reduced to the whims and delights of a random crowd.

"Tell him to sniff his armpits!"

"Make him do the chicken dance!"

"Can he sing?"

"ALRIGHTY, folks!" I yell, calming the audience down, "I think we've had our fun with Steve."

I'm met with a few disappointed faces.

"The show is about to end, but I think we've proved here...tonight, that even the MOST strong-willed among us...are no match...for the hypnosis of Dr. Dormand!"

They erupt in applause, as Steve stands vacantly still and stupid behind me.

"Have a good night everyone," I smile and call, "Could I get Steve's family, up here?"

The audience begins filing out, giggling and chattering about the wild events of the night. From from the retreating crowd, Steve's wife, emerges with her two kids in tow.

"Oh, Dr. Dormand," she gushes, "That was just extraordinary. I know Steve, and that's how I know you're the real deal. My husband would never have done any of that!"

"I'm glad," I flash my brilliant smile, "Mrs...?

"Cunningham," she finishes, "And this is Bobby, and this is Joey."

She displays her two kids to me like they are prized possessions, but I don't think I've ever heard a more boring collection of names.

"Well, Mrs. Cunningham..." I purr, finding her eyes, "Steve deserves a nice REST. Right?"

Her head cocks to the side before answering, "Yes, yeah, he seems tired."

"Let Steve have a BREAK. Go enjoy your vacation ON YOUR OWN....FORGET HIM."

"Ok," she nods, with a plastered smile.

Mrs. Cunningham turns and guides the children out of the auditorium, leaving her nearly naked husband in and empty auditorium with the world's best hypnotist...

"Start marching, big boy!" I purr into his ear.

I can't help but reach out and grab at the muscle and weight hanging off his sweaty back. It ripples as his bare feet slap against the tiled floor and his sweat makes it glisten beneath the flourescent lights.

"Bet you haven't seen the service halls, Steve, being a vacationing tourist yourself," I speak, basically talking to no one, "My rooms back here. Much more private and...discreet "

"Yes, Dr. Dormand," he drones mindlessly.

"Don't call me that now," I snap, "Refer to me as...hmmm... What do I want to be called? Oh, how about, 'Master, Love of my Life, Owner of My Wallet, and Commander of my Body'! How does that sound?"

"It sounds fine, Master, Love of my Life, Owner of My Wallet, and Commander of my Body," his husky voice repeats it perfectly.

I almost cum hearing him call me that.

"Take a right up here," I instruct, "We're almost to my room, where you'll be spending the rest of your vacation as my plaything."

"Yes, Master, Love of my Life, Owner of My Wallet, and Commander of my Body."

We walk down the hallways further, taking rights and lefts. Sometimes I command him where to go and listen to him obey with complete devotion. Other times I just reach out and hand and grip his torso, pushing his heavy presence in my desired direction. It turns me on to feel how solid he is, how immovable, only to instantly relent and go where my hand guides him. It's almost like driving a car. For a second, I consider hopping on his back and steering him with tugs of his ear, like the fucking rat in that Disney movie.

"Almost there, Steve," I say, reassuring myself more than him as my hands wander down to his jiggling man-ass.

"Yes, Master, Love of my Life, Owner of My Wallet, and Commander of my Body."

"Alright," I groan, "Just call me sir, now."

"Yes, sir."

The simpler title still does wonders for my erection. I doubt this man ever uses that word, so it's delicious to hear him using it for me.

We pass a few workers as we dive deeper into the building's unseen core; a few of the restaurants busboys carrying out garbage, a couple housekeepers with bins of linens, even a manager or two. None of them batt an eye at the dazed man bounding by, glistening with sweat and exposed aside from his soaked white underwear. I've hypnotized them all too many times to count. They barely notice when I come down here anymore, accompanied by my brainwashed victims or not. In fact, they hardly notice that I've got the power to snap at any one of them to order a blowjob on the spot. Nothing like having any of the hotel staff's mouths at open and salivating at my convenience.

"Right through there," I push him towards my apartment door.

"Yes, sir," is all he says as he steps in.

I immediately push him into a small alcove of my room. It's supposed to be used as a closet, but I tend to park my hypnotized daddies in it.

"Ok, Steve," I take a step back, preparing myself, "I'm going to wake you up in a moment. You'll be out of your trance, back to your old self EXCEPT for some things..."

"Yes, sir," he drones numbly.

"...you'll know you can't leave. You shouldn't leave. SEX DADDIES don't leave there HYPNOTIST, and they don't want to. You understand that's what you are now, for the remainder of your vacation. You're my SEX DADDY, it's like a daddy version of a sex slave. You might not like gay sex, you might find me annoying, and strange, and prefer your wife, but it doesn't matter because, my good man, are a SEX DADDY for me."

"...sex daddy..." he quietly digests the term.

"Yes, and I am your HYPNOTIST, understand? You might not believe in hypnosis, you might believe I'm a fraud, and a lier, but you will obey me and everything I've commanded of you. You'll still treat me with the utmost respect, still calling me 'sir' and still taking orders."

It's quiet for a second.

"...my hypnotist..." his voice is barely audible.

I give his numb, unmoving face one last caress against his rough stubble, gazing into his simply overeager eyes before I snap.

"WAKE!"

His body twitches back to life, and his familiar scowl readjusts itself to his face. Steve's stone serious demeanor seems to fill his body again as his shoulders hunch over and his eagle eyes search his new surroundings.

"Where the hell am I, sir?" he grunts, "And where's my clothes!" his voice raises.

Goosebumps appear on his skin as he finally registers the true temperature of my chilly room. He's probably also feeling sore from all the flailing about he did as a worm.

"You don't need clothes."

"Oh, ok, sir," he nods, though looks a bit disappointed, "Because, I'm your Sex-Daddy?"

"BINGO!"

I thought I could get him to crack a smile, but he doesn't. Steve just grimaces at the thought.

"Let's get this over with," he huffs as he shuffles over to my bed, "Am I fucking you?"

"Oh no," I reply, and he sneers disappointedly.

"Get over here and start using me, Hypnotist," he sighs, pulling off his shorts and crawling on bed. His long flaccid cock flops out and swings with his equally heavy balls, "You only get me for the next five days. Then I'm going home with my family."

"So soon?"

He grunts as I climb on top of him, "Would love to leave sooner, sir, if it weren't for this whole Sex-Daddy thing."

"So you don't want to be used as a home for my cock?" I ask playfully.

"No," he scoffs, "But I'm your Sex-Daddy. I get it, sir. So use me how you want!".

"With pleasure," I moan in his ear.

I'd describe the hours of sex we had that round, how I increasingly used his body in more and more creative ways. He couldn't say no to anything, so it got kinky real fast. I'd explain it all, but your imagination is probably capturing it.

Steve would become increasingly disgusted and uncomfortable as I used him, but he continued to assure me that I had every right to his dad-bod. If that isn't consent, I don't know what is.

"Go kneel in the corner Steve, hands behind your head," I command, panting from the exertion. Receiving hours of one-sided sex can really drain the energy. "I want to see my Sex-Daddy on display when he's not used..."

"Yes, sir."

I chuckle and go to the closet to pull on some fresh clothes. Steve is still shivering.

"Still think Hypnosis is fake?"

"Are you kidding, sir," he rolls his eyes, "I know it's your whole thing and all, but it's literally the stupidest thing anyone could believe in. Don't tell my wife I said that though."

"Don't worry, Steve, I won't."

I flick the lights off and head out of my room, buttoning up my shirt. My hypnotized Daddy will have to get used to kneeling in the dark. I have another show to host, and who knows? Maybe I'll find another disgruntled dad to share the load with Steve...

[waifuoftomonori]

Love a chart I can stick the Kifu gang in

I don’t know why it keeps blurring the handwriting. I did make a few tweaks and I’m not sure I did certain parts the way they were intended, but it was still a lot of fun. (Eventually I’ll probably come back to it and clarify the blurry writing.)

Also, there wasn’t room for Shiki’s chibi because the only pics I have of her are horizontal, so here you go:

Some caveats / clarification things:

SWD stands for “Shall We Date?” but I didn’t want to write it out because I already knew it’d be a squeeze trying to fit the English name of the app and the Japanese name for the game.

The column labeled “How to make them blush” at the bottom is written from the perspective of the person whose color is being used, about the character indicated over on the left-hand side. For example, Tomonori’s method of making Shiki blush is via surprise “punishments”.

The other two columns, however, are from the perspective of the character labeled on the left-hand side, about the character whose color is being used. For example, Shiki’s ideal hangout with Akifusa is participating in some ultimately pointless competition that does not involve sword training, whereas Akifusa loves sparring with her. Sorry if that’s confusing to anyone.

I was sorely tempted to put Dominant as Tomonori’s one-word description (it informs his outlook on life, not just his preferred role in kinky stuff) but opted against it at the last second. Just know that it was in the running. (And part of why I opted for “Princess” for Shiki maaaay have to do with my headcanon of her as a brat, not just her official title.)

”Inh. ritual” is short for “Inheritance Ritual”— the one Shiki had to go through when she was seven that involved killing her mother to keep the Sword sealed. She still remained friends with Tomonori and Akifusa after that, but she didn’t feel like she could tell either of them the full truth of what was going on. Her relationship with Tomonori declined at a slower rate than Akifusa’s because Tomonori had a better view of the situation (crap, I should’ve marked when he turned ten and started supervising the monthly rituals— although to be honest he never really opened up to Shiki about his feelings entirely, so maybe it would’ve continued declining at the same rate).

Shiki and Akifusa’s relationship decreases slightly in my headcanon when Aki and Tomo start hooking up, along with Shiki and Tomonori’s relationship, because she’s not spending as much time with either of them for a while, and there’s jealousy and stuff to sort out. They do eventually sort it out, though.

Why did I circle “giving” but then not do the Love Languages thing? Well, I initially had the idea of doing it, but when I actually thought about it, all of the “different” languages seem like gestures the Kifu gang would appreciate from each other. To be honest I’ve never really understood why some people swear by “love languages” anyway. But moving on—

I don’t ship Shiki and Akifusa when they’re alone. When Tomonori’s in the picture, though, I ship all three of them, and I do believe that’s different from shipping only Tomonori with Shiki and Tomo with Aki separately. I don’t quite know how to put it in words. It’s like a certain atmosphere takes over when they’re all together.

It felt important to me to signify that all three of them are similar in height and age, which is why those dots are so close together. …It was apparently less important to me to signal that Shiki and Tomonori get together, in most of my headcanons, somewhere between six months and a year before Tomonori and Akifusa do, which is also a relatively short length of time.

When Tomonori’s at work, or around people other than his best friends / lovers, he’s significantly farther left on the Serious-Playful scale, although still not as serious as Akifusa. He feels comfortable enough with them to relax and let his sense of humor shine.

Physically, on the Gentle-Rough scale, Akifusa’s the character most likely to get a little rough in bed, and when that happens it’s usually on accident because he underestimates his own strength. Tomonori’s not on the extreme end of Gentle because I can see him, on certain occasions, dipping his toes very lightly into physical sadism with Akifusa. Probably just spanking or scratching, and it would be more for humiliation or roleplay purposes than pain.

However, when it comes to control in the bedroom: yeah, Akifusa’s submissive as hell. And although Tomonori might try to be submissive and probably has complicated feelings initially about some of his more “twisted” kinks, he’s Dominant as fuck. Does love a good brat, though.

I see Shiki as a sassy brat. That’s why she acts a lot more “arrogant” in bed than she does outside of it.

I considered using that scale to also try to mark that Akifusa’s submissive in bed and Tomonori’s Dominant, but I don’t feel like that changes their positions that much. Maybe if Tomo was the kind of Dom who didn’t blush when Shiki acts overly submissive (knowing it’ll get a reaction).

I can envision situations in which Shiki would meow while she and Tomonori are doing kinky stuff, and she has a few catlike personality traits (such as sass), but I think Tomonori’s personality is more catlike. No way are you getting that man to meow, though. At least not without significant repercussions.

I think Tomonori and Akifusa’s relationship is a smidgen more about kink than romance. (And their friendship too of course.) Granted, that may change depending on the fic.

I had no idea what to do with the Infodumps / Listens one, because I think 1. Tomonori and Shiki do both to roughly equal degrees, 2. Akifusa’s heard lectures from them (especially Tomo) so many times he kinda just tunes them out, 3. Akifusa’s the one most likely to just blurt out the first thing most likely to come to mind, but 4. Akifusa’s the least likely to have actual info. Tomonori has actual info, but he tends to keep it to himself. Shiki might be even more reserved than he is at times. So yeah, that was my thought process for ranking them the way I did there.

I kept going back and forth over whether to put Tomonori perfectly in the center on the DnD alignment chart one, but opted for nudging him slightly toward Good because this is after he’s gotten together with Shiki and Akifusa and is starting to tentatively appreciate life and the good parts of people again.

ARE YOU hopelessly fixated on a specific fictional polycule and have way too much time on your hands? boy do i have an unnecessarily elaborate ship chart for you!

(versions with 3, 4, 6, 7, 8 characters and an example under the cut)

feel free to make any edits or add stuff to your liking :]

[hwonnrinji]

─── // . 📸 𝜗𝜚 WHEN YOU 𝓒ALL MY 𝓝AME . . .

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 < calling their names (for what reason?) // ♪ — ıllı polaroid love . enhypen

⨳ ﹒ ⊂ OT6 ⊃ ꜛ 𝒻 luff wc. 250 + ⤸ // idol!establishedrelationship!kats x f!reader — hcs — 𝓴issing ⋆ tw ; down bad kats

៸៸៸ . . . ๑ ( SOPHIA LAFORTEZA )

"SOPH,"

sophia looks up from her phone and was immediately greeted by the sight of you holding up sanrio hair clips. she laughs and puts her phone aside, giving you her full undivided attention. "what're you gonna do with them, sweetheart?" she asks as she reached out to gently tug on your wrist to get you to sit on her lap.

"i wanted to put them on you," you elaborated while settling your knees on either side of her lap. "i think they'll look cute all over your hair."

"mm, yeah?" sophia tilts her head and you felt her hand cup the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. "go ahead. i trust your opinion," she says after pulling away. you smile widely as you spend the next five minutes decorating her hair with sparkly and childish clips, occasionally pulling back to look at your work.

once done, you pull out your phone and told her to pose for a quick picture, making it your wallpaper as soon as it saved. "you look so cute," you complimented as you kissed her lips again, your thumb tracing the curve of her jaw, her hands rubbing your sides in an up and down motion.

"you're cuter, pretty girl," she mumbles against your lips, making you giggle slightly. "you're the most stunning girl i've ever seen, your gorgeous–"

"okay! enough!"

៸៸៸ . . . ๑ ( MERET MANON )

"MANON!"

manon, in the living room with the kats, heard you call her name from her bedroom. she excuses herself and walk down the hallway to her room where she sees you holding up two hoodies, both belonging to her.

"which one can i wear?" you ask.

"whichever one you like. you're my girlfriend," manon replies.

"well, i know, but which one do you like better?—and don't say in a birthday suit like last time..." manon chuckles and trudged further into the room, her hand reaching out to a coffee colored hoodie. "this one," she says. you nod and put back the other hoodie wherever you found it, pulling the one she chose over your head and letting the warmth of the soft material envelope you.

manon didn't say anything after you did, her eyes only staring at you with an unreadable gaze. "why are you looking at me like that?" you question her, now feeling a bit shy after realizing that you are now her center of attention.

she shakes her head and her hands wrap themselves around your waist to pull your body flush against hers, her lips instinctively landing on yours. "no reason. you just look so beautiful."

"you always say that," you laughed, letting your own arms wrap around her neck. "it's true, no?" she smiles before kissing you again.

៸៸៸ . . . ๑ ( DANIELA AVANZINI )

"DANI?"

"yes, amor?" she responds just as quick as you called her name, her eyes drifting upwards from the book she was currently reading. you looked giddy and she didn't know if that was a good thing or not. "you seem... happy."

"very," you confirmed with a nod of your head. you lifted up the sleeve of your shirt to reveal a small, funny tattoo you got as a punishment from losing a bet—but was it really a punishment if you enjoyed it a little too much?

daniela's eyes widened, her lips parting slightly as she took in the tattoo on your arm. "y/n... you're crazy," was the only thing she had to say. you laugh at her reaction, plopping down on the spot next to her. "it's only a bet punishment, baby."

"that's even worse, oh my gosh. over a bet? really?" she leans in close to examine your new tattoo, the decision of supporting it or being against it weighing down on one another. you merely shrug. "but i like it, so that's all that matters, right?" you ask.

daniela looks up at you, the decisions still visibly wavering between her eyes. "i mean it looks good on you," she starts, "but why that tattoo out of literally anything else?"

"it's still a punishment."

"now you just look like a loser." it earns her a smack on the arm, and she apologizes with a chaste kiss to your lips.

៸៸៸ . . . ๑ ( LARA RAJ )

lara was trying to produce a new beat for a personal music project since she was bored on her day off. she toyed around with the instrumentals and attempted to write down some lyrics but ended up laughing at how silly she sounded trying to diss 'dogsear.'

"LARA?"

she looks up from her screen to her bedrooms door, a smile gracing her lips as soon as her eyes land on you. "hey, pretty," she says, motioning you to join her on her bed. you comply without hesitation and climbed on to bed, setting yourself down on her lap, her hands instantly latching on your hips.

"are you making a new song?" you question curiously. lara nods, removing one hand from your body to the trackpad, moving the cursor around on the screen. "mhm. i'm trying to diss dogsear but i'm failing so far," she laughs softly, her breath just fanning over your ear.

"let me hear," you insisted. she presses play and the music started playing. you were liking the song so far but when it got to the rap part, lara was just laughing into the microphone as she couldn't sing the lyrics without doing so. "wow, you really are failing," you said teasingly.

"should i write a song about you? maybe then i'll give it my all." she turns your head to face her after holding your chin between her thumb and index finger, her lips lingering above yours. "maybe you should. and maybe then i'll listen to it," you playfully yet quietly suggest.

"you got yourself a deal, beautiful." with that, she leans in and captured your lips in a deep kiss, you reciprocating in the exact same way.

៸៸៸ . . . ๑ ( MEGAN MEIYOK SKIENDIEL )

"MEGAN!"

"it's not my fault!" megan exclaims for the millionth time, her eyes scrunching up more every time her character falls down. you were currently playing a two player obby with megan, something you wanted to do after she bragged about being such an advanced player, which you found out to be a total lie.

she sucks, she really does, but seeing the slightly upset– and cute –expression on her face just makes up for it. even if you're getting mad yourself. "it's the faulty update! i'm never this bad!" she whines, her hands shaking her ipad around in frustration.

"i thought you were 'so good' at this game," you said with air quotations. "what else are you gonna lie about? having fake headless?" megan loudly gasps at your statement, her hand clutching her chest.

"how could you say that? my headless is legit!" she complains. you raised an eyebrow, not trusting her words. "playing any obby game with you is like trust trading in adopt me." to megan, that was a next level insult.

she tackles you down onto the bed, her hands pinning down both of your wrists on either side of your head. "that is a sensitive topic, you know," she muttered lowly. you playfully rolled your eyes. "you say that about anything that backfires on you–"

she shuts you up with a kiss, pulling back with a smug grin once she saw your flustered state. "you were saying?"

"you're terrible at anything but kissing me," you corrected yourself. she snickers and kissed you again, softer this time. "i'll take it."

៸៸៸ . . . ๑ ( JEUNG YOONCHAE )

"YOONCHAE!"

a familiar voice calls for her backstage and she smiles right away, turning around on her heels to be engulfed into a hug from you. she holds you close without any second thought, her fingers clasped behind your back.

"you didn't tell me you were already back in la," you grumbled into her shoulder. she laughs quietly, her hands carding through your hair. she often finds herself missing the soft feeling of your hair between her fingers whenever she was on a trip for events.

"i wanted to surprise you," she mumbled softly, pressing a light kiss to your temple. "you know, 'cause you're always complaining about me being gone for too long."

"that doesn't matter," you groused. yoonchae only laughs more, hugging and squeezing you tighter. "but i promise, after today's show, i have a whole month off."

"really? you're serious?" you ask, a smile breaking out. she nods and holds up her pinky finger to promise you her words, and your heart couldn't help but melt a little. you return the gesture, your pinky interlocked with hers. she brought your hand up and kissed your knuckles, making you feel a little warm inside as a result to her actions.

"you're cute when you're blushing," yoonchae suddenly spoke up, making you chuckle. "like really cute," she adds. "so cute, i might have to soft launch you on instagram."

"we should do that. like literally, we should." the look in your eyes tell yoonchae you really weren't joking. "okay, we'll do that when i finish my last performance," she vowed.

─── ᶻz it's like a 𝓹olaroid 𝓵ove the 𝓬heesy feeling 𝓸f love

i still forgot who to tag so comment on this post to be on a perm taglist 🙏 .masterlist.

[madebycloud]

Sweetener

jinx/powder x female reader — 𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬⠀𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

summary: matcha has always been too bitter for your taste, but your new coworker seems to love it, especially when she makes you taste it every single day. warnings/themes: fluff and angst, friends to lovers, coffee shop, mordern au, barista!jinx, barista!reader, jessica words: 18.5k notes: just 2 broke (tired, stubborn, idiot, proud) college students in a shitty city

Working as a barista, you're used to seeing all sorts of people.

Most times it's just a bunch of early morning adults rushing through with their quick coffee pickup before work or the mid-afternoon college students stopping by for their third/fourth cup of the day to fight off the dark circles under their eyes or the late night studiers trying to consume enough coffee to finish their all-nighters for the upcoming exams.

But you can't please everyone all the time. Some of the people are just downright arrogant.

“Whatever.” They wave their hand in the air, as though swatting away an annoying fly. “Anyway, I need a matcha latte.”

You try to keep the grimace off your face. Not only does matcha taste like grass, matcha is expensive as hell. And it's always the stuck-up pricks that ask for matcha lattes.

