#WATCH IT ‼️‼️‼️ I COMMAND YOU

[blueberrysquire]

The Confused Cowboy Chronicles

Entry 2. A Warm Cup of Tea

synopsis: you bring arthur back home because you both reeeeally need have a sit down and discuss everything that's happened. And not just everything that's happened in the last two hours - everything that's happened in the last two centuries. wc: 5.5k a/n: um so ya boy lied about the first part being the longest because this is a BEAST bro. Enjoy arthur being goofy and also LOREEEEE‼️ cw: nothin :) unless you dont like tea :(

Your door creaks slightly as it opens, reminding you of when your grandfather came over the other day and offered to put grease on the hinges or something to stop the creaking. Not like you really care, there's more to worry about in your unit.

Like laundry chair.

You dash across your living/dining room to slam your bedroom door closed, the loud noise in the extremely unfamiliar environment making Arthur immediately grab his gun like a lunatic.

"Dude, chill, I was just closing my door because my room is a mess and it's embarrassing," you explain tiredly, stumbling over to your small tiled kitchen to scrounge around in your upper cabinets for some tea.

"Can you lock the door?" You ask Arthur over your shoulder, who's still awkwardly standing at the entrance to your apartment, staring at everything like he's been beamed up by aliens.

Arthur, adorably, turns back to the door with the determination of a solider given a command by the king himself, before immediately beings stumped the second his aquamarine eyes land on the chain link.

"I know it's a little old school, you just pull it over in the little latch thing," You gesture vaguely to the door with your even more vague instructions, plucking two mugs from the upper cabinets and flicking on the electric kettle.

Arthur jumps at the sound - you might have to start giving him a heads up every time you interact with anything electronic in your apartment - and gives the kettle a suspicious glare like it's the one two seconds from pulling a gun on him.

"Old school? I ain't never seen a lock like this before," Arthur grumbles, but to his credit he does flick the lock on the actual knob, so he's halfway there.

"Right, yeah, you probably wouldn't have seen one of these before, huh?" You smile sheepishly, feeling foolish for forgetting already. In your defence, you are still trying to decide which tea to have.

"Here, let me-"

You stand at the edge of your breakfast bar, the edge of tiled counter top digging uncomfortably into your stomach and then your upper thighs as you reach your body over the cold surface to reach your door. Arthur watches you with surprisingly rapt attention, studying your every movement as you stretch your fingers as far as they can go to grab the end of the chain link on your door frame and slide the solid end through the metal tracks on the back of your door.

Huffing from both the awkwardly angled exertion and the dull ache still lingering from your just slightly too sharp counter digging into you, you decide once and for all that you're just gonna do green tea and Arthur's gonna have to deal with that.

Busying yourself with placing the little paper bags in each mug and listening out for the gentle rumbling of the kettle to cease, your eyes catch on Arthur once more.

You stop, slowly placing your hands down on the counter to support your upper body, and just passively watch him.

The cowboy tentatively reaches his fingers out to dig the solid, circular at the end of the chain lock out of its tracks to unlock the door.

He sets the block on its hanger, letting the chain loll downwards.

Before grabbing the solid end again, sliding it through the tracks to lock the door.

He's practising.

And he's about to perform the little ritual again before the both of you are startled by the snap of your kettle's switch flicking off. Arthur instinctively puts his hand on his holstered gun and you instinctively bark at him like a disobedient child.

"Hey! No! Absolutely not, if you can't help yourself from pulling that gun, you can't have it on you!" You scold him with a furrowed brow, grabbing the kettle from behind you without needing to look.

Arthur's brows shoot up in surprise, his eyes darting down to his gun as he forces his shoulders to relax, as though he didn't even realise he'd reached for it. Like it was an involuntary, innate reflex.

What a terrifying thought.

"Sorry, partner," Arthur mutters, his fingers twitching in hesitation before he slowly removes his gun from the holster, placing it on the white tile countertop with a solid silver clink.

"Atta boy," you nod in approval, gently tapping the barrel of the gun to spin it away from you. And despite literally causing it to happen, the sudden movement still makes you jump. You scowl at Arthur when he snorts.

"How do you take your tea?"

"I don't drink tea."

"Have you ever tried it?"

"'Course I tried tea," Arthur scoffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Okay, but have you ever tried green tea from Japan?" You draw out the syllables with a big grin, wiggling the tea bag in front of him as you pour boiling water into your own cup.

That certainly intruiges has him intruiged, his shoulders slumping slightly as he leans over the counter to inspect the mug slowly being filled, the clear water staining a deep sage in a matter of seconds.

"No," he admits. "It any different?"

"It's much better quality," You loop the string hanging out of the mug on the right around its handle a few times to prevent it from falling in, sliding it over towards Arthur before pouring the next mug.

He stares at the ceramic mug like it's the first time he's ever seen one, and admittedly you did choose one of the more out there mugs to give to him.

Your friend gifted it to you a few years bag, one of those goofy novelty mugs from Typo if you recall correctly. It's a cheerful, dandelion yellow colour and the outside of it is covered in little, painted on designs of the - you think now discontinued - Australian ice cream Bubble O'Bill. The icecream is the head of a cowboy with a brown, holey cowboy hat, yellow eyes and a yellow moustache set into a pink face with a bubblegum nose, all barely balancing on a wooden paddle-pop stick. It's a very goofy ice cream even as its designed to look - which was rarely how they actually appeared when you unwrapped them. They usually looked like melted, incomprehensible abominations of pink and brown. It's a classic.

Did you choose that mug just because it's covered in icecreams wearing cowboy hats?

Maybe.

Is it funny seeing what you suspect is an actual, honest-to-God cowboy inspecting it like a historical tribute to his time?

Unbelievably so.

You loop the string of the tea bag around your own mug - pale green with sage speckles, covered in little paintings of flowers and inscribed with the phrase 'Its a nice day to avoid my responsibilities' - and slide it towards your usual stool tucked under the breakfast bar.

Walking around the length of the counter to reach your own seat, you gesture for Arthur to take the other stool tucked under the overhanging counter, offering him an encouraging smile and nod when he reaches to pull it out.

As you both settle in your stools, steaming mugs in front of you, the inevitable silence settles over you once more.

You don't really know how to start this conversation. You have a feeling you kind of know what's going on now, but it sounds so ridiculous that if there's even a chance you're wrong, you could end up in a psych ward.

But if you're right?

Not only is that completely ludicrous, it's also terribly tragic. If you're right in your assumption of Arthur's origins, this is a tough conversation for entirely different reasons.

Judging by how shocked he is of the modern world, you don't think he's ever made a habit of being here before. He might not even know how to get back.

Which means there must be so many people he had to leave behind.

So, really, there's no sense in putting this off. The sooner he can come to terms with everything, the sooner he can get to grieving what could have been.

You clear your throat.

"Forgive me if I'm wrong but..." you frown down at your tea, trying to grapple with the reality of the situation. "You're like a real cowboy, right? Not a cosplayer?"

Arthur scrunches his nose.

"The hell's a 'cosplayer'?"

"See yeah, that just proves my theory. You're from the frontier days, aren't you? Like the 1800s?"

"Christ, I wouldn't say I'm that old," Arthur grumbles a little, scratching his beard and sniffing in offence. "I was born 1863."

You whistle lowly, shaking your head with a disbelieving laugh.

"Mate, that was over 200 years ago."

"Scuse me?"

"It's 2025. Like two zero two five."

You trace each number onto the counter with your fingertip, seeing Arthur freeze out of the corner of your eye. Resting your hand on the cold counter top, you frown up at him.

"You didn't know? I figured you realised you were in the future when you saw that vending machine and heard the motel price. That's when I realised."

"...I had a hunch," Arthur admits in his low, gravelly voice as he stares into his steaming mug. "But it just seems so...insane."

"It sure does," you chuckle dryly, bringing the mug up to your lips once more.

You watch him thoughtfully as you sip the warm liquid, the herb-infused hot water sliding down your throat and soothing your aching vocal chords. You lick the lip of the mug and roll your lips together as the tea settles in your bones, a familiar comfort settling beside your exhaustion.

Arthur still has yet to drink his tea, and at first, you worry he might think you poisoned it. But your rapt attention lands on the cowboy's calloused fingertips and dirty nails trailing over the little Bubble O'Bill designs printed on the surface of the cheery yellow mug and you remind yourself that you would probably have a difficult time processing this too.

"...do you want to tell me about it?" You press him ever-so-gently as you set the mug down, resting your chin on your palm as you lean toward him. "Your life? Who you were, where you came from?"

God, where does he even start?

How much should he tell you?

You're not a spy. You're not a lawman. Hell, making a fake reality or truly sending him to the future just to get intel out of him would be overkill even for the Pinkertons.

You're just a person. Someone he did a kind thing for who is now, for some reason, looking to return the favour.

Who else has he even told his history to other than Mary? Everyone he loves lived it alongside him.

Loved.

Arthur swallows and grips his mug so hard it might shatter.

"Well, I was born in 1863. Mah momma died when I was a boah. Mah daddy got hanged when I was 11. Deserved it, too. I lived on the streets for a while 'til I got picked up by two men startin' a gang. They taught me how ta read, fight, shoot, ride. Taught me everything I know.

"We picked up a few more members over the years. Miss Grimshaw, Tilly, John. Christ was he feral as a kid. First time I met him, he tried to pickpocket me. When I caught him, the bastard bit my damn hand!" Arthur shakes his head as he chuckles at the memory, his thumb tracing one of the Bubble O'Bills on his mug. "Didn' change much, to be honest whitcha."

Then there was Mary.

Then there was Eliza. Isaac.

Arthur clears his throat.

"We uh, we ran into a problem in a place called Blackwater. That's when everything when south. Dutch-"

"Wait, wait wait wait wait," You interrupt him, placing your hand on the counter and staring up at him with those big doe eyes.

"Blackwater? Dutch? Were you with a man named Hosea when the Blackwater incident went down?"

Arthur felt his lips part as his jaw dropped slightly, fighting with himself internally to stop himself from glaring at you. You probably weren't a spy. But still-

"How the hell'd you know all that?" He couldn't help the growl in his throat.

You don't answer him at first, instead grabbing his large, rough hand laying on the counter in your two, small, smooth ones.

Arthur tenses instantly, the touch setting off every alarm bell in his head. Your hands are warm from soaking up the heat of your mug, and they're so unbelievably soft. Like a duck's down feathers. Like a fresh foal's coat. Warm and smooth and all-encompassing.

And you're looking up at with those goddamn eyes. Those bright doe-like eyes as big as damn saucers, a grin on your face like you just won a thousand bucks.

"Arthur," His shoulders rise slightly as you gently squeeze his hand in yours. "I think I know who you are."

Before he can sink any deeper into the endless pit of your kind gaze, you drop his hand and launch yourself out of your stool - almost sending it toppling - dashing towards the bag you abandoned beside your shoe shelf by the front door.

You crouch down to dig around inside the canvas bag, Arthur turning back to his mug to give you some privacy.

He stares at the mug again, lifting it up to his face and wrinkling his nose slightly as he squinted at it. Were these...cowboys?

He huffs out an amused breath as he takes a small sip.

Of course. You think you're real funny, don't cha?

"Got it!"

Arthur watches you from the corner of his eye as you scramble back to the bar, slamming the object in your hand down like you're payin' for something you gotta get quick.

The second his eyes fall on it, he chokes.

Sputtering and hacking up the tea you made him, the familiar, painful burn in his throat returning with a vengeance. Through the pain and the shock, he barely registers your hand on his back, patting between his shoulder blades and rubbing soothing circles into his back.

You continue to stand beside him until the violent cough subsides - good God you're patient - and you immediately remove your hand when he rolls his shoulders in discomfort.

"That's-" he attempts to clear his throat, feeling blood bubble up between each raspy breath. "That's mine."

The journal's brown leather cover is more damaged than he remembers. Scratched up, scuffed, stained. The pages that peek out are yellowed, weathered at the edges like they've been through centuries of wear and tear.

Because, Arthur reminds himself, they have.

He reaches one hand out to touch the worn leather before thinking better of it, immediately pulling back like the thing burned him. His arm shot down to his side, where he dug into his own bag to fish out his leather bound journal.

You coo in amazement as he places the original, unfinished journal on the counter beside your own. Perching back down on your stool, you lean over the two books to carefully examine the differences.

The way you gingerly unlatch and lift up the covers of both books at the same time, treating them with more care than a mother with her babe, would have been endearing had Arthur not been losing his goddamn mind.

You have his journal.

How do you have his journal? Why do you have it?

...Have you read it?

The journal on the left, the one Arthur just pulled out of his bag, looks practically brand new. He only bought it a few months ago, after all. There's a pencil tucked into the spine, chipped and dull with a few teeth marks on the end.

You turn the first pages, gentle as ever.

Arthur's book has a page dedicated to calculating camp funds.

Your book (also his?) has...a bank debt.

That ain't his handwriting. He'd know Marston's chicken scratch anywhere.

"Your handwriting is gorgeous, but goddamn is it hard to read. I've only managed up to..." you carefully flick through your copy of Arthur's journal, stopping at one of the first pages he wrote in Horseshoe Overlook. "Here."

You trace your fingers over the half-assed drawing he did of Strauss. Arthur clenches his jaw, feeling the tickle of a cough bubble up in his throat once again.

"You're an incredible artist," You murmur, flipping back to the drawing he did of Valentine. "These are just so detailed, when I look at them I feel like I'm there."

"Yeah, you lucky you ain't. Place reeked," Arthur jokes half-heartedly, shifting in his seat from all the uncalled for praise.

He's glad you haven't read too far. Lord only knows how embarrassing it would be to meet someone who had read all about his failure to woo his ex-fiance.

Multiple times.

What you have read, however, isn't great either. Although, now that he thinks about it, nothing in there paints him in a very good light. He ain't a good man, and everything in those pages proves it.

And if Marston wrote in it, that means...

Arthur swallows down a cough, placing his hand on his hat and taking it off to take his dirty nails through his greasy locks.

"How'd you get this, anyway?" He grumbles, placing his hat down next to his revolver on the bar.

"I won it at an auction," You very carefully dig your fingers between the counter and the leather cover of your copy, gently folding it closed. "I studied anthropology in uni - just one class for fun, yknow? And one of my mates from that class told me about this event that was happening in the city where they were auctioning off real, genuine cowboy memorabilia from the late 1800s. Oh my God, Arthur, when I tell you, I was ecstatic."

There you go again, flashing those bright, round eyes at him. That shiny, comforting smile.

"Paid 2 grand for this bad boy."

You pat the leather journal proudly as Arthur gives you a double take.

"What the hell is wrong whitchu?" He scolds you, looming over you, devouring you in his shadow. "Payin' all that for a couple pages of an idiot's thoughts. Does money mean nothin' in the future?"

"Arthur, I don't think you understand how valuable this is!" You retort, placing your hand protectively over the worn cover. "A primary source recounting events from a barely known gang in the 1890s? This thing is pure gold."

Arthur scoffs at that, though he has to admit your glare is awful entertaining. Like you really think you can look scary with those big, bright eyes.

Your fingers curl on the surface of the leather bound journal, your brow and nose crinkling like someone pulled a string taut in your face.

"I'm sorry for reading it. If I had known you-"

"'S fine."

"It's not," you counter, glaring up at him again, but it's different this time. Protective rather than defensive. Like you're planning to slug him for not being angry with you.

"These are your private thoughts. They're your entire life, that's something that should be protected and kept secret."

You use your splayed hand on the journal to slide it over to him.

"I am sorry for reading it. And I'm glad it's back to it's rightful owner."

Arthur frowns, gently brushing his fingers over the time-weathered journal in front of him, trying to memorise all of the new scratches and nicks.

Despite its unfamiliar surface, it still somehow feels like home.

"...sorry 'bout your 2 grand," Arthur offers you a weak grin.

"Don't worry, I'll put it on your tab," you snicker in return.

Right.

Payment.

How in the hell is he ever going to be able to pay you back?

You could argue that you're letting him stay the night because he defended you from those idiots, that's fair. But that's out the window if he stays here more than one night, which he's worried he might have to. Ain't no where to set up camp around here and he'd searched all over his person for the goddamn matchbox tin. Gone.

And you made him tea. And, being the stupidly generous stranger you are - willing to pay 90 damn dollars for him - you'll probably give him some of your food.

And apparently, his money don't mean nothing here. He can't even offer to do manual labour to earn his keep because there ain't any firewood to chop, no maize sacks to carry, no horses to feed.

Oh god, horses.

Did they even still exist? He hadn't seen any. Just that God forsaken, demonic, piece of shit bus.

Staring hard at the two journals, you know you're almost there. You can feel it.

You're gonna figure this shit out.

"So...did you like...jump in a time machine or something?" You guess, pushing your long forgotten tea out of the way as you position the journals side by side once again.

"You got those now?"

"Psh, hell no. That's science fiction, all just theoretical at this point. Or-" you move your arm up to scatch the back of your head. "I guess not anymore since, you're, yknow. Here."

You decide to try a different angle.

"What's the last thing you remember before you showed up here?"

Arthur scratches his beard absent-mindedly, flicking through the pages of the journal you bought.

"Got a package from a man named Francis Sinclair, I helped him find some rock carvings he was lookin' for. Strange man. He sent me a letter sayin' his 'payment' was the matchbox tin in the envelope."

You tilt your head, feeling the gears grinding.

"Strange how?"

"Dressed strange. Talked stranger. Couldn't understand half o' what he was sayin'."

"You reckon he was a time traveller?"

"If he is, he better pray we don't cross paths again if he wants to keep his organs in him," Arthur snarls through gritted teeth, his free hand leaning on the countertop curling into a huge fist.

You laugh nervously, suddenly remembering this man has killed many, many people.

"Right, so, what happened next? After you got the box?"

"Got dizzy. Everything got...real loud an' real bright," Arthur frowns deeply at the memory. "An' then... it weren't. It was dark and I definitely wasn't standin' in Rhodes no more."

"Did you show up in an alley or something?"

"Naw," the gruff cowboy shakes his head, turning his piercing blue gaze to pin you in your seat.

"I showed up next tah you."