“Yes, anything else?”

They look you up and down with a scoff. “Did I stutter? yes, that'll be all.”

You grit your teeth, trying to keep from throttling the prick then and there. It's not only just unprofessional, but you'd probably lose your job. And you need this job. You type their order, being careful not to say something rude.

“Great,” they say as they pull out a credit card.

You ring the total up and hand the card back, watching as they slide it back into their wallet.

“And you better get it right this time, it was too hot last time,” you hear them say before taking a seat at a nearby table.

Too hot. The last time you made it for them, you were careful to keep it at the right temperature—but apparently, even that wasn't good enough for that uptight person over there.

You grumble to yourself as you get to work making the matcha latte. 

Carefully getting the perfect blend of matcha powder and water. Steaming the milk to the perfect temperature, ensuring it isn't too hot for the entitled prick, but also not too cold.

You grumble again, knowing full well the tip they're going to leave you won't be anything more than fifty cents or nothing at all.

You look at the clock. Only four hours left of this shift. Only four hours.

—

“You alright?” 

You glance up from shoving your apron into a locker as Jayce, the cafe owner, walks over.

Is it that obvious you're not doing so well? You shrug. “I'm fine. Just glad it's quitting time, y'know?”

You're really not fine. This day was just awful. Between classes, this shift, and the never ending classwork load, you're ready to collapse from exhaustion. But you don't want to bother Jayce with your problems. The guy's already got enough on his plate running this café.

When you shut the locker, you catch Jayce eyeing you with concern, but he doesn't push further.

“Speaking of,” he starts, changing the topic. “You'll be getting a new co-worker tomorrow. Maddie's moved to another city.” He leans against a wall, crossing his arms. “Can you show them the ropes? I won't be here tomorrow.”

You give him a weary smile. “Can do.” Sure, training's easy, and showing them how to make coffee and deal with difficult customers isn't that hard. But what if they suck? What if they're lazy? What if they're incompetent?

You sigh, knowing that you're getting ahead of yourself. It's all conjecture right now. For all you know, this new co-worker could be great.

Jayce seems to notice your exhaustion, and he smiles reassuringly. “Get some rest.”

Right… rest. How the hell are you supposed to rest when you still have three classes to stress about, a mountain of classwork, and a new person to train at a job tomorrow?

“Maybe I should,” you reply lazily. You're not sure if you'll be able to get rest with the load of classwork waiting for you in your apartment, but at this point, you feel too exhausted to care. You grab your backpack and sling it over your shoulders, giving a tired wave. “See you.”

He waves back. “Have a good night.”

You exit the cafe, a chill wind hitting your face as you step out onto the sidewalk.

Tomorrow is going to suck.

Tomorrow is waking up at the ass crack of dawn, half dead, and dragging yourself to several classes.

Tomorrow is getting bitched out by entitled pricks who need their overcomplicated, overpriced caffeinated crap just to feel awake.

Tomorrow is the same old bullshit.

You're already dreading tomorrow.

—

Weekends. The two days of respite from the hellhole of college—at least, it's supposed to be. When you arrive at the cafe on a Saturday morning, the sun is just beginning to rise as you park your bike nearby and make your way inside.

You step through the door and are greeted by Jayce, standing by the counter. And next to him is a blue-haired girl. Must be the newbie.

“Morning,” you greet Jayce with a tired yawn. You set your belongings in the locker before walking over to the counter.

“Morning,” Jayce greets back with a smile, nodding towards the girl. “This is Jinx, the new barista I mentioned,” he tells you, confirming your suspicions.

“Jinx,” you repeat, looking her up and down.

Blue hair with two braids, and a chin-length swoop of hair on the right side of her face. She's probably around your age. Despite the early hour, she looks far too cheerful and energetic.

Jinx's eyes lands on you, and she smiles broadly. “That's me,” she chirps.

You introduce yourself, and Jayce nods in approval. “I've gotta go,” he says, putting on his coat. “I trust you can take it from here.” He pats you on the back as he walks past. “See you later.” And with that, he's out the door.

You turn back to Jinx, noticing her eyes wandering around the café. “So, uh,” you start awkwardly, “have you worked in a café before?”

Jinx snaps her attention to you. “Nope.”

“Okay… that's not a big deal,” you assure her. “I'll just walk you through everything.”

She nods, and you begin the training.

You start by showing her the basics. Operating the coffee machines—which are pretty damn fancy and confusing at first. Explaining the menu, the prices, and the specials of the day. You tell her about the regulars and the usual customers, and she seems to listen closely. 

After the basics, you get to the actual coffee-making. You start with a simple latte. You demonstrate the process, showing her how to prepare the espresso and steam the milk. She watches closely and even tries to mimic your steps.

Her first attempt is... messy. The espresso is weak, and the milk isn't steamed right. You point out her mistakes and try to guide her through the process again. She tries again… and again, it looks like a mess.

“Here—watch.” You adjust her grip on the pitcher. “You're holding it wrong. Try pouring again.”

She nods and tries once more, this time managing to make a decent pour.

“Not bad,” you praise. “Keep that up and you'll be good in no time.”

Jinx grins, but then her gaze falls to her hands. “Not so sure about that.”

You follow her gaze and spot the multiple band aid wrapped around her fingers. Her band aids seem to almost be covering every single finger. It's a little weird that her bandages cover her fingers of all things.

But you don't pry.

She sets the pitcher down, and you turn to glance at the clock on the wall. The clock reads 7:36 AM. It's still early, but the cafe opens at 8 AM.

“Hey,” you begin, “I was thinking…” You motion at the clock. “We still have time before opening. Wanna try making something different?”

She nods eagerly. “Yeah. Sure. Why not?”

“Alright.” You walk over to the cupboard. “What would you like to make?”

“Hmm, something... fun,” she hums, fingers tapping on the counter. “Like... matcha?” She shrugs. “It's my favorite.”

Matcha. That disgusting green tea powder that all these rich assholes seem to worship. And if you hear one more person saying it tastes rich or some other dumb bullshit...

You hate matcha. But if Jinx's favorite drink is matcha, then fine.

You shove down your own disdain for the drink and give her a strained smile. “You like matcha?”

“Yeah. It's delicious!” She's much more energetic than you've ever been.

You open the cupboard and sift through the supply drawers, pulling out the ingredients for a matcha latte. Jinx's eyes lock onto the ingredients that you place on the counter.  “Why do you love matcha so much?” you ask.

“Uh, it tastes good! Matcha cake, matcha ice cream, matcha mochi, matcha tea... Oh! Matcha pudding is really good too.”

She seems very enthusiastic about the drink. So much so that you wonder if she's done an advertisement for it before.

“You know,” you start, measuring out the matcha and starting the water to boil in the kettle. “For someone who seems like they'd be more into sweet and sugary things... you like some stuff like matcha.”

“Eh, I also like sweet stuff, but I like matcha better.” Makes sense. Some people just like different tastes.

The water boils, and you spoon the powdered green tea into a cup and add the steaming water. You stir the matcha in the cup with a whisk. “You've probably had tons of matcha drinks in cafes before, huh?”

You turn to grab a frothing pitcher from the counter, but the bluenette has already snatched it and started foaming the milk, her fingers gripping the handle.

“Yeah, I have. But I've never tried making it myself.”

“Never tried making one yourself?” you repeat, watching her steam the milk.

She shakes her head. “Nope. I've had a lot of matcha drinks in cafes, but I've never made one myself.”

You finish stirring the matcha in the cup. “Well, at least you haven't broken anything yet. That's a good start.”

She stops frothing the milk, glancing at you. “You mean that? you're not joking?”

“I'm just being honest.”

She hesitantly nods, taking your answer. “If you say so…” 

She pours the frothed milk into the cup along with the matcha, and you add the finishing touches before giving it to her. 

Jinx grabs the cup and looks down at the drink. “It looks good.”

“Well, take a sip.” You watch her expectantly. You expect her to spit it out, complain...

But she doesn’t. She swallows the liquid and sets the cup down. “I didn't know making matcha was so easy,” she muses, staring down at the frothy green drink.

“It's not so complicated. Just some boiled water and milk.”

She takes another sip. “So... I could make matcha myself?”

“Yup. If you know how, it's pretty simple.”

“I never knew it was this easy.... I've been buying matcha this whole time-”

Then, the bell chimes, interrupting your conversation. The first customer of the day walks in.

“Ahh…” you mutter, turning toward your new co-worker, who is still sipping on her matcha latte. “You ready?”

She sets the cup down. “I guess.”

“Just follow my lead and try to keep up,” you tell her, “it should be an easy morning.”

She smiles, adjusting her apron. “Easy as pie.”

—

The first day of work for Jinx was... well, interesting, to put it mildly.

She made a few mistakes—like over-foaming a latte, accidentally giving a customer way too much sugar in their coffee, and almost setting fire to the coffee machine… but it could have been worse.

Some of the customers were patient, kind, and understanding. Others... not so much.

One customer complained that their coffee had too much cream and was way too sweet. Another complained their frappe was melting despite ordering it without ice. Then there was the customer who ordered a ‘coffee flavored coffee’, whatever that means.  And the guy who wanted an Americano with no coffee.

By the end of the day, Jinx looked like a mess, and her apron was covered in coffee stains. You and her both shared a look of exhaustion.

“I had no idea customers could be so…” she trails off, her head in her hands on the counter.

“Frustrating?”

“More like…” she ponders some more.

“Inconsiderate?” you suggest jokingly.

“No, that's too nice.”

“How about…” you pause, mulling over some choice words. “Just plain dumb?”

“Dumb, stupid, idiotic, moronic, blockheaded, imbecilic-” she continues, listing off synonyms.

“You're going to run out of adjectives.”

“I've got plenty.” She lifts her head up, drumming her fingers on the counter. “You have no idea how many words you can use to describe an idiot. I could go on for hours.”

“I'm sure you could, but-”

“Like numbskull! Dolt. Imbecile. Nitwit. Dimwit. Dunce. Jackass. Cretin-”

“-Alright, that's enough,” you cut her off before she can start listing the entire dictionary. “I get it.”

She laughs and pushes back her bangs. “I was sooo tempted to dump a whole pot of coffee in a customer's face.”

“You shouldn't be pouring coffee on people, no matter how annoying they are.”

“But just imagine the look on their face when a steaming cup of hot coffee hits them-”

“That's assault.”

“It's self defense if… I'm defending my sanity,” Jinx counters.

“You can't just dump coffee on every annoying customer.”

“Says who?”

“Says the law,” you remind her, “...and Jayce.”

She sighs, flopping onto the counter. “I can't believe people can be this annoying. Like, how hard is it to just be nice to the people who serve you coffee?”

“Eh, well, it's too hard for some people. It's like they wake up in the morning and think… ‘Hmm, I'm going to be a massive jerk to someone working their minimum wage job today.’ And smetimes you just get those customers that you wish…” You gesture with your arm as if to mimic strangling them.

Jinx sits up, mimicking the motion with her own arms. “Or- or… you can poison their drink! Like, just a little bit. Just enough to make them a bit... sick and queasy. Or make it taste gross so they never come back, and they tell all their friends not to come back, and the cafe suddenly gets no business, and we get laid off-” She suddenly stops herself, realizing what she's saying. “I'm not making sense, am I?”

You snort. “Can you imagine the cafe being empty?”

“Mhmm! we could play our own music. Reorganize things. Drink as much coffee as we want,” she says, dropping her arms back to the counter. 

“No stupid customers. No stupid complaints. It sounds like a dream.”

She leans forward, propping her chin on her hand. “It does, doesn't it?”

Just as both of you start fantasizing about the dream of an empty café, the sound of the bell above the door rings, signaling the entrance of a new customer.

You look up, assuming it's just another customer ready to order their coffee and then complain about it. But the sight of Jayce walking through the door immediately caught your attention.

“Oh, hey, boss,” Jinx greets.

Jayce approaches the counter, his eyes scanning over the cafe. “Evening, how's the first day?” he asks Jinx.

“Just great,” she replies.

Jayce glances at the coffee stain on her apron, the corner of his lip twitching upwards, but he doesn't comment on it. “And how's the training been?” He turns towards you, raising an eyebrow.

You shrug, trying to play it cool. “She's done well-”

“Except for spilling the drinks, the coffee machine almost exploded, accidentally giving customers the wrong orders-” Jinx pipes up, counting on her fingers, “-and me almost assaulting a customer.”

“She's still learning,” you quickly add, “but she's catching on pretty quick.”

Jayce purses his lips, studying Jinx for a moment before returning his eyes to you. “She almost assaulted a customer?”

“Uh, no, it didn't happen. She was just... venting out some frustration.”

“It was close,” Jinx mutters.

You clear your throat and give her a subtle glare, silently telling her to shut up before she makes it worse, which she luckily gets the hint.

Jayce hums and glances down at the watch on his wrist before looking back up. “Right, you two can head home now. I'll take over closing the shop.”

You and Jinx exchanged confused looks. “You sure? we can help.”

He waves a hand dismissively. “No, no, it's fine. You've both had a long day. Go on, get going.”

You raise an eyebrow, a little suspicious, but you decide not to question it for now. You turn to Jinx. “Come on, let's get our stuff.”

She immediately stands up from her seat. “Holy shit, I'm dying to get out of this apron.”

—

You wave goodbye to Jayce as you both leave the cafe, heading straight for your parked bike, and climb onto it.

You notice that Jinx is walking a few feet away from you. “You need a ride or something?” you call out.

She turns around, looking at you with a smirk. “Why, are you offering?”

“Unless you want to walk-”

“I'll take that ride.” She walks over, stopping right next to where you're seated on the bike.

“Hop on, then.”

She glances at the back seat, hesitant. You notice that she doesn't have any sort of vehicle either. She bites her lip, contemplating it for a moment, before carefully climbing on the bike.

You feel the bike sag a bit underneath her weight, but it thankfully holds. 

She awkwardly sits behind you, her arms wrapping around your waist and her legs tucked beside your thighs. “You know how to ride this thing fast, right?” she asks.

“Of course, I do. I just like being careful.” You kick off the ground and begin to pedal, leaving the café behind.

“Boooring. Just gun it. I wanna feel the wind in my hair.”

“If I crash this thing, it's your fault,” you joke, picking up speed on the deserted sidewalk. “Where are you headed anyway?”

Her grip tightens around your waist, the wind blowing through her hair. “The subway.”

“The subway?” you ask, turning the bike towards the direction of the nearest subway station. “You live across the city?”

“Yeah, I live in a shitty area. Easier to use public transit.”

The entire city is shitty. “Why'd you get a job at a cafe so far from where you live, then?” You're genuinely curious.

“Not many other places are willing to hire me.”

“Why?”

She scoffs. “Too crazy. I had a job last summer at a local convenience store.”

“What, did you steal from the cash register or something?”

“Me? Hell no. You think I'd do something that obvious?”

You glance backward with a raised eyebrow.

“Alright, fine. I might have tried to steal some drinks and candy a couple of times. But! my boss was a scumbag who stole money from charity donations. He deserved it,” she explains defensively.

“I'm sure he did,” you reply, trying not to laugh at her defense. After all, she didn't need to justify stealing from a scumbag. Not that a few stolen chocolates really matter in this shithole of a city.

You continue down the sidewalk, making a left turn at a stoplight. Cars honk at you, but neither of you gives them so much as a glance of acknowledgment.

“Besides, those things are way too overpriced anyway,” she continues. “Everything in that damn store was overpriced.”

The subway station is now in view just a few blocks away.

“What happened?” you ask. “You get fired or quit?”

“Both. They fired me, and then I quit.”

“How exactly do you quit after getting fired?”

She laughs a little. “I walked back the next day and quit myself.”

That makes sense... somehow. “But, back to my question, why work so far?”

“Er, I didn't have a choice. Jayce was about the only one that would hire me.”

So it was out of desperation. You could understand that. Everyone had to do what they had to do to survive in this city.

You slow your bike to a stop, parking it outside the entrance to the subway station. You put the kickstand down and hop off the bike. “How long does it take to get to your place?”

“Like... maybe forty-five minutes? sometimes two hours,” she says, getting off the bike and stretching her arms above her head. “It's not that bad. There's usually an old guy who plays really shitty polka music on the accordion to keep me entertained.”

“Sounds lovely,” you reply sarcastically. “Shitty music and a shitty city.”

She hums, looking around. “So... I'll see you tomorrow?”

Despite the shitty city, the shitty job, you find yourself slightly looking forward to seeing her tomorrow. “Yeah, tomorrow,” you reply.

She turns and begins walking towards the stairs that descend into the depths of the subway station, before stopping and turning back around to face you.

“Hey-” she begins, stopping you. “Thanks for the ride, and... you're not so bad. For a coworker.”

You can't resist a smile. “You aren't so bad either.”

Jinx scoffs. “Pft, I don't know. Some people might disagree.” She pauses, studying your face for a moment. “See you, partner.”

She gives you one last grin before bounding down the stairs. You watch her disappear into the depths of the subway station.

You stare at the empty place where she once was, then turn away and get back on your bike, beginning to pedal away.

—

You enter the café, eyes still heavy from lack of sleep as you drag yourself through the door, only to be nearly deafened by the sound of loud music blasting from the speakers.

…this isn't the usual song that Jayce plays on the speakers. It's not soft rock, nor is it jazz, or any of those ‘old people’ types of music that he usually has on.

It sounds like... is that heavy metal?  Not just any kind of heavy metal, but the really fast-paced, hyper, head-banging kind.

You step inside and spot Jinx, who is currently in the middle of aggressively sweeping the floor.

Within three seconds of seeing you, the bluenette immediately abandons her task of sweeping, bounds over to the counter, grabs a cup, and holds it out to you.

“Mornin' partner!” she greets, a smirk on her face.

Confused, but too tired to question her, you cautiously take the cup from her. “Uhh... morning.” You nod, looking down at the cup. “Thanks.” You take a small, tentative sip.

Matcha. You almost want to spit it out. But you swallow it anyway. After all, it'd be rude to spit out something someone went out of the way to make for you.

The liquid hits your tongue, and it's… different?

Different from how you make it. It's sweet, too sweet. But oddly, despite its different taste... it's actually kind of good. Good enough to make your morning slightly more bearable.

You set the cup down on the counter, trying to hide how oddly satisfied you feel.

“So?” Jinx asks eagerly, “What do you think?”

“It's... “ Good. The word almost slips out, but you stop yourself, instead clearing your throat and going for a more neutral answer. “Different.”

“Different good or different bad?” she prompts.

“Different... fine,” you say, lifting the cup back to your lips and taking another sip.

That isn't necessarily a lie, right? just because something is different doesn't mean it's good or bad. It's like a math equation, neutral on both sides.

“What's with all the-” you gesture around, “loud music?” you ask, changing the topic.

“Oh, that?” She jabs a thumb behind her towards the speaker. “I was bored out of my mind before you got here, so I changed the music.”

The loud blast of drums and guitar fills the café.

“You like it?” she asks.

It's not... bad. Just different. “I don't know if like it is the right term.”

“Mhmm, but it's good for the morning. Helps wake you up, you know?”

You look back at the cup. The taste is still weird, but the flavor is oddly growing on you. “Yeah, I guess so.”

—

For the next few weeks, every day was the same. Every shift, you stumbled into the café, half-asleep and barely alive, and Jinx would greet you with a cup of matcha latte. She doesn't bother asking if you want one, simply places down your drink and starts her own work in the café.

It's still a drink that normally makes you grimace, but... the way she makes it... she makes it different.

It doesn't make your facial muscles twitch anymore. It just tastes better. It's odd, the way that the drink has changed you. The once bitter, almost disgusting taste that you used to dread is now...

Less bitter and somehow not so awful.

You're actually able to drink it without cringing. And you don't know if that should worry you or not.

Though, there's still one burning question on your mind.

“Why do you keep making this?” you ask her one day.

“Hmm?” She glances up from the coffee machine.

“This.” You gesture to the cup in hand. “You always make me matcha lattes.”

She sets her rag down on the counter and leans against it, resting her chin on her hand. “And why are you asking?”

“I don't know, it's just-” you pause. Why are you asking? It's just a cup of matcha. Who cares? “Just wondering,” you answer, shrugging.

“Is my matcha that bad?”

“It's not that,” you assure her, shaking your head.

“Then what?” she pries. Why do you care?

You shift a bit on your feet, uncomfortable at her question.

Because, it makes you enjoy something that you originally hated. But you don't say that.

“Never mind,” you mutter, shaking your head again and taking a sip.

She just hums and goes back to her task.

From that point on, you never ask the question again. And she continues making the matcha lattes every shift.

—

You stand on the subway train, gripping the pole to maintain balance. 

The train is too crowded to find a seat, so you're forced to just stand. It's a little uncomfortable, but not the worst thing you've experienced.  You're used to these long commutes. Normally, you would be riding your bike all the way to your campus, but your bike decided to betray you this day, and your tire popped.

You still haven't gotten it fixed. You didn't exactly have the money to fix it yet. Which meant you had to rely on public transport, and getting up earlier. You usually listen to music or daydream to pass the time. But today, no music, and your brain is too tired to think.

So you just stand there, staring vaguely at the people crowding around you. They're all strangers. Most of them are wearing business suits, heading to work. Some of them are students, like you, bags slung over their shoulders, looking equally tired.

A particularly loud sound of rattling metal rings in your ears, and you grimace. The subway system is old, outdated, and in need of repair. But it's still better than the old monorail they used a few years back.

You're snapped out of your thoughts as the train jolts to a stop. The doors open with an ear-piercing screech. A group of people file off as a few others get on. You barely pay attention.

You focus on the ground, listening to the rhythmic tcha tcha of the wheels on the track.

Just as your thoughts begin to lull, you're suddenly shaken from your tired trance by the feeling of another hand gripping the pole you're holding.

You lift your gaze and... Jinx?

She stands right across from you, one hand gripping the pole and the other clutching a backpack slung over her shoulder.

“Oh, hey,” she greets, shifting her grip on the pole as the train begins moving again. “What are you doing here?”

“My bike broke,” you mutter. “Flat tire.”

“Ah, that suuuuuucks,” she sympathizes, wincing. “You gonna get it fixed?”

“When I have the time,” you reply, shifting your own grip on the pole. “Or the money,” you add, grimacing as a particularly loud grinding sound rings in your ears.

You keep a decent distance between your body and Jinx, and your hands don't touch. But she stands close enough that you can see the details of her face.

She is surprisingly freckled. They're not visible unless you look closely, but she has a small smattering of brown spots on the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks. Also, she's wearing makeup. The eyeliner and dark eyeshadow are expected, but she's also wearing something purple-glistened on her lips. It almost looks like-

Her tongue darts out, licking the lip gloss off.

You look at her eyes, and she's looking directly at you. You notice her eyes flitting between your own. You're not sure if she's doing it on purpose or if the staring is some strange coincidence.

“Cars are so damn expensive,” she says, shifting her gaze at the floor. “I wish I had enough money to buy a motorcycle.”

“You drive?” 

“I mean, no,” she replies, her gaze lifting again. “But if I had a motorcycle, I could finally ditch public transport.”

“You don't like the subway?”

She gives you a look, gesturing around to the crowded subway train. “Does anyone like it?”

You concede. Good point.

She studies you for a moment, eyes drifting over your bag. “Where are you headed?”

“University. You?”

“Same.”

The train jostles, and you both shift the grip on the pole again. Your hands brush against each other, her hand just above yours.

“Which university?” you ask.

“The Academy,” she answers. “Engineering.”

“That's... an expensive university.” 

“Yeah, it is,” she agrees, adjusting her grip again, her hand almost touching yours. “Full ride scholarship.”

“Damn, really? that's pretty impressive.”

Something in her mouth twitches in distaste, but she swallows it down, nodding her head with a smirk. “Thanks.”

Her gaze moves across your body, then settles on your hand on the pole. She stares at it for too long before looking away.

“Engineering, huh? you a genius or something?”

“Or something,” she says.

The train lurches again, and her fingers touch yours.

She doesn't move away. You don't move away either. Every slight motion causes her fingers to brush your knuckles or your fingertips.

The train continues moving and the silence stretches on. 

Jinx's eyes are everywhere. It's roaming around the train. But it's also flickering back to you. Then it's roaming again. Then it flicks to your hand.

Then, you catch her staring at your lips. “Nice lips,” she suddenly says.

“What?”

“What?” she repeats.

Who compliments someone on their lips? “You just suddenly said I have a nice lips,” you respond.

She looks away, face turning pink. “Uh, I dunno. I think you have a nice lips.”

Another jolt of the train. Her head whips back to look you in the eye. She still does not move her hand.

“You have nice eyes.” You're not sure what possesses you to say that. It just popped out of your brain and into your mouth.

She narrows her eyes at you and snorts. “You think so?” Her thumb brushes against the back of your hand.

“Yeah,” you say, ignoring the shiver that runs down your back at the touch. “Pretty.”

Pretty? Is that the only word you can think of? The word feels insufficient to describe her eyes. Beautiful, gorgeous, striking. Instead, you just say pretty. Idiot.

Her nose is scrunched up, but it does little to hide the redness of her cheeks.

You keep staring at her eyes. And she stares back. Her eyes flick down again to your lips. She wets her own lips. Her thumb rubs the back of your hand, moving in circles.

The train slows and comes to a stop.

“My stop,” you mutter, dropping your hand and straightening up. “I'll see you later at the cafe?”

“Uuhhh, later,” Jinx responds. “And…”

You raise your eyebrow, waiting for her to finish the sentence. But she doesn't. She just looks at you, face turning pink again. “And...?” you press.

She looks away from you. “Nothing. See you later, partner.”

“Later,” you repeat, then push your way out of the crowded train, feeling her stare follow you.

The sound of the train doors shutting makes you look back.

Jinx is still standing in the same place, watching you leave. Her hand is still on the pole, and she's smiling, her cheeks are still pink. But when she sees you looking, that smile fades, and she quickly averts her gaze.

Then the train pulls away, and she disappears from your view. You're left staring at an empty railway, feeling strangely warm.

The ride to your university passes without much thought. For some reason, your brain is too exhausted to focus on anything but the feeling of Jinx's hand on yours.

And even after you arrive at class, you're still preoccupied with thoughts of Jinx.

No, not preoccupied. More like... preoccupied-adjacent. There is nothing to be preoccupied with.

You just got off the subway with your coworker. Just a normal subway ride. There are hundreds of people every day in the subway. People brush against each other all the time.

Nothing strange about that.

But you can't stop thinking about the weight of her hand on yours. Or the brush of her touch. Or the pinkness of her cheeks. Or the freckles on her nose. Or the lip gloss on her mouth. Or her eyes.

...

Okay, fine, you're preoccupied. 

—

The cafe is blissfully empty. You take a quick glance around. Only a few customers are sitting at their tables, quietly working on an assignment or studying for their own midterms.

As usual, a cup of matcha latte is pushed into your hands. It's the same old drink, but this time, it's over ice instead of steaming hot.

“New recipe?” you ask, looking at Jinx, who is brewing coffee.

“Trying something new,” she calls back, focusing on the coffee machine in front of her. “You like it?”

You stare at the ice floating around the top of the drink, then take another sip. “It's fine.”

It's more than fine. It's good. The ice makes it a hell of a lot more refreshing.

Jinx glances at you over her shoulder. “Just fine, huh?” she responds, raising her eyebrow at you.

“Yes,” you answer. “Fine.” Delicious

She goes back to messing with the coffee machine, leaving you to stare at the back of her head.

You continue sipping on the latte, savoring the cool drink. It's an improvement over the usual steaming hot drink. The ice makes the flavors blend differently than it usually does, and it's much more tolerable than the hot version.

Delicious. The word echoes in your brain again, but you ignore it, staring into your cup.

Then your eyes wander towards Jinx's position behind the counter.

Her hair tied up in two braids as she fiddles with the coffee machine. Sometimes, her hair will escape the confinement of the hair ties, and it will dangle about her face. She pauses to pull back a strand of loose hair, tucking it behind her ear. Her attention doesn't deviate from her task, not noticing your gaze following her movements.

Your gaze drifts back to your cup. It's getting low. A few ice cubes remain, still bobbing in the liquid.

You take another sip of the latte.

Just fine. Not delicious.

Maybe it's a bit delicious. A little delicious. Delicious is such a funny word. An odd word. Is it possible to be half-delicious?

You lick your lips, tasting the remains of the ice-cold matcha latte, and glance back at Jinx.

Damn it. Delicious.

—

A month has passed, and you can tell Jinx has improved. Maybe even... good?

Good enough that she's stopped yelling, stopped breaking, stopped accidentally pouring coffee on the customer's shirt. Good enough that the customer is now enjoying their coffee instead of screaming at her. Even Jayce seems pleased, no longer concerned that Jinx would set the coffee machine on fire.

You set a cup down and look over at Jinx, who is standing by the coffee machine. She's working on latte art and actually managing to do a good job.

You watch as she pulls the milk wand away from the foam, leaving behind a decent… is that a heart?

It's just a simple heart, nothing extravagant, but definitely better than all the blobs she'd been trying to pass as latte art weeks ago.

“Not bad,” you comment.

Jinx jumps, nearly causing the matcha to spill over the rim. “Holy fuck,” she hisses. “Warn me next time you sneak up on me like that.”

“I didn't sneak up on you,” you reply, raising an eyebrow. “I was standing next to you the entire time.”

“And you still managed to startle me.”

“I did it on purpose,” you answer, smirking. “Just to see you jump.”

She flips you off and turns her attention back to the drink in front of her. “Ass.”

You grab a rag and clean the countertop. “A heart, huh? Trying to impress someone?”

She shrugs. “Maybe I am.”

You lean against the counter, watching her work on the drink. “Who's this lucky person?”

She hums without taking her eyes off the drink. “None of your business.”

“So there is someone?”

She glances at you out of the corner of her eye, and then she shrugs. “Maybe.”

There is absolutely someone. “Is it someone I know?” you press on, curious.

“Yes.”

You're not sure how to feel about that. On one hand... well, you're curious about who the hell this person is. On the other hand... you feel... jealous?

No, not jealous. More like... annoyed. Yeah… Annoyed.

Your hands grip the rag tighter. “Is it someone I know well?” 

She pauses, her gaze flickering to you for a moment, before looking back at the drink. “Yes.”

Annoyance continues to simmer inside… strange. 

Why does this annoying feeling keep poking and buzzing at your brain? maybe because you had someone in mind? someone who you wish she was talking about? or maybe it was just curiosity getting the better of you.

You try to shrug off the annoyance, continuing to clean the countertop.

“What do you think?” she asks, staring at the matcha latte art.

“I already told you it doesn't look bad,” you reply, still scrubbing at the counter. “You're getting better.”

“I'm always getting better,” she says, “You can taste it if you want.” She turns the drink towards you, holding it out.

You reach over and take the cup from her, your hands brushing against hers. She looks down to look at your fingers for a moment before returning to your face.

You bring the cup up to your lips and take a sip. The moment the liquid touches your tongue, it's as if all the annoyance evaporates. The drink she makes is always delicious. You manage to swallow before the noise threatens to escape from your throat. “Thanks,” you say, lowering the cup.

She just hums, staring at your lips. “You've got…” she begins, pausing to reach out.

She uses her thumb to gently brush away the remaining foam on your upper lip. Her touch is warm and soft, and you instinctively lean into the touch. Her lips are parted a bit, and you can see her teeth slightly biting into the bottom lip. 

“Foam,” she finishes, pulling back her hand. “All gone.” She wipes her finger on her apron.

You can't explain the heat that crawls up your neck. “Thanks.”

She smiles a little, a strangely satisfied gleam in her eyes. “...no problem.”

She continues to stare at you, studying your face. You're not sure why you're so stuck on just staring at each other without talking, but it's like neither of you has anything to say.

It's almost awkward. But not exactly. Awkward would require you to be uncomfortable.

You're not uncomfortable with her eyes on you. It's kind of… comfortable. Like some kind of strange comfort. The kind you get after spending too much time around someone. And you've been around Jinx a lot these past few weeks.

Jinx is the first to break the eye contact by looking away. She clears her throat, staring at the coffee machine next to her. “I'm gonna... make some more coffee…” she mumbles.

And then she just turns and walks away.

You're left standing there, clutching the cup of matcha latte in your hands and staring at the back of Jinx's head as she begins brewing more coffee in the machine.

You're struck with the oddest of desires. You want to go over there, stand next to her, and stare at her face. You want...

You quickly stop yourself.

Why in the hell are you thinking like this? It's a ridiculous thought, that's what it is. You just need some sleep. All this damn thinking isn't going to help anything.

For the rest of your shift, you do your best to avoid looking at Jinx. Unfortunately, you keep finding yourself looking at her anyway.

—

“Are you gonna help me out, or you're gonna stare at your phone the whole time?” Jinx calls out, breaking your concentration.

You look up from the screen of your phone, then realize you've been scrolling aimlessly for the past ten minutes.

“Ohhh… yeahhhh right.” You set the phone on the counter next to hers. “Sorry,” you apologize, beginning to help her with the remaining closing tasks.

The café closing hours are always calm and relaxing. Usually, Jayce is there helping, chatting to you and Jinx. But tonight, Jayce is out doing something important, leaving just you and Jinx to close the café.

This isn't the first time. The two of you have closed the cafe together on several occasions.

You grab a towel and begin wiping down the tables and chairs, making sure to leave the café spotless for tomorrow. Jinx sweeps around the floor, humming something as she works.

When you're both finished cleaning, you and Jinx move to the last step of closing.

You start by putting up the chairs on the tables, stacking them neatly around so they don't collect any dust overnight. Jinx helps as well, putting up her share of chairs, then begins straightening up the chairs as you finish with yours.

Soon, all the chairs are organized on top of the tables, and the café is as tidy as a mouse's ass.

You walk over behind the counter and grab the boxes full of new cups from a low shelf. “Can you help me with this?” you ask, lifting the box and nodding at the other one.

She comes over and helps you, carrying it into the storage room. You trail after her, watching her as she places the box gently on top of the other boxes.

The storage room is a small room connected to the cafe, used to store supplies. The walls, made of concrete, are painted yellow. Inside, the room is tidy, neat, and somewhat small. The floor and walls are covered with several industrial metal racks, stacked with boxes of supplies. A single light bulb hangs from the center of the ceiling, illuminating the room.

You pause and set your box down as well, glancing at her as she dusts off her hands. “I swear, Jayce is way too paranoid about restocking,” she says, glancing around.

You nod. “He's definitely got a bit of a hoarding problem.”

“He'll probably start to fill up the back next.”

“And then he's gonna fill the manager's office.”

“And the bathroom.” She snickers, looking over the boxes. “I swear to god, he needs a damn therapist for this obsession.”

You share a laugh and turn towards the door, Jinx following behind you.

“Well, guess everything is in order-” you start to say, but pause when you turn the doorknob and find that it's locked. You frown and try pulling the knob again, harder this time. It still doesn't budge.

“What the hell?” Jinx comes up beside you and grabs the knob, rattling it a few times. She stops after a few seconds and tries again, but still no luck. “Fuck!” she exclaims, tugging the knob. “Why won't this stupid thing open?!”

“It's damn well jammed.” You kick the door, which does absolutely nothing.

“That's... not good,” Jinx mutters. “I guess this is one of the cons of having a paranoid boss.”

There are no windows into this room, and Jayce won't be back until tomorrow. The only way out is through the door, and it's clearly not budging.

“Looks like we're trapped,” you deadpan.

She swears again, staring at the door. “Of-fucking-course.”

“Guess we're stuck here until tomorrow.”

She grunts. “Great, just great. What are we going to do—wait, do you have your phone?”

“I do, but…” You search your pockets, realization dawning. “I think I left it on the counter.”

She pats her pockets too, and her face falls. “Ugh, same.”

There's a beat of silence as you both process this new information… you're screwed.

Jinx slides down the wall until she's sitting on the cold concrete. Her eyes glance at the other boxes, then back to you. “Are you just going to stand there?”

You sigh and slowly lower yourself next to her. “Guess not.”

“This sucks,” she grumbles, pulling her knees up to her chest.

You look at the storage room around you. There's not much in the storage room. It's all supplies—cups, espresso beans, various syrups, milk-

Oh, milk.

“At least we have food,” you say, pointing at the several cartons of milk stacked on one shelf.

Jinx glances at the milk and scoffs. “Yeah, if we plan on having heart disease. We'll be dead before anyone remembers we're locked in here.”

“Can't you just be a tad... optimistic?” you mutter. “Like you usually are?”

“I'm only optimistic when I'm caffeinated. Now I'm tired and miserable.”

The two of you go back to sitting in silence.

You take a quick glance around the storage room again, noting how bare it is. It's cold in here. No carpet or insulation. Just two people, three days' worth of food, and an uncomfortable concrete floor.

Jinx looks up at the ceiling, probably wondering if this is how her life ends.

“Stop sulking,” you say.

“I'm not sulking.”

“Yes, you are. You can stop being gloom and doom now, it's not that bad.”

“Oh yeah? it's not that bad? we're literally stuck in an empty storage room with nothing to do. Not to mention this floor is cold and uncomfortable-”

“Then sit closer. It'll be warmer,” you interrupt her rant. The moment the words escape your mouth, you realize how it could be interpreted.

You clear your throat awkwardly. No, it's not that bad. It's not... intimate or anything. You're not, y'know, trying to be close. It's just practical. Yes. Practical.

Her gaze flicks to the ground between you, and she shuffles closer, sighing. You watch silently as she scoots over, closer and closer, until your shoulders are touching.

Neither of you speaks for a few moments, both of you focusing on the door in front of you.

“Do you think ghosts are real?” she asks suddenly.

You turn your head to look at her. “Yeah, I think there's someone watching us in that corner.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, really.” You gesture to the darkest corner. “I think I just saw something move.”

She turns her head, staring at the far corner of the storage room. “Really?”

“Yep.”

Both of you stare at the corner for a few seconds. Nothing happens. The corner is completely still. Not a single speck of dust is moving.

She huffs and turns to glare at you. “I hate you.”

You huff in return. “The hell did I do?”

“You're trying to scare me.”

“Maybe I am.”

“If a goddamn ghost really is watching us-”

You cut her off. “What exactly are you worried about?”

“I- I don't know,” she stammers indignantly, “I just—ugh, whatever.”

“I mean, it's not like they'll do anything.”

She gives you a dubious look. “I bet they're already judging me.”

You grin at the thought. “Oh, definitely. I can feel them judging you right now.” You gesture at the dark corner again. “See that? that's Jessica.”

“Jessica?” she repeats.

“Yes, Jessica,” you say with a grin. “She died here and has been here a long time, waiting for the next victim.”

She eyes the corner again, narrowing her eyes. “I can't see anything. Not sure if the ghost is real.”

“She's real, alright. Watch this.” You point at the corner. “Jessica, give her a jumpscare.”

She looks back and forth at the corner, then back at you. “What-” She's cut off when you suddenly poke her side. “AHK-” she yells, jerking away from you. “You-!”

You grin at her. “See? Told you Jessica's real.”

“Are you trying to kill me?” she accuses, shoving you in the chest. “I hate you, you are the worst, motherfucker-”

“Jessica said you should watch your language.”

She swivels her gaze back to the corner. “Jessica can go suck my dic-”

“Jessica said you shouldn't talk to the dead that way.”

She gives you another indignant glare. “Jessica can eat my ass.”

“Ohhhhh, Jessica didn't like that.”

She looks at the corner again, trying to look intimidating. “Jessica, I don't like you.”

“Jessica said she's heartbroken.”

Jinx tries to kick your leg, but you dodge playfully. “Jessica's a damn liar.”

“Maybe Jessica should haunt you for the rest of your life,” you say, still grinning.

She scoffs, turning to look at you. “I bet it's worse to get haunted by a ghost than see a dead body,” she mutters, coughing.

Her words catch you off guard, and you look away, suddenly feeling guilty about joking with her. “Yeah.” You try to think of anything else to say. “Um. Sorry.”

She shrugs. “It's fine. It's just a stupid joke.”

Silence falls between you again, and you stare at the ground, not knowing what to say.

“What if…” you start after an awkward silence, “What if you're being haunted by someone you like forever… I mean, would it be better to get haunted by someone you like instead of… you know, someone you hate.”

She hesitates, looking at nothing in particular. “Uh... probably... yeah.”

“Yeah?” you repeat. “And who would you want to be haunted by?”

“No one,” she quickly replies. “I mean, it's not like I want to get haunted, I just think it would be better if I did.”

There's a beat of silence as the two of you sit, listening to the nothingness of the storage room.

“What if I haunted you?” she asks.

“You?”

Her eyes whip over to you. “Yeah, me.”

“You want to haunt me?”

“Why not?” she responds. “If I had to haunt someone, why wouldn't I pick you?”

You blink. “Why would you pick me?”

“Is a good reason really needed?” she asks, looking away from you. “Maybe I just want to be around you.” She says it nonchalantly, as if she's stating a fact.

A fact that makes no sense to you. Why would she want to stay with you? “That makes literally no sense.”

She shrugs, her knees bumping against yours. “Does it need to make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Why does it need to make sense?”

“Because-” you stumble over your words. “Because you don't get to just say things and expect me to understand-”

“Bullshit.” A retort is on the tip of your tongue, but she cuts you off again before you can respond. “Just answer this.”

“Answer what?”

She stares at you intently, eyes narrowed. “If I said I wanted to stay with you all the time, would that make sense to you?”

“Well, yeah. That makes sense. You already hang around me-”

“No, not just when we work. I mean-” she stops, staring at the floor in an attempt to avoid your gaze. “I want to… be with you.”

“You're already with me,” you say. “We're literally stuck in a storage room together.”

Jinx sighs exasperatedly. “No, I mean, I want to always be with you.” There's a pause. “And… if that means haunting you, then I'd want to haunt you.”

Your brain stops. What? She wants to be with you all the time? As in... always?

...

The floor is suddenly very interesting. You stare at the concrete, trying to process the words that just escaped her mouth.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

Your voice is too fast. “Why would you want-”

“Because I enjoy your company,” she interrupts you quickly, “and you probably wouldn't mind if I was around.” She stares at her fingernails, avoiding your eyes. “I'm just saying,” she continues, “It'd be pretty nice. Spending eternity with you.”

Something in your chest tightens at those words.

Spend eternity with you.

It dawns on you that you're feeling something that you haven't experienced before. Or maybe you've felt it before, on rare occasions. The feeling of your heart beating too fast, for no reason.

Your eyes dart to your hand, lying on your right leg. Her knee brushes against yours again. You look away from your legs and stare at her face.

She's still staring down at her fingers.

In the dim light of the storage room, her face is almost glowing… she looks beautiful. How can someone look so perfect, even when talking about such disturbing things?

Huh. It's strange. Someone who looks so beautiful, talking about something so disturbing.

She tucks a strand of blue hair behind her ear, eyes not lifting from her fingers.

You feel the urge to touch her.

Not in a weird way. But to feel the smoothness of her skin on your hand. To feel her hair run through your fingers. To… you don't know. Just feel her.

“Why-” you start, your voice too loud. You stop talking. Why are you trying to say something?

She glances up and stares back at you. “Hmm?”

“Why me? I mean... there are a lot of people in this shitty city or shitty world, so why would you like to stay with me?”

She looks at you and pauses for a moment. Her knee brushes against yours again, and she scoots closer, resting her head on your shoulder. “I don't care about the world. I just want you.” Her words are quiet, spoken only to you.

Everything in the storage room seems to disappear. The boxes that surround you have disappeared. Everything melts away, except for the girl, resting her head on your shoulder, and the words that she speaks to you. Just the two of you, in a room of shadows.

“You wouldn't mind, do you?” Her words rip you out of your thoughts.