It strikes you that this is the first time you've been able to properly examine his face in good lighting, without his hat in the way. Good god, he's gorgeous.

Large, arched brows peeking out under his honey-brown hair. Adorable crows feet at the edges of his eyes, a subtle spattering of freckles oved his sun-kissrd cheeks. A dark, coarse beard encompassing the bottom half of his face, a little bald patch right on his chin where an old scar lies.

And his eyes. You finally understand why you were so desperate to see them before.

Stunning green-blue irises that remind you of watching Bob Ross as a kid, the fuzzy TV screen and the era-appropriate colour correction drowning everything in a deep blue wash. His gaze is so utterly comforting, you feel like you could sink into them like a plush carpet and sleep forever.

"Me? You showed up...next to me?"

Arthur nods, one of his unbelievably huge hands coming up to gently massage his jaw.

You somehow find a way to tear your eyes off his face that literally looks like it was sculpted by the gods, focusing your gaze back on the books.

"Holy shit."

"Hm?"

"I think I figured it out!" You bounce in your stool and tap the counter excitedly, avoiding actually touching either of the journal's for fear of damaging them in your excitement.

Arthur watches you in silent amusement, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the breakfast bar countertop.

"Oh yeah? Whatchu figure out?"

"Well, the wall I kept running into was the fact that you're American, right? So, logically, if you were to go forward in time you would just be in the same space you were in, just in the future."

You visually demonstrate this on the counter, placing two fingers on the cold, white tile to represent a tiny Arthur.

"But you ended up here, right next to me, here in bumfuck suburb, Australia."

Arthur snickers while you use your other hand to make another little guy. This one is you.

"So, if the time travel thingamabob that got you here isn't location based, it must be object based."

You move both of your little finger people to the books, with tiny Arthur on his book and tiny you on yours.

"My theory is that you are tied to this journal, its the only thing that both of us have. It could be because nothing from your time exists today or-"

"It could be because I don't got anything else," Arthur finishes for you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

You tentatively pull your little finger figures away, placing your hands back in your lap.

"Yeah. Or that."

You both fall into a tense silence for the first time since this conversation began, every word that was said still hanging in the air.

Finally, you draw yourself to sit up, smack your thighs, and slide off your stool. Grabbing both your and Arthur's still half-full mugs and tipping them into the sink, you decide to leave the mugs there when a huge yawn escapes you.

"Christ, alright, I reckon that's enough for one night," you mutter, rubbing your eyes and crossing the tiled kitchen floor to open the sliding door hiding away your washer, dryer and extra storage.

You chuck a blue towel at Arthur's head, unsurpsied when he catches it with ease.

"I'm gonna set up the pull out couch for you to sleep on, you go have a shower."

"Pull-out couch?" Arthur asks, following you like an obedient dog over to your old, blue couch.

"Oh yeah, its sick as," you grin as you drop the sheets you grabbed from the closet onto your fluffy grey beanbag. "Check this out."

You chuck the couch cushions away and stick your hand into the centre of the couch, grabbing the metal bar of the bed frame. You grunt as you give it a good tug, walking backwards as you unfold the couch into a double bed

You strike a pose, pointing to the couch with a flourish and grinning up at a horrified-looking Arthur.

"Ta-daaa!"

"There ain't no way I'm sleeping in that death trap," Arthur shakes his head gravely, giving the unfolded portion of the couch a suspicious kick.

"Hon, I promise it's not gonna fold up on you," you reassure him, grabbing the fitted sheet and unfolding it. "I've had plenty of people sleep on this thing and there's never been a problem!"

"There's a first time for everything," Arthur mutters, unconvinced.

You sigh, tucking the rounded edges of the fitted sheet over the edges of the pull out mattress.

"I can see how it can be scary. You can take my bed, I'll take the couch."

Arthur frowns, "I ain't taking your bed."

"You gotta work with me here, mate," you huff, stretching out over the bed to tuck in the other sides of the sheet. "I'm not letting you take the floor, and I don't want you freaking out all night. I really don't mind taking the couch."

"Naw, naw, 's fine, I'll take the couch," Arthur stands his ground, picking up the top sheet and handing it to you when you reach for it. "But you can't get mad if I shoot it for tryin' tah eat me."

You snicker at that, taking the sheet from him and flicking it out to its full size, letting it float down onto the mattress.

"Got it. Now, off you go, cowboy. Bathroom's just behind that door there."

As Arthur runs a clean hand through his wet hair, he has to admit this is the cleanest he's felt in a long time. Maybe ever.

He's surprised by how comfortable the clothes you gave him are. You didn't leave him a union suit, though. He can't even begin to explain what he's wearing right now.

You grin when you spot him emerging from the bathroom, giving him a low whistle of approval.

"Look at you, cowboy! You look good in a hoodie and boxers," you tease him, chucking a pillow at his head.

Arthur catches it easily, raising an eyebrow.

"What are these things made outta?" He mutters, reaching down to pinch the hem of the "boxers" in between his fingers and sliding the fabric back and forth. It's a fabric he's never even seen before, let alone worn. Shiny and soft, maybe silk? Did you give him silk pants?

"I dunno, nylon, maybe?" You shrug, grinning as you take him in. "We'll go shopping soon and get you some more clothes."

Arthur scowls lightly, shaking his head and gently bonking you on the head with the pillow, drawing a giggle from you.

"You gotta stop with all this."

"What?" You beam, gabbing the pillow and peeking up at him from underneath it. "I like spoiling you."

Arthur's lips twitch, unsure of whether he should be smiling or scowling at how sweet you are. You are far kinder than you ought to be.

"Oh! Speaking of which!"

Arthur blinks as you dart over to the makeshift bed you made for him - too damn kind - returning with a colourful stuffed toy in your hands.

"This is Terri the Toucan," you introduce him, holding out one of the black wings of the stuffed, woollen bird as though it's offering to shake Arthur's hand.

Amused, Arthur takes the soft little wing in a few of his fingers, moving it up and down in a tiny handshake.

"My friend crocheted him for me because I just adore toucans, they're so goofy!" You snicker, bringing the colourful, crochet beak to your nose in an affectionate gesture. "He means the world to me, gotten me through a lot of hard times. Every time I hug him, I remember how much time my friend spent making him just for me. She loves me so much that she spent all that time carefully making this just to make me happy."

You smile up at him, the light in your eyes a little more watery than usual.

"If someone as wonderful as her wanted to spent that much time thinking of me - surely I must have done something right."

A deep, yearning ache settles in Arthur's chest as he looks down at you and your toy, a deep frown on his face. How can someone as kind as you, someone who has done nothing but right by him, need a constant reminder of their worthiness in their friends' eyes?

You prop the bird up in your hands again, turning it towards Arthur and gently poking the centre of his chest with its beak - right where his pain is. Like you can feel it as well.

"Maybe he can help you too."

Arthur looks down at you, assessing your face for any hint of reluctance as he tentatively reaches up to take the strange bird from your hands - but all he finds is kindness in your tired eyes.

"Thanks," he murmurs. "But I reckon I'm a bit old for toys."

You practically snort at that, patting his chest before pulling the blankets back from the makeshift bed, carving out a place for him. His eyes catch on the weathered journal next to the pillow resting against the back of the sofa and the glass of water on the side table.

"No one's too old for comfort," you counter, leaning down to turn on the lamp beside him before crossing the room to flick off the main light bulb.

"Goodnight, Arthur," you muse, opening the door to your bedroom. "If you need anything, just knock."

With that, you give him one last bright smile, and the bedroom door closes behind you with a quiet click.

For the first time since he arrived here, Arthur's alone again.

His shoulders slump, and he brings his free hand up to rub his temples, a deep, rumbling groan eminating from his chest. His aquamarine eyes are drawn back to the tattered version of his journal, his attention caught like a fish on a hook.

You left it there for him. You left the light on for him to read it. To find out about what happens. What has happened. Everything he's missed by coming here.

His grip tightens on Terri.

Arthur doesn't think he's going to be doing much sleeping in this nice bed you made him.

--

《《 Previous Part Next Part 》》

a/n: LETS GOOOOOOO WEEOO WEEOO WEEOO WEEOO!! I love love LOVE the idea of arthur wearing a hoodie and boxers. And, fun fact, they are fruit boxers. I couldnt find a place to put it in (they might be in the bonus entry i mean WHOOPS WHO SAID THAT) but yes, arthur is wearing a pair of boxers with colourful bananas, watermelon slices and passionfruits on it :))

[proudly-a-killjoy]

This is the best Cinderella movie. The songs are great, the casting is perfect, it’s got great comedic moments and somehow still puts more development into Cinderella and the Prince’s relationship than any of the other movies I’ve seen, and the set designs and costumes are beautiful. What else can I say

[eelliotss]

— Borrowed time, part 3

‼️Caleb x reader x Sylus. Reader not MC. University AU. Modern AU. Angst angst angst!

Everyone knows Caleb is in love with MC. Everyone. Including you. But that does not stop him from flirting with you, teasing you, keeping you close. And it definitely does not stop you from falling for him—even when you know you’re just a stand-in, a place holder.

“Had you paid a little more attention, you would’ve known I hated the thunder too.”

word count = 5.2k

i appreciate all likes, comments, reblogs, and asks. i may not reply to all of them, but i want you to know that i reread them over and over 🥺

part 1 | masterlist | part 4

The choir of rain showering down envelops your whole world. Holding yourself close, you hug yourself away from the constant roar of the thunders.

You did not notice the man watching— his gaze lingering on the drenched rag of a person curled up on the roadside.

Another roar tears through the sky, clawing at your chest, sending tremors down your spine. With each shallow breath, you silently pray for the nightmare to be over, to wake up under warm covers in the safety of your own room.

He probably saw the state you’re in—the haziness in your unfocused eyes and the way you blink, once, twice, sluggish and distant. A sigh leaves his lips as he kneels down to your level. With one gloved hand holding his helmet, the other lightly flicks your forehead.

The flick is light—too light for the weight crushing your chest, yet enough to tether you back to reality and bring some focus back into your gaze.

You slowly raise your gaze, meeting his crimson orbs. Unwavering. Sharp. Studying.

His lips twitch—not quite a smirk, not quite concern.

“You look like hell,” he states as he tilts his head, studying you like you’re an amusing puzzle.

You don’t answer. You can’t. Your lips tremble, but no words form.

Sylus exhales, slow and deliberate—not quite a sigh, but something close.

“Can you get up?”

Silence. Only the sound of the rain, the low hum of the storm, and the quiver of your breath fill the air.

He clicks his tongue, running a hand through his drenched silver locks before shaking off the excess water. Then, without a word, he drops his helmet onto your head, fingers swift and practiced as he secures the strap beneath you chin

The sudden weight startles you. But before you can react, you’re lifted.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat as his arms hook effortlessly around you, pulling you up from the cold ground and onto the sleek leather seat.

He swings his leg over the bike, boots steady against the pavement. The engine purrs beneath you, low and commanding.

“Hold tight.”

The words are simple. A command. A warning.

Your hands instinctively clutch his waist, gripping the fabric of his jacket. The sudden yank pushes you flush against him.

But through the turmoil of it all—through the howling wind, the biting cold, the chaos swallowing the whole world as you ride through the roads a little too fast—beneath your fingers, beneath the soaked fabric,

he’s warm.

The contrast is sharp. The world untamed, screaming, tearing everything apart. The situation rushes past you, too quick, too unreal.

Through it all, you—fractured, weightless, drowning— hold onto him— steady, unshaken—like he’s the only rope tying you to reality.

•

“What’s your room number?” he asks as the bike comes to a stop and the deep rumble of the engine fades.

By the time you’ve returned to the resort, the campfire is long gone—reduced to nothing but damp coals and the ghost of laughter lingering in the air.

People scattered, rushed towards shelter, their hurried footsteps splashed against puddles. The storm has chased everyone indoors.

Except for you and him.

You’re still clutching onto him, fingers curled around the fabric of his jacket. The lingering warmth of his body beneath your touch feels foreign.

“Well?” Sylus’s voice cuts through the silence.

You blink, realizing you haven’t answered.

Your lips part, allowing a light whisper to leave your lips.

“409.”

Without a word, he starts walking.

Perhaps it’s because you did not want to be left alone in the darkness of the night again, or perhaps it was because the sudden loss of warmth prompted your body to move on its own.

You trail behind him through the dimly lit halls, the faint hum of electricity buzzing through the silence. Water drips from your clothes, leaving a trail behind as you shiver against the cold air-conditioned corridor.

You steal a glance at him. Sylus walks ahead, hands shoved into his pockets, completely unfazed. As if he didn’t just find you curled up on the side of the road, as if you’re not drenched and shaking beside him.

The two of you stop in front of your door.

You fumble for the key card, fingers trembling slightly, though you’re not sure if it’s from the cold or from everything that’s happened tonight.

“Shh, don’t be scared.”

Soft coos seep through the door.

“I’m here, pipsqueak. I’m here.”

Soft giggles follow the gentle whispers.

“You’ve always stayed with me on days like these, holding me just like this whenever there were thunders.” Her voice is small and fragile—like something meant to be cherished, protected.

Your fingers hover the doorknob, frozen in place.

The storm rages on, harmonizing with the soft giggles on the other side of the door.

You stood there paralyzed, your mind too tired to register whatever it is that your heart is going through.

Sylus leans against the doorframe, watching you hesitate. Waiting.

“So? You gonna go in, or are we just standing here all night?” He finally asks, voice low and edged with amusement.

Your lack of response earns slow exhale from him.

Before you can fall any deeper, before you can drown in the ache clawing at your chest—he moves.

His hand wraps around your wrist, firm and unyielding.

You flinch, eyes finally snapping to him.

He doesn’t say anything—just turns, walking, dragging you with him.

Away from the door. Away from them.

“Sylus—“ Your voice is barely above a whisper, but he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t loosen his grip.

And deep down, you were glad he didn’t.

You let the warmth of his hand anchor you, let the storm swallow everything else, and let the laughter behind the doorframe fade into nothing.

•

Sylus doesn’t stop walking until you’re deep inside the quiet halls of the resort, the sound of rain and thunder fading into the background.

His grip finally loosens as he stops in front of a door.

Without looking at you, he pulls out his key card and swipes it. The lock clicks open.

“Get in.” His voice is flat, low—an order, not a request.

You linger by the doorway, water pooling beneath your feet.

Sylus exhales sharply for the nth time that night, raking a hand through damp silver strands, sending droplets scattering to the floor. Then, without warning, he grabs a towel from the bed and throws it at you.

It smacks against your chest, snapping you out of your daze.

“Shower.”

You blink up at him. His crimson eyes don’t waver.

His jaw ticks. Another sigh, this one slower, controlled.

More is tossed at you.

A shirt. A pair of sweatpants. His clothes.

They land in your arms, warm, freshly laundered, carrying the faintest trace of him—clean, sharp, and something unplaceable.

Your fingers tighten around the fabric.

“You’re soaked. You’ll get sick.”

It’s not concern. It’s a fact. A simple statement.

When you still don’t move, he clicks his tongue, tone dipping into something dangerously close to impatience.

“Either you go shower, or I’ll throw you in there myself.”

That finally makes your feet move.

You clutch the clothes tighter against your chest and step past him, disappearing into the bathroom.

The door clicks shut behind you.

And only then do you finally exhale.

The warmth of the shower does little to soothe the tightness in your chest, but at the very least, it washes away the lingering cold from the rain, the exhaustion clinging to your skin like a second layer.

When you finally step out, damp hair sticking to your neck, Sylus is exactly where you left him—leaning against the dresser, one knee bent, a towel draped over his head. His silver hair peeks through, darkened by water, stray strands clinging to his forehead. He’s slow with his movements, lazy almost, dragging the towel through his hair before ruffling it out with one hand.

For the first time, you actually look at him. Not just a passing glance, not a flicker of acknowledgement,—but really look.

At the way the dim light carves shadows along his jawline—the cut of his jawline, the slight furrow in his brow, the way droplets trail down his collarbone before vanishing beneath the black tank clinging to his build—damp and unforgiving, outlining lean muscle and sharp edges.

There’s something effortlessly sharp about him, something dangerous in the way he simply carries his frame.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips as his gaze flickers up, sweeping over you. Unbothered. Knowing. Like he’s caught you staring.

“Like what you see?” his voice drips with lazy amusement.

You blink, heat creeping up your neck before you compose your features.

“What is there to like?”

His smirk deepens, crimson eyes flickering with something teasing.

“You really are a shortcake.” He smugs as his gaze roams your body. “Looks like my clothes are trying to swallow you whole.”

You glance down. The oversized shirt hangs loosely off your shoulders, the hem brushing against your knees. The sweatpants are cinched at the waist, tied hastily to keep them from slipping.

You scoff, rolling your eyes. “It’s not my fault you’re built like a damn tree.”

Sylus snorts, shaking his head as he runs the towel over his hair one last time before tossing it onto the chair. “Move.”

He brushes past you, the scent of clean linen and faint sandalwood trailing behind him. The door clicks shut a second later, leaving you alone in the room.

For a moment, you simply stand there, staring at the empty space he left behind.

Then, with a slow, heavy breath, you make your way to the bed. The mattress dips beneath your weight, soft and warm—a stark contrast to the cold pavement you were curled up on just hours ago.

You sink into it, pulling the blankets over yourself, letting your body finally rest.

But sleep never comes.

Even as exhaustion tugs at your limbs, your mind refuses to quiet.

The storm still lingers beyond the windows, faint rumbles reverberating through the walls. Every moment from tonight replays, over and over again—

The laughter at the campfire.

Caleb’s dismissive jokes.

Caleb’s warmth, his head rested on your lap as the sun sets.

His voice, gentle, whispered—“I’m here, pipsqueak. I’m here.”

And the way the line cut before you could even finish your cry for help.

Your grip on the blanket tightens.

It’s pathetic. How much this hurts. How much he still has a hold on you, even when you know better.

You force yourself to listen to the sound of the shower running in the bathroom, gripping into your own palm like doing so could lull you to sleep.

The blanket feels too heavy. The air, too thick.

You shift onto your side, curling in on yourself, trying to focus on something—anything—other than the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

The shower stops, and a moment later, the bathroom door opens.