“Mind what?” you respond stupidly.

“Spending an eternity with me.” 

You lick your lips again, but your mouth is completely dry. Your throat is dry too. Your brain is going stupid.

You aren't sure why. It's just... the implication of her words. Of eternity with Jinx.

With the woman who made a shitty job… less shitty. With the woman who somehow made you look forward to the drink that you hated so much, all because she makes it differently. With the woman who taught you that there are some things, even disliked things, that can grow on you.

You realize you're smiling and quickly attempt to return a neutral expression.

You glance down at her head, right below your chin.

You imagine living with her constantly. Stuck with her. For eternity.

It would drive any sane person mad.

You aren't a sane person.

“I wouldn't mind... spending an eternity with you,” you hear yourself saying.

You can feel her smile even though you can't see it. She shifts on the floor, and suddenly her hand is sliding across the space between you. Her fingers are brushing against your arm, slowly creeping down as if to find yours.

“That's good,” she murmurs.

Her hand finally finds yours, she stops for a second, and then she slowly intertwines your fingers together.

You move your thumb across her knuckles, tracing the lines and veins. You'd thought about holding her hand once before. You'd never thought that it would make breathing so much more difficult.

Her thumb starts doing the same, tracing over your knuckles.

You glance at her hand, interlocked with yours. You stare at the bandages as Jinx continues to trace over your veins, the pads of her fingers soft and delicate as they brush against your skin.

Her hand is so gentle and yet also so rough at the same time. Rough, because you can feel the callouses, the slight scrapes across her knuckles. Gentle, because even with her rough skin, her hand still touches you so softly.

What would it be like, being with her forever? Always.

Would the moments like this become mundane? would it get old? holding her hand and sitting in a storage room, talking with her?

She pulls her head away from your shoulder and looks fully at you.

You notice how close she is. You could easily reach out and touch the strands of hair that fall over her forehead. Her eyes are dilated, looking at you with what can only be affection.

You realize how easy it would be to kiss her.

“I wouldn't mind it either,” she says.

Her eyelashes flutter, and her gaze darts to your lips. You feel a heat grow in your chest, and your own eyes drift to her lips, slightly parted.

You aren't sure who leans in, but one of you is shifting forward.

She swallows, and her tongue flicks out to wet her own lips. You find yourself unconsciously copying their movement, licking your bottom lip.

You think about how her lips would feel. Soft? Warm? What would it taste like-

And then she turns her head away from you and back into the corner, clearing her throat awkwardly. You clear your throat as well, trying to think of something else to focus on.

Anything but how close her lips were to yours.

She squeezes your hand briefly before letting go, and the loss of her touch leaves a cold feeling on your skin. “Uh-” her voice is slightly hoarse, “is Jessica still there?”

—

The next few days went by in a dull routine, one that you quickly fell back into. Wake up. Go to class. Study. Work. Classwork. Get some sleep.

It was just like the rest of any normal week, except one thing had changed.

Jinx.

Or rather, the lack of Jinx. 

She hadn't shown up to work. You didn't know why, but the fact that you arrived at work and she wasn't there to hand you a matcha latte was definitely... odd.

You had gotten used to the smell of her matcha assaulting you the minute you stepped into work, to the point where the smell of coffee beans seemed unusually bland.

And now there was just coffee.

Even the matcha latte you had made yourself didn't taste the same. You're not sure why you had decided to make yourself a matcha latte.

It's stupid to do. You hate matcha, you've always hated it.

Too bitter. And yet...

No amount of sugar can seem to make it sweet, like Jinx somehow does. Nothing seemed to taste the same without her. Matcha, bitter. Coffee, bland. Café, boring.

Everything had suddenly, and quite inexplicably, felt wrong… like…

The sugar in the cabinet was suddenly moved to a new place, and you couldn't remember where the hell it was now because it wasn't where it was before. Or an apocalypse, but instead of surviving a nuclear blast or zombies, you now had to survive the absence of someone you didn't quite know you had begun to depend on so much.

You look at the clock. Only four hours left of this shift. Only four hours.

—

“Oh, did you not hear? Jinx is sick,” Jayce says. “She called saying she was sick, probably not coming in for a week or so.”

“Sick?” you echo.

“Yeah, she didn't sound too good.” He shakes his head as he continues making coffee. 

“When did she call?” 

He pauses what he's doing. “Uh... about a couple days ago.”

She called in over a couple days ago, and you're only being told now. “Couple days…” you repeat, just to clarify. “Why are you just telling me now?”

“I thought you knew?”

“No, I didn't.”

Jayce looks mildly annoyed as he finishes up a customer's order. “She told me she talked to you about it.”

“She talked to me? When?”

“Are you telling me she didn't talk to you?”

“She didn't. Not one word.”

He finishes the order and hands the coffee to a customer. “That's weird. You guys are close, I thought she would've told you that she was sick.”

Close. That's the word that sticks in your head when he says it. Close enough where she would've told you something as big as not being able to come to work for a week. Right? but she didn't tell you anything.

“She didn't tell me anything,” you say.

He scratches his chin. “Maybe she forgot to tell you?”

“Maybe.” Maybe. 

Or maybe she was avoiding you. Maybe she just didn't want to talk to you. Maybe she suddenly had an epiphany about how you were close. Maybe she just didn't want to be close anymore. Maybe she got scared and regretted it.

But that makes no sense.

If she regretted it, why would she have held your hand so tightly? why would she have said that you were the person she wanted to spend an eternity with? why would she say it like it was something she had thought about for a while?

“Maybe you should go check up on her?” Jayce suggests, shaking his head like he can sense your train of thought going off the rails.

“Check up on her?”

He shrugs. “Yeah, she might appreciate some company. Someone to look after her while she's sick.”

“I'm not sure if-,” you begin, but you're cut off by Jayce.

“Come on, it'd be nice for her,” he urges. “She doesn't have anyone else around to check up on her.”

You remember her telling you that her last family was killed when she was a kid, and she lives alone. She also mentioned that her sister is in prison.

Yeah, maybe you should go check on her.

After all, why wouldn't you? it would be a perfectly reasonable thing to do. You cared enough about her to go see how she was doing.

You care about her, so it only makes sense to go check on her. “Yeah,” you say, “I'll go see her.”

“Alright. I can handle the rest of the shift if you want to go.”

—

The entire commute there is a test of your sanity.

It takes nearly two hours to finally reach her address, the commute filled with cramped subway trains and waiting in pouring rain for buses to show up. Your hair is wet and sticking to your face.

Carrying a bag of the matcha sweets she liked was easy enough, but the latte was a little more difficult. It kept sloshing in the cup and threatening to spill over the edge with every step you took. Still, you managed not to dump the drink all over yourself.

By the time you finally arrived at her apartment, all you wanted to do was collapse in a chair and take a nap for the rest of the year.

And it was only 4:35 in the afternoon.

You look at the piece of scrap paper that Jayce gave you with Jinx's address on it. Fifth floor, room 505.

With a weary groan, you take the stairs. The elevator is broken, and there's no way in hell you're taking that janky elevator. You feel like it might just get stuck halfway and drop you to your death.

When you reach her floor, you're pretty sure you're ready to die. You walk around the hall and look at the first few doors.

500... 501... 502… 503... 504...

You pass a group of teenagers who walk past you with their phones out, shouting at the top of their lungs and shoving each other around. A baby is crying in some apartment as you pass the door, and a dog is barking from behind another.

505.

You eye the door, taking a moment to catch your breath and try to straighten out your wet clothes. Here goes nothing.

You knock on the door. No answer at first. You knock again. Nothing.

You knock louder, hoping to get some kind of response. It's another solid minute of no answer, and you're getting increasingly annoyed. She's either asleep or-

The door suddenly opens.

“Yeah, who-” Jinx starts but then stops speaking entirely when she sees you. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

She's wearing a threadbare gray t-shirt that hangs off one of her shoulders and barely comes anywhere close to covering any of her thighs. She has a tissue shoved into her nose and dark circles around her eyes. Her hair is messy, unbrushed, and unkempt.

Is this really the same person who had been handing you daily lattes every day for two months?

“Well, that's a hell of a greeting,” you grumble, shifting your bag and the nearly spilled latte to your other hand.

She's looking at you like you've done something wrong. Actually, she's looking at you like she's trying to kill you with just a stare.

You hold up the bag. “Brought food.”

“You shouldn't be here,” she spits out before slamming the door shut.

…wow. That was a warm welcome.

All you wanted to do was give her food and check to see if she was ok. She was sick, alone, and she probably didn't have anything to eat. And she just slammed the door in your face?

Screw this. You turn around ready to leave but stop when you hear the door creak open.

“Hey.” You turn and look over your shoulder. The door is open, but only slightly. Jinx peeks her head out the door, glaring at you. “What kind of food?” she asks, pointing to the bag

Not the kind of apology you're hoping for, but you'll take it. “Matcha sweets and a latte that I made.”

“That actually sounds-” she cuts herself off and sniffles, “...alright.” She opens the door all the way and turns to go back into the apartment. “Come in or leave, but don't just stand there like an idiot.”

You scoff and step inside, cautiously shutting the door behind you.

The first thing you notice is the smell. It doesn't smell exactly like garbage, but it stinks of old clothes and day-old food. It's not quite disgusting, it's not quite nice, but it reeks. Like someone hasn't opened a window and aired out the apartment in a while.

The next thing you notice is how much everything there is. Clothes sprawled over the couch, cans of energy drinks strewn across the floor, boxes of takeout littering the kitchen counters.

“Make yourself at home,” she says sarcastically, kicking a pile of clothes out of the way so you can sit on the couch. She pulls a tissue out of her nose and tosses it onto the floor.

You tentatively take a seat on the couch, shifting the latte and bag to the coffee table. Your eyes dart around the room as Jinx continues to shove things off the couch and onto the floor.

The entire wall beside the couch is covered in papers... and notes... and equations. It looks like a bunch of chemical compounds and designs.

She doesn't seem to notice you staring at the wall as she collapses onto the other end of the couch.

There are a few diagrams of rockets and some drawings of the coffee shop. Drawings of her and her deceased family, her deceased friends, and a drawing of… 

Wait- 

Is that your face? 

A drawing of your face is taped to the wall, scribbled with notes around it. ‘Nice lips.’

“What the-” you start, tilting your head to get a better look.

Jinx looks at you, noticing where you're staring, then follows your line of sight. She immediately turns red. “Oh. Uh-” she stutters, sitting up. 

“Did you-” you try to ask.

“It's nothing,” she says quickly, jumping off the couch. She scrambles towards the wall, tearing off the drawing. “Just a—just a quick sketch, it means nothing.”

You're fairly sure it means something, but you don't get the chance to press her further as she rips the paper apart and throws it into the trash can, avoiding your gaze.

“Anyway-” she says, plopping back down on the couch, “-I bet the food's good, right?”

Food... right. That was the whole point of coming over in the first place. “Uh... yeah.”

You watch as she grabs the latte and takes a sip. “Ugh, this is too bitter.” She sets down the latte and pushes it away from her. “What'd you put in this? It tastes like dirt.”

“The same stuff I always put in it,” you respond, slightly annoyed at the insult to your latte making abilities.

She shrugs and picks up one of the matcha sweets instead, popping it in her mouth. “Might as well teach you how to make one when I'm back.”

You watch her chew the sweets, then pause, letting out a sniffle, then reach up to wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

She lets out a dry cough. “Why exactly are you here?” 

“Jayce told me you were sick,” you reply.

“I'm not—wait, Jayce told you that?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Why were you even listening to him?”

“Because I was worried about you.”

She looks at you for a moment, then turns to grab another tissue and shoves it into her nose. “I'm not sick... just busy.”

You pointedly look around. “Uh huh,” you grumble, “Doing what exactly?”

“Stuff.”

“Stuff like-” you gesture to the entire mess. “-this?”

“It's my midterms, idiot.”

“So, no one's been cleaning up?” you ask, eyes darting around again in the apartment.

“I don't have time,” she complains, before letting out a deep cough and clutching her chest in pain. “I have more important things to do. Besides, do I look like I can clean when I can't even breathe through my damn nose right now?” Jinx sniffs, then reaches for another matcha sweet, her hair falling over her face.

You give her a sidelong glance. “You look like you're about to keel over.”

“Don't be dramatic.”

“I'm not,” you say, reaching out a hand to touch her forehead, checking for a fever.

She swats your hands away. “Don't touch me.”

You retract your hand. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. Why are you even here anyway? You don't have to worry about me.”

“I know I don't have to.”

“Then just go. I'm busy.”

You groan. “You're sick. You need, like, I don't know, someone to take care of you.”

“I'm fine-” she coughs again, “-I just need to-” Another dry cough, and she grabs another tissue. “I just need to-,” another cough, “-finish my midterm exam.”

“You need to rest.”

“I can't rest.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm behind.”

“What's the exam?”

She pauses, then reluctantly gestures to the mess on the wall. “I'm trying to design something, and it requires a lot of diagrams and calculations.”

So that's what all those equations and numbers and notes are. But that doesn't explain why her apartment is such a wreck.

“And that's why you haven't cleaned up?” you ask.

She glares at you, tossing the used tissue. “How would you react if you had a deadline, and you were on the verge of throwing up?”

“I know you're stressed, but-”

“You don't know anything!” Jinx snaps all of a sudden, standing up and looking you dead in the face.

“Seriously, what's your problem?” you retort.

“My problem is that you're here when you shouldn't be-”

“I'm here because I was worried about you. You-”

She interrupts you again. “Well, you shouldn't be. I don't want your help.”

“You don't want my help,” you repeat slowly.

“You heard me.”

You bite your tongue and take a deep, slow breath. “Then…” you manage to choke out, “...whose help do you want?”

“Nobody's,” she mutters. “I don't need anyone's help. I've done just fine for years. I can do it myself.”

But you shouldn't have to. 

She continues as she walks towards her bedroom. “I'm sick and tired and trying to finish something that's due in a few days, and I don't need you to come barging in, trying to-” She stops, clutching her chest and coughing again.

“You should be resting and taking it easy-” you coax, standing.

“I would be resting and taking it easy if you weren't here.”

You freeze, feeling yourself grow cold. 

You know she's just cranky, that she's sick and upset that she's stuck like this, that her deadline is near, and that you're just the person who happens to be around.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “didn't know you wanted me gone.”

She opens her mouth, hesitating for a second, before nodding her head firmly. “I'm sick, and I need to finish some work. So just do me this one favor and get out.”

Her words are harsh, more harsh than you think you can handle.

But even more than the fact they were words of rejection and anger, what hurt was the feeling that those words were coming from the same woman who had, just days earlier, curled against you, told you that you were the one she wanted to spend an eternity with.

“Fine,” you say quietly, “If that's what you want.”

She looks at you, and you swear for a second you think you see her expression soften, but then she nods her head again. “Yeah, that's what I want.”

You glance around at the mess of diagrams and paperwork plastered on the walls, the trash littered everywhere, and the couch that looked like it hadn't been slept on in days. 

“I'll see you at work,” you say lamely, turning away and walking towards the door.

She doesn't say a word to stop you. You open the door, and you want her to say something to stop, a please, a wait, or anything, but nothing comes.

With one last glance back at her, you leave.

—

“That was…” Jayce starts, pausing. “Did she even listen to you?”

“She was more dead set on booting me out of there.”

He lets out a breath. “She's stubborn.”

“Yeah,” you agree, “And stupid as hell.”

“But she's unwell,” he continues.

“Doesn't give her an excuse to say that I shouldn't be there.”

“True.” He looks over at you. “You look upset.”

You scoff. “Of course I'm upset. I show up to see how my friend is feeling, and her immediate response is to kick me out. Like she doesn't want me anywhere near her.”

Jayce frowns. “Don't take it too personally. She's not trying to hurt you on purpose. I'm sure that once she's feeling better, she'll apologize.”

—

She did not, in fact, apologize.

It's been over a week since you entered her apartment, Jinx isn't sick anymore and isn't busy with midterms, she's back to how she usually was. She talks, she laughs, she jokes but never looks in your direction, no word, no greetings… and not once does she ever slide a cup of matcha in your direction like she used to.

Whenever she works with you, she keeps things strictly professional. Her hands never accidentally brush against yours, and she never stands closer than necessary.

You've tried giving her space, hoping she'd approach you when she was ready to talk it out. But the space never got filled.

It's like, in a single day, you went from being... almost something to nothing.

—

Jayce calls out your name from the counter as you wipe down the tables.

“What?” you call back, watching as Jayce walks over to you. 

He nods towards Jinx, who is currently chatting with a customer. “When are you going to talk to her?”

“When are you going to stop being so nosy?”

He snorts. “I want to help you two sort this out. She's too stubborn, and so are you.”

“She doesn't want to talk to me,” you reply.

“Because you both are too proud.”

“Or I just don't want to go chase after her when it's clear she doesn't want to talk to me.”

Jayce sighs. “Look, you're my friend, I want to help you work it out.”

“She doesn't want to talk, Jayce,” you say firmly. “I don't know how to fix this if she's ignoring me.”

“That's the point, you have to make her talk.”

You scoff. “Yeah, make a girl talk who probably wants me dead right now.”

“She doesn't want you dead. Do you think it's a coincidence that she makes a point to talk to all the other regulars?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

He lifts his shoulders. “I'm just saying, every time you're here, she tends to talk more to the customers, especially the male ones.”

“Are you saying she's flirting now?”

“No, I'm saying she's doing it for your attention.”

“Why would she be doing it for my attention? She made it pretty clear she doesn't want me around.”

He throws his arms up. “Because she wants you to get jealous. She wants you to react to it. She wants you to get mad and do something about it.”

“How would you know?”

“Maybe the fact that she's been glancing at you every five minutes for the past hour?”

“...she's not.”

“Yes, she is.”

“Stop saying that, I see her right-” and your sentence cuts off as your eyes flick over to where Jinx is, she's still talking to a customer.

The customer leans closer to her and says something that clearly makes her laugh. Her eyes dart in your direction as she laughs.

She's definitely looking at you. Jayce is right, she is looking at you. Her laughter dies at the same time her eyes lock on yours. She averts her gaze the moment she sees that you caught her.

“See?” Jayce says, “She keeps looking at you. She's doing it for your attention, not anyone else's.”

“Okay, so let's say she's doing it for my attention,” you continue. “What am I supposed to do about it? You said it yourself, she's stubborn.”

“You're going to have to do something that gets her attention. Make her upset, make her angry, make her do something. She won't talk unless you push her to.”

You stare at him. “Are you really implying what I think you're implying?”

He grins smugly. “That depends, what do you think I'm implying?”

“You're asking me to make her jealous.”

“I'm not asking you to do anything,” he retorts. “I'm suggesting you do it because it'll work. Do you want to continue like this, ignoring each other, for god knows how long? or do you want to get this sorted out?”

It sounds absurd. Ridiculous. Stupid. Immature. But if it makes her talk to you… “You really think it'll work?” you finally relent.

He grins knowingly. “Oh, it'll definitely work.”

—

It was a really stupid idea, especially coming from Jayce. But he was pretty adamant about it, and you were a bit too desperate.

You're trying your best to not scratch at the sleeve of this stupid shirt that Jayce forced you to wear. It's a dark blue long sleeve. Jayce claimed to have worn it on a ‘date,’ and it ‘worked’ with the person he was trying to date at the time. Now, you're the one wearing it.

“This is stupid.”

“No, it isn't,” Jayce insists from behind the counter. “It'll definitely work.”

“It's dumb.”

“Will you just do it?” he huffs. “She's going to be here soon.”

There's no way in hell this would work. It's just a shirt. There's no way that Jinx would-

The bell on the cafe door rings as it opens.

Jinx is walking through the door. She spots the counter where Jayce and you are, and she stops for a second.

She takes a look at you from head to toe, her gaze lingering longer on the dark blue shirt, and then she forcefully looks away from you and begins walking towards the break room where the lockers are.

Jayce elbows you in the side, nodding in her direction. “See? It's working-”

You elbow him back. “She just went to the break room, how is that working?”

“That was just the first step. Wait and see.”

—

You stand by the coffee machine, waiting for it to finish brewing a drink for a customer. Jinx is on the other side, making a different drink.

The machine's steam causes the sweat on your lower forearms to be sticky, causing the cloth to cling to your skin, and so you roll them up slightly, just above the elbow.

You make a point to not look at her, but you feel her attention fall onto your forearms, her eyes trailing down to the way your arms look, seeing the cloth of the shirt clinging from the sweat.

At the corner of your eye, you see her biting her lip, her breath hitching, and there's a subtle flush on her cheeks.

She looks away the second she realizes that you caught her staring at your arms, but it was enough for you to know that she was.

It's working. Damn it, it's actually working.

—

You feel her breath on the back of your neck as she reaches behind you for the coffee machine, her body just barely brushing against your back.

She quickly pulls away, going back to her end of the counter. “It's really hot in here,” she mumbles.

You nod, picking up a towel and wiping some sweat off your neck, lifting the collar of your shirt to wipe off your collarbone. “I know, the air conditioning really sucks.”

She stares at you, her eyes traveling down your neck to your collarbone. “It's hot in here…” she repeats. Then, she swallows and looks away with a cough, the steam from the machine giving a good excuse for the redness on her face. “Yeah, it really sucks.”

It goes on like that. Glances are stolen. Awkward touches are exchanged. The air seems to grow hotter every time you're near her.

You're surprised neither of you have passed out from heat exhaustion yet.

—

“Are you free this Friday..?” The customer in front of you asks.

You're well aware of the fact that Jinx is behind you. You can hear her moving around. “Uh, I-” you pause, trying to ignore the eyes that are boring into your skull. “Yeah. Why?”

“Do you have a…” she trails off and glances over your shoulder, “Girlfriend?”

Jayce coughs obnoxiously beside you as he wipes the countertop. You almost give him a look, but instead, you shake your head. “No, I'm single.”

There's a loud bang behind you. Jinx bumps something, and whatever it is clanks against the floor.

“Really?” she continues, her voice raising a tone. “A pretty girl like you doesn't have a girlfriend?”

Jayce says something under his breath, and you swear you hear a muttered “yet.”

You ignore him and respond to the customer. “Uh, you think I'm pretty?”

The customer looks you up and down, her eyes stopping just below your chest before slowly trailing down. “Yeah, you're pretty hot,” she replies as she leans forward, resting her hand on the counter and showing off way more skin than what most would consider decent.

“Ah, thank you,” you say politely, forcing your gaze to stay on the customer's face and not... anywhere else. “You're pretty yourself.”

There's another clang behind you.

The customer laughs and twirls a strand of her hair. “I bet you say that all the time.”

Jinx steps around you, almost brushing against your side.

“Not really,” you reply, keeping your eyes trained away from her. “I don't really-”

You're interrupted suddenly by Jinx, who is now standing directly beside you, grabbing something from the shelf. She leans in closer, her chest almost brushing against your arm as she grabs something.

It's the first time she's been so close to you in weeks.

She leans back, holding a container of matcha powder—the same one she always uses to make your latte—and she looks you in the eye. “You want your latte, right?” she asks you. She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.

Yes. You miss her matcha latte so much. “No,” you force yourself to say, avoiding her eyes.

“Oh,” she says, she sounds surprised? “Really?” She looks down at the matcha powder, running a thumb over the label, and looks back up at you.

Don't look at her. “Yeah, I... I don't want one,” you lie.

“Are you sure? It's been a while since you had my matcha latte.”

You want one so much. You want her to smile and be carefree and make you a latte that will warm you down to the core, but- “I'm sure,” you lie again. “I'm good.”

“That's... that's a shame.”

“Yeah,” you reply, and you want to punch yourself because no, it's not a shame, it's a sin. You are an idiot. “Definitely a shame.”

She's just a few inches away, and all you want to do is reach out for her, take her into your arms, and make her look at you, but she looks at the matcha in her hands.

“Guess I wasted this then,” she mumbles before putting the container back and starting to take orders from the other customers.

“Idiot,” Jayce mutters, and you elbow him hard in the gut. He doubles over, clutching his stomach, and you turn back to the customer.

“Uh… anyway,” you say, then turn your attention back to the customer, forcing yourself to smile. “What were you saying?”

—

After a long shift, the café is finally empty, and the cleanup is done. You've mopped up the floors, put everything away, you're starting to get all nice and sweaty, and the break room has a much-needed air conditioner.

You open your locker and shoved your apron inside, sweat clinging to your shirt and making it cling to your skin. You grimace and reach down, trying to fix the collar of the shirt that feels tighter than normal.

Before you have a chance to readjust it, a glimpse of something in the locker catches your eye. You look down, and there, sitting in the center of your locker, is a cup of matcha latte.

You didn't put it there. Jayce didn't put it there either. So there is only one other person who could have put it there.

You pick up the cup, looking at the steaming drink. Well, you aren't going to drink it just to let it go to waste.

You immediately take a sip, feeling the warm, sweet taste of matcha on your tongue. It's been so long since you had this, and it's still the same taste as the ones she used to make for you when you two were in a... good place.

That was a long time ago now. Things are different now.

“So you do want one.”

A familiar voice makes you jump, causing you to almost spill the drink. You turn around to find the bluenette leaning against the doorframe to the break room.

“I made it for you, in case you wanted it,” she adds, entering the break room, then leaning one shoulder against the row of lockers. Jinx looks at your face, then your shirt. “You look sweaty.”

You want to say something, but your brain forgets how to function when she's looking you up and down.

“I like the shirt,” she comments, pointing at the shirt that is a little too tight around your shoulders. “It looks good. Fits you well.”

“It's not my shirt,” you reply, placing the cup down on a nearby table, hoping that she'll let that be the end of that. “Jayce gave it to me.”

“He did?” she asks, and you catch a subtle whiff of her favorite perfume. It makes you want to grab her and drown in it.

“Uh, yeah,” you mutter, pulling the collar of your shirt nervously.

She looks over to your nervous gesture, and her lips twitch. “You should loosen the collar,” she notes. “You're going to suffocate like that.”

Her comment gives you pause, and you try loosening the collar, but your sweaty hands can't get a grip. “Here.” 

She reaches up, her delicate fingers undo the first few buttons of your shirt, exposing your collarbones. Her fingers then pull the collar slightly, allowing your hot skin the cool touch of air.

“There,” she murmurs once the collar is loose. “That looks more comfortable.”

You manage to find enough sanity to nod, knowing that if you speak now, your voice will most likely crack. You expect her to pull back, but her fingers remain, trailing over your collar as though they just happened to land there.

Her eyes roaming over your neck before lifting to your face. Your eyes are caught on her as well, studying every movement of her face, the way her expression softens and her eyes drift over your features.

“...I'm sorry.”

The words finally bring your attention back. “What?” 

She pauses, biting her bottom lip. “I said I'm sorry,” she clarifies. “I... I shouldn't have snapped at you like that a week ago. Shouldn't have said what I said.”

“Then why did you?” you ask, eyes fixed on her lips.

Jinx seems to struggle with her next words, her hand finally dropping from your collar. “...I don't know how to handle things well,” she whispers, “I wasn't... I wasn't feeling well either. That's why I lost it. You showed up... when I wasn't in the right mind frame, and I said all these stupid things-”

She sighs and pushes some hair behind one of her ears. “I was stupid. I was stupid, and I said some awful things. Words I didn't mean and couldn't take back. Everything with my college work started to pile up, and I felt like I couldn't handle it. So you showed up and-” she swallows. “-I took it out on you… and then I just ignored you for a week.” She shifts from foot to foot. “I… I wasn't trying to avoid you. I just... I thought you'd be annoyed.”

“Annoyed because you were ignoring me?”

“No—yes—maybe—I don't know, alright?” she says hastily. “I just... I wasn't in the mindset to talk, ok? I was trying to figure things out.”

“You could’ve told me-”

“-I don't do so well when it comes to opening up about my feelings-” she stops, then shakes her head. “-I don't do so well with being honest with myself.”

You let out a breath. “I know... I know you don't, but that-”

“Stop,” she interrupts you, raising a hand. “Just... stop. I know what you're going to say. You're going to say that I should work on being better instead of pushing you away.” She continues. “I know I do it. I know I'm bad at it, and I'm not good with my emotions. I know I'm not the best at saying how I feel. I know I should work on my communication.”

“Why don't you then?” you ask bluntly. “Why don't you do something about it? why can't you just try to deal with things instead of pushing me away and dealing with everything alone? why can't you just talk to me instead of bottling everything up?”

She closes her eyes, looking away. “I don't know,” she exhales, “I just... I don't know how.”

“You could start today,” you tell her, reaching out. Your fingers brush over the back of her hand.

Her eyes drop to where you touch her and linger.

“Right now,” you emphasize, “Just... try. You don't have to start working on all your emotions and feelings. Just say one thing. Tell me how you feel, right now.”

She shakes her head, refusing to look at you.

“Tell me one thing,” you insist, “Just one thing. Try.”

She sighs, as if you're the worst person in the world. Maybe you are. “Okay-” she starts and finally looks up, “If you're trying to make me spill out my feelings-”

“I am,” you confirm. “That’s exactly-”

“-Then maybe I should show you first-” she continues over you “-What I'm feeling.”

She suddenly reaches out and grabs the back of your neck, gripping it tight enough to pull you forward.

“Hey-” you stumble, hands instinctively wrapping around her waist, but any protests you might've had are smothered because her lips are suddenly on yours.

A week of ignoring each other, and suddenly she's kissing you.

Her lips are so soft. So soft and insistent, and when you don't respond because your brain is still trying to catch up, her teeth graze over your bottom lip, and it's this gesture that snaps you out of it.

You kiss her back, eyes finally closing, and lean in to meet her. Your fingers sink into the fabric of her shirt, and her arms wind around your neck. Her mouth parts, and you take the silent invitation, your tongue slipping in, exploring the inside of her mouth.

She tastes like the feeling when it's cold, and your teeth ache, and it feels like all warmth has left your body, but then you take a sip of your hot drink, and the burn of the drink goes down your throat, and you feel just the tiniest bit warmer. It's not enough, it isn't enough to make your fingers warm or the tip of your nose, but still, the small warmth you feel is better than none.

You want to bottle up this feeling, this taste, and store it in the back of your throat until, when you need it, you can just swallow and feel the warmth.

She hums, low in her throat, and it sounds like a moan. She pushes you forward until your back is met with the lockers, pinning your body between the hard surface and herself.

Her teeth graze your lip again, her tongue teases yours, and you shiver despite the warmth you feel. “I was stupid,” she mumbles against your mouth, “So, so stupid.”

You grunt out some sort of agreement because yes, she is stupid and yes, you're stupid and yes, you're both idiots for ignoring each other.

You feel her smile before she pulls herself away. “That,” she murmurs, breathless, “that was what I was feeling.”

You open your eyes to look at her, and notice her pink cheeks, half-lidded eyes, her swollen lips, and you fight down the urge to turn her around and just shove her back against the locker and kiss her senseless.

“Are-” you manage, breathing hard, trying to regain the words that have fled from your head, “Are all your emotions channeled through your mouth?”

“Maybe,” she says, eyes dropping to your lips. “Is there a problem with using my mouth?”

There are a lot of words you would like to say. Words relating to how her mouth has driven you crazy for a long time, that you've spent more time than you'd like to admit imagining what it would be like to kiss her and see that mouth do things other than talking.

Too bad, all those words are stuck in your throat. “No,” you grit out, “No... there's no problem.”

“Great,” she replies, then grins, leaning closer until your noses bump. “Then maybe my mouth has more things to show you.”

—

The usual routine of making matcha lattes continues, and the days slowly pass.

Each day, Jinx greets you with a smile and a cup of that disgustingly good matcha. You no longer try to argue with your taste buds. You have given up and accepted the matcha as a part of yourself. Now you drink the horrible drink willingly.

And your relationship with Jinx went from ‘maybe something’ to ‘maybe nothing’ to ‘definitely something.’ You're finally dating, which isn't to say that everything is magically all better. Jinx is still Jinx, and you're still you.

So not everything changes.

The cafe still looks the same, the customers still act the same, you still have to deal with shitty customers and traffic. But even through all the normal, unchanged things, there's one thing that's different.

Jinx is now in your life.

“Hey-” Jinx waves a hand in front of your face. “Are you listening to anything I'm saying?”

“Uh-” you blink, returning to reality. “...yeah,” you lie, giving a sheepish smile, “totally listening.”

She stares at you for a long, long moment, as if trying to determine if you're lying to her or not. Apparently, she thinks you're being truthful.

“Great, now pay attention.” She resumes her instructions, and you try your hardest to pay attention. Mostly. Maybe.

You watch as she grabs a glass bottle from the shelf above the coffee machine and pours a small amount of... something into her mug. “What's that?” you ask.

“Honey.”

“Yeah?”

“Honey,” she repeats, tilting the bottle for you to see. “Honey. Sweet, golden honey.”

Ah, that honey. “That's what I thought.” You nod, like that completely makes sense.

Jinx rolls her eyes but hands you the bottle so you can read the label for yourself.  “This,” she explains, “is what makes my matcha better.”

You look between the bottle and the mug of matcha before placing the honey back on the shelf.

She stirs the matcha and takes a sip, then gives you a smug look. “See? That's why it's better.”

The honey is almost as sweet as the way she's looking at you.

“Sweet,” is what you say instead of how you'd love nothing more than to taste it off her lips. 

She stares at you for a moment, and then she smirks. “Want to try it?” she asks, holding out the cup.

“Sure,” you answer. Why not?

You reach for the cup and lift it to your mouth. You take a small sip of the hot liquid, and… the matcha is sweet, and sweeter because it was in her mouth only moments ago.

“What do you think?” she asks as she takes the drink and sets it on the counter.

“Perfect,” you admit, licking your lips, trying to get rid of some of the sweetness.

She lifts up a hand, her thumb brushes against your lip, wiping away the remnants of the matcha. “You missed a bit.”

You want to grab her hand and-

She pulls her hand away from your mouth and then sucks off the same thumb that had lingered against you while staring at you directly in the eye. “Mhm… Tastes better this way.”

That's it. You'll drag her into the break room and kiss her until neither of you can breathe-

But, before you can do any of that, the cafe door chimes.

Customer, your brain reminds you. It's like getting pulled from a dream... right as it's getting good.

“Hey,” she whispers, “Let's continue this later, yeah?” 

That... sounds like a great idea. Amazing idea. Customer first. And then later.

—

The wind whips through both of your hairs as you pedal down the sidewalk. After putting in long hours and some very generous coffee tips, you've saved up enough to finally repair your bike.

Your ears pick up a familiar chuckle. “This is awesome!” she exclaims, “We're like birds, but cooler.”

Jinx's arms are wrapped around your waist, her legs pressed up beside your thighs, and you don't need to see her face to know that she's grinning.

You grip the handlebars tighter. “We're nothing like birds,” you reply, “Birds can actually fly.”

You feel the soft brush of her lips against the back of your shoulder. “But we're much cooler, right?” she counters.

Your retort dies in your throat as she presses her chin to your shoulder.

“Mmm, I'll take your silence as a yes,” she hums, her breath tickling your ear. She nuzzles her nose against the back of your neck. “You know, I don't think I've ever been this happy.”

“Ever?” you ask, focusing on the road in front of you. “Of all the years you've lived, you're the happiest now? when you're sitting on a bike, of all things?”

She pinches your waist, making you twitch slightly. “Well, if we're being honest, it's not the bike I'm happiest about,” she replies. “It's you that I'm happiest about.”

You roll your eyes to yourself. She's always so honest. You're grateful that she isn't in front of you, because your face feels unusually warm despite the breeze. “You like me that much?” you ask, half joking, half serious.

“Mmm,” she hums, “I like you a lot, actually. Like... a lot, lot.” Each word is emphasized with a light kiss to your shoulder.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup,” she continues to pepper kisses on your back. “My favorite person in this whole, shitty city.”

“I'm honored,” you quip, trying to sound mocking, but the tone is ruined by the fact that you're smiling without realizing.

She snorts at your lame response against your shoulder, and you feel the brush of her fingertips underneath the hem of your shirt.

“You might be my favorite person too.”

“Only might?” She laughs. “You don't sound very certain.”

“Eh, it's a hard competition,” you reply, making a slow turn left, “There's lots of people in this city-” and you feel her pinch your side again. “But, yes, maybe you're my favorite.”

“Maybe?”

“Definitely,” you correct, feeling her hum against your back.

“Ah, there we go,” she says approvingly. “I knew you had great taste.”

Your smile is wide, and you have the urge to turn around and kiss her, but you're pretty sure that will result in a crash. “Oh, and how did you know?”

“I just had a feeling,” she murmurs, “I always had a feeling we'd end up like this.”

You focus on pedaling, your feet moving in a circular rhythm. “Did you just... know?”

“Yeah. I just knew.”

“You just... knew?” you repeat.

“Sometimes you just know when something is going to happen,” Jinx says. “It just makes sense. Like how the sun will rise every morning... or something.”

You pedal forward, the subway entrance comes into view. “Like the sun will rise every morning,” you repeat, “or something.”

She pauses, and the sound of the wind is the only thing that fills your ears. “Can I admit something?” she asks after a moment of calm silence.

Her voice is unusually serious, and it makes you frown, but you reply gently. “Yeah... always.”

She presses her forehead against your shoulder, her grip tightening around your waist, and you can hear her drawing in a deep, shaky breath.

“When I'm bored,” she whispers, and you can feel her hair brush up against your nape, “I sometimes think about you.”

She continues. “It sounds weird, but yeah. I don't think about you in a ‘sexual way’ that people do with crushes or anything like that. I just... want to be with your presence or see your smile or hear you laugh... or just sit with you.”

You blink, surprised by her words. 

“You make me feel better than anyone else can, and I've had to watch your ass almost every day when you're at the café.”

“That's my fault? you never had to watch my ass, that's a choice you made.”

She scoffs, pinching your side again. “Shhhhh, I'm having a moment here.”

You chuckle softly. “Right, sorry, sorry. Continue.”

“Thank you-” she huffs. “Anyway, I just…” Jinx pauses, her words coming to a stop, and you continue to pedal in silence.

“Sometimes, when I'm not happy or sad, I just... think about you. When I'm lonely and I need someone to say something... when I'm really angry and when I'm so tired of everything and everyone... I think about you. I don't understand why I feel that way. I know that it's not normal.” She hesitates, and you can feel her fingers tighten around your abdomen. “Because even though it's not normal, I don't think it's wrong. I just want to… have you by my side.”

Her words echo in your head, and you find yourself listening more intently than you thought you would.

She sucks in another breath. “I don't care what we're doing, I don't care what we talk about... I just want you to be around.” She presses another soft kiss to the back of your shoulder and buries her face in your shirt once again, mumbling, “I'm happy.”

You swallow, taking your left hand off the handlebar to place it over her hands. “I... I want to be around you too.”

She sighs in relief. “I'm a bit insane,” she whispers. “I'm not.. normal.”

“I don't care if you're not normal,” you reply quietly, your fingers brushing across her knuckles. “Who wants to be normal, anyway?”

She chuckles and kisses your shoulder, inhaling your scent.

You can see a glimpse of the subway station just ahead, the entrance of a tunnel on standby.

You pedal slowly, taking a few more seconds to enjoy the wind and the warmth of Jinx's behind, and then come to a stop in front of the subway entrance.

Her arms loosen their grip on your waist, and you feel the heat of her body leave your back as she hops off the seat. You swing your legs off of the bike and put down the kickstand before facing her.

Your eyes trail over to the tunnel, the sounds of the trains coming in and out of the subway filling the night sky.

“This is me.” She jerks a thumb towards the entrance.

You nod. “See you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow. Work. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you echo.

You can see people walking into the station in your peripheral vision, the world continuing to go on despite the standstill you're in. Your eyes don't leave her as you both hesitate, neither of you wanting to leave. You're both just standing awkwardly, looking at each other.

You can't help but look at her with fondness. She's not even doing anything, just standing in front of you, and you still think that she's the most beautiful person in the world.

You watch her smile in response, and you have the urge to reach out, wanting to pull her back into you.

“Guess I should…” her voice trails off, and she makes a gesture with her hand. “Subway time.”

“Yeah…” you say softly, “Subway time.”

She doesn't move, though. Neither of you do.

Her eyes flit between the tunnel and you, and she gnaws at her lower lip. “You should, uh…” she begins, “...go.”

“Yeah, I should…” You should. You know you should. You should pedal back to your apartment, maybe do some dishes, and go to bed. You have class tomorrow, and Jinx is going into the subway. 

But you take a step forward. She looks at the ground. “Are you... are you going to hug me?”

“Should I?”

She shrugs. “I don't know. Do you... want to?”

“I could be convinced.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles anyway. “Yeah? you could be convinced, huh? what would it take for you to agree then?”

You tap your chin with your index finger, pretending to think. It's not like you need to put much thought into it. “I don't know. A few hundred bucks? A fancy dinner? Maybe a yacht?”

She smacks your arm with a huff and a glare. “You aren't taking this seriously.”

“Oh-” you say, clutching the fake wound, “You're brutal. I'm wounded, I'm injured-”

She crosses her arms and gives you a deadpan look. With a laugh, you step forward and wrap your arms around her waist. Her arms immediately slide over your shoulders as she burrows herself into your neck.

You breathe in her scent, closing your eyes. Your chin rests on her shoulder comfortably, and you feel her fingers slide into your hair.

“Just one more second,” she whispers.

You nuzzle her neck in response, and her fingers tighten around the back of your head. Her breath ghosts against your ear, and you swallow, feeling the goosebumps rise on the back of your neck.

You could stay like this with her for an eternity. On the sidewalk in front of the subway entrance. You could take turns leaning on her shoulder.

But the world doesn't work like that, and your moment is being watched by a few strangers walking in the entrance. She pulls back just far enough to be able to look at you but still holds onto you. 

Her hands cup your cheeks, and you find yourself staring at each other for a few seconds, her face lit up by the orange glow of a nearby streetlamp.

She's looking at you, you're looking at her, and the world hasn't collapsed. Her eyes trail over every feature, and you wonder if she sees you the same way too—if she finds each piece of you as beautiful as you do of her.

She brushes her thumb lightly over your cheek and the corner of her lips twitches into a smile. Her smile widens as she looks at you, showing the slight gap between her two front teeth, and it's- it's… 

You blink, feeling your knees grow weak, you can almost hear the sound of wedding bells and wonder if you've just found the closest thing to heaven on earth.

She presses a light kiss to your nose. “See you, partner,” she murmurs. She takes hold of your chin with one hand and presses another kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“See you,” you repeat. You can't help but smile, a bit dumbly.

She stares at you for a second longer before finally letting go of your chin and stepping back. You try to memorize every detail of her as she walks backward. “Call me when you get home, 'kay?” she says.

You nod. “Okay”

She stops in the subway entrance and offers a small wave.

You wave back, but you keep waving even after she disappears into the tunnel. You keep waving, even after the last of her is gone, until you're just standing there like a fool, waving goodbye to the empty subway entrance. You realize just how dumb you look, waving to nothing, and finally drop your hand.

You tear your eyes away and stare at the bike that sits abandoned on the sidewalk, waiting for you. You finally pick up the kickstand and grab the handles, starting to pedal.

You think about tomorrow.

Tomorrow is when you're going to deal with shitty customers in the shitty city. 

Tomorrow is her smile as she hands you your cup, making your day before it even starts.

Tomorrow is drinking a matcha latte, a drink you used to hate, but now you look forward to it, because she makes it.

Tomorrow is her arm around your waist as you take her to the subway.

Tomorrow is her pulling away and saying, “See you, partner.”

Tomorrow with her… and it's almost as if, for the first time, you don't dread tomorrow.