Sylus steps out, towel draped around his neck, silver hair still damp, a few strands clinging to his skin. The scent of clean linen and something sharp, something distinctly him, fills the space.

He says nothing, nor does he acknowledge you.

Instead, he crosses the room in that effortless, unhurried way of his, tossing the towel onto a nearby chair before grabbing something from his bag.

You watch from the corner of your eye as he settles into the chair beside the bed, flipping the book open like he’s done this a thousand times before.

Like you’re not lying there, curled up in his clothes, drowning in the silence between you.

Like this is just another one of his quiet nights.

The pages turn, slow and steady, the faint rustle of paper weaving into the distant cries of thunder.

Still, the way the thunder rumbles through the sky, rolling and crackling so close, makes your body tense on instinct. You will your breathing to steady, to calm. But your hands won’t stop trembling.

It’s stupid. You know it’s stupid.

The sudden change from the steady rhythm of pages turning to the faint tap of his fingers against his phone screen causes your brows to furrow in curiosity. You crack an eye open just enough to see him searching something up. His expression remains as impassive as ever, his crimson gaze flicking across the screen, scanning whatever article he’s pulled up.

Then—without warning—he gets up, grabs your blanket, and yanks it off you.

“H-Hey—!” You barely have time to react before he moves, fast and measured, rolling you over onto the bedspread like you weigh nothing.

“What the hell are you—“

He ignores you. Ignores your flailing arms, ignores your indignant protests, and swiftly tugs the blanket around you, tucking you in so tight you can barely move.

You blink, completely stunned. You stare up at him, utterly dumbfounded, as he looks down at you with a face that is, somehow, completely unbothered.

“What the fuck is this?”

Sylus simply plops back down into his chair, cool as ever.

“It’s what they say helps cats with anxiety attacks.” He gestures vaguely towards his phone. “Something about mimicking the feeling of safety.”

Silence. You blink at him.

Once.

Twice.

His lips twitch—just slightly. “You’re welcome.”

You stare at him in disbelief.

“What kind of dumb—this isn’t even—“ You wiggle, struggling against the tight wrap of the blanket. “Sylus, let me out.”

“No.

“Sylus.”

“They say chin scratches can also help calm cats down,” he smirks. “Would you want that too, kitten?”

You open your mouth to retort, but another loud crack of thunder cuts through the room. Your breath hitches before you can stop it.

Silence engulfs the room once more.

He flips to another page in his book.

“Do you hate it that much?” his eyes never leaving the words in front of him. “The thunders.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hating the way your hands still tremble against the blanket.

“No.”

Sylus hums, the sound low, almost skeptical. He flips another page.

“Convincing. Really.”

You would never admit it, but the tight wrap of blanket around you created a protective barrier between you and the world.

Or perhaps it is the steady rhythm of his breathing. The calm, unshaken presence beside you.

Your eyelids grow heavier.

The storm still lingers outside.

But here, in this quiet space, it’s bearable.

And before you realize it—the world turns dark.

•

Your eyes shoot open.

The room is steeped in deep blue, the quiet hum of dawn settling over the world. The storm has long passed, leaving behind only the faint scent of rain lingering in the air.

You instinctively look around, your pulse quickening as the memories of last night rush in like a relentless wave.

The chair beside the bed is empty. The book he was reading is gone.

He isn’t here.

A strange feeling settles in your chest—one you don’t have the energy to name.

You push yourself up, the oversized fabric of his clothes slipping loosely around your frame.

Right. You need to go.

Sliding off the bed, you grab your things, moving as quietly as possible. The last thing you need is anyone seeing you sneaking out of a room that isn’t yours.

The hallways are eerily silent, save for the distant rustle of the ocean breeze slipping through an open window. You slip into your own room unnoticed, the door clicking shut behind you.

MC is still asleep, curled beneath the blankets, her breathing slow and steady.

You exhale, body weighed down with exhaustion as you strip out of Sylus’s clothes, replacing them with your own. The fabric is warm, familiar.

Sliding your phone onto the charger, you finally crawl into bed, slipping under the covers beside MC.

She stirs slightly, shifting at the dip in the mattress, but doesn’t wake.

The silence stretches, the soft rhythm of her breathing lulling you into something close to peace.

You close your eyes.

•

You’re jolted awake by MC’s sudden exclaim.

“Oh my god, Yn!”

Your eyes snap open, the soft haze of sleep vanishing in an instant. MC is hovering over you, her phone clutched tightly in one hand, her brows furrowed in concern.

“Where the hell were you last night?!” she demands, voice a mix of worry and exasperation. “I called you like, a million times! I was this close to going out and looking for you—” She pauses, eyes narrowing slightly. “But, you know… how I am with thunders.”

You blink, mind sluggish, body too drained to react.

MC huffs, shoving her phone in your face. “Seriously, Yn. I was worried sick!”

You squint at the screen, barely making out the endless stream of missed calls and texts before you sigh, rubbing a hand down your face.

“Sorry,” you mumble. “I—”

What are you even supposed to say?

That you got caught in the rain? That you collapsed on the side of the road? That Sylus found you?

That you spent the night in his room?

Your throat tightens.

MC sighs, finally pulling back. “I swear, you’re gonna give me a heart attack one day.” Her expression softens, the frustration fading into something quieter. “You okay?”

The concern in her voice makes your chest ache.

You force a small smile. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

MC watches you for a moment before nodding. “Alright. But don’t ever do that again, okay? If something’s wrong, you tell me.”

You nod, though you don’t say anything.

She plops back onto the bed, stretching her arms over her head. “Anyway, we have a long-ass day ahead of us. Let’s get moving before they start filming without us.”

You hum in agreement, pushing yourself up despite the weight still clinging to your limbs.

The moment your feet touch the floor, a faint dizziness creeps in, but you shake it off.

Today is going to be long. You just have to get through it.

MC chatters away as she gets ready, pulling out outfits and rummaging through her bag. She seems to have let go of last night’s worries, and for that, you’re grateful. You don’t have the energy to explain anything right now.

By the time you both leave the room, the sun has fully risen, painting the sky in warm golds and soft blues. The air is fresh, carrying the lingering scent of rain, but the storm from last night feels like a distant memory—like something only you remember.

When you arrive at the set, the atmosphere is already buzzing with energy. Crew members are setting up, actors are going over their lines, and the director is barking out instructions.

MC quickly joins the main cast, slipping into her role with ease, leaving you to find your own place among the side characters.

“Action!”

The day begins.

It’s hectic—far more chaotic than yesterday. Since most of the key scenes are scheduled to be filmed today, there’s barely a moment to breathe between takes.

You go through your role automatically, delivering lines, hitting your marks, going where you’re needed.

And yet, through the commotion, you can feel him.

“Action!”

You can see him in the crowd, practicing and discussing his lines.

You can see him placing his hand on MC’s head, telling her it’s okay she messed up her part.

“Action!”

Every now and then, between takes, you can see the way his eyes land on you, a certain look that you can’t quite place your finger on.

And every now and then, during any short break he can muster, you can see the way he tries to approach you.

But the simple thought of him makes you sick to your stomach.

“Yn—”

You slip away.

“Where were y—”

Someone calls you over before he can finish.

“Why didn’t you pick—”

Another take is called, forcing him back into position.

Every conversation dies before it can even begin, and you make no effort to change that.

You don’t want to face him yet.

You can’t.

“Action!”

Fortunately, the day is kind enough to be relentless, dragging you from scene to scene, making it easier to ignore the weight of his gaze, the questions lingering between you.

But as the hours pass, the sun burns hotter, the air grows heavier, and a dull ache creeps into your skull.

It’s subtle at first, just a faint throbbing behind your eyes.

“Action!”

Your limbs feel heavier, your head foggy, the world tilting ever so slightly.

You swallow, forcing yourself to focus.

It’s nothing. Just exhaustion. Just the heat. Just the fact that you spent last night soaking wet in the cold for hours.

“Action!”

You push through.

A hand reaches for yours.

“Hey—are you oka—“

“I’m fine, Caleb.” You snap, finally turning to face him, snatching your touch away from his.

You look over his shoulder to find MC waving for him.

“MC’s looking for you,” you state, turning away just as quickly.

“You don’t look—“

The set sweeps him away once more.

The heat is unbearable. It sticks to your skin, clings to your lungs, burrows into your skull with a relentless pulse. Every sound around you—voices, instructions, the scuffling of feet on set—blurs into a distant hum.

“Action!”

You should sit down. You should stop.

But you don’t.

You push through, following the motions, forcing your body to move despite the dull, throbbing ache radiating from your temple.

The sun beats down harder.

Your limbs feel heavy. Your vision swims.

Something is wrong.

“Act—“

A sudden shift—the ground tilts beneath you.

The world spirals. Your stomach churns—everything is slipping too fast.

And then—a firm grip catches your wrist.

Through the haze, crimson eyes lock onto yours, sharp and assessing.

You don’t understand how, don’t understand why— but subtly, nearly imperceptibly—the sharpness in his eyes narrows, just slightly.

His grip tightens.

“It’s not called a dance if there’s no one to catch you when you dip,” a teasing smirk crawls up his face.

You narrow your eyes, a frown following closely.

“Let me go,” you demand, pulling your hand from his. To your dismay, he does not budge.

Sylus hums, tilting his head slightly, his crimson eyes flickering with amusement.

“Let you go?” He scoffs lightly. “Sweetheart, you nearly face-planted in front of half the set. If it weren’t for me, you’d be eating sand right now.”

A flush of heat creeps up your neck—whether from frustration or fever, you don’t know.

“But it did look like you were throwing yourself into my arms just now…”

Your jaw tightens. “I wasn’t—“

“You were.” He grins, lazy and insufferable, before tapping his temple. “Don’t worry, I’ll be generous and let you blame it on heat exhaustion. But next time, try asking before you faint dramatically into my arms, yeah?”

A scoff pushes past your lips, hot and irritated. “I didn’t—“

He cuts you off again, eyes narrowing in mock thought. “Actually, should I be offended? You didn’t even call my name. Isn’t that what damsels in distress do?”

He shifts his grip to hook an arm securely around your waist, pulling you closer as your knees wobble.

You slap at his arm. “I can stand just fine.“

“Sure.” He drawls the word out, clearly not convinced. “If by ‘just fine’ you mean ‘barely upright and just one second away from proving me right.’”

Your glare sharpens, pushing his body away from you. However, your body betrays you as your knees struggle to find balance, causing you to lean just slightly into his hold.

Sylus smirks.

“You love proving me right, don’t you?”

You groan. “Just let me go, Sylus.”

Before he can answer, another presence looms in.

“Yn.“

The teasing weight of Sylus’s words vanishes in an instant.

You tense.

The air shifts—sharp, tight, suffocating.

Sylus’s smirk doesn’t falter, but the amusement in his eyes dims, replaced with something much more calculating.

“I’ll take it from here.”

Caleb takes a step forward, his expression unreadable—but his tone isn’t.

“Let go.”

A muscle in Sylus’s jaw twitches as his gaze sweeps over Caleb, the amusement curling at his lips deepening.

“That’s funny,” he muses, low and almost thoughtful.

Caleb’s eyes darken. “I said, let go.”

Sylus tilts his head slightly, gaze dipping back to you.

“Mm.” His voice drops lower, amusement flickering at the edges. “Yeah, I don’t think so.”

The tension snaps tight between them—like a drawn blade, waiting to be swung.

You exhale sharply, yanking your wrist away from Sylus. Caleb’s presence itself is enough to push you off the edge, adding the tension between the two and your head splitting in half definitely does not help.

“I’m fine. I can walk. You two have scenes to film—go do that instead of hovering over me,” you mutter, your glare shifting between them.

Neither of them move.

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Seriously. I just need some rest. Go.”

Sylus studies you for a beat longer, then— with an infuriating smirk, he raises both his hands in a mock display of surrender.

“Whatever you say, kitten.”

He steps back, turning without another word. But, even if you’ve just known him for a few days, you’re well too accustomed to that glint in his eyes. He’s entertained—like he just witnessed something far more amusing than it should be.

You roll your eyes, turning to leave—only to find Caleb following closely behind.

You stop in your tracks.

“Caleb.”

“You’re sick,” he states simply, as if that explains everything.

You let out an exhausted sigh. “I just need a nap. The sun’s too hot. You have a job to do. Go.”

“I’ll take you to your room.”

You groan. “I don’t need you to—“

“Yn.”

Something in the way he says your name—low, quiet, edged with something almost like a puppy left alone—makes your breath hitch.

You swallow, annoyance and fatigue surfacing your expression.

“Fine. Do whatever you want.”

You start walking. Caleb falls into step beside you, silent. The set bustles behind you, voices and movement filling the space. But between you and Caleb, the silence is louder.

The walk back is slow. The ground beneath you feels unsteady, your legs sluggish with exhaustion. The day had been merciless—your body drained from the heat, the lingering weight of last night clawing at your bones.

“I didn’t,” you murmur.

“You almost did.”

You finally reach your door, the cool AC left running inside brushes away a part of your exhaustion.

The door clicks shut behind you. You turn to face him, arms crossed.

“Alright. You walked me back. You can go now.”

Caleb doesn’t move. Instead, he leans against the doorframe, hands shoved into his pockets. “Kicking me out already?” he says with his usual playful tone, a grin plastered on his face.

“Out.”

Caleb sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I just—why didn’t you say anything? You looked like you were about to collapse back there.” He slowly approaches you, placing one hand on your forehead and another on his. “You’re burning up.”

A deep frown crawls up your face, annoyance filling your senses. You swat his hand away, taking an unsteady step backwards.

“Get out, Caleb, I want to be alone.”

His eyes widen ever so slightly, taken aback by your response. A soft chuckle slips past his lips—one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Okay, okay, I’ll leave. Right after I tuck you in.”

You let out a sharp breath, exasperated, but too drained to argue. Caleb takes a step closer, reaching for the blanket, but you snatch it before he can.

“Caleb—“

“You didn’t answer my calls.” The shift is almost imperceptible. His voice is steady, but there is an edge to it—like he is holding something back. His jaw is tense, something unreadable flashing behind his violet eyes.

Your breath catches for half a second and you grip on the blanket tightens, but you school your expression. “My phone was dead.”

“Where were you last night?” His voice is still too calm. Too measured.

You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose, exhaustion pressing into your skull. “Caleb—“

“Do you know how long I spent looking for you?” his tone is lighter than it should be, laced with something almost amused—but his eyes, his stance, the slight clench of jaw betray him. “I ran through the rain like a desperate idiot, calling for your name like a lunatic, only for you to act like I don’t exist the next day?”

His voice isn’t desperate. It’s frustrated.

You don’t know what to say to that. Instead, you let out a dry laugh, shaking your head.

“Yeah? That worried? Sure, Caleb. Sure,” you pause. “Do you expect me to be grateful?” sarcasm drips from your words.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” his eyes narrow.

“No? Then what are you saying?” You cross your arms, a bitter laugh slipping past your lips. “Because I remember calling you. I remember my hands shaking so bad I almost dropped my phone. I remember hearing your voice and thinking, ‘finally.’” Your throat tightens. “And then I remember you cutting the line.”

Caleb stares at you, his expression unreadable.

“I was in the middle of god knows where, drenched like a drowning dog, kneeled down on the road next to some fucking dumpster,” you continue, voice shaking despite yourself. “But it wasn’t a great time. You were busy.” A humorless laugh leaves your quivering lips.

His jaws ticks.

“You know how MC is with thunders,” he says, voice quieter now. Almost defensive. “But as soon as she fell asleep— I didn’t think—“

“Exactly.” Your words are barely above a whisper. “You didn’t think. Had you paid a little more attention, you would’ve known I hated the thunder too.”

Something in his face shifts. His breath catches. For the first time since you met him, he looks like he miscalculated.

The silence is thick, suffocating. His gaze lock onto yours, searching—for what you weren’t sure.

Finally, he exhales through his nose, looking away. His hand grips the doorknob, knuckles paling slightly.

His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “I didn’t know.”

A bitter smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah. You didn’t.”

He remains there for a second longer, a shadow of something you can’t quite place flickering behind his eyes. You inhale sharply, steadying yourself, pressing a hand against your temple as a dull ache throbs inside your head.

“I’m very—very—tired,” you continue, voice barely above a breath. “So just… let me rest, Caleb.”

His jaws tightens. He shifts his weight, like he wants to say something—like there’s something sitting heavy on his tongue—but in the end, he exhales through his nose, slow and steady,

His voice, when he finally speaks, is quiet. Strained.

“…Get some rest, then.”

His fingers twitch at his sides. He slowly place his hand on your head, ruffling it softly—the way that has always brought butterflies to your stomach. His violet eyes flicker, scanning you—your unsteady stance, the way you press against your temple, the exhaustion settling deep in your features. Something flashes behind his gaze. But just as quickly, it’s gone.

He takes a step back. Then another.

He tilts his head slightly, studying you one last time—not with amusement, not with his usual lazy charm or playfulness, but with something much quieter. Much heavier.

“Try not to sleep through dinner, shortcake.” His usual grin flickers at the edges, forced, strained, before turning his heel.

Click.

part 4

[shy9-29]

JAKE AFTER COACHELLA WEEK 2. like how he would fuck u right after ITS A NEED I BEG

❜ FUCKING JAKE BACKSTAGE AFTER WEEK 2 COACHELLA ◟ 심재윤

୨ৎ Fucking Jake backstage after Coachella because you couldn’t keep your hands off him. ✉️ wc. 1813 - pairing 심재윤 x f reader ⚠️‼️ tw. hair pulling, praising, begging, unprotected sex, oral (m recieve) harsh language

📝 jake looked so hot up there istg hes bias wrecking me so hard. RUIN ME ALREADYYY! Like I totally see see what you’re saying

The second you saw him step off that stage, all glistening skin and adrenaline, you knew you were done for.

Jake was radiant. Sweat clung to the curve of his jaw, soaked into the collar of his shirt, made the fabric stick to every dip and line of his body. His hair was a mess—sticking to his forehead, curling slightly from the heat, and his chest heaved with each breath like he’d given everything out there. And he had. You watched him command the crowd, move like the music lived inside him, smile like the entire desert had been lit just for him. “Bounce in this next one?” Oh you’ll bounce on it alright

And now he was walking toward you, eyes wild, lips parted, still catching his breath.