[spiderb00bs]

- CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES

Lottienat x reader

"your girlfriends don't like to see you sad."

Genre - Fluff Warnings - none

(request)

Now Playing - Cinnamon Girl, by Lana Del Rey

"But if you hold me without hurting me, You'll be the first who ever did"

Exhaustion hit you hard, every step you took closer to the door of your house was like torture. Your boss was on your ass to introduce the company to the new employee, while still demanding that you deliver all the important reports and information within an extremely short timeframe. And today, everything seemed to be worse than any day of the week, all you wanted was to get home and snuggle up in the arms of your two girlfriends.

As soon as you opened the door, you saw the blonde-haired woman lying on the sofa, watching some movie you weren't paying attention to. As soon as Nat heard the door move, she jumped up from the sofa, rushing to greet you with a tight hug.

“ Hi baby. I missed you, loser.” The blonde said, kissing your lips and smiling at you to see what reaction she could get from you with the teasing nickname.

Natalie's smile went away when she saw the tired look on your face. The blonde knew you well enough to know that you probably had some unforeseen circumstances at work.

“Hey, are you okay?” Running a hand through your hair, the blonde dragged you over to the sofa, just in time for a wet-haired Lottie to come down the stairs wearing pajamas and approach the two of you.

“Hi my loves, I heard the door and came running.”

Smiling slightly at her, you let the tall woman sit on your lap. Her hands were firmly entwined around your neck as she placed kisses on your cheek.

“What's wrong with you?” Lottie asked, glancing briefly at Nat for some clue, only to receive an uncertain nod.

“I just had a shitty day at work…” You said, placing a hand on Lottie's back, while your other hand caressed Nat's thigh, who was sitting on your left side.

“I swear I could kill your boss if I ever see him walking down the street.” Nat said, kissing your neck.

Laughing slightly, you leaned your head back on the sofa, thinking about how just the fact that your girlfriends were near you made you feel better.

“I have an idea!” Lottie said, looking at Nat, almost as if they were communicating telepathically while you stood there, just admiring them.

“Come on baby.” Nat was the first to get up from her spot on the sofa, followed by Lottie, taking your hand and pulling you along.

“Where are we going?” You asked, feeling Lottie take your other hand and lead you into the kitchen.

Soon the tiredness and sadness turned into laughter and jokes. You loved chocolate chip cookies, and your girlfriends always tried to cheer you up with them when you were having a bad day.

“Hey, nerd!” Nat called out, only for your face to be covered in flour the moment you turned in her direction.

Lottie's mouth dropped open in surprise, as you coughed up flour while trying to hold in your laughter. “Oh, you're fucked, Scatorccio!”

Grabbing a handful of flour, you quickly threw it in the blonde's direction, only for her to duck in time, causing all the flour to hit your brown-haired girlfriend's face.

While you stood with your mouth open in surprise, Natalie stood a little away from the two of you, laughing at the loving atmosphere she had created. You and Lottie, noticing that the blonde wasn't the least bit dirty, exchanged a knowing look, each taking a handful of flour, making Nat take a few steps back while still laughing.

“No! That's unfair, it's two against one!” The blonde said, laughing as she walked away from you and Lottie.

“Do you think it's unfair, baby?” Lottie asked sarcastically, looking at you with a raised eyebrow.

“No, I don't think so.” Smiling, you replied, starting to chase after your blonde girlfriend.

After all the mess you'd made, here you were, on the sofa, snuggled together while you ate cookies after a well-deserved bath. Back to the Future was on TV while your girlfriends watched it cuddled up to you, Lottie on your right, Nat on your left.

Hearing the sigh you let out, Nat looked at you. Her blue eyes gazed deeply into the relaxed features of your face, very different from how you had arrived. “Are you better?”

Looking at the blonde, you nodded, before switching your gaze between her and Lottie. “You always manage to make me feel good. I love you.”

“We love you too, baby.” Lottie said, pulling your chin and kissing you on the lips.

“We love you more than you can imagine, nerd.” Nat said, repeating Lottie's movements, and letting her lips brush yours.

[gallusrostromegalus]

AEIWAM zanpakuto ask:

Which zanpakuto spirit is your favorite to write?

Alternatively, who has the closest relationship with their zanpakuto? Who has the worst relationship?

1. Minazuki. I think she's the only one that has speaking lines that actually appear in the fic so far.

2. Closest relationship: Minazuki and Unohana. While most people retain a sense of separation between their kaku-kon/waking soul and their Yume-kon/dreaming soul, Unohana and Minazuki have learned enough about the malleability of The Flesh and Soul that they've stopped thinking about each other as discrete beings and more as one Being with two heads. Minazuki sometimes fully possesses Unohana's body when the human wants a break or the spirit is bored. It's fine though- Minazuki went through medical school with Unohana and is just as much a competent doctor as her wilder.

3. Worst relationship: there's a lot of ways for things to go badly between shinigami and Zanpakuto. Some examples:

-

Both Tousen and Zaraki do not actually know the names of their zanpakuto and have to go on a little adventure together to figure that shit out.

Neither of them have BAD relationships with their zanpakuto per se: both of them have been prevented from forming ANY relationship with their zanpakuto by outside forces- in Tousen's case, suzumushineas so hell-bent on revenge for Kakiyo that she effectively parasitized and suppressed his native Yume-kon to take it's place as his zanpakuto until Aizen was defeated. In Zaraki's case, he doesn't just know his Zanpakuto's name- he doesn't know his own name. At least, until the ink starts flaking off.

-

Komamura is not on speaking terms with his Yume-kon or "True" Zanpakuto. He is on GREAT terms with Tenken- but Tenken is a spirit he found and adopted back when he was a travelling priest/exorcist, who lives in the pauldrons Komamura is always wearing. Komamura absolutely refuses to go into the depths of his mind where his dreaming soul lives because he's TERRIFIED of it. He also has to go on a little adventure about that.

-

Isshin has always been impulsive but willingly cutting off Engetsu to save the life of a woman he met like ten minutes ago would have been the final straw, if Isshin hadn't already. You know. Cut Engetsu off first. Engetsu (or at least, the parts of him that were still around after the events of Everything But The Rain) was SO PISSED he fused with the remains of the Hollow "White" and some dead German guy to make up a new chimera of a spirit: Zangetsu.

-

Kisuke Urahara has talked Yoruichi into a lot of dumb shit, but probably the worst thing was attempting his "three days to Bankai" special confrontation training. It wasn't malicious, it was more like he didn't get that it wouldn't be replicable. Urahara's zanpakuto, Benihime, is a masochist and thoroughly enjoyed Kisuke being so rough with her. Wanting his best friend and lover to succeed as well, he recommended the exercise to Yoruichi and she, trusting her best friend and lover who had never led her astray before, decided to go through with it.

The Shihouin clan is an old and noble house and until then, had a family zanpakuto- the Shihouin Blade would die with the head of each clan and reincarnate with the next, under a new name, but with the wisdom of all its previous lives.

The Zanpakuto was so incensed by the cruel and cavalier way Yoruichi was treating it during the bankai speed run that it decided to kill itself instead of serving her.

It took Kisuke days worth of frantic improvisational surgery, some hogyoku bullshit and nearly all the healing capacity of the magical hot spring in the back of the training cave to keep Yoruichi from dying. The skills he learned there served him well with the Visored and when Engetsu 'died' on isshin during his battle with White, but he couldn't fix everything - Yoruichi is only at a fraction of her previous power, and has not had a single dream since the Zanpakuto left.

Worse still, the Zanpakuto does not seem to have re-incarnated. Urahara thinks it's a blessing- they went through some pains to hide the fact that Yoruichi lost the family sword, because the clan and possibly the entire Gotei-13 would turn on her in an instant if they found out. But Yoruichi worries- it SHOULD have re-incarnated in her baby brother Yushiro, but it didn't- is it gone for real?

Or worse, did it pick a new heir to the clan that they don't know about?

[johanna-517]

"Special and unique"

(CHAPTER 4)

A few days passed. After the awkward greeting with Barbara, you didn't see or speak to her again. But that's okay, you're better off this way. You can't expect anything from her; it's obvious she doesn't care about you, at least not enough to have been at least nicer to you.

You haven't seen Dick again either, and you haven't gotten anywhere near Tim or Bruce.

Right now, you were walking quietly through the mansion's hallways, since you were bored and didn't want to stay alone in your room all day today as well. So, you decided to explore this enormous mansion a little. Alfred told you it was okay, that you could explore the mansion to entertain yourself and get to know it better.

As you walked, you also took Toti with you, as was customary. Your only faithful companion in this mansion is your beloved teddy bear.

Oh well, at least now it seems he's not the only one... Because that monarch butterfly you met a few days ago regularly returned to your room, as if it wanted to be by your side. It always came in the afternoon and left when it was already dark.

You smile slightly; you really like that butterfly. You feel almost as if... That butterfly understands you, as if it wants to take care of you.

It's funny how a little monarch butterfly seems to care about you much more than your own father seems to care about you.

As you walked down the hallway, you finally stopped, staring at the large painting on the wall. It featured a picture of Bruce and his adopted children.

But you... You weren't there. You have no connection with your father or your brothers. It's probably because they don't even consider you part of this family.

"I wish I could go back to Mom..." you murmured to yourself, trying to hold back your tears. Why did this have to happen to you? Your life was perfect when your mom was there; you didn't need a father, you didn't even need siblings. You only loved her... You only needed her to make you happy.

Because if there's one thing you've known your whole life, it's that just as your mother was everything to you, you were everything to her too. Remember... How she told you she loved you, that you were the most beautiful little girl in the world, how she was happy to have a daughter as adorable as you, when she told you that... She would make sure to take care of you for the rest of her life.

But now she's gone. She left you, and now you're here... In a cold place, completely devoid of the warmth you used to find when you lived with Mom.

You stared at the picture of Bruce and his sons for a moment, wondering... 'Can I really ever be part of you? The Wayne family?'

You lightly squeeze Toti in your arms, and finally decide to look away and continue walking, trying to push away the feelings of sadness and insecurity in your chest.

As you were walking, you heard someone's voice in another hallway, and when you noticed who it was... It was Stephanie and Cassandra, the two of them walking together.

You knew who they were since, of course, Alfred had also mentioned them to you before.

You tried to ignore the feeling of excitement in your heart when you saw them for the first time, while you thought about whether to approach them or not.

You were nervous, but you didn't know when you would be able to see them again, so you decided to take advantage and approach them, trying to talk to them a little.

You approached behind them, and greeted them in a low voice, trying to appear as unnervous as possible.

As soon as they heard you, they both stopped and turned to look at you. But... Instead of answering you or at least smiling a little, they just looked at each other, murmuring a little.

"Oh... Is this Bruce's daughter? The one who arrived recently?" Stephanie asked quietly, looking at Cassandra.

Cassandra just nodded in response, confirming it. At that moment, Stephanie looks at you again, and as soon as she notices the color of your eyes, she raises an eyebrow in disgust.

"Did you see the color of her eyes? It's too weird and strange... Are you sure she's Bruce's daughter?" Stephanie murmured, with a small laugh as she left, walking beside Cassandra and leaving you behind.

Before leaving, Cassandra looks at you for a moment... You almost shudder at the cold, indifferent look she gave you before leaving.

When they walked away, you stood there, trying to process what had happened... You didn't know what should have hurt more, Cassandra's indifferent stare or Stephanie's mockery. At that moment, you really wished you hadn't learned more English; you only made the effort to learn so you could speak better with your family, but... Now it turns out that learning a little more English only helped you understand the mocking words and comments others made toward you.

You grit your teeth... Stephanie made fun of your eyes. Why did she do that? She's wrong. Because... Your mom said your eyes were beautiful. She said your eyes were 'special and unique,' that they were precious like a brilliantly colored gem.

Yes, your mother is always right... If she said your eyes are beautiful, it's because they are, right? So... Stephanie has no right to contradict that, no right to make fun of your eyes. It's not right.

Before, you let your family influence you and tried to hide your eyes to try to make them like you more, thinking that hiding them would make Bruce and Tim stop hating you. But... Nothing changed. It's obvious that they don't deserve you even trying to hide your beautiful eyes just for them, you've realized that, and you won't make the same mistake twice, you won't let someone from this family make you feel insecure about the color of your eyes again.

What Stephanie said was rude, and you don't plan on tolerating it; it's not fair. So, without hesitation, you run toward them, grabbing Stephanie's arm as soon as you reach her.

"Hey, you have to apologize for what you said about me!" you demanded, your tone firm. It's not fair for her to talk about you like that; she should at least apologize for what she said.

When Stephanie looks at you... You tense slightly at the obvious anger in her blue eyes. Without saying anything, Stephanie simply pushes you hard, causing you to let go instantly.

Oh... Bad time to be right near the stairs.

Being pushed by Stephanie's force, you fail to stop on your own before falling down the stairs without Stephanie or Cassandra even turning to look at you, unaware of the severity of your fall they simply walk away without giving you another glance.

You feel your small body slam against the stairs, causing you to fall. You manage to grab onto something halfway down the stairs, breaking your fall. However, even though you managed to stop yourself halfway down the stairs, you're still pretty injured. You were practically pushed onto the stairs, fell down, and only managed to catch yourself by grabbing something.

You try to get up, but you stop as soon as you feel the terrible pain that spreads throughout your body.

"Duele, duele... Duele mucho" you mumbled to yourself, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to bear the intense pain in your body.

Tears fill your eyes as you continue trying to get up. Trying to ignore the incredible pain that almost makes you want to scream, you finally manage to stand, leaning against the wall next to the stairs as your legs tremble slightly.

At that moment... You feel something dripping down your forehead, you reach out to touch it, and... Your fingers become stained with blood. You realize then that when you fell down the stairs, you had hurt your forehead a little and were now bleeding.

For now, the bleeding isn't excessive or severe; luckily, it's mild. But... It could get worse if you leave it like this, and you know it.

You need help, you need someone to help you.

With that in mind, you try to walk, hoping to find someone who will help you.

You ignore the intense ache in your body with every step you take, praying to run into someone soon.

So, finally... In one of the hallways, you see Tim walking. You smile with relief at seeing him. He'll be able to help you, right?

You try to approach him, saying his name to ask for help. But, as soon as you say his name, he interrupts you. "Stop trying to attract attention, I'm busy," he said in a cold tone, and without even looking at you once, he walked past, ignoring you and leaving you there alone.

You stand in shock for a moment as you watch him walk away... He...? He can't help you? Well, maybe it's because the strands of your hair on your forehead were covering the bleeding wound and he couldn't see it, or maybe it's because he didn't notice your clumsy steps or how your legs were shaking from the intense pain you were feeling. Or maybe... he just didn't even look at you, as if you weren't worth his time.

"Pero Tim... Me duele mucho... Porfavor" You murmured softly, knowing he wouldn't hear you because he'd already left. You looked down, your tears falling to the floor one after another, as you tried to process this.

Tim... He just ignored you. You might have accepted him better in another situation, but right now you were hurt, you wanted him to help you just a little. But he doesn't even feel sorry for you... He didn't even look at you now, when you needed him.

'Why... Are you doing this to me?' you asked yourself, wondering what terrible sin you had committed to deserve this. Even though you were hurt, even bleeding, Tim wouldn't even look at you, just ignoring you as if you didn't exist...

Now you understand. Tim doesn't care about you, no matter what. He'll never look at you, listen to you, or help you. Tim doesn't even consider you his sister, right? Okay, you understand. It's okay that he doesn't want to accept you, but... Really, why did he have to do this? Why did he have to leave you there hurt, looking like he couldn't care less about your condition? Whether he sees you as a sister or not, you're still a human being, and yet, he didn't have one iota of sympathy for you, didn't help you, and just walked away.

You stand there, not wanting to do anything but continue crying from the pain in your body and the ache in your heart, sitting alone on the cold floor, trying to hide your face with your own hands. And no matter what... It seems like no one else heard your cries of pain, no one came for you. Not even your own father... He can't save you, he can't take care of you, he can't... He can't even pretend that he actually cares for you, even a little.

You stay there, with no desire to do anything but continue crying from the pain you feel in your body and your heart right now, sitting alone on the cold floor, trying to hide your face with your hands. And no matter what happens... It seems like no one can hear you cry, no one has come looking for you. Not even your own father... He can't save you, he can't take care of you, he can't... He can't even pretend to care for you, not even a little.

After a few hours, Alfred finally returned to the mansion. He had to leave early to do some grocery shopping, and now he was back. When he entered the kitchen, Alfred remembered you and wondered if you had actually left your room to explore the mansion while he was gone.

Wanting to know, Alfred leaves the kitchen and heads to your room. When he sees you're not there, he realizes that you've indeed decided to go out and walk the mansion's halls this time. However, he couldn't help but feel a slight pang of worry in his chest. Wanting to make sure everything was okay, Alfred began looking for you, walking through the mansion and calling your name, hoping to find you soon.

However, after a while of searching, he didn't find you. He grew more worried as he continued looking for you. And finally... he found you. You were sitting in the corner of one of the hallways, your hands covering your face, crying and sobbing.

Seeing you like this, Alfred's heart leaped with concern, and he quickly approached you. He helped you, took you to your own room, and took care of bandaging and treating your wounds gently.

He asked you what happened. You were about to tell him, but you stopped... You realized what had happened was serious, and that if you told Alfred that Stephanie had pushed you, and that Cassandra had ignored that fact, and that Tim had also ignored you when you tried to ask him for help, then he might get mad at them.

Maybe they're not your family... But you know they're almost like family to Alfred. So... You decided to lie and say you fell down the stairs by mistake, and that there was no one around to help you.

You lied because, even if you don't have a good relationship with them, you don't want them to get into trouble because of you if you tell Alfred.

Also... A thought kept running through your mind.

"You just want attention"

You remembered what Tim had said when he'd ignored you. Maybe... He was right? Maybe you'd been too persistent or intense earlier, but... Could he really blame you for that? You were just a little girl desperate to fit in with her new family, a little girl longing for the warmth of this family you were supposed to belong to.

You just wanted... To feel like you belonged here, to feel like you had a family that loves you here. Is that so hard?

❦: (Just to remind you that some of the reader's phrases will be in Spanish and others in English, just to highlight the fact that her main language used to be Spanish, but that she has now also learned some English now that she lives in Gotham. //I hope you liked this chapter♡).

[pushspacetocontinue]

As far as Antonio was concerned, he was simply sharing the truth. No one should be dealing with this sort of situation, but in his opinion, Rook was handling it was best as she could, and it was admirable.

"Good shout," Simon said, as he made the adjustment and marked it for everyone to see as well, "So if we need to go through that, we certainly can. It would definitely give them a surprise."

"Hmm..." Russell looked over the map, "We'll need, we'll need peop-people who, who are good at, at jumping and, and climbing if, if they, they want to get up to her quickly. But..."

Russell started to point out various spots where it would be quick to gain altitude, the clearest route without much in the way of obstacles other than your own parkouring skills.

"That, that seems like the, the most, the most straight-straight forward way..." Russell added, as he gestured between the various buildings and the route to take with them, "But there is, there is also this way..."

"Good going, Custard," Simon said, "It makes sense you'd ask him that, Willow. He's the acrobat and parkour boy."

"Heh, th-thanks," Russell's cheeks turned a bit pinker and he rubbed at the back of his neck

"Sports Elf is right, Lucien," Travis said, "You gotta be ready to reload because these go fast and furious, and you can hardly have enough darts."

"Well, you got both of them at the same time," Bill said, eyeing Rook's hand briefly, "Leofric can always lend you a hand there too."

But then he pumped a fist.

"Nice! It works, see, you are a natural, Rook," Bill said, grinning, before he then laughed at the comment, "Maybe we can use him as a toy for a giant cat or something. That'll be cat fishing then."

"That was terrible," Antonio only said, but he was still smiling at that.

Rook certainly appreciated the support and the trust that she could be a good leader in this case as well. It was easy enough with the other novices, she just had to keep them alive. Families were more complex and not something she was used to dealing with much yet.

Willow could definitely agree with that and was glad she was only in charge of the one at the facility and organizing their attack plan. She leaned over the map slightly to look at Simon's latest addition and evaluate how they could exploit it to their advantage.

"We can establish an alternative route if we go through here." Willow said, giving a nod, "Let's come back to this later. There's another matter I would like to tend to first."

The map flickered as Willow swiped over to Crosshair's tower, zooming in when Russell joined them. "I would like your opinion on the best route to reach our sniper friend."

Of course, they didn't have complete data on every single pipe or cranny, but it would be a nice distraction while Lucien learned everything there was to know about foam projectiles and vengeance.

"This seems a little unnecessary." the fae said.

"Thanks, Travis!" Erica made herself a shadow seat before pushing the box closer to her, "It looks like a lot, but this box here is barely enough to keep the kids going for twenty minutes. You've got fifty shots each! We're not wasting the whole day picking up darts until we can still walk around."

Ratchet had no time to realize what was happening that he was already on the floor, his face hurting like crazy. The tentacles wrapping around his legs barely registered as he cursed. Somehow they managed to get both his eyes.

"I was aiming for the eye, but I bumped into the stupid. It'll heal in a bit." Rook reassured. She took a step closer, before tossing the restraint at Ratchet, trapping his arms to his sides.

"W-What the hell's going on?" Ratchet yelled.

Rook smirked, "He's already wiggling about like a worm. Too bad there's no place to go fishing around here."

[melanchoire]

hiiii meya,

i love love LOVE ur work and I cant move on from dom!karina x sub!reader with oral fixation

Can we please get one more like that? ❤️

one more and this one is dedicated to you my dear friend~~

OKAY my favorite section on this account: karina and boobies because both are the things that girls love the most!! (check out my drabble about the reader with an oral fixation and my fic about it~ karina told me you all should read them.)

what if this time it’s karina who has an oral fixation? she doesn’t know when or how it started, but the only thing she is aware of and conscious of is the way she always has her gaze on your chest 😊 you tend to be so focused when talking that you never notice her intense gaze on your tits, maybe it’s partly because she hides it quite well, nodding slightly every now and then or responding to what you say to make it seem like she wants to have a conversation. she is listening to you! she is just focused on other things

and karina goes twice as crazy when you don't wear a bra 😵‍💫 when walking in the comforts of your home of course you would opt for a comfortable option, this is also an option that karina agrees with because she loves seeing the curve of your chest when a t–shirt fits snugly against your body…

until you notice her looks 😥 karina thinks she looks sneaky and stealthy, but seeing it from a different point of view and perspective of another person, she is literally staring at your tits, furrowing her eyebrows in concentration while lightly biting her lower lip...

you get her attention by calling her name and shoving her shoulder, making her flinch and blink repeatedly as she comes out of her trance

“karina, are you even listening to me?”

“mmh yeah.”

but she loves the stern, annoyed look you give her when you hear her tone, trying to hold back her smile as she notices how you were starting to get annoyed with her, another thing karina loved! getting dirty looks, purposely pissing you off just to watch you practically nail her just by looking at her 🥰

“c’monnn babe, relax a little.” and she is putting her hands on your hips, practically forcing you onto her lap while giving you an amused smile when she sees that you’re completely ignoring her…

“you’re an idiot.”

“i am now?” UGHH AND SHE TILT HER HEAD AS GRIN AGAIN???

“you’re staring at my tits like a pervert. not even a baby would be as obsessed as you.”

“aww, but i would love to be a baby so i could have your tits in my mouth.” and she does it!

now karina making you sit on her lap, letting you continue talking about whatever you were saying before, looking straight into your eyes through her eyelashes as her tongue circles your nipple and slowly her mouth surrounds it 😵‍💫 making you stop mid–sentence and gasp, thinking karina would say something about it, either a joke or a taunt, but no! she just hums a little, releasing your nipple from between her lips for a moment to say “you were saying? i’m listening.” in the most casual way as if she wasn’t making your head spin

but she is a bit of a tease too 😭 nibbling and sucking on your nipples harder than she should when you're deep in thought or mid–sentence, enjoying how an involuntary moan leaves your lips, feigning innocence when you look at her with annoyance and returning to sucking your tits with the tranquility she was having before

KARINA WITH A HAIR PULLING KINK? i honestly had an obsession with her when she used to have long, silky black hair during 2021, which makes me believe that she likes to feel hands on her locks, but karina with short hair gives me a somewhat similar vibe… SO it doesn’t matter if it’s long or short hair, karina loves to feel your hands pulling her hair to push her closer to your chest, demanding her attention

and karina won’t go to bed until she gets your nipples sensitive enough for you to cum just by having them played with! rest assured

[lyrakanefanaticwriting]

i got this request on my other account and figured i’d do it since it seems like it’d be a funny fic!!

i want to give credits to @alwaysthefangirl as i based a lot of my ideas of “lyra being stubborn and not wanting help when shes sick” around her fic, and seriously ive reread that one countless amounts of times omg. anyway thank you for being the amazing writer that you are and inspiring me to write this with your own fic. i dont think i would have been able to write this so quickly if it werent for your fic that seriously helped me write this one so thank you!!! <33

A Sick and Stubborn Lyra

(could you tell that i couldn’t think of a title? 😜)

—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•—•

Lyra knew she was sick. She knew it the other day when her entire body was feverishly burning up and she couldn’t evade the constant dizzy spells, and she knew it now as she felt the same way—no, worse.

She thought that sleep might heal her, and she’d done a good enough job at hiding it from Grayson, but it was no use. She had classes, classes she couldn’t risk missing as she’d just added an extra one to her schedule, and despite her feverish state, had to be present for them. No matter how dry and aching her throat felt, or how her head was heating up astronomically.

Crawling out of her sheets as quietly as possible, Lyra cast her gaze to the blonde sleeping peacefully beside her. Grayson. He looked so beautiful while he slept, so at peace and calm.

Lyra reminded herself that she had a mission that Grayson couldn’t distract her from: get ready and out of the house while Grayson’s asleep/getting ready so he doesn’t see the state she’s in.

Fully getting out of bed, Lyra softly walked over to her walk in closet, where she clicked the door behind her quietly and put on her clothes as softly as possible. Then she tip-toed past a, thankfully, still asleep Grayson towards her bathroom, where she brushed her teeth and did her skin care for the day. Every movement sent her head spinning and made her body ache, and once Lyra spat out her toothpaste, she collapsed onto the mat in her bathroom and tried her best to breathe. She gave herself only a minute of sitting on the floor and trying not to pass out, before getting up, not bothering with make up, and walking out the bathroom.

She knew she was being sloppy. She no longer cared about being quiet; all that mattered to her was getting out of the house without fainting or throwing up first.

With her teeth clattering in her mouth and sweat beginning to bead on her forehead, Lyra grabbed her car keys with slow, aching movements, and was just about to stumble out the door when she heard a low rumble behind her.

“Lyra?” Came Grayson’s sleep riddled voice. Shit.

Lyra didn’t dare turn around, as if she did, he would see how sick she is and make her stay home. Not today, Grayson. Thought Lyra through clenched teeth as she tried not to shiver.

“I’m about to leave, Gray, but I’ll call you at lunch.” Lyra said, before freezing once she realized how terrible her voice was.

It visibly sounded scratched and nasally, and she didn’t sound well in the slightest. She froze as she heard Grayson’s steps behind her.

“Wait, Lyra.” Grayson ordered. Lyra would have spit back a retort if she wasn’t in her current state. Pulling her forward by the waist, Grayson turned her around, and she immediately saw surprise cross his features. Lyra furrowed her brows.

“I’m fine. Let me go.” Lyra ordered, hoping her (regretfully) sharp tone would ward him off.

But nothing really warded off Grayson Hawthorne.

Grayson placed his hands on her shoulders, his bare chest breathing in and out slowly, and he seemed to be looking over her, seeing how bad of a state she was in.

“You’re not going to your classes like this.” Grayson told her. Lyra rolled her eyes.

“I’m fine.” Lyra stubbornly told him, before sneezing, trying to take a step back, and stumbling to the ground. The sudden movement left her head reeling, and her body would be aching along with that if it weren’t for Grayson, who caught her in his arms.

“Breathe, sweetheart. I’m right here.” he told her softly, lips pressing onto her neck. Lyra went limp at the sudden affection, growing dizzier. She shuddered in his arms, and he suddenly picked her up, carrying her bridal style to their room.

“Breathe.”

Lyra awoke from her sleep a couple hours later, tangled in sheets with her hair splayed out on the pillow. Lyra lifted her head up—and then immediately regretted it. Her head was hit with a terribly dizzying feeling, and it was burning up wildly. Lyra slouched back down.

Searching the room, she tried to look for Grayson, but all she could see was his laptop and notes splayed on the ground beside her bed. Their room didn’t have a desk, aside from Lyra’s vanity, and Grayson’s office was in the other room. Lyra’s heart warmed once she realized he’d worked on the floor to keep an eye on her.

Looking towards the bathroom and seeing that the light was on, she realized that Grayson was inside. Lyra pulled herself up slowly, her body screaming at her all the while to lay back down, and sat up. She didn’t want to do anything, but she knew she had to.

“Tea,” she could remember her mother telling her as a child whenever she get sick, “is a remedy for all ills. Now drink!”

Granted, tea was never Lyra’s favourite, but tough times called for tough measures.

Peeling off her sheets with aching movements, Lyra ignored the thumping sound in her head and got up, shaking terribly. Pressing her freezing hands to her burning forehead, Lyra began to walk to the kitchen, pushing down the dizzying feeling the best she could.

Once she got to the kitchen, she bent down shakily towards the cabinet, opened it up, took out the kettle—and that’s about as far as she got.

Well, as far as she got before she heard her name.

The tone of which Grayson said Lyra was clearly not happy. Lyra winced as she stood back up, and saw Grayson come into the kitchen with accusing eyes. He was all dressed, clad in a suit with his hair fixed, and Lyra couldn’t deny that he looked good. So good that she forgot that he was currently staring at her as if she had just learned to walk.

“What are you doing up?” He accused, striding up to her and reaching to take the kettle from her hands. Lyra moved her hands away, hiding the kettle behind her and away from his reach.

“Making tea.” she said stubbornly, coughing all the while. Grayson’s eyes were concerned as he studied her, moving hair from her face to really look at her.

“Sweetheart, you aren’t well. Please go back to bed.” he told her softly. Lyra only rolled her eyes.

“I’m fiiiiiine.” she said, breathing hard and sniffing. Words became harder to say when she was sick. Grayson’s eyebrows furrowed, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

“I’ll carry you.” he warned. Lyra rolled her eyes again, waved him away with his hand.

“No. Go work.” she told him. Grayson sighed before lifting her into his arms the same way he had earlier with ease. Lyra squirmed, which only tightened the grip he had on her.

“Hey.” Lyra said, trying to make her tone as threatening as possible, even though her voice was nasally and scratched. Grayson looked at her and pressed a kiss to her forehead before placing her in bed.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Apparently, I’ll be right back meant I’ll get every pill and remedy there is and force it down your throat. So far, she’d taken 4 pills, drank 2 cups of tea, had a popsicle for her throat, and was now getting her temperature checked by Grayson all while she laid in bed with a cold rag on her head like a sick peasant.

“102°F. Not good.” Grayson tutted, putting the thermometer down and fixing her with a concerned look. That’s all he was doing today: finishing up some documents, fretting over her, and fixing her with concerned puppy-dog stares.

Well, she liked the stares, but the fretting could be taken down a notch.

“Can’t I get up?” Lyra asked. Grayson gave her an unimpressed look.

“You’ve asked me that 4 times in the past hour and each time I told you no. What makes you think now you’ll get a different answer?” he replied. Lyra sighed.

“At least let me walk around the walk in closet. It has a stool if I get tired.” Lyra reasoned. She didn’t have much of a desire to walk around her closet, but laying down and doing nothing was much worse. Grayson gave her a look.

“What do you need that’s in that closet?” he asked her. An innuendo popped into her mind at the same time as an actual answer. Her choice on which of the two to say was obvious.

“If I can’t convince you to let me get up, I think my red thong that I keep in there can.” Lyra retorted simply, giving a half shrug and grinning despite her state. Grayson tried to look unimpressed, but she saw how his cheeks reddened slightly. Win for me, Lyra thought giddily.

Lyra realized then that her only entertainment in this jail cell that was her bed was riling up Grayson. And so she took every opportunity to.

“Grayson, my blankets are bothering me.” Lyra complained.

“Then take them off.” he replied simply from where he was sitting on the floor, talking his gaze away from his papers to look at her. Lyra peeled her blankets off her body, before slyly smiling.

“Grayson, my pants are bothering me.”

Every time she told him sly innuendos, he would act unaffected and continue doing what he was doing, aside from a few telltale signs that he was actually affected, like him clearing his throat, or his cheeks reddening, or, her personal favourite, his pupils dilating. After a few of those, her entertainment (Grayson) was no longer being entertaining. Every suggestive remark was becoming ignored, or he would just switch the topic. Now Lyra was irrevocably bored again.

Picking at her nails as she laid in bed, Lyra sighed. Then she sighed again. Sighing once more, she glanced down at Grayson who was still sitting next to her bed while working on his laptop, and wasn’t saying a word. Lyra huffed. She might as well sleep, if she had nothing else to do.

Turning to her side and closing her eyes, Lyra started to feel herself finally drifting to sleep.

She awoke a few hours later, drowsy, but overall feeling much better compared to earlier. It was now 6 PM, and Lyra doubted that she would be able to sleep tonight with all the napping she’d been doing.

Sitting up, she noticed that although her head was still hot, the aching feeling like somebody had just ran over her brain was gone. She felt less dizzy, too. The symptoms that had stopped her from getting up and generally being mobile earlier were gone. And, as much as she didn’t want to admit it, it was because of Grayson.

Lyra felt a little bit guilty then. She had spent the whole day trying to avoid his help, when without him she would probably be feeling even worse by now.

She looked to her side and realized that Grayson wasn’t there. Neither was his laptop or his papers. He must have switched to his office, Lyra thought. Then she pulled off her covers and got up. She still had small chills, and so she threw on one of Grayson’s Harvard sweaters, before stalking to his office. She used to knock when they first moved in, but Lyra never does it now.

Opening the door, Lyra quietly walked in, and saw Grayson working at his desk. Once he heard the door open, he turned to her, smiling that faint, beautiful smile of his that she’s so familiar with.

“I’m sorry I left the room. I had an online meeting to attend and I didn’t want to wake you up.” he explained. Lyra paused. He was apologizing to her? She was the one who owed him an apology.

Without a word, Lyra walked over to him and sat on his lap. He was surprised, but only slightly. Lyra usually liked to sit on his lap while he did work.

Turning around to make herself comfortable, Lyra rested her head on his shoulder while her legs were halfway tucked on his lap. Grayson smiled softly again, placing a hand on her thigh while the other was on his laptop. Still, his eyes were on her.

“Are you feeling better sweetheart?” he asked her, his voice gentle. Lyra nodded, and the guilt she felt then from his concern was tremendous.

“I’m sorry.” she said. Grayson raised a brow as his expressions grew curious and concerned.

“What for?” he asked her. Lyra bit her lip.

“For trying to avoid your help all day. I was acting stubbornly but I was too sick and stupid to realize.” Lyra admitted, looking away. Grayson froze, before taking her head in his hands.

“Don’t say that. Don’t say anything like that. You weren’t at all stupid, Lyra.” he told her, his eyes deep with emotion and oh so beautiful as he gazed into hers. “I know you can be stubborn. And every stubborn act of yours makes me love you more and more.” Lyra snorted, pulling her gaze away.

“Okay, I know you love me, but you don’t have to lie.” she said, humour tinging her expressions. Grayson’s, on the other hand, were dead serious.

“I’m not lying, Lyra. I love how stubborn you are because I love the fact that you are so set on your goals, and on your choices. You’re strong and determined, Lyra, and that comes with your stubbornness today.” he told her, resting his forehead on yours. “I wish I had even half as much of your perseverance. I always will.” Lyra couldn’t stop her smile from coming. He always saw her better than she saw himself.

“Grayson…” Was all Lyra said and all she could say before pressing a soft, gentle kiss onto his lips. Then she sprung back, groaning.

“Shit, sorry Grayson, I forgot I was sick-“ Lyra said, before she was cut off by Grayson pressing his lips to hers and giving her a deep and passionate kiss. Lyra returned it, and the two continued the kiss, pressing and pulling before finally separating. Grayson smiled at her.

“I would get sick a million times over if it meant being able to kiss you.” He told her softly. Lyra smiled sheepishly.

“I wouldn’t say that if I were you. This sickness was terrible enough as it is. Having it a million times more would be hell.” Lyra said, sighing. Grayson’s smile widened slightly, and he moved her off his lap to one of his thighs, both his hands firmly gripping her waist. Lyra’s cheeks reddened slightly.

“Ah, so now you admit you were sick?” Grayson teased, cockiness clear in his voice. Lyra rolled her eyes, and was about to respond when a notification suddenly went off on Grayson’s laptop. Lyra turned her head and saw an email pop up. He made an irritated noise in the base of his throat, but Lyra only laughed.

“Okay, I guess I should be letting you work now after you took care of me the whole day.” Lyra said. She was just getting up when Grayson pulled her back down on his thigh, his grip on her waist still firm.

“I thought you said there was another way of convincing me to let you get up?” Grayson reminded her. “A way that involved… something from our closet?”

His voice was deep, and, at the moment, a bit hoarse. Grayson also had a teasing look on his face with eyes that were currently thunder cloud dark. Lyra didn’t even know why, as her mind drew a blank.

Then, shock and a burning feeling spread across her features.

And Grayson’s eyes, that were staring much more now, darkened further.

————————————————————————

GRAYSON YA LITTLE FREAK

hope u guys enjoyed this!! it was fun to write ESP lyras innuendos hehe those were funny

[tovibeornottovibe]

Before Someone Misses You

Eris Vanserra x Healer!Fem!OC

As a result of his father's heavy-handed parenting style, Eris is mere moments away from death. He can't think straight; the faebane and the blood loss is making him delirious. With what little strength he has, he winnows to Cleo's backdoor and practically collapses into her arms. Unfortunately for him, his usual restraint is severely impeded and yeah, he's so fucking in love with her, even if he can't admit it to himself. [4k words]

warnings: implied/referenced torture, swearing, implied sexual situations, mentioned Beron Vanserra (yuck)

Prefer to read on Ao3?

“Eris, Eris, you need to breathe. Just look at me, okay?”

He’s trying. Really, really trying. His eyes don’t seem to want to stay open, his head feels full, heavy, and his saliva is thick in his mouth like molasses; he can’t swallow it. He can’t tell if he’s going to throw up or pass out. All he knows is that he’s bleeding on Cleo’s floor and leaving a gory trail behind him as she props him up and leads him to her sofa. And now he’s bleeding on her sofa too.

Shame. The cream-coloured cushions suited her living room so well.

Eris is vaguely aware that she’s positioning him so she can get access to all of the lacerations across his torso, and that her dog is sitting patiently beside him, out of the way but close enough, worrying after him. He winces when she grips his chin and moves his head, lets out a ragged, wet breath when he tries to shift.

“Don’t move,” she says. He figures she talks like this with the fae she treats on the daily. Very to the point, but with a touch of tenderness. Delirium has hit him so hard that he manages to convince himself that she might actually save said tenderness just for him. Well, it’s a nice thought to go out with if this does turn out to be his last day alive. Ah, and he still had so much more to do. 

“You need to stay awake. Can you do that for me?”

Cleo has a soothing voice. It’s rich and has none of that sycophantic tartness that the females of his own court tout at every opportunity. When she berates him for not taking care of himself—namely, for not seeing a damn healer immediately, for the love of the fucking Mother—she might as well be singing a lullaby…

“Please, Eris.”

He hums what he thinks might be some kind of response and makes the effort to open his eyes. Sometime between him falling into her arms and him falling onto her sofa, she had removed his shirt and started cleaning his wounds. They’re mostly cuts from a knife, but it’s the faebane making him feel so fuzzy. He can feel how his magic putters out in his veins. Courtesy of his father. Something, something, researching the effects of high dosages. What little he had managed to regain in the hours between being dumped in his rooms and now had been used up winnowing to Cleo’s doorstep at daybreak. The Dawn Court is further away than he thought and it had felt like wading through mud.

Usually, her cleaning him up hurts. The alcohol she uses burns but it’s effective and the blinding sting helps keep him focused. This doesn’t even register. He can’t feel where she’s pressing the cotton to his skin. Can’t feel where she’s holding him down to keep him from thrashing. Doesn’t even know if he’s capable of thrashing.

The dark waves of her hair fall over her face and she uses her bloodied hands to brush it out of the way. She hasn’t had it cut for a while and the length suits her. It probably reaches her mid-back now.

“What did he give you?” she asks, that slight tenderness hidden beneath a roiling, constrained kind of anger which makes him equally pleased and sickened. If it were anyone else, them seeing him in this state would have been mortifying, worthy of threats and promises never to tell a soul, but it’s Cleo, so it’s fine.

Eris attempts to form the word faebane, but his lips won’t do what he tells them and his teeth are suspiciously static. Whatever he chokes out registers with her, and she leaves him for a moment, presumably to dig through the cupboard under the sink where she keeps miscellaneous substances like selenium solution. Keenly, he feels her absence. He closes his eyes.

This is a quaint, little middle-of-a-terrace house in a quiet part of Thesan’s city, mostly untouched by Amarantha. Small, but comfortable. A kitchen made for no more than three, a dining table with tasteful chairs, a clean living room, artfully furnished and perfect for her. Though he has never been upstairs, he imagines her bedroom is similarly decorated with classy, understated furniture. There’s a patch of a back garden where she grows herbs and her dog, Dartagnan, can bound about in the sunshine. Here, even he can see the benefit of seasons. He’d go as far to say it's idyllic. 

Perhaps she’ll construct a funeral pyre for him somewhere nearby. Dart will find sticks for her to add to the pile. The birds will sing while his body burns. It could be worse. He could be at home.

Nudging at his hand which hangs off the sofa limply—his muscles aren’t doing much for him at the current moment—has his head lolling to the side and his eyes fluttering back open again. Dart is sniffing at the blood on his forearm. He slowly pats him on the head, running his fingers through his fur, and even in his state, he can hear his tail start to swish against the floor.

Dart makes for a good distraction, and Eris stays awake until Cleo returns and kneels at his side. 

“Am I going to have to force this down your gullet?” she asks, though a response doesn’t come to mind. Anything she says right now feels like coming in from the cold and sitting in front of the hearth. “Fuck, okay, fine.”

She pulls his jaw and opens his mouth and he lets her. One of these days, she’ll cup his face and it won’t be to pour medicine down his throat. Even when she’s treating him, particularly if it’s his face that needs healing and she gets so close to him that he can feel her breath against his neck, he thinks about whether or not she’d let him seduce her. Eris knows she’d suit burgundy. He wonders if she knows how to dance. If not, he could teach her—ack!  

As soon as the foul-tasting antidote hits his tongue, he feels his magic begin to purge the faebane from his veins, burning it out of his system, and for the first time since yesterday afternoon, he can breathe properly. He lets out a sharp sigh which catches in his throat. He flexes his hands, bends his knees, the feeling coming back to them, and manages to sit himself up despite the stinging of his wounds. At that, Cleo’s relief becomes evident on her face and she sits back on her calves, looking up at him. Dart, visibly brightening from Eris’ movement, rests his chin on the sofa cushion and nudges his side again. He goes back to fussing him.

“If you had left it another hour, you would be dead. You understand that, right?”

For a moment, he pauses. His imminent death isn’t even top five on his list of things to worry about.