You didn’t wait.

Jake didn’t ask questions. He followed, breathing hard, still riding the high of the performance. But the second you stopped and turned to face him, he got it. His eyes darkened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he stared at you.

“You looked so good up there,” you whispered, barely recognizing your own voice.

Jake stepped in close, so close your back pressed to the cool metal wall of the trailer. “Yeah?”

You nodded, fingers already tugging at the hem of his shirt, desperate and clumsy. “Couldn’t stop staring.”

He smirked, cocky and flushed and fully aware of the effect he had on you. “You looked pretty wrecked by the end.”

“Shut up.”

Jake’s laugh was rough, low in his throat. “Make me.”

And you did.

Your hands slid under his shirt, tracing the sweat-slick lines of his abdomen. He hissed softly, leaning into your touch, head dropping to your shoulder. His mouth found the side of your neck, open and hot, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he murmured, voice frayed around the edges. “When I was on stage, every time I looked out at the crowd… I wanted it to be you.”

You arched into him, your own hands trembling now as they clutched at his waist. He slid a thigh between yours, pressing just enough to feel the tension ripple through you. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, up your spine like he couldn’t decide where to keep you. Like he needed you closer than skin would allow.

“Jake,” you breathed, and something about the way you said his name—so soft, so desperate—made him snap.

He pulled you flush against him, lips crashing into yours like the world was ending. You could taste salt and heat and adrenaline. You could feel every hard line of him, every inch of muscle and sweat and desire pressed against your body like it belonged there.

Backstage was chaos—staff calling out, equipment rolling by, voices yelling in the distance—but all you could hear was the way Jake groaned into your mouth, the way his hands fisted in your shirt, the way his hips rolled forward like he couldn’t help himself.

“I need you,” he muttered against your lips. “Right now.”

You didn’t say a word.

You just nodded, breathless, already melting against him.

The second Jake ducked behind the curtain, his chest still heaving from their closing set, your eyes locked. He looked like a dream—sweaty, flushed, breathless. His hair was a mess, stuck to his forehead. His shirt clung to his skin, the black fabric soaked and clinging to every muscle, every line of his body.

He barely had time to take a sip of water before you were pulling him aside, fingers curling into the hem of his shirt.

“You did so good up there,” you whispered, voice low and shaky as he backed you up against the trailer wall. “Couldn’t stop watching you.”

Jake leaned in, his lips brushing yours, and his hands found your hips like they belonged there. “Really?”

You nodded, tilting your head back when he kissed down your jaw. “As soon as I saw you up there, I was already wet.”

That made him groan—deep, from the chest—and his grip on you tightened. “Fuck, baby.”

There was no hesitation after that.

His mouth was everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, your lips—kissing you like he needed it to breathe. His hands slipped under your top, thumbs grazing your waist as he pressed you closer, grinding against you slowly. You could feel him—hard, needy, barely held back by his performance gear. Every flex of his hips made you whimper, made him curse softly in your ear.

You gasped when he slipped a hand down your body, cupping you through your panties.

“Show me,” he murmured. “Show me how wet you got for me.”

You let him push the fabric aside, let his fingers dip between your folds. He swore when he felt it—how soaked you were, how ready.

“God, you weren’t kidding.” He kissed you again, rougher this time, filled with so much need it made your knees weak. “I need to be inside you. Right now.”

Your hands found the waistband of his pants, helping him shove them down just enough, freeing his cock. He hissed when you wrapped your hand around him, stroking him once, slow and firm.

“You looked so good,” you whispered, pumping him gently. “Like you were made to be worshipped. I wanted to run up on stage and pull you off right then.”

Jake’s head fell against your shoulder as he groaned, deep and shaky.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he muttered. “Turn around.”

You did, heart pounding. He lifted your skirt, pushed your panties to the side, and then he was there—sliding into you with a hiss, both of you moaning as he filled you slowly. He pressed his chest to your back, one hand wrapped around your waist, the other gripping your hip as he started to move.

Each thrust was deep and deliberate, the kind of rhythm that stole your breath and left you aching. His forehead rested between your shoulder blades, body pressed tight against yours like he couldn’t get close enough.

“You take me so well,” he whispered, voice rough and warm against your skin. “So fucking tight, baby.”

You pushed back against him, gasping every time he hit that spot just right. The praise, the angle, the weight of his body pinning you to the wall—it was overwhelming.

“I wanted this so bad,” you moaned. “Wanted you to fuck me like this the second I saw you up there.”

“I’m never getting over this,” he groaned, hips stuttering. “Never getting over you.”

The tension built fast, everything too much in the best way—his voice, his hands, his cock dragging against your walls with perfect pressure. You came hard, clenching around him as your body shook, biting down on a whimper as your orgasm ripped through you.

Jake wasn’t far behind. Feeling you tighten around him pushed him over the edge, his hips jerking once, twice, before he came with a choked moan, spilling inside you as he buried himself deep.

For a moment, the only sound was your breathing. The distant music, the murmur of staff in the background—it all faded under the rush of what just happened.

Jake held you against him, breathing hard, his lips brushing your shoulder.

“You’re unreal,” he whispered. “Better than any high I get on that stage.”

You smiled, heart still racing. “Then we better make this a tradition.”

He chuckled, pulling you close again. “Every show. Backstage. You and me.”

His breath was still uneven, body heavy against yours as he slowly pulled out, both of you wincing at the sensitivity. Jake leaned his forehead against your shoulder, chuckling softly as his hand smoothed down your side.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You turned your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “More than okay.”

He smiled against your skin, ready to wrap you up and maybe collapse in one of the dressing room chairs—but you turned in his arms and surprised him with a playful shove. He blinked as you sank down to your knees.

“Wait—what are you…?”

You gave him a look like it should be obvious. “You already did enough up there, rockstar. Let me take care of you this time.”

His eyes widened slightly, a flush creeping into his already-heated face. “Y/N—”

“You looked so good,” you murmured, stroking him slowly, feeling him twitch back to life in your hand. “Singing, dancing, sweating… all for us. You worked so hard, baby.”

Jake swore under his breath, leaning back against the wall for support, his fingers gripping the edge of the metal siding.

“You’re insane,” he muttered, voice hoarse. “But I love it.”

You grinned, pressing a soft kiss to the head of his cock before dragging your tongue slowly along the underside. He was still sensitive, still catching his breath, but your touch was gentle—teasing him back to full hardness like it was the easiest thing in the world.

He hissed when you took him into your mouth, lips wrapping around him slowly, inch by inch.

“Fuck—Y/N…”

He tangled his fingers into your hair, but didn’t force you. Didn’t guide. Just held on like he needed something to anchor him.

You moved slowly, sucking and stroking, pulling him in deep before easing off and doing it again. Your eyes stayed on his the whole time, and the way he was looking at you—dazed, desperate, soft around the edges—made your stomach flutter.

“Just like that,” he breathed. “Shit, baby, you feel so good…”

You hollowed your cheeks, tongue working him over with every slow pull. He was panting now, hips twitching despite himself, his whole body tight with restraint.

“Gonna make me cum again,” he warned, voice barely steady. “Fuck, I’m—”

You didn’t stop.

You only moaned around him, and that sound—the soft vibration of it—was what tipped him over the edge. Jake’s hips bucked forward as he spilled into your mouth, cursing loud enough that someone probably heard backstage.

You swallowed, slow and easy, pulling off with a soft hum.

He stared down at you, completely wrecked, chest rising and falling like he’d just run another set.

“You’re evil,” he whispered, eyes full of awe.

You smirked, licking your lips. “No. I’m just really, really proud of you.”

Jake dropped to his knees and pulled you into his arms, holding you close like you were something precious.

“Next performance,” he said, breathless, “I’m dragging you on stage with me. Just so everyone knows who I’m running backstage for.”

“Shit,” Jake whispered, glancing at the dressing room door like it might swing open any second. “We’re actually insane.”

[luffington]

hihi, how are u⁉️ may i request jealous crocodile and/or doflamingo smut? i am OBSESSED w ur fur & feathers story, you’re an amazing writer!! thank you sm 🙏🫶💓‼️

➤ pairing: sir crocodile x afab!reader

➤ word count: 2.6k

➤ warnings: dom!crocodile, possessive behavior, spanking, degradation, praise, belly bulge, overstimulation, mentioned breeding kink, established relationship, fem reader

aww i'm glad you like it! i decided to give crocodile some love since i already have a few fics about doffy :3 i had really bad horny brainrot writing this he drives me insane

NSFW under the break! minors dni thank uuu

Deciding not to join Baroque Works was your own choice, but you shouldn’t be suffering for it.

The crime syndicate’s leader and you had been in a relationship for quite a while. You’d long since accepted his dedication to his job and his workaholic tendencies – a serious job required someone just as serious. But recently, it had gotten to be too much. 

He spent sixteen hours a day holed up in his office, pouring over documents and answering calls and meeting with Miss All Sunday. Grunted quiet greetings when he came home at night, climbing into bed beside you then falling asleep immediately. He’d barely said three words to you all week. 

You were jealous of the fucking Transponder Snail for how much attention it got. It was time to take matters into your own hands.

So you put on your sluttiest dress, a nice pair of heels, and flashy diamond earrings, then wandered around the massive Rain Dinners casino looking for easy prey. You settled on a drunk average-looking man with a winning streak at roulette. He openly ogled your body as you approached, and smirked lecherously when you asked if the empty seat on his left was taken. 

The man clearly wasn’t a local. He didn’t recognize you, even though you weren’t shy about hanging onto Crocodile’s arm in public. And he was much too stupid to notice the casino staff’s constant nervous glances. While laughing and holding your drink, you brushed a flirty hand over his shoulder and pressed your body against him.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Crocodile emerge from the staff-only hallway to survey the room. Everything about him commanded attention – his abnormal height, his expensive clothes, his intimidating presence. In a flash, he materialized behind you. Half of his body was still reforming from a whirling sandstorm. Menacing golden eyes shone down at you, but his expression was eerily blank. 

The entire casino fell silent. Everyone’s focus was on you.

Crocodile exhaled a pungent cloud of cigar smoke. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

Bullshit. He’d hardly looked at you at all for nearly two weeks. Ignoring the shivers running down your spine, you decided to continue taunting him.

“I’m watching my good friend here play roulette! He’s very lucky, he might take all your money home with him.” You didn’t even remember the man’s name, but you lied with a cheeky grin and firmly patted his thigh twice.

Much too friendly for Crocodile’s liking.

Your lover’s eyes narrowed in on the empty martini glass in front of you. “How many of those have you had?”

“I dunno, three? Four?” You turned to the stranger with a saccharine smile. “Were you keeping count?”

The man was frozen in place, terrified into silence at the sight of the eight foot tall Warlord towering above him. His all-consuming fear made him seem like a small animal staring into a Bananawani’s open jaws.

“You’re drunk. You should sit down.” Crocodile’s tone was steady but dangerous. Always aware of his public image, his carefully chosen words made him seem like the perfect gentleman. 

“But I am sit–“ 

A murderous glare cut you off mid-sentence. You realized you’d taken your bratty act as far as it could go – any more might be threatening to your well-being. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you rose from your seat and automatically moved to his side. Tucked yourself into the folds of his coat, choosing to look down at your heels rather than his face.

“Make yourself comfortable in my office, darling.” The Warlord patted your shoulder, causing you to flinch. His voice dropped an octave as he growled, “I’d like to speak to this lucky gentleman in private.” 

Crocodile’s pristine office was unnervingly quiet. You took a seat on the plush couch facing his desk, nervously bouncing your legs and trying to calm your racing heartbeat. With the lights off, the room was only illuminated by the water surrounding it. Dark shadows of swimming Bananawani regularly moved across the walls. Silly little prey, willingly walking into their nest.

The door suddenly slammed shut behind you. Heavy footsteps slowly approached but you didn’t dare turn around. Rich cologne flooded your nostrils and his golden hook flashed in your peripheral vision. 

Your lover stayed quiet, patiently biding his time until the silence finally got to you. Timidly, you asked, “What happened to that man?”

“What man?” Your lover cocked his head to the side, feigning ignorance. After a moment, a sadistic chuckle rumbled from his chest. “Oh, you mean the mummy in the back room. Let’s say he mysteriously disappeared.”

You whipped your head around with wide eyes. “You killed him for me?” 

Oddly, you didn’t feel bad about it – that man was a creep. Getting rid of him was probably a blessing for the women of Alabasta.

“Of course. I’d do anything for you, dear.” He sounded sincere, but then leaned down and fiercely whispered, “Except play this stupid game of yours. I like showing you off, not sharing you.”

Soft breath tickled your cheek and the fur lining of his coat brushed against your skin. You felt a fire ignite in your core – he was irresistibly sexy when he became possessive (well, more possessive than usual). 

“Have I done something to upset you?” Crocodile kissed and licked down the column of your neck. “Or were you taunting me for fun?”

“Y-You’ve been so busy lately, I was–” The word ‘lonely’ died on your lips when he sunk his teeth into the junction of your neck and shoulder. 

“Oh, my poor dear. Are you feeling neglected?” He cooed when you shyly nodded, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite mark. “I’m very sorry. Work’s been out of control recently, but everything will settle down soon. You have my attention now.”

The tip of his hook slid under your dress’s thin shoulder strap, then cleanly tore through it. He repeated the action on the other side until the torn fabric slipped down to reveal your bare breasts. 

“Not even wearing a bra?” Your lover clicked his tongue, roughly cupping and caressing your right boob then smacking the soft flesh. “If that man looked down your dress, then his death sentence was too lenient. I should’ve tortured him.”

“You’re so scary,” you giggled, letting your head fall back against his sturdy chest with a content sigh. Grainy fingers traced your areola then rubbed over your hardened nipples. Thankfully, you knew you’d never experience the true extent of his wrath – he adored you.

Without warning, he wrapped his cold hook around your throat. The proximity of its sharp edge to such a dangerous area made your hair stand on end. 

“Bend over my desk,” he commanded, gently nipping your ear. “Darling.”

You stumbled over to the enormous desk, legs shaking from anticipation and arousal. Bracing your arms on the polished wood, you arched your back and presented your ass to him. The Warlord took a moment to admire the view, amused by your visible impatience.

“I bought you these,” Crocodile drawled, tracing the waistband of your silky panties with the curved back of his hook. You never saw their price tag, but they felt expensive. He poked your earlobe. “I bought you those earrings, too. They cost more berry than that pathetic man could ever make. Everything about you belongs to me – seems like I have to remind you.”

A large hand came down on your ass hard, jiggling the soft flesh and making you cry out in delight. The collection of rings on his fingers added a delicious extra sting. Three more spanks followed rapidly in the same spot, then four on the other cheek until every part of your ass ached.

Crocodile snickered when you rubbed your thighs together like an animal in heat. A wet spot had already dampened your panties. “Silly little slut. If you wanted to be spanked, you should’ve just asked. No need for all the theatrics.”

“Didn’t have a chance to since you were talking to that Snail all fucking day.” Your petulant mumble quickly turned into a yelp when his hand brutally struck the crease of your thighs. Making sure you’d feel the sting every time you sat down. He grabbed the roots of your hair and yanked your head back. 

“Watch your tone,” Crocodile growled. The Warlord released you, catching you before your limp body hit the desk and easily flipped you onto your back. A wicked smirk almost as wide as his scar spread across his face. He hungrily observed your body like a predator about to pounce. 

He pulled down your panties with an unnerving carefulness – he didn’t want to damage his property, after all. Then he roughly spanked your bare pussy. Your surprised cry of pain echoed throughout the empty room. Satisfied with your reaction, he did it again and again until your folds turned puffy. 

Crocodile spread your cunt using the back of his hook so he could land a direct hit on your sensitive clit. The impact on your bundle of nerves sent electric shocks throughout your body, your back arching painfully off the table. Your lover chuckled and swiped two fingers through your drenched folds. 

“Who else can make you this wet?” Crocodile webbed your juices between his fingers before bringing them to your lips. Obediently opening your mouth, you suckled and swirled your tongue around them. Paying extra attention to his rings, making sure the precious jewels shined with your spit. Though it was a rhetorical question, he pulled his fingers out to hear your response. 

“No one.” You answered honestly, your eyes dilated with lust and chest heaving. “Just you.”

“You’re damn right.” Crocodile unlatched his belt, letting his trousers hit the floor with a metallic clang. His enormous dick smacked against his pelvis, rock hard and leaking pearly precum. You unconsciously licked your lips at the sight. “Can’t let another cock can satisfy you, either. I need to ruin you for anyone else.”

Demanding you to look directly at him, he lined up his tip with your hole and thrust his hips forward. Slowly at first – his massive cock often met resistance in your tiny cunt – but after the first few inches, he slammed the entire length inside. Knocking all the air out of your lungs, your head lolling back on the desk. Crocodile stayed like that, appreciating the pretty bulge in your belly. 

“Crocodile, please…” 

“My name sounds perfect on your lips.” That predatory gaze was back, the need to possess you overwhelming his thoughts. Your lover pulled back until only the tip remained in your dripping pussy, then harshly rammed his dick in all the way. 

Quickly setting a rough pace, Crocodile palmed at your tits with rough hands then leaned into the crook of your neck, whispering a dizzying mix of praise and degrading phrases. All of your coherent thoughts vanished from your brain. 

You clutched onto his coat to ground yourself, to not get lost in the sea of pleasure washing over you. His cock was too fucking big. Too fucking good. It bullied its way inside your wet walls, permanently reshaping them to the perfect fit as he called you his pretty little cocksleeve.

Over a week’s worth of pent-up sexual urges were quickly coming to a head. Crocodile knew your body so well that he immediately recognized the signs of your impending orgasm. He reached his hand between your bodies to rub circles on your clit, pinching and pulling the sensitive nub for good measure.

“H-Holy fuck, ahhh, shit, I’m gonna…” 

The Warlord smirked cruelly and paused his movements with his cock halfway inside you. “Apologize for being a brat. For even looking at that worthless man.”

If you had a stronger resolve, you could’ve kept this game going even longer. Asked him to apologize for ignoring you. Maybe even gotten a few more spanks out of it. But you needed to cum, and you desperately needed his giant cock to move. 

“I’m sorry,” you panted desperately. “I won’t be bratty anymore, I promise. You’re the only man I’ll ever want. I’ll do anything, just – please, please, let me cum.”

“Very good girl.” Crocodile rewarded you by sensually rolling his hips to stir your insides around. Snickering, he admitted, “Although, I do enjoy when you act up every once in a while. You’re especially sexy when you submit to me.”

Your lover resumed fucking you hard enough to make the desk creak. Legs shaking with every thrust, your eyes were unfocused and the only thought in your head was how full you felt. Looking down, you dreamily watched the bump in your stomach move up and down as his dick rearranged your guts.

“Scream my name loud enough for the entire casino to hear when you cum. Let them know who owns you.”

Just one scream wasn’t enough for you – you chanted his name like a prayer as your orgasm hit you in full force. Juices gushed around Crocodile’s cock and dripped down his balls. He lazily fondled your clit to help you through it, only pulling away once the aftershocks had subsided. You lay limply on the desk, face flushed and chest heaving. 

Belatedly, you realized that Crocodile hadn’t budged. A concerning sign.

“You… you didn’t cum?”

“This soon? Of course not. I didn’t commit murder for one measly orgasm,” he chuckled. “Evidently, I have a lot of lost time to make up for. Your cunt better be prepared.”

“W-wait, give me a minute –”

“No, dear, you were right. I spent too much time ignoring you. You deserve all my love.” He punctuated his words with a sharp thrust that knocked his mushroom tip against your cervix. “And affection.” Another thrust. “And every inch of my cock.”

Filthy squelching sounds and your lover’s balls slapping against your ass accompanied your overwhelmed scream. Tears pricked at your eyes as he increased his pace, your brain becoming as mushy as your cunt. 

“Such a perfect pussy. Only a real man like me can treat it properly.” Crocodile murmured smugly. Leaning down to press his body flush against yours, his muscular pecs squished against your tits. His normally slicked-back hair was coming undone, strands sticking to his forehead from sweat. Dizzying pleasure washed over you when his fingers found your clit again.

Crocodile felt his balls tighten, but held himself back from the edge by slowing down to a relaxed grind, focusing all of his attention on you. You fucking lost your mind when he spelled each letter of his name on your sensitive bundle of nerves. A second orgasm washed over you in a bright light, your tongue lolling out of your mouth as you murmured absolute nonsense mixed with cries of his name. 

Your cunt clamping down on his cock like a vice sent him over the edge. At the very last second, Crocodile pulled out to spurt thick stripes of cum across your stomach. With a deep, satisfied groan, he jerked himself to completion until your skin was painted white. Fully marking you as his own. 

Satisfaction and exhaustion made your eyes flutter shut, but Crocodile ensured you stayed awake by giving you a surprisingly tender forehead kiss. Cradling your cheek, he asked, “Feel better?”

“My ass hurts, but yes. I feel great.” You nodded with a fucked-out grin, chasing his lips for a real kiss which he eagerly granted.

“Good. As pretty as you look covered in my cum, the next load is going inside you. I need to fuck a baby into my beautiful girl.”

His next load? Your eyes widened when he began stroking his cock again, still soft but beginning to twitch with interest. Turning your head, you met the downward-turned eyestalks of his shut-off Transponder Snail. 

[ckret2]

Chapter 95 of human Bill Cipher being not quite the Mystery Shack's prisoner anymore but sorta staying there anyway: the girls (plus Bill) have a sleepover, and the guys (plus Melody) have anime.

(‼️SUPER IMPORTANT PSA:‼️ it's dangerous to read alone. Take this.)

####

"Get out of the living room," Grenda shouted, charging in and chucking a duffel bag at an unoccupied chair. "We're having a sleepover movie marathon!"

"We are commandeering the TV." Candy plopped down in front of the TV and rummaging through her bag for some rental videos.

Dipper quickly escaped to join Ford and Soos in the entryway. "Great."

Soos said, "Wanna come with us to anime night? It'll keep you out of the girls' way."

"Thanks, Soos, but it's fine. As long as they aren't in the attic, maybe I can get some sleep."

"We won't bother you!" Mabel said. "We're staying in the living room! We're gonna stay up late and talk about boys and watch movies until we pass out!"

"Seriously?" Ford looked at Bill, leaning in the living room doorway. "Seriously? This is how you're spending your night?"

"Yes," Bill said. 

"Voluntarily?"

"This is the best socialization I've had since I d—got here. I'll take what I can get." He gestured at the girls; Candy and Grenda had taken a couple of video tapes out of their cases, and immediately started manipulating the cases like animal jaws to try to bite each other, complete with dinosaur noises. "Besides, kids are little chaos engines before they grow up and learn to be normal! I like 'em!"

The weirdest part was that Ford actually thought Bill was telling the truth. (And, in spite of his paranoia going what if, what if— all the evidence did suggest that Bill wanted to protect them.)

"Now get outta here," Bill said, "you're bringing down the mood."

"In a minute." Ford raised his voice. "Girls? I didn't get a chance to say this last time, but I have a few ground rules for tonight's sleepover."

The girls groaned. Warily, Mabel asked, "What is it?"

"No more demon summonings; no seances; no Bloody Mary or any similar games; I never want to see a spirit board under this roof; don't invite anything vampiric inside; and if you're visited by anything fae, call me."

"I think we can handle that."

Bill said, "Got it. Play with the Oui-Oui Spirit Board in the parking lot."

"No!"

He just grinned at Ford.

"You ready, Dr. Pines?" Soos asked. "We're gonna be late if we don't go."

Ford gave Bill one last warning look, and then followed Soos out.

As soon as the door was shut, Grenda loud-whispered, "Hey! We should totally play Bloody Mary!"

"Yes!" Candy cheered.

Bill yelped, "No!"

The girls stared at him. He swallowed hard.

"Why not?" Mabel asked.

Grenda added, "Yeah! You scared, Gold-o?"

"Of course not," he said testily.

"You're not Gold-o, you're Yell-o! As in yellow-bellied!"

"That's not the insult you think it is," Bill said. "And I'm not scared, I just think it sounds boring! Bloody Mary probably won't show up. And, if she does? I bet she isn't any fun! i don't even want to see her! I don't care! All right?"

The girls nodded, and each independently decided they were totally dragging him into playing Bloody Mary.

####

When Fiddleford answered the door, the first thing Ford said was, "You got new glasses?"

"Heh, yep!" Fiddleford proudly adjusted his glasses. Ford suspected it was the first new pair he'd gotten in thirty years. "Since my last pair got pulverized, I reckoned it was high time I stop trying to use some old hand-me-downs I found at the museum and get me a proper prescription pair!

Trying to suppress a grin, Ford said, "Is it just me, or do they look a little like..."

"You hush," Fiddleford said. "I know they look like your old ones. I'm an old man now! I can't get away with those little round readin' glasses anymore!"

Soos and Melody inspected Fiddleford's new glasses as they came in. Melody nodded approvingly, "They suit you."

Soos laughed, "Oh, dude! You two are like glasses twins now."

Ford frowned in faux consideration. "Do I need another twin my life...?"

"Might as well," Fiddleford shrugged. "We're already a couple'a Fords."

"That's true."

Fiddleford gestured to Soos and Melody, "You two run along and get comfortable! I need to have a talk with Stanford in private."

####

While the girls had dispersed to put on pajamas and/or retrieve snacks, Bill headed to the bathroom; but he stopped outside the door when he heard giggles and whispers inside. "Is this room occupied?"

Mabel pushed open the door and all three girls grinned at him. "Yeah, but you can help out!"

"Sure, as long as it doesn't involve any of the things people usually do in bathrooms." He leaned curiously into the room. "What are we doing?"

"Playing Bloody Mary."

Bill immediately tried to leave. "Nope."

"Come on, Goldie, don't be lame!"

"I'm not lame. You're lame," he said testily. "And I don't hang out with lame people! I'll be down in the living room, just scream if anyone starts dying." He attempted to back through the bathroom doorway.

Candy's steely grip wrapped around one arm. "You have to stay. You have no choice."

Grenda gripped his other arm. "Yeah! You're our adult supervision or something!"

Bill twisted around and grabbed at the door frame as half a dozen hands pulled at his arms and clothing. "No no no no no—!" He desperately clawed at the wall for purchase.

The door swung shut, smacking his fingers. He lost his grip and was dragged into the bathroom, screaming.

The door gently swayed shut.

####

Half of Fiddleford's lab was still in disarray from their brief contact with the Nightmare Realm a week ago; but one corner of his lab table was stacked with neat, tidy piles of papers covered in Fiddleford's neat, tidy calculations. Fiddleford led Ford over to those papers. "It's bad news."

Ford was afraid of that. "Does it have to do with Bill?"

Fiddleford gave him an unamused look—as if to say, is it ever anything else?

Ford sighed. "All right. Give me the news."

"I ran some figures using that equation you have to calculate the strength of the barrier a-draggin' weird things into town."

"Yes?"

Last year, Ford had passed all his research on the Theory of Weirdness, barrier equation included, to Fiddleford—mainly to show him that, at last, there was a tangible gain from their tragic youthful collaboration.

Fiddleford had offered to help Ford turn it into a publication-ready paper, Purely in a ghostwriting capacity—it would be Ford's name on the paper.

Ford had turned down the same offer thirty years ago, and he turned it down now. He didn't want to publish a paper with his name and Fiddleford's writing.

Instead, he wanted both their names at the top.

Fiddleford had bashfully accepted.

They'd hoped to spend this summer finalizing the paper; but, well, other things had come up.

Fiddleford flipped through his calculations as he went on, "Usually, we can just walk in and out of that barrier because its strength is proportionate to the weirdness in town. And the whole town's combined weirdness is strong enough to draw more things toward town, but not strong enough to trap 'em in town."

"Right," Ford said uneasily. He wasn't sure where this conversation was going, but he sensed bad news.

Fiddleford dropped the stack of papers in front of Ford and held out one page. "Well—I finally worked out exactly how much weirdness is needed to make that barrier solid. And for it to be completely impenetrable, whatever's trying to pass through it has to be more powerfully weird and weirdly powerful than anything found on Earth," he said. "Didn't you tell me a few days ago that Bill still can't get through the barrier?"

A chill ran up Ford's spine. "I... that's right." They'd found that out his first night in town, when they'd nearly driven him straight into the barrier before he screamed at them to stop.

Fiddleford began pacing. "If that devil could get through the barrier, it wouldn't necessarily prove anything. It might mean he's a human; it might mean he's still a... whatever he is—"

"Triangle."

"—still a demon triangle, but lost enough of his power to be 'normal enough' to get through; or, it might mean Bill himself weren't never weird enough on his lonesome to make that barrier solid without that rift open lettin' more weirdness pour in," Fiddleford said. "But since he can't get through the barrier... the only explanation is that all that power is still there, inside of him. And that means we know what shape his soul is."

Part of Ford wished they didn't. "It's still a triangle."

"And, he's just as dangerous as he ever was," Fiddleford said. "You know what we have to do."

"Yes." Ford took a deep breath. "We have to keep him alive at any cost so his soul can't escape."

"We have t—what?!" Fiddleford goggled at him. "Well, I was fixin' to say we have to destroy him and his soul right now, now we know he's a threat, but fine!" He flung his hands in the air. "Fine! He's not my prisoner! If you want to play around with the end of the world..."

Guilt twisted in Ford's stomach. "Fiddleford, I..." How could he apologize for something he planned to keep doing? (How could he tell him that Bill was much less of a prisoner now than he'd been a few hours ago?)

"Keep him alive! Of all the cockamamie..." Fiddleford's shoulders slumped in defeat. He sighed. "You really think you're doing the right thing?"

"I've asked myself that hundreds of times the past few days," Ford said wryly. "I think I think I'm doing the right thing."

"Well. If you were sure, I'd be worried."

Ford laughed dryly. "I'm not sure about anything. But I..." He rubbed his face. God, he was still so tired. "I know Bill could change. I—want—to think that he will."

Fiddleford took that in thoughtfully. "Why?"

Ford looked up at him. "Hm?"

"Why do you want him to change? Wouldn't you rather just... scootch him right on out of your life for good? He's not making you fancy promises again, is he?"

"Believe me, I wouldn't trust him if he did. I think he's finally given up on that, thank goodness."

"Then why do you want that demon alive?"

He could see Bill teaching Mabel about alien genetics and spherical geometry, Bill letting a couple contented kids sit on him after declaring them under his protection, Bill making up the most fascinating new chess rules but too exhausted to do anything with them. Bill teaching Ford about how to reach unseen stars. Bill comforting Ford when he was lonely.

The question was almost too easy to answer—and that made Ford second guess himself. But he said, "Because he's not a demon. He's just a person who's gotten too good at acting like one. But when he does act like a person... Well. He has—a lot to offer. Losing it would be a shame."

Fiddleford frowned hard as he listened, squinting at Ford. He took a moment to respond—rocking back on his heels, breaking eye contact with Ford as he took off his new glasses, carefully cleaning the lenses before he put them back on. To Ford's horrified fascination, Fiddleford cleaned his glasses with his beard.

Finally, he said, "I still don't remember... meetin' him. Not clearly, anyhow." (Ford's brows went up in surprise. This was the first time he'd ever heard Fiddleford acknowledge out loud that he had met him. They rarely mentioned the portal test at all—they certainly didn't discuss what Fiddleford had experienced.) "But—I recall how it felt. And 'demonic' is too sweet a word for the thing that I saw."

Ford nodded. He didn't know whether he'd seen the same sight, but he had seen Bill in his decaying kingdom, shrieking laughter echoing throughout the Nightmare Realm as though the whole dimension were an extension of his voice, surrounded by his monstrous minions as he lounged on his throne of illusions. (His chair custom-upholstered with the fabric of reality, with the autostereogram detailing that Bill couldn't even see.)

"But," Fiddleford said grudgingly, "he weren't never in my dreams. I reckon you might could've... seen some side of him I didn't."

"Or, he might have fooled me into seeing something that isn't there."

Fiddleford half-shrugged, half nodded. "Well, what do I know about what a 'person' is. These days there's aliens and clones and parallel people I don't know from Adam. If you say he's just a person... maybe he is. You want to try to reform him, then?"

Ford let out a disgusted laugh. "No," he said. "I want to see if he can reform himself."

####

"There!" Mabel slammed the door latch shut. "Now you're not going anywhere until we're done."

Bill swallowed nervously, already feeling the walls closing in on him. "You're exploiting my disability, and that's terrible of you."

Mabel blew a raspberry. "You'll live."

"Unless you don't," Grenda said ominously, wiggling her fingers spookily. "Ooo-oooh!"

He rolled his eye. "I am not worried about dying. In fact, I don't think anything'll happen. I bet she's not even real—and if she is, I heard that she doesn't show up if someone who doesn't believe in her is playing, so nothing'll happen if I'm here! You'd have better odds if you let me leave!"

"If nothing happens, then you've got nothing to be scared of," Candy said patiently.

"I'm not sc—UGH!" Bill yanked his hood over his face. "Fine, whatever! I don't care!" He edged toward the corner of the room, hunched his shoulders, and crossed his arms. 

"Okay," Mabel said, setting an unlit peaches and cream scented candle on the bathroom counter. She flipped off the light switch and held up her phone for light. "So what we have to do is turn off the lights completely, light a candle, and then say 'Bloody Mary' three times. And then a lady will show up in the mirror covered in blood and scream or tell us our future or try to strangle us or something."

Silently, Bill counted, one.

Mabel put a tub of baby wipes and a brush on the counter. "And that's when we offer her this and see if cleaning off that blood calms her down."

"That's not how it works," Candy said. "You're supposed to have all the lights off so it's completely dark. There's no candles."

Mabel pursed her lips doubtfully.

Grenda said, "But if it's totally dark, how can we see when Bloody Mary shows up?"

Two, Bill mouthed.

Candy paused. "Maybe that's why she screams. So we know she's here."

"And then what? Do we turn the light on?"

"Um... I don't think so..." Candy turned toward Bill, their resident expert in summoning what ought not be summoned.

He flipped a hand dismissively. "This is your project, not mine."

Mabel shot him a dirty look, but said, "Okay! This is what we're gonna do. We'll turn off all the lights, say her name three times, and then light the candle to see if she's here."

Candy and Grenda nodded.

"And if she's not, then we'll just say 'Bloody Mary' again with the candle lit," Mabel said.

Three. Bill pulled his hood lower and turned toward the window, feigning disinterest.

"Either way, that should get her to show u—"

A ghoulish blood-dripping face shrieked from the mirror.

The girls shrieked back, backing away from the mirror. Their backs hit the locked door. 

The mirror's glass rippled as Bloody Mary crawled through it, her eyeless sockets fixed on the girls, her lank black hair drifting weightlessly around her face, a breathy wailing sound whistling through her fleshless nasal cavity with each exhale. Her thin, papery lips curled back to reveal teeth elongated by receding gums. Blood drooled out from the gaps between her teeth to drip on her ruined chest, exposed muscles and ribs visible beneath the rotting remains of a lacy sleeveless black gown. One hand curled over the lip of the counter and the other stretched for Mabel's throat as she lurched closer to the girls.

And then in her periphery view she caught sight of a bright yellow triangular silhouette, her grip slipped, and her jaw smacked the counter's edge. She pushed herself back up and shrieked, "REHPIC LLIB?!"

Bill flinched, but pushed up his hood just enough to give her a sheepish, apologetic smile. "Yyyraaam, yeeeh."

"Laer rof uoy era? Ti eveileb t'nod I!" Outraged, she sat back on her knees and crossed her bony arms. "Em ot teg ot nerdlihc namuh gnisu er'uoy won tub, gniht eno saw Pilf morf rebmun wen ym teg ot gniyrt?!"

"Ekil skool ti tahw ton s'ti!" Bill said quickly. "Raews I! Ni em deggard yeht tub ti htiw od ot gnihtyna tnaw t'ndid I, gniyalp no detsisni sdik eht—"

Mary let out a shrill, disgusted laugh. "Erus m'I, ho! Rood eht tuo gniklaw dna meht gnillik morf uoy gnippots saw tahw dna?"

The girl's heads turned back and forth in wide-eyed bafflement as the incomprehensible conversation bounced back and forth.

Bill hesitated, grimacing. "Yrots gnol a s'ti—ti, kool, yako—"

"Elbaveilebnu. Elbaveileb! Nu!"

Bill gestured at Mabel. "Yako, tcap a tog ev'ew?!" He held up his wrist, pointing at his friendship bracelet. "Semitemos sevil s'rehto hcae evas ew, no gniog laed naidraug laicifeneb yllautum siht tog ev'I. Suoires m'I!"

Mabel looked down at her own bracelet collection and gave Candy and Grenda a baffled look. They shrugged, just as lost.

Mary took one look at the nazar eye beads and flinched back, hissing. "Yawa gniht taht tup, hgu," she snapped. "Yawyna, ereh gniod uoy era tahw?! Gnoleb uoy erehw nib yenool a ni pu uoy dekcol yllanif yeht draeh I."

Bill winced, hurt. "Wh— Yeh. Kniht uoy t'nod, evitisnesni elttil, Yram, sekiy?

"Evitisnesni!?" She laughed scornfully. "Ytrap yadhtrib s'retsis ym retfa, evitisnesni tuoba em ot klat ot tnaw uoy—?!"

Bill groaned, "Uoy era, og taht tel ot gniog reven era uoy, hgu?"

"Llib, sgniw retaw dezis-dlihc? Sgniw retaw?!"

"Romuh fo esnes on sah ehs tluaf ym ton s'ti! Ynnuf saw ti thguoht Anoroll tub ydobyreve! Dehgual Etreum neve!"

"Hgual ton did Etreum."

"Dennirg ehs—llew."

"Llib, lluks a s'ehs."

"Well—I mean—yeah, but..." He petered out. And then attempted, somewhat pathetically, "Thginot ecin gnikool er'uoy denoitnem I evah? Doolb hserf taht si?"

Mary made a grunt of disgust, waved Bill off, retreated into the mirror, and disappeared.

An awkward silence descended over the room.

Mabel flipped on the light. "Whaaat was that?"

Bill swallowed hard. "My ex?" 

The girls silently reevaluated their assumptions about Bill, his cowardice, his tastes, and Bloody Mary.

Wistfully, he added, "And she was wearing that dress that shows off her lungs."

####

In the middle of a smoky city battlefield, two combat mechs as tall as skyscrapers stood facing each other. Each one had an enormous pleated miniskirt, a heart-shaped glow in the center of its chest, and hair that seemed to be made from colored ribbons of light: the pink mech with two long, thin pigtails that would have reached the ground if they didn't float weightlessly around the machine; the blue mech with a bobcut that obscured one of its artificial eyes with a glowing curtain.

Above the dirty and damaged mechs floated a pristine white robot with hologram feather wings and an electric halo; and below them lay a crumpled orange mech, its orange corkscrew curls dimming and then deactivating, its heart cracked and black.

The blue pilot screamed, her voice distorted by the mech's speakers. "MOMOKO-CHAAAN! YOU KILLED HER!" She grabbed the pink mech's shoulders. "I warned you! I warned you that you're getting out of control! When you and Orenjiko-chan fought before the battle, I told you that you were taking it too far—and now you've killed her!"

"I-I didn't mean to!" The pink mech grabbed the blue one's wrists, threatening to crush them. "I couldn't control myself!" Momoko's voice was strained; inside her cockpit, her face was contorted not with grief but with rage, turning bright red, a vein bulging on her forehead. She squeezed the mech's controls as tightly as the mech grabbed her teammate's wrists, trying to control her rage. "Aoko-chan, stop shouting at me—BEFORE I KILL YOU TOO." She shoved the blue mech back hard enough to fling it into a building several blocks away.

Aoko got back to her feet with a groan; then gasped—"Wait!"—and turned toward the white robot above. "Why isn't the angel attacking?" The pink mech's head jerked too fast, like a raptor focusing on its prey, as it turned to stare at the floating robot as well.

"Guys," Soos loudly whispered, "this is the best part."

Momoko and Aoko both gasped and backed away as the orange mech at their feet shuddered. More scared than hopeful, Aoko said, "Orenji-chan...?"

The orange mech lurched to its feet. Its cracked heart shattered, glass raining to the street below, and the mech caught fire from the heart out, burning away its dirt and damage, its paint, and its pleated skirt, leaving the mech a pure, pristine white.

Aoko gasped in horror. "Is she...?! No! No!"

The mech's hologram projectors reactivated. Instead of forming orange curls, they projected a pair of wings; electricity arced through and out of the cockpit in its head, coils of lightning crackling and writhing until they resolved into the shape of a halo. It rose into the air; and the other angel nodded to it solemnly.

Momoko shouted, "Does this mean...?!"

"Yes!" At its desk back in headquarters, low light glinting menacingly off the bunny's sunglasses, Director Bunbun declared, "We are the angels!"

"NOOO!" The girls wailed in unison, Aoko dropping to her knees in despair, Momoko raising her fists to the sky.

"That's crazy, right?" Soos said. "It's like, pchooow," he pressed his hands to his head and lifted them off slowly, fingers expanding, "brain totally exploded, dude."

"Oh, Momoko-chan!" Sobbing, Aoko asked, "What do we do?"

In her cockpit, Momoko wasn't trembling anymore. Her hands gripped the controls tightly and confidently. She looked twice as furious, but her gaze was steely and focused. "I guess we'll just have to KILL HER TWICE!" With a roar, she charged into battle.

The screen went black. The words Neon Crisis Revelations Angry Cute Girl: Annihilation! Episode 37: Fukuin: This is the Angels' Gospel! filled the screen.

As the credits played, Fiddleford leaned toward Ford and said, "Something's on your mind, Stanford."

"Oh," Ford said. "It's—nothing. I'm just worrying about the Bill issue. As usual."

Fiddleford said pointedly, "Something's on your mind, and you keep lookin' at me."

Ford winced at himself. "Ah. Well. It's nothing important." But Fiddleford kept staring; and Ford finally said, eyes fixed on the credits, "I visited the museum. And I... saw the Blind Eye society's collection of memories."

Now it was Fiddleford's turn to wince and look away. "Oh. The Hall of the Forgotten."

Ford nodded. "That's what—I was told it was called." (They were both aware of how carefully he'd sidestepped around saying who had told him what it was called.)

"Mm." Fiddleford let the conversation drop. If he'd just explored the ruins of his old friend's memory-wiping brainwashing cult, he'd probably give him a few odd looks, too.

(In retrospect, could Fiddleford really judge Stanford for giving that demon a second chance? He'd given Fiddleford one, too—and sometimes Fiddleford didn't feel like he was that much better.)

######

(Because chapter 60 came out last July and people have forgotten things since then, I know some of y'all are gonna go "whoa did Fiddleford just confirm that Bill's still a triangle?!" So let me remind y'all:

Fidds said that Bill is definitely still a hyper-weird triangle if he can't cross the barrier, but if he CAN cross the barrier it means his soul could be triangular OR human, he's just a little less weird than he was during Weirdmageddon. And we know that Ford and Fidds are mistaken because Bill did cross the barrier in ch 60.

TBOB! If I said "no yeah i totally wrote the bloody mary scene before tbob" y'all would think i'm psychic or lying. But no, tbob inspired the idea. The rest of the chapter is free of TBOB influence, though I can't think of anything y'all might think was inspired by TBOB except maybe mentioning spirit boards and Bill saying that kids are cool until they grow up.

Anyway looking forward to hearing y'all's thoughts on this chapter!

I CANNOT overemphasize just how much I love writing the scenes from Soos's anime.)

[therobotsarestuckinmyhead]

♡ STARCREAM [TFP] HCS ver: A.1.

scenario A: a Megatron loyalist being pursued (and falling for) Megatron's most vehement opposition, enemies to lovers, slow-burn(ish)

setting: prologue to S1, starting events on Cybertron and eventually into S1

warnings: mentions of physical abuse (Megatron to Starscream), threats, violence

next: part 2

THIS IS A PART ONE‼️‼️‼️ 4000+ words

— You're Lord Megatron's personal enforcer. Your duties are rather simple; if Lord Megatron can't trust someone to do something important, you're supposed to watch over and step in when slag hits the fan. You're one of his most trustworthy and capable soldiers (koichi to his jotaro). It makes you question why he doesn't just... let you go instead, it would make things so much easier but you wouldn't dare to question your Lord.

— So it's no surprise that you're often paired up with that insufferable seeker, the Decepticon Air Commander, Starscream. Your missions are usually just the two of you insulting each other back and forth over the intercom (Soundwave has a non-existent smile while monitoring the comms when you two bicker, its entertaining) but it's not banter; Starscream genuinely loathes you for obvious reasons given your own standing in the Decepticon Army. The feeling however, is NOT mutual from your end. To you, he is a bug, an itch in a spot you can't reach. That one mosquito that flies around you when you're trying to sleep. Of course you dislike him for obvious reasons given you're a Megatron loyalist but what you feel for him is not on the same level when compared to the abyssmal hate he has for you. You tolerate him, he wants you OUT.

— However, your involvement with Starscream gets deeper after a royal mess he created with one of the largest Decepticon energon refineries they had on Cybertron, now blown sky high due to his lack of dereliction mixed with his 3671647th attempt at usurping Megatron. The end result was Starscream on spark support from the resulting explosion, only to recover and be put in spark support again by Megatron. Your benevolent leader needed to get that rage out somehow.

— So Megatron, being Megatron, decides to make a you-shaped roadblock for his ‘oh, so loyal’ Second-in-Command. You're going to be assigned to him as an ‘assistant’. It's very vague. Somewhere between assistant, advisor and supervisor given this is Starscream you're dealing with. You're not happy in the slightest to be shifted under Screamer.

"I normally wouldn't question you, my Lord," Megatron cocks an optical ridge, looking down at you with piqued interest— holding off his temper for he has a simmer of respect towards you. Besides, you have provided valuable insight to him before. He wouldn't shoot you down so quickly.

"But are you sure this is a good idea? He isn't exactly some newly-built that needs to be taken care of. I agree that he is whiny like one but he's clearly intelligent enough to know the consequences of his actions. Even if he does lack foresight." You convey your concerns as politely as you could, a small frown on your faceplates as you stand before Lord Megatron who frankly, looked like he's done with everyone at this point but that whiny jab made his derma curve up into a small, amused smile, taking amusement in any insult that gets thrown the Air Commander's way.

"While it is true my Second-in-Commmand is a treacherous snake; he is also a capable mech, it is exactly those qualities that make him dangerous. His childishness, intelligence and ambition. It's a recipe for disaster and to be frank, I can't afford another disaster." Megatron sighs out, frustration sweeping in even at the mere need of having to speak out about that insolent Seeker.

"And I believe you understand that perfectly." He replies, gaze hardening at you as his tone turns more serious. It used to scare you early on but now, you're used to it. Your Lord is merely an intense mech.

You can barely hold back a sigh. It's going to be a long, long cycle. Megatron chuckles. You look like he's punished you and he's more than well aware that having to look after Starscream may as well be considered a cruel punishment.

"I know he's a handful but I believe you of all Decepticons can put him in his place." He says with an almost sadistic smile. Megatron silently wishes he could frame the despondency on your faceplates so he could get a laugh every now and then when looking at it.

Oh, how wrong he was.

Every word coming out from his vocalizer was scrap. If Lord Megatron himself couldn't deal with the pesky Air Commander, how in the name of Primus were YOU supposed to? Whip him to shape? Megatron couldn't do that with a fusion cannon! It was ridiculous to expect that from you. You're not half as menacing or authoritative as Megatron. He’s just dumping his problems on you and expecting you to work a miracle, like always. Perhaps if he didn't have a fusion cannon and he wasn't Lord Megatron, you might have slapped him if you let your frustration get the best of you.

Megatron's smile drops back down as he contemplates for a moment, tone turning serious again. Essentially telling you your objective with this reassignment.

"I do not want that mech unsupervised. Especially not after his little stunt and what he cost us. You'll be under the guise of an assistant." He sneers, still brimming with frustration. He could've killed Starscream for what he'd cost them. Supplies are low enough as it is and he unwittingly gambles away their largest energon refinery because he wanted to play Lord of the Decepticons.

“I understand, my liege.” You really don't and you can't exactly walk away until he dismisses you but.. there is a question gnawing at your processor. Megatron can sense it too. You clear your vocalizer to catch his attention.

"I don't want to overstep my boundaries but why not just offline him at this point?" You ask flatly, blunt. Megatron wonders why he hasn't as well, he knows it's what he should do but... Starscream had his uses. How Megatron wishes it were that easy. If anything, the question does catch him off-guard but he's in a much better mood after sending Starscream to the medbay.

There was a politics at play justifying Starscream's position and power— whilst he certainly wasn't the most trustworthy, he was capable and intelligent under the right circumstances. His schemes for usurping leadership were subpar in comparison to his strategic abilities on the battlefield; such a shrewd mind that it made Megatron look honest, it impressed him sometimes. Not to mention how the other seekers held immense respect for the Air Commander, he was their commander before the war as well; removing Starscream wouldn't be easy. Where he lacks wisdom and loyalty, he makes up with experience and cunning.

He just stares at you for a moment, refusing you an apt explanation.

"You're dismissed." He replies instead of answering and you prod no further, immediately taking your leave to let your leader be with his thoughts and duties.

— Starscream has never had a good impression about you. Truthfully, he hates you. He thinks you're a lapdog but more importantly, you've spoiled his plots knowingly and unwittingly way too many times for him to count. Not to mention your performance record might cost him to lose his rank of Second-in-Command; you're a threat to his schemes, standing, service and his existence, or so he thinks. So it's not surprising that he has a very vocal grudge about having you play nanny to watch over him in the place of Megatron. He hates this as much as you do. Soundwave was bad enough but this was just ridiculous. He knows this ‘reassignment’ is Megatron's ploy to keep him on a leash, he isn't stupid.

"Starscream." When you enter the medbay, Flatline is almost done with Starscream's injured wings. The medic diligently works on them while Starscream flinches and yelps. His helm immediately snapped to your direction. Megatron left a number on him this time and he's definitely upset.

You stand before him and he sneers, not happy in the slightest to see you. You loom over him for a moment.

"Spill it!" He barks. Yelping once more as Flatline accidentally scrapes against his more sensitive, inner pair of wings. Shooting Flatline a nasty look as the medic works, his bedside manners were… Not the best.

You adhere to Starscream's demands and spill it.

He listens to every single word with his full attention, so much so that he stops flinching and yelping as Flatline repairs his wing; his wings slowly droop lower and lower as you keep explaining that Megatron has asked of you be his ‘assistant’ but Starscream is no fool, he knows well what Megatron intends by giving the Air Commander his own lackey. The horror settling on his faceplates was gradual and even comedic. A plethora of emotions running through him.

"He wants you to... what?" The seeker's genuine expression of baffled disbelief would've been funny to you had you not been involved in the subject at hand.

"Yes. I'm not happy with this either so please, co-operate." There's a hint of pleading in your tone. You really don't want this.

“Co-operate?” He speaks as in he's never heard of that word in his life.

Primus has no mercy on your spark.

— He tries to talk Megatron out of it but immediately regrets it when Megatron gives him the meanest look he has given Starscream in a while. It's the height of the war. Megatron is not in a good mood, he's constantly stressed. The main reason he handed Starscream to you was so he would be free of one helm ache at least.

— Starscream thinks you're annoying because you're making sure he doesn't mess up. He isn't some sparkling that needs the constant watchful optic of someone! You creep him out sometimes too. You're so close, sometimes he can almost feel your EM Field graze against him.

You were driving him insane. He has not hated an individual so intensely that it rivals his disdain for his leader. Here he is, trying to map out where to deploy the Seeker regiments to take out a fortified Autobot outpost far too close for comfort to the outskirts of Decepticon-occupied Nyon. You're standing right behind him as he sits by a holographic visual of the terrain they're dealing with, making him grumble— your EM field tucked to yourself but ever so often grazing against his slightly, so slightly but enough for it to irk him and distract him from his duties.

And this isn't the first time either. He can see your ever so stoic face from where he sits, your near seemingly lifeless optics looking down at what he's doing. It intimidates him; that gaze. It's the sole reason why he's not really said anything about it. But this was going on for far too long in his opinion. Did you always have to be this menacing looking? Why did you have to look so lifeless? Was being a boring pain to Starscream’s afterburner your only mission? What do you gain from this? He had many questions about you.

You just stand next to him all day. Watching. It's driving him insane, Megatron must've ordered you to make sure that Starscream was to never know what peace feels like because its what it felt like. Perhaps you were just another one of Megatron’s brain-dead followers that would probably know what his drive-shaft tastes like, Starscream figures. Not like he'd say the thought to your face though. Didn't you have anything better to do with your miserable existence?

“You don't need to stand so close!” He hisses out, it was getting under his plating and he's finally mustered the courage to say it to you. His wings slowly drooped down as his beady optics narrowed at your figure. The way you loom behind him as if you were his shadow; stuck with him and unshakeable— Even when he was doing something as mundane as writing out reports!

Starscream suspects Megatron might have ordered you to ‘keep an optic on him’ with the way you've taken it so seriously.

To his surprise, you oblige and take one small step away from him. It is a small action but you do so without any quarrels or complaints. His wings perk up slightly, pleased with you. You take note of it.

“Better?” You ask, not out of concern but for the sake of wanting to know. He quickly shakes it off.

“No. We might ration energon but we don't ration space aboard The Nemesis. It wouldn't snuff out your spark to move more.” Starscream shoots out a quick witted response, testing the waters. Just how.. mean can he be with you until you become aggressive? Until he has to fall to your pedes, beg for his life like the pathetic coward he is? Maybe you could be an… asset despite your loyalty. If he were to find a way to utilize your abilities. Again, this war has shown that even something as repulsively useless as scraplets can be weaponized so why can't he weaponize a ‘Con of your stature?

Your own optics narrow at him, lip components pursing into a thin line but again, there's no real hate. It… confuses him. He hates you, he still does. Yet you don't seem to hate him half as much. More or so just… unhappy to be here, he shares the sentiment. You look at him like he's a chore. You cross your servos over your chassis as you look down at the Air Commander, he catches your drifts and replies.

“Better.”

— To be honest, he's also sort of grateful in a way. Not like he'd ever admit it. You help fix the scrap he makes before Megatron decides it's time to practice his right hooks. In a way, Megatron being done with Starscream's slag and giving him a glorified caretaker saves him from the physical abuse he takes from the servos of Megatron. You have the foresight he lacks when it comes to making certain decisions. But he won't ever admit it. Just sitting there with a semblance of a pout as he agrees to do it your way, it's... oddly cute now that you think about it.

— Soon enough, you start regretting thinking that way about Starscream as he eventually tries to rope you into his ploys against Lord Megatron which you eventually have to spoil for the better interests of the Decepticons… as well as for Starscream's own sake.

— It doesn't take long for him to start endangering your own life as well with his little schemes. It's like the most disastrously frustrating babysitting job and you can't even terminate the guy. But what you can be is the most annoying type of bot a mech like Starscream can deal with, an extremely indifferent pain in the aft.

“Starscream, I don't think-” And like always, he cuts you off.

“I don't care what you think!” He hisses out, a digit pointing towards you in an accusatory manner as his temper flares, the iresome Air Commander was throwing a hissy fit and over what? You couldn’t really find the energy to care.

He rambles off again about how he doesn't need you, how he can do fine without you, how you're just a pain and blah, blah, blah, blah. It's all going in one audio receptor and thrown out the other. Does he ever shut up?

After his barrage of words you honestly just zoned out from listening, he pants. Huffing and puffing, still looking as irritated as ever. You lean a little lower to look at him in the optics, on purpose to short his fuse.

“Cool. Are you done now?”

There was a frustrated, near murderous glare from Starscream. His servos covering his face as he suppresses the urge to smack you, knowing you'd flatten him. Rubbing the side of his helm for a moment as he calms himself down.

And you can't help but relish his pain. There was something satisfying about it. Extremely satisfying. How pathetic he was. You're not sure why but you've come to enjoy babysitting duty a lot more by toying with the insolent Second In Command.

— Scratch endangering your life, he wants to full on terminate you but it is NOT easy. You're smarter than he estimates and he's aware of that. After all, Megatron didn't give you a fancy title of enforcer for nothing. You're basically Decepticon police. Starscream knows the only way to deal with you is some sort of diplomacy and of course, with his charm.

— It starts off small, he's talking too nicely. Being too pleasant around you. It makes you raise an optical ridge. You welcome the change and use it to your maximum but your guard is never let down for a moment in Starscream’s presence.

— But once Starscream realizes that you're the immovable object and he's the unstoppable force, the unstoppable force wavers. Nothing he says seems to get to you! You won't even get angry at him!

— He'll be spouting out sweet words and pointing out Megatron's incapabilities while you brandish your signature blaster and reply dismissively with “mhm”, “yeah” or Primus forbid, “cool.”. You won't even spare him a glance as you're polishing your damn blaster! Or even stand up in a show of respect to the Air Commander! It infuriates him. Your nonchalant, cold and duty bound personality is making him short a fuse.

— However, when he angrily yells at you and asks if you were even listening, you surprise him by saying every single word he was throwing at you. You're a better listener than he thought.

He's definitely shocked. Starscream's wings droop a bit as you look at him dead in the optics, repeating every single point. So you were paying attention… Quickly, he snaps out of his temporary shock, wings raising up slightly with fake confidence.

“Ahem. Y-Yes. So you were listening.” He replies, clearing his vocalizer. Starscream is trying to fill up the silence and somehow convince you to see that him being the leader is somehow beneficial for the Decepticon Cause. But you're done tweaking your weapons in the weaponry so you don't have to stay here any longer.

You're not sure who gave him the idea of ruining your peaceful quiet time with your favourite blaster but curse them to the Pit and beyond. Your once beloved time in the Nemesis’ weaponry storage had turned into his forced yap sessions upon a poor bot such as yourself trying to work on your weapons.

You hope he's done and the worst part is that your memory banks work too well, every word is etched in your processor. Either way, what if his habit of talking his thoughts aloud leads to him accidentally spilling another grand scheme? It's the only reason you carefully listen to his incessant ramblings and they seem to amuse Megatron when you give your weekly 'Starscream Report'.

“Now as I was saying-”

You interrupt him with a loud sigh. Shoulder plating drooping. Primus, you can't do this.

“Listen, Starscream,” You rise up with your blaster in servo, now shiny and tuned. “I don't know who or what gave you the impression that I care but I truly do not.” You look down at the Seeker with an ambiguous expression, a flash of pity for how pathetic you find him in your optics. Starscream is… Not sure how to feel about that. His wings droop as he takes a step away, making his frame look smaller, not worth hurting and the sight just serves to repulse you even more. But the stance you were taking reminded him too much of… Megatron. Were you about to snap? Was this your limit? He honestly thought you were going to strike him with the way you took in a deep in-vent. He's quiet, ready to beg for his life any moment now.

“I don't want to be here and I know you don't want me to be here. But we can make this more bearable for each other.” You lean down a bit to be optic-level with him, knowing it would annoy him. Your faceplates are close to his and it makes Starscream all the more nervous for a reason he can't really explain. The closer you got to him, the more he could see it in your optics, you truly didn't hate him. You were getting tired of monitoring an overgrown sparkling, besides, if you manage to get him to actually behave, Megatron might reward you.

“And it starts with you not annoying me. Deal?”

No strike, no yelling, nothing. Just harsh words. It makes his stiff frame relax a little. Optics looking into your intense ones. He gives a nod, for once he's shut up. It was a pleasant surprise. Certainly not unwelcome. He gives a little nod as he's lost in your optics momentarily. He isn't used to such... calm talks. Your words register in Starscream's processor slowly, the fact that you think of him as a mere annoyance dawning in on him slowly.

“...deal.”

You feel triumphant for once, smiling a bit. You haven't smiled in a long time but the idea of finally being free of this, this annoying mech brought you nothing more than joy. Starscream on the other hand definitely feels somewhat insulted that you think of him as nothing more than an annoyance. Not even worthy of your eternal hate, no, just an annoyance as if he were a common Earth mosquito. It makes him grimace.

“Just don't ever expect me to stand with your schemes. I think that much should be obvious by now.” You add on, leaning away from him as the Seeker goes back to his normal self; wings rising up again as his ego flares in response to your words.

“You're almost as stubborn as Megatron.” He scoffs, trying to shake away the strange feeling he had there for a moment. An inexplicable act of what felt like mercy even if it was such a simple, simple action. You're walking away but stop for a moment when he says that.

“Perhaps, but if you rope me into your schemes, I might as well become Megatron in every single way.” You slightly turn your helm to him and with the way your optics shone, he could tell the threat was real. It makes him make a gulping sound, nervous and making himself look small yet again.

“I suggest you take it as the promise it is.” You sigh out as your helm turns back to the path ahead of you, walking away. Starscream's optics remain glued onto your retreating figure, watching your frame get smaller and smaller from the distance as he stands there.

There was truly no way to talk and get to you. You were too blunt, far too straightforward. No wonder why Megatron thought so high of you— when surrounded by sycophants, of course he would value a genuine opinion.

Starscream will have to rethink his approach with you.

— You notice the little things about him as you continue being his ‘assistant’. The way his wings droop or rise, the way they flutter when he's trying to act small and helpless. The way his smaller, inner pair of wings seems to convey more of what he feels, as if they couldn't exactly be moved forcefully.

— He does honor a deal for once in his functioning. He's no longer trying to convince you to join his plots but he still continues to annoy you when you're trying to get alone time in the weaponry.

— At some point, you snap. But instead of just hitting him or beating him up, you just get incredibly… snarky which definitely threw him off. But he welcomes it. He won't admit it but your creative insults do have him genuinely impressed often. It only annoys him when the others around laughs at what you say. You leave him speechless. A lot. He doesn't like that.

— He compliments you when he wants something from you. Starscream messed something up so he goes up to you and strikes you with the "heyyyyyy".

"You look rather dashing today, [name]." You're once again confronted by the Seeker as you are busy selecting a new sword in the weaponry storage. You sigh quietly and put down the sword in your servos to where it was held. You turn around to face Starscream, servos on your hipstruts.

"What do you want?" You ask with a frown, Starscream stiffens. His wings going up for a moment as he nervously laughs.

"Want something? No, no. Can't a commander compliment a soldier?" He smiles, it's lopsided and shaky almost. How did he survive the war for this long? You have no idea. You've never met someone so pathetic that you.. feel bad for them.

"You never compliment me unless you want something so I suggest you spill it out before I go take a stasis nap." You say, looking down at him disinterested as ever. You lean a little towards him, faceplates close and he looks almost flustered. "You're getting predictable."

He goes silent for a moment as he thinks of how to explain his latest mess to you, beady red optics wide and focused on to yours. And purge the strange thoughts running through his processor as he's lost in your optics again, the proximity makes him feel strange.

— Starscream is unaware you're basically reporting his behaviour to Megatron almost weekly. He knows you're spying on him so he's careful with his words, most of the time. His bad habit of rambling dooms him. A self fulfilling prophecy. You're sitting next to Megatron as he's doing official paperwork and he's chuckling as you explain the hundredth time Starscream has done something stupid thing this week. Also Megatron can see your seething frustration with Starscream and gets a lot of amusement from just watching you rant, he's never seen you so expressive. So passionate about despising a mech that he too hates, he relates so much... Megatron doesn't really ask you to shut up like he normally would if someone was rambling to him. At least it's reassurance that you would never fall for Starscream’s ploys.

— But one fateful day, the fragile truce you have with Starscream crumbles when Megatron declares that he's going in search of more dark energon. You have a bitter frown upon your faceplates the whole day the moment you realize this means you're going to be stuck on The Nemesis with Starscream and will probably have to steer him away from completely disintegrating the Decepticon ranks. At least it's you and Soundwave. The Decepticons never had the best company in the world.

this is slow, slow burn. maybe like three parts cause this will follow the plot of TFP. this was ridiculously fun to write. i hope my TFP starscream characterization is okayish.

[mylovesstuffs]

OT13 reaction to someone flirting with their s/o at an award show

Request: I've never sent you a request before so I tried to follow your instructions properly hope this is ok 👀)

seventeen ‼️🫶🏼

Fluff? Angst? Up to you really

Reaction 🌝

hm so in favour of the award season that just past, the idea was how the sebongs would react with someone else flirting with you during awards night (in this case y/n / reader is also a idol/ artist attending and no one knows their together ygm)

like who would be protective and approach right away? Who would just watch giggle and chuckle? Who would try to be nonchalant but be so obvious that they're looking?

Can't wait to hear your thoughts ‼️ sending lots of love and a happy new year 🫶🏼🫶🏼

A/N: I love the prompt! Btw, it might seem like everyone's reacting the same way, but no, they aren't. They just have a common ground, which I think every man should have. Also, I realized halfway through that I should've categorized it, but I was too lazy to rewrite the whole thing again. This would've been a good one-shot sort of thing if I only focused on one member, but I don't think I would be able to write all 13 members with the same prompt. I guess I'll try something like this in the future

Seungcheol: Cheol would exude calm dominance. He'd sit there, pretending to be relaxed, but his eyes? It would be locked on the situation. Wdym he’d do nothing? Absolutely not. The second he notices someone getting too bold with you, he'd make his presence known—not through confrontation, but with subtle yet commanding gestures. He’d accidentally catch your gaze from across the room, his intense stare sending a clear message: You good, babe? Need me to step in? If the flirter doesn’t back off, expect him to walk over, throw a casual arm around your chair, and smile politely, but there’s a steeliness to his tone when he introduces himself. He’s a leader on and off the stage, and no one’s coming near his person.

Jeonghan: Oh, Jeonghan's the king of playing it cool. He wouldn’t move a muscle, letting out a little amused chuckle as he watches the scene unfold. But don’t let his easygoing demeanor fool you—he’s analyzing every single detail. He trusts you completely but also knows how charming he can be. If the flirting escalates, he’d casually saunter over, all smiles, and innocently join the conversation. His honeyed tone would have just enough of an edge to make the flirter retreat. You thought he wouldn’t step in? He’s Jeonghan, the ultimate strategist, and he’ll always protect his love while still being effortless.

Joshua: Joshua would play it cool too but in a way that’s so obvious it’s endearing. He’d smile politely from his table, but his grip on his drink might tighten ever so slightly. He’s a softie, but also your man. If the flirter gets too close, he might find an excuse to accidentally walk by, brushing your arm or whispering something sweet and cheeky like, “Having fun, babe?” He’d never confront anyone outright unless necessary—he’s too classy for that—but his subtle presence would make it clear to everyone in the room that you’re taken. You think he’s just sitting there? Nah, he’s staking his claim in the most elegant way possible.

Jun: Moon would find it hilarious. He’s such a chaotic cutie sometimes, I can’t. He’d nudge the member sitting next to him and point at the scene, whispering something like, “Look at that. They think they have a chance.” But deep down, there’s a flicker of possessiveness. If the flirter keeps pushing, he might get up and walk over casually, sliding into the conversation with a sly grin. His playful charm would leave the flirter flustered and unsure of what just happened. He’s protective in his own quirky way, and I’m crying because he’d never let you feel uncomfortable. I love my man so much TT

Hoshi: Hoshi would be a mix of soft and slightly chaotic, and I love him for it. At first, he’d probably pout from a distance, his face betraying his jealousy even though he’s trying to act unaffected. But let’s be real, he can’t keep it cool for long. The moment he thinks you’re even a little uncomfortable, he’d dart over, all bright smiles, and wrap an arm around you in a totally friendly gesture. He might say something teasing but with a hint of possessiveness. His protective tiger energy will activated.

Wonwoo: Angst King Supreme. He would keep it nonchalant on the surface, but inside? Oh, he’s feeling things. He trusts you completely and knows you can handle yourself, so he wouldn’t intervene unless absolutely necessary. However, his subtle reactions—like a clenched jaw or a quick glance at the flirter—would give him away. He wouldn’t confront the flirter right away, but he’d sit in silence, overthinking every little thing. “Should I have made it public?” He’d question himself, spiraling a little, even though he knows you love him. If things escalate, he might casually walk over, not saying much but standing close enough to make the other person feel the heat of his presence. You think he’s unbothered? He’s LITERALLY fuming inside but hiding it behind that cool exterior, and I’m scared —

Woozi: Woozi’s reaction would be so understated that you might not even notice it at first. He’d sit quietly, watching the interaction with a small, almost imperceptible frown. He’s reserved but fiercely protective. If he feels like the flirter is crossing a line, he’d lean over to a member and mutter something like, “Do I need to go over there?” And if he does approach? Oh, he’s not wasting time on pleasantries. His tone would be calm but firm, sending a clear message without ever raising his voice. He’s your man, and he’ll step up when it matters most.

Dokyeom: Dokyeom would be flustered at first, unsure whether to intervene or let you handle it. He’s such a sweetie. But the moment he sees you even slightly uncomfortable, he’s on his feet, heading over with his signature smile. He’d probably introduce himself in the friendliest way possible, but there’s an underlying protectiveness in his tone. His warmth would make the flirter back off without even realizing it. Wdym he’d stay seated? Nope, he’s too caring for that.

Mingyu: Mingyu would be the most obvious of the group, and it’s honestly adorable. This man wears his heart on his sleeve. He’d try to stay cool, but his constant glances and slightly furrowed brows would give him away. If the flirter gets too close, he’d have no choice but to step in. He’d walk over with that signature puppy smile, but there’s a possessiveness in his eyes that makes it clear who you belong to. This puppy is anything but subtle.

Minghao: The8 would radiate confidence. He trusts you and knows you can handle yourself, but that doesn’t mean he’s not paying attention. If someone gets too bold, he’d walk over, might place a light hand on your back or shoulder, a subtle but powerful gesture that says, ‘This is my person.’ He’s the type to protect you without making a scene, and we should be swooning because he’s so effortlessly cool about it.

Seungkwan: Seungkwan would be dramatic internally but composed externally. He’d whisper to the members, “Are they serious right now?” before shooting occasional side-eyes at the scene. If he feels like you’re uncomfortable, he’d march over, his protective instincts kicking in. He’s fiercely loyal and wouldn’t hesitate to let the flirter know they’re out of line—but in the most eloquent way possible.

Vernon: He would be unbothered on the surface, but internally? He’s watching everything. He trusts you completely and knows you can handle yourself, so he’d sit back and observe unless things got out of hand. If he does intervene, it would be in the chillest way possible—maybe a simple hand on your shoulder or a quick, “Hey, you good?” He’s just subtle about his protectiveness, and he's here for his low-key energy.

Dino: Dino would NOT be the least protective. He’d watch the interaction closely, his brows furrowed slightly. If the flirter gets too bold, he’d approach confidently, standing tall. He might not say much, but his presence alone would be enough to make the other person back off. He’s mature enough to stand up for his love.

[antinousletmehit]

˚₊‧꒰ა Chapter 23 ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

୨୧┇pairing: Telemachus x reader

୨୧┇warning: hold them down happens, WRITTEN PRE ITHACA SAGA‼️⚠️‼️

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ───

The dim candlelight bathed Y/N’s room in a soft glow, the silence between her and Antinous nearly suffocating. She sat cross legged on the bed, fiddling with a loose thread on her tunic, while Antinous leaned against the wall with his arms crossed, his face unreadable. It was one of the rare moments where the tension between them wasn’t outright hostile—yet.

After what felt like an eternity, Antinous exhaled deeply, breaking the quiet. “So… you and Telemachus,” he started, his voice surprisingly even. She froze, her fingers stilling. She glanced up at him cautiously, waiting for the inevitable eruption. But it didn’t come. Instead, he just stood there, watching her with a mix of frustration and resignation.

“What about it?” she asked, her voice soft but defensive.

Antinous rubbed the back of his neck, clearly trying to keep his composure. “I just don’t get it, N/N,” he muttered, using the nickname he only ever said when he wasn’t trying to start a fight. “Of all people, why him? You know who he is, what his family represents.”

She narrowed her eyes, sitting up straighter. “What his family represents? You mean what you think they represent.”

Antinous pushed off the wall, his voice low but sharp. “Don’t act like I don’t have a reason. He’s Odysseus’s son. That name alone should be enough for you to understand. You know how I feel about Odysseus, how I feel about Telemachus’s titty sucking ass.”

“Because he’s in the way of your stupid plans to court Penelope and play king?” She snapped back, her voice rising slightly before she caught herself. She exhaled and softened her tone. “Antinous, it’s not a competition.” She watched him carefully. “This isn’t about me and Telemachus, is it? It’s about your pride. It’s always about your pride.”

Antinous turned to her, his jaw clenched. “You don’t get it,” he said, his voice tight. “Do you know what it’s like to be so close to something, to have a shot at power, only for some brat who doesn’t even want it to cockblock your way? Telemachus doesn’t deserve what he has. And now you’re… involved with him?”

She sighed, shaking her head. “You’re making this about you when it’s not. Telemachus isn’t Odysseus, and he’s not trying to take anything from you.” She paused, her gaze softening. “And he’s not some power hungry maniac like you’re making him out to be. He’s kind. He cares about me.”

Antinous scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly fighting to keep himself calm. “Look, I’m trying to be civil here. I don’t want another fight.”

She blinked, caught off guard by his admission. “You’re… trying to keep the peace?”

“Don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, glancing away. “I just… I can’t watch us keep tearing into each other every time that brat comes up.”

Her expression softened further. For all his bravado, there was something vulnerable in the way he avoided her gaze. “Antinous,” she said gently, “I know you hate him, but he’s not your enemy. And I’m not choosing him over you.”

He finally looked at her, his expression conflicted. “You already have,” he said, but there was no venom in his tone this time—just exhaustion.

They sat in silence for a moment longer before Antinous sighed again and straightened up. “Just… don’t let this ruin you,” he said quietly, before turning toward the door. “And if it does, don’t expect me to clean up the mess.”

With that, he left, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

——

The air was tense in the great hall, where the suitors had gathered under Antinous’s command. They lounged with feigned ease, but their eyes betrayed the simmering chaos bubbling beneath the surface. Antinous stood at the center of the room, his sharp gaze sweeping over the gathered men. His tone, calm yet deadly, sliced through the air.

“You’ve all seen it,” he began, his voice commanding. “None of us could string Odysseus’s damned bow. That woman,” he spat the word, referring to Penelope, “thinks she can toy with us. But we will not be humiliated any longer.” He slammed his fist onto a nearby table for emphasis. “We take control. Today.”

Eurymachus, lounging lazily in his seat with a goblet in hand, raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your grand plan, Antinous? Try and string the bow one more time?” His tone was laced with mockery, though a flicker of nervousness passed through his eyes.

Antinous smirked darkly. “No. Forget the bow. Forget the axes. We don’t need Penelope’s little games. The real threat is her son. Telemachus.” He paused, letting the name sink in. “You all know it as well as I do. He’s her favored one. If he returns to Ithaca alive, we’ll never get our chance. She’ll prop him up as Odysseus’s heir, and we’ll all be tossed out like yesterday’s scraps.”

The room filled with murmurs, the suitors exchanging uneasy glances. One of them, Ctesippus, leaned forward. “What are you saying, Antinous?”

Antinous’s smirk turned cold, his voice low but forceful. “I’m saying we end this. When Telemachus’s ship docks, we ambush it. We’ll overwhelm his crew, hold him down til the boy stops shaking, while I slit his throat. Then we cut him down into tiny pieces and row him down to the great below. When anyone asks where the prince is, only we’ll know.”

A heavy silence fell over the room. the suitors intrigued. Eurymachus leaned back in his chair, regarding Antinous with a mix of curiosity and excitement. “You’re talking about killing the prince of Ithaca,” he said slowly. “Do you have any idea what kind of firestorm that would unleash?”

Antinous glared at him. “Who’s going to stop us? The people? They’re too spineless. And Penelope? She’ll have no choice but to submit once her precious son is gone.” He sneered. “In fact, once we’ve dealt with Telemachus, we storm her room. Hold her down while her gate is open, while we get a taste, while we share her spoils. I will not let any part go to waste!”

The words hung in the air, heavy and menacing. the suitors nodded in agreement, their greed and desperation clouding their judgment. Eurymachus broke the silence with a sardonic laugh. “You’re bold, Antinous. I’ll give you that. But do you really think Penelope will just fall into line after we kill her son?”

Antinous shot him a withering look. “She’ll have no other option. The people won’t rise for a dead boy, and she can’t rule alone. She’s a woman. She’ll have to accept one of us, or Ithaca will collapse.”

Ctesippus, emboldened by Antinous’s confidence, stood and raised his goblet. “To Antinous’s plan, then. Let’s finally end this game and take what’s rightfully ours.”

The other suitors hesitated for a moment before raising their goblets as well, some with enthusiasm, others with clear reluctance. Antinous’s smirk grew wider as he watched them fall in line. “Good,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Prepare yourselves. When the ship docks, we strike.”

As the suitors dispersed to ready themselves, Antinous remained in the hall, his gaze dark and unyielding. He had waited too long for this moment, and nothing—not Telemachus, not Penelope, not his sister, not even the gods themselves—would stand in his way now.

——

Y/N stood frozen in the shadow of a column outside the great hall, her breath caught in her throat. She had only meant to pass through unnoticed, but her curiosity got the better of her when she heard Antinous’s voice cutting sharply through the room. Now, she wished she had kept walking.

Her heart pounded as she pieced together the plan Antinous had laid out. The ambush. The murder. The body thrown to the sea. Her lover—Telemachus. Dead. Her stomach churned violently, and she pressed her trembling hands to her mouth to keep from gasping aloud. She could barely hear the rest of the suitors’ laughter and agreement over the sound of blood rushing in her ears. He can’t mean this… He wouldn’t— But then the venomous tone Antinous had taken about Telemachus echoed in her mind.

Odysseus’s son. The one standing in his way.

She had long known her brother’s ambition, how his hatred for Odysseus extended to Telemachus. She knew his anger festered like an open wound. But to plan an outright murder… to take her love from her… Her legs felt weak, and she leaned against the cold marble for support. Just when she thought she couldn’t stomach more, the conversation shifted, and Antinous spoke of Penelope in a way that made bile rise in her throat.

“Then we’ll hold her down while her gate is open, while we get a taste, while we share her spoils. I will not let any part go to waste!”

The words burned in Pandora’s ears. This was the same man—her brother—who had fiercely shielded her from these same suitors’ leering gazes and vulgar comments. The same man who would break their noses for even hinting at touching her. And now here he was, speaking of Penelope, another woman, with the same callous disregard. As if Penelope’s worth was nothing more than her ability to secure his ambition.

It made her sick.

She took a shaky step back, her thoughts spiraling. Antinous had always been her protector, her fierce shield in a cruel world. But how could she reconcile the brother who had fought for her with the man standing in that hall? The man who would talk about Penelope like property, who would murder her love without a second thought?Her throat tightened as the memory of Telemachus’s laughter echoed in her mind, of the way he’d held her before sailing away. Her hands clenched into fists, and she wanted to scream. Wanted to march into that hall and demand to know who this man was pretending to be her brother?”

But she didn’t. Not yet. Not while her heart still ached, torn between the Antinous she loved and the man plotting the destruction of everything she held dear. She turned and hurried away, silent tears streaking her face. If Antinous thought she would stand by and let him do this, he was wrong. She wouldn’t let him destroy Telemachus, Penelope, or her. Not without a fight.

@procrastination20 @jackiepackiee @barrythestrawberry041 @blessedbyahuntress

@f3r4lfr0gg3r @permanently-nothere @eyuunho @jackintheboxs-world

@simpingmyassoff @sunshinewhosketches

@sugarlillycookie @kaguraaaa @doodle-with-rhy

@0anodite0 @cocosparkel @tati-the-fangirl

@dazedemery @tsmaruchan @xo-cuteplosion-xo

[tiredfox64]

I have a request/idea for a thing:

What if the Reader has a mutual pining situation going on with one of the meaner MK kharacters (I’d say Bi-Han, Shang Tsung, Reiko, or Quan Chi would be good for this—whoever you want, honestly!) but neither person has the guts to say anything, until FINALLY the MK kharacter just can’t handle it anymore and practically breaks down the Reader’s door in order to confess. Then sex happens.

Pining not Pinning!

Yip notes: You know damn well I was gonna pick Reiko. That’s my scary man right there. My fiancé is so mean to him tho. Also I tried but I think I suck with that romance trope.

Pairing: Reiko x Afab reader

Warnings‼️: NSFW, biting, perhaps a bit of masochism there is some pain, vaginal sex

General Shao needs the best of the best. Reiko is one of his best soldiers, he didn’t become lieutenant by doing nothing. Reiko knows that he is on top. He basks in the glory of being Outworld���s finest soldier. But will he play nicely with someone who is just as great as him?

Well, maybe, that is for you to decide. You are the next best thing for Outworld, General Shao will tell you that. That means Reiko has his eyes on you in more ways than one.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

There have only been two instances where a woman has left the Umgadi. Those ladies would be Li Mei and you. Of course, you left not out of shame or to avoid punishment. You left because you didn’t want to protect the royal house. You wanted to protect all of Outworld. That’s why you joined General Shao’s army. He was more than happy to accept you in, seeing that you had the skills of a warrior. He also found your desire to protect all of Outworld commendable.

You quickly rose in rankings and earned yourself recognition. A female in the army who is beating upcoming soldiers? How could the people of Outworld not talk about you! And they talk and talk and spew many thoughts about you possibly overpowering a certain lieutenant who constantly wears war paint. You know damn well who they are talking about and he has heard.

All that talk led the lieutenant to you, huffing and puffing like a mad bull. Reiko knew you joined the army but he never expected you to rise in rankings so quickly. The idea of anyone being better than him doesn’t work in his mind. Which is why you two had to spar.

“What?” You questioned the general.

“Reiko has requested to fight you since you have been surpassing everyone else.”

 Speak of the devil here comes the bastard. You could see he was mean mugging you even from a distance. The closer he got the more you saw the fury that swirled in his eyes. Your eyes shifted between General Shao and Reiko. Each glance at Shao sent a message that said “Are you fucking with me?” because what made him think springing this on you was smart.

Once Reiko was next to you, he started sizing you up. Have you ever seen a snake examining its food before eating it? It’s just like that except Reiko won’t bite your head off, hopefully. Shao luckily pushed Reiko away from you since that display of aggression was embarrassing. He commanded you to get ready to spar. The other soldiers shall be watching and learning.

“I knew you joined our numbers, but I never would have imagined that you were capable of being a true warrior.” He taunted you.

“I’m full of surprises. You seem to be the same way since I’m surprised you want to fight me so badly.”

“Why? Are you afraid to lose to me?”

“Not really, I’m just worried you have a few loose screws.”

Alright enough chit-chat about how he is fuckin unstable. Put your fist up and show him a good fight. A good fight is like good sex to him.

FIGHT!

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Punches, kicks, left hook, right hook, haymakers, suplexes, piledrivers, me oh my I think I heard something crack!

How y’all two doin, alright? No? Oh I bet. You two look awful. You got drool dribbling down your chin and his rat tail manbun is messy. Both of you need to take care of your hands because your knuckles are torn up. Don’t forget to remove the shuriken stuck to your ass. Your back hurts, huh? Yeah, that won’t be the last time Reiko breaks your back—HUH?!?

General Shao had to pull you two apart the second he saw blood dripping onto the floor. He can’t have his best soldier out of commission. You took a few seconds to catch your breath and wipe the sweat from your forehead. Just as you expected, Reiko would be a tough battle. You knew he’d leave you breathless and a sweaty, drooling mess.

You decided to be a good sport and accept that this fight was a tie. You held your hand out for him to shake.

“You put up a good fight, Reiko. It was an honor to figh—”

He walked away without saying a word. You were left stunned with your hand still out. With the way Reiko was stomping away, you could tell he was all huffy. Well shit, the one guy you admire and have the hots for probably hates you now. Fuck!

Ah, but you got it all wrong. You turned that man on so much that he had to walk away from you. I told you a good fight is like good sex to that man.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

Now begins an endless tango of confusing emotions and miscommunication.

From that day on you fully believed that Reiko hated you. Everyone believed that after his hissy fit of an exit. If anyone tried to discuss the fight or you in his presence, he shut that down immediately. Nobody could even speak your name around him because he’d get agitated. That’s the last thing anybody needs him to be before training starts.

You did your best to make amends even though you didn’t start the fight. You made an effort to get closer to him by doing little things like asking for help with training or cheering him on. And it worked…and it didn’t work at the same time.

He’s back and forth with his acceptance of you.

The truth is…Reiko is a dumbass. He’s a clueless fool when it comes to emotions and no one can blame him. He was raised to only think about fighting. So when a strange emotion such as love, which is already a confusing emotion, is felt inside a man who thinks love is felt when he kills someone it’s no surprise that it’s incomprehensible.

You on the other hand knew you liked Reiko. You’ve known for a long time. What wasn’t there to like about him? Sure, he could be a little scary and very rough. But he was a remarkable fighter, taking hits like they were nothing. He fought for all of Outworld and wanted the best for it. You always found that honorable and looked up to him. All that admiration slowly spiraled into a crush that grew the more you saw him. Soon those sky-blue eyes that could be as light as milky white didn’t strike fear into your soul. You started to become thankful that he wore that overly exposing uniform. It’s got you fanning yourself. You ain’t the only one feeling hot.

Reiko had no clue why he got so hot with you around. His cheeks grew warm but not warm enough to bring color to his cheeks. Even if some color blossomed in his cheeks, his war paint would hide it. He got so twitchy too when he’d watch you fight. He’d rub the back of his neck or itch his arm even though he wasn’t itchy. He didn’t know what to do with his body.

The one thing you caught onto was his gaze. It was intense and his eyes followed your every move. When you’d accidentally make eye contact it felt like you were staring at each other for minutes, hours even. Nothing would be said but some part of Reiko hoped that his eye contact would tell you how he felt even if he didn’t know it himself. You’d look away the moment your face started to burn as you grew flustered. But your mind couldn’t believe that. You thought he hated you. So instead, you told yourself you were getting so scared that you grew embarrassed from being scared of him. That doesn’t make sense but you couldn’t make sense of anything.

Some of your Umgadi sisters who you still talked to had encouraged you to tell him how you felt. You didn’t have the same obligations you had before, maybe the army isn’t so strict when it comes to their soldiers being in a relationship. Oh, and they gave you the usual “the worst he can say is no” bullshit.

The least he can say is no. The worst he can say or do is laugh at you and call you pathetic. Or he might slap you in the face thinking you’re crazy for having a crush on him. OR he could tell General Shao what you confessed, and you might be kicked out of the army due to an “inappropriate” relationship with someone higher up.

No, fuck that! You’ll die with this crush of yours under lock and key and shoved in your heart. You can’t risk anything, especially since you believe Reiko hates you. The thought of him rejecting you or making fun of you breaks your tough heart. You’ve never liked or admired a man so much before and you’d like to at least be near him.

So go ahead, scream into your pillows, and wrap yourself in blankets while yelling how it’s just not fair. Why did you have to love a man who hates your guts?!

And now stop all that noise because you don’t know the truth.

You consumed his mind, clouding his ability to think straight. He tried to use that as a reason to hate you but he couldn’t. He couldn’t hate your strength and dedication. He couldn’t hate that smile you would sometimes crack when another soldier did something stupid or silly. He couldn’t hate how your eyes, no matter the color, let the sunlight illuminate them beautifully. He couldn’t hate how perfect you were in his eyes. You were someone he wanted.

But Reiko couldn’t just say it out loud randomly. Remember, he has no idea how love works. Did he actually like you or was his body just being hormonal? Was he just being a horny pervert even though he is way past that stage in life where random things would make him hard? He would never forgive himself if that were the case. Being in love might be less embarrassing.

There were only two people Reiko was willing to talk about this with: General Shao and…Rain? Yeah, Rain can be a strange choice but who else other than Shao could Reiko talk to?

He started going to Rain about those strange feelings and observations he was making. He treated the High Mage like a therapist and Rain wanted to throw a book at him. The conversations only helped, or in Reiko’s eyes made things worse, because he realized more and more how much liked you. The conversations would go like this.

“She looked amazing today during training. She barely broke a sweat even after facing ten of my men.”

“Wow, that’s impressive.” Rain would say sarcastically while flipping through a spell book.

“…her grunts made me feel something…I wanted to hear her gasp more.”

“…”

“…”

“Do you see this scepter in my hand, Reiko? Okay, now ignore it as it’s coming towards you.” Rain would lift his scepter and use it like a baseball bat to tell Reiko to get the fuck out of his room! Three out of five times he would. But at least he was the one to tell Reiko that he was simply just a man in love. Good! So not a pervert…maybe.

Shao was really no help. Rain did more by just sitting there. Shao was quick to shut Reiko down when it came to his feelings. He saw how his second-in-command was getting distracted more because of you. He would kick you out of the army if you weren’t such a useful asset. He was forced to steer him away from you. He knew Reiko would listen to him without hesitation.

So he started messing with him. Shao told him this was all a trick. Your nice attitude was meant to throw him off his rhythm so you could surpass him. Soon, all the soldiers would be listening to you instead of him. It worked a little. Reiko would get agitated again and push himself to train harder, be better. Oh but you would somehow fight your way into his heart by being a sweetie only towards him or by actually fighting him. And then he goes back to that dazed state where his mind is on you and he stares at you till you shiver.

Then Shao lied straight to his face. He wanted Reiko to think you hated him. He went on and on about how you must hate him because Reiko wanted to fight you for no reason. He disrespected you by fighting you even though that was an honor to you. Because Reiko was still so clueless about how love worked, he believed the general. He is much older and is supposed to be wiser, what