He flicks his attention to her, and her short-lived relief has been replaced by a quiet, seething kind of rage which somehow makes him feel guilty. It’s not something he’s used to and he decides that he fervently hates it. Cleo is so open with her emotions. She has no mask. No ulterior motive. She just is who she is. They would eat her alive in Autumn, but here, in Dawn, it’s normal not to exploit your neighbours’ weaknesses. You wouldn’t even gain anything but a sour reputation if you tried.

“It’s a good thing I came when I did then, isn’t it?” he says without any of his usual sneer. She would kick him out of her house. Has kicked him out, on more than one occasion, for being an asshole.

“Yes, very good,” she spits, pushing herself up, gathering the bloodied rags littered across the sofa. “You need to get inoculated if your father is going to keep poisoning you.”

He can’t do that and she knows it in the same way she knows not to heal his wounds, only to stop them bleeding or getting an infection, because his father likes to see the results of his handiwork. She’s smart enough to have worked that out without him needing to tell her. She’s smart enough to be able to do a lot of things and he wishes he could steal her away for himself, kids himself that he wants her only for her mind. If only he could convince her that she’s wasted here, but even he knows that she isn’t. Cleo does good work. Cleo helps people. Cleo is far too good a person to be in his consistent company.

“I doubt he’d use the same poison twice,” he says. Dart huffs at him as he swings his legs over the edge of the sofa, almost relishing the subsiding ache in his joints. He leans back against the cushions while she cleans her equipment with a flick of the wrist and sends him a glare. 

“One of these days, he’s going to kill you,” she says gently, like she was breaking some bad news he wasn’t already aware of. She perches in front of him on the coffee table and tilts her head, assessing the way he moved in case she needed to heal some unseen injury. Internal bleeding is a favourite of his father’s. “Or else you’re going to die on my sofa and trust me when I say that will be a difficult one to explain to the guards.”

“Shall I provide you with a note to let them know it isn’t your fault?” he drawls, but it’s tinged with something sincere. All of this frank discussion makes Eris uncomfortable. The idea that she might actually be upset if he died sits uneasily in his chest and makes his stomach flip. 

Dart hops up on the sofa, which he isn’t allowed to do, and rests his head in Eris’ lap. When Eris scratches behind his ears, his tail starts again. His smokehounds would eat him alive too. Or else protect him within an inch of each of their lives. Softie.

Cleo drags a hand through her hair, pulling at the tangles she finds. In turn, he shakes the thought that, even when she’s worried, annoyed, angry, she is incontestably beautiful. These are unhelpful things for him to spend his time on. He shouldn’t even be sitting here. He should have already winnowed back to the Autumn Court. Should be preparing to make a miraculous appearance at breakfast and scare his father into thinking that he can truly recover by himself. Should be attempting to reassure his mother that no, he really is fine, no need for concern. Alas, he’s here, lavishing her dog with attention and ignoring the fact that he likes the smell of her living room now that the coppery tang of blood has been cleared away with her magic. 

Eris Vanserra considers himself to be many things, but a fool isn’t one of them. Perhaps he should start reevaluating.

She winces when he shifts and it pains him. “You don’t need me to lecture you,” she says, “but for the love of the Mother, Eris—”

“—see a healer immediately. Yes. I know,” he finishes for her. 

With the haze of the faebane gone, his body recuperating however much blood he lost, he can look at her, really look at her. The tan of her skin seems a little deeper compared with the last time he was here. The definition in her muscles is just a bit more pronounced. She wears a frown which he wants to wipe off her face, and a matching set of a pale green vest and pair of shorts which reveals so much skin he reasons that she simply cannot be meaning to wear that in public. In Autumn, just the fit of her shorts around her waist would be indecent, let alone the cut of the vest. Truly, Dawn Court fashion confounds him.

“You’re in your pyjamas,” he says. He needs the normality of a conversation before he can steel himself to go home.

She raises a brow at him and he takes that as a victory. No more of that frown. “You’re shirtless.”

His state of undress suddenly becomes very, very apparent to him. It’s so pleasantly warm in here that it doesn’t make too much difference to him. It must be summer in the Solar Courts. “I take it my shirt is thoroughly ruined?”

She shrugs. “I’m told ‘tattered and bloodied’ is very in at the moment.Torture-chic.”

He huffs a laugh despite himself; Cleo has that kind of morbid, absurdist humour which appeals to him. It probably has something to do with the fact she deals with dying fae every day.

“Do you want another one or are you planning on scandalising your servants?”

“Firstly,” he says, emphasizing his point by putting up a finger, “they’re maids.” She rolls her eyes as if to say, like that makes any difference. “Secondly, I don’t think any of your shirts will fit.”

The corners of her lips tip up into a ghost of a smile. “Ah. Hang on.” She stands and Dart promptly does the same, meaning to follow her around like a lost puppy as usual. Eris, for just a second before he gets a hold of himself, misses the comfort. In his absence, his cuts start to throb. Cleo calls that the placebo effect and it is infuriating that he’s susceptible to it (“Everyone is, Eris. That’s why they did research on it. If it was only the case in insufferable, idiotic, half-dead—” “Okay, enough. No need to injure me further.” ). She stretches and he averts his eyes from where her vest rides up and shows her midriff. “I’ll be back in a mo’,” she says.

And she disappears upstairs, Dart padding after her. Unequivocally, he does not watch her go, busies himself with taking in the full-extent of what his father subjected him to. It’s not a pretty sight, and though Cleo cleaned him up as much as she could, he’s going to gain some more fairly unpleasant scars. By his guess, it’s going to take a week, maybe more, for these to heal. It was either him or Caelan, and he somewhat finds Caelan tolerable, so he took the knife for him. He had better remember that when the time comes, he thinks.

Though Cleo knows far, far too much to be safe, she doesn’t know anything about his plans to overthrow Beron, and she certainly doesn’t know it’s mere months away. With the coming Autumn equinox, he will crown himself High Lord. Dramatic intent never hurt. After that, he can visit her any time he likes. Maybe she could even come to him…

Cauldron, he’s fucked, isn’t he?

This is all for afterwards. He can’t think like this now. Not when his freedom is so close he can almost taste it and one wrong move will spell not just his death but those of everyone who is counting on him to depose his father. Every spy, every guard in his employ, every maid, cook, and gardener who warn him of his father’s whereabouts and look after his mother when he can’t. Every damned faerie in his damned Court who are sick of Beron’s rule. And Cleo. They’ll probably come for her too for daring to be kind to him all those years ago. 

So, failure isn’t an option.

Eris is broken from his reverie by a white shirt hitting him in the face. He might hate himself for noticing, but it smells like her: freesias and ginger. It is concerning that he has that piece of information tucked away in his brain somewhere. 

He pulls the shirt off his head and glares at her while Dart settles himself next to him. She shoots him the kind of smile that would make his heartbeat dangerously fast if he had the blood to spare. Just as he’s about to pull the shirt over his chest, he hesitates, because this is another male’s shirt. He swears if Cleo has some horribly charming and horrendously attractive partner/lover/whatever else in her life he is going to—

“Relax,” she says, drawing out the word. “It’s my brother’s. He left it here a couple of months ago.”

Damn her for reading him so well. 

Damn himself for being so obvious. And damn the Mother Herself for making him feel so happy about it. He’s the Heir to the Autumn Court and a general threat to anyone stupid enough to cross him—it’s a wonder no sentry of Thesan’s has picked up his presence in the Court—he cannot and will not carve out time in his day to feel content. 

Instead, he starts doing up the buttons and stands, maybe just a little too close to her to be friendly. The slight height advantage he has makes it so she has to look up at him. He enjoys the angle more than he cares to admit. 

“You shouldn’t go around telling members of other Courts when Thesan’s council members sleep on their sisters’ sofas,” he says, working out the roughness in his voice. 

“Why?” she laughs, then she gasps. “Don’t tell me you’re planning on kidnapping my brother and holding him for ransom.”

Eris leaves the top two buttons of the shirt undone. “I hadn’t been,” he says, “but now that you mention it…”

“He’s always wanted to see the Autumn Court, you know.”

“Yes, he’ll get a splendid view from a dungeon cell.”

“You had better give him the finest rags money can buy.”

“They’re all woven from the finest jute, I assure you. The rats who chew the holes have three square meals a day and the shackles are covered in the most exquisite rust that only severely cuts into the skin.”

“Excellent,” she says. “I’ll be sure to tell him you have a surprise for him next time I see him.”

“I’ll look forward to it.”

Frankly, Cleo’s brother is a prick, so, if she wanted him put in a dungeon, he would do it for her. Not that he’s offered. Yet.

She lets out a little chuckle and some kind of irresistible impulse wracks through him. 

They’re so close he can see the flecks of green in the blue of her eyes.

If he doesn’t leave soon he’s going to do something stupid like leaning down and kissing her. Then, if he got that far, he might do something even worse like slipping his hand under that fucking vest and finally, finally finding out what she feels like, tastes like, sounds like if… No. So what if he finds her attractive? So what if he hasn’t had a dalliance in years because he can’t stomach the thought of it? It won’t matter if his father kills him or scents her in his hair and goes to great lengths to find her and make him suffer for opening himself up, for being weak.

He tamps down every lingering, heated thought his brain bombards him with and tightens the defenses Cleo so easily pulls down every time he sees her.

“I should return before anyone notices I’m gone,” he says, but he doesn’t quite reach his desired level of harshness. In fact, he almost sounds disappointed.

It irks him that he can’t tell if Cleo feels the same. Instead of perhaps confessing her undying love for him, or calling him some profane name he’s never thought to imagine, she slips past him, straight to the backdoor which leads out to her garden, and gestures outside. “After all this time,” she says, “you’d think you’d know where the door is.” When she opens it, the songs of early-morning birds float through.

The walk feels too short, and he’s finding himself on the threshold of the house far too soon. 

Eris takes a deep breath, inhales the pleasant scent of mid-summer in the Dawn Court, of the flowers which border the back wall of her house and the wisteria tree which hangs over the brick separating the garden from the alleyway in cascading violet. 

He turns back. Slightly. Doesn’t fully turn his body. Their eyes meet.

“Thank you,” he says. Any other words die on his silver tongue. 

Cleo leans against the doorframe. For a moment, she flicks her gaze to the garden, then back to him. She swallows. “You know you don’t have to thank me, Eris,” she says softly, then she smiles again. “Just bring a good bottle of wine next time maybe?”

“You say that like I plan on these visits.”

She exhales a laugh and crosses her arms. “You know what I mean. Now, go, before someone misses you.”

Right. 

Mask on. He wears his ego like armour and his arrogance is sharp like the finest blade in his repertoire. Anyone who makes the mistake of being in his way, of impeding his progress, meets the business end of his endless influence, and no one will find the skeletons in his closet unless he wants them to. He takes what he wants and makes no apologies. He’s a Vanserra; blessed by the Mother with fire and the coppery hair to prove it; he’s born to scheme and lie and cheat his way to the top; he’s built for blood, to betray, betray, betray until he gets what he—

“Eris.”

 Cleo’s hand wraps around his arm before he can take a step. 

This is… they don’t do this. There’s rules for touching each other within the exclusive context of making sure he survives the night. On her sofa, there are no boundaries. Cleo does what she needs to and he lets her because he knows what’s good for him and she’s terrifying when she’s disobeyed. But, this, her hand, on his arm, stopping him, this is stepping over the line. The heat of her seeps through the shirt and it takes a lot of effort not to shiver from the contact.

“I meant what I said,” she continues, her touch lightening a fraction. “Be careful.” He opens his mouth, but she cuts him off. “Promise me you won’t get yourself killed.”

Oh.

Someday, not today, but sometime in the near future, she’s going to say something like that and he’s going to kiss her senseless. For now, he’s settling for her hand on his arm. 

So much for taking what he wants.

“Do you truly think I’m stupid enough to—?”

She narrows her eyes at him and he shuts his mouth. He shuts his eyes like the idea physically pains him.

“You really want me to promise, don’t you?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs a long, heavy breath. Composes himself.

“I promise you,” he says, leaning toward her slightly, his voice low, “I won’t get myself killed. Happy?”

Whatever she searches for on his face, she seems to find. Satisfied, she lets go of him. The lack of pressure around his bicep feels wrong.

“Very,” she says. “Okay. Go.” A nod to the little wooden door that leads to the alleyway and out of the wards which surround the house. “And take pain tonics if it gets too much. I don’t care if they’re illegal in Autumn. That’s a shit law and you should repeal it.”

He plans to.

They don’t say goodbye. They never do. Some traditions will never change. There’s too much finality in the word, and they settle for no farewell at all, like the next time they see each other will simply be a continuation of the previous meeting. On-going. A constant in the background. 

With every step, he rebuilds his mask. By the time he’s home, it’ll feel normal again. Like second nature.

Even as he enters the alley, Eris doesn’t look back. Still, he knows she’s watching him go, and she won’t go back inside until she’s sure he’s winnowed away. 

a/n: am i potentially going to make this a series of one-shots? maybe

[when42-0fallasleep]

Duke thought Tim's story about the mysterious flower shop was the effect of him skipping to many nights of sleep until the morning after that.

He had just finished his usual morning patrol as Signal when he saw something- some weird, green, giant aura light the Amusement Mile up. It gave him literal chills down his back, to be honest, but that's the more reason to check up on it, athough it hurted his eye to look directly at it.

Imagine the surprise he had when the center of that aura is a floating little girl, around Damian's age, with shocking white hair put into low twintails and black beret. She was also wearing a suit with turtle neck, long sleeves that cover her hands, and shorts under a transparent skirt, with a sliver belt with the buckle styled as the letter "D" with a "P" inside.

Suddenly, toxic green eyes turned to look at him, and she flashed a smile with too-sharp teeth.

"Hiya!" The little girl chirps, "The name's Phantasy! You're one of the Bats, right?" Duke nodded at that, "Phalya asked me to clean this mess here- and yikes, the ecto-contamination!"

Phalya... that's the name of the flower shop's owner that Tim talked about. Okay, it seemed like she kept her words.

"Ecto-contamination?"

"Oh, right, how should I explain this... uh," Phantasy tilted her head in thought, "It's the stuff that comes from the Infinite Realm, basically like, the equivalent of oxygen here."

Another mention of the "Infinite Realm", Duke noted, as Phantasy continued.

"Well, I've taken the plants away, and purify the air too! You're welcome by the way. But still, keep this place closed for at least a week for sure," The little girl smiled, "Well, that's that, buh by-"

"Wait!"

Phantasy flinched a little at Duke grabbed her hand.

"Uh... sorry, didn't mean to scare you or something but..." Duke pointed to a street vendor nearby, "Do you want some ice cream?"

They got ice cream. Phantasy wanted a strawberry scoop and a chocolate one, so Signal bought it for her and got himself chocolate and vanilla.

The vendor's owner, a sweet middle-aged woman, then told him, "Now you should hurry back to your friends, my dear, it's too hot for that ice cream to stay cool for long."

Huh? But Phantasy was right here with him?

The little girl floating beside him just snickered as his confusion flashed by on his face.

Signal thanked the lady, then they both got to a rooftop nearby and sit down together with their ice cream.

"So... What is the Infinite Realm? If you don't mind me asking?"

The white-haired girl looked at him, like, looked at him. It felt like the clear suspicion in her gaze could dig a good hole on his face but more.

After a little while, Phantasy just shrugged

"Meh, it's not a sensitive topic, it's just... well this is normally not something the livings should know about, but okay," The white-haired girl said, then gave her ice cream a little bite, "The Infinite Realm can be described as the cross section between universes and the glue sticks them together at the same time. Non-living beings lives there, ruled by the High King."

Oh, so, is she a ghost? That should explain why the ice cream lady didn't see her then.

"So... like, ghost? You are one right?"

"Yeah! But ghosts like me are just like, a largely populated ethnicity in the Realm," Phantasy quipped, "There are ghosts, shades, neverborns, gods, angels, Ancients, et cetera. All non-living beings."

"Shades are different from ghosts? And what are neverborns and Ancients?"

"Gosh, Phalya is right! Your Bats ask too much!" Phantasy chuckled, "Yes, shades are different! Well, not that much, but like, okay," She then stopped to take a breath.

Well, this seems to be a long answer. But Duke got the time anyways.

"Both ghosts and shades are formed by lingering emotions, but ghosts are people died with hell lots of them and enough ectoplasm. Shades just, don't have enough ectoplasm to become a ghost or none at all, but a hell lot of shades can sometimes merge into one, but that's unstable and don't last long because they can't form a core. They would just scatter into shades again."

Phantasy took another bite of her ice cream, then licked the cone a little for the melted part, before continueing, "Neverborns are just like the name suggests: they aren't born from the living. Some formed by concepts like time, space, stuff like that- that's the Ancients. Some other are created by ghosts, like their child of sort. Some are clones of ghosts, and they are called mirrorborns! Like me!"

Wow, that was a lot. Thankfully his helmet had recording features so he could review it later.

"You guys have a king?"

"Oh, yeah, we do," Phantasy nodded, "He's super chill! People always praise him for being a savior since he defeated the last one- super tyrant by the way- and took the throne for himself! Well they don't know how much of an ass he is though," Her voice sounded fond at that, and, "He saved me from my fruitloop of a creator."

...That sounds like a lot of trauma to be unpacked. But anyways, a King means a government, right? Maybe the Justice League might want to talk to him in the future.

But then, what should he ask now?

"Do you live around?"

Phantasy blinked at him, and Signal blinked back at her. He didn't know why he blurted that question out, either.

Then the smaller girl just chuckled.

"I'm just visiting, since most of my fraid is living here," She told him after a moment.

So there are more ghost around aside from Phantasy and Phalya- huh, they must be family, since their name both started with "Pha" after all.

"Fraid? As in, your family?"

"Yeah, fraid is the ghostly term for family!" Phantasy smiled, "And speaking of my fraid, I should probaly go to back to them. They are a bunch of worrywarts, so if I've gone for too long, they're gonna freak out."

And following her words, she open her mouth- with too many sharp teeth- and chomped the rest of her ice cream as she stood up, "See you later, Sunshine! Probaly!"

And she just... disappeared like that.

Hold on, Sunshine? Why did she call him Sunshine- right, he forgot to give her his codename.

Duke sighed. He could feel the incoming troubles in the future are not so far away.

Tim, in his Red Robin suit, with a lead-lined box by his side, secured by a strap across his shoulder, rechecked the address Poison Ivy gave him- to a flower shop with no name.

Normally plant problems in Gotham can be associated with her, but since she and Harley Quinn became official, they have promised to try not to harm the citizen. (Well, Harley promised, and Ivy didn't really gave her words, but everyone and their mothers now know she would never let her girlfriend down for life, so yeah.) But this is still her specialty, so questions are fine, hopefully.

"Plants is my specialty, yes," Ivy let out a sigh of disappointment, oh no- "But these types magiacal plants unfortunately isn't mine, nor Swamp Thing's if you are about to ask," Great, double sucks, "But I know someone. Normally she- well, normally her type of people keeps to themselves, but I think she would be interested in this."

And that was how he ended up here, a flower shop too close to Crime Alley for his liking, and well... Ivy vouched for her, but stranger danger never has an age limitation around here. And also he was still wondering how had he never notice the shop before in his life-

And the door to the shop suddenly openned.

There stood a girl with midnight black hair with a little olive tint under the light, lavender purple eyes with black eyeliners, black nails, and a black dress- the whole gothic vibe and all that. She raised her eyebrow at him, and, "Well? You've been standing here for like, 15 minutes. Come in."

He has been standing there that long?

"Oh, sorry, just, well-" Tim tried to calm himself. "Er, I have some questions related to a plant problem, and Ivy said I should come here to ask you."

"Ah," The girl nodded, "Okay, come in. And call me Phalya."

Phalya took Red Robin to a small room behind the counter, going pass the various pots and bouquets of various types of flowers under dim light, then sat him down next to a little tea table.

"Tea or coffee?" Phalya asked, to which he shook his head, "Well okay, your lost."

At the corner of his eyes, some vines then reached out to grab a teapot, and poured her a cup of some sort of red tea, to which she whispered a small "Thank you" and settle the cup down on her table.

"So, plant problem," Phalya started after a sip of her cup, "Pamela didn't told me much, just that you will come seeking answers soon. What kind of plant problem are we talking about now?"

"Pamela?" Tim thought, they must be close. Another question for later then.

"We found an unfamiliar type of radioactive plant suddenly appeared at 17:53 yesterday and released a type of weird gas that affect the citizens on Amusement Mile," It wasn't a pleasant scene at all, as the image popped up in Tim's mind: the dead quiet, the green air, the people lying everywhere.

"The effects started with a nausea, then fainting. We had to quarantine the place. We need help to make the antidote for it, but the plant didn't come up on any of our scan," Tim then pulled out a picture of the plant on his wrist computer, then showed it to Phalya, "This familiar?"

The goth girl put her cup down and studied the image a little, then raised a corcerning eyebrow.

"I know these plant, but the problem is that they shouldn't be here, at a large quantity," She mused with another sip, "They are plants belonged to the Infinity Realm, so it would affect the livings in a negative way. It's curable, don't worry, just let them rest in bed for a couple day. They should be all fine before..." Phalya stopped to think a little, "Right on midnight tomorrow. I will ask someone to cleanse the place for you guys, too."

That was... oddly specific.

Phalya must understand his confusion then, "Okay, I know you have a lot of questions, you lots of Bats and Birds always do," She put her head on one hand, and waved the other a little at him, "I can't answer them for you right now, since anyone that might have placed these babies here might be trouble. I know you have a plant sample in that box there, so I'll take that. There might be some clues."

At that, a vine came out from somewhere and take the strap off the box from him. Tim instinctly hold onto it, but the vines seemed to be stronger.

"Oh don't be like that, you won't find out what kind of plant it is anyway," She sipped her tea again, "I- well, we will find you later if there is anything to share... or not."

Tim didn't like her grin at all.

"Until then, Birdie."

Suddenly, a force pulled him out of the shop's waiting entrance to the ground outside. Tim landed with an "Ooof", then,

Then when he looked up, the flower shop disappeared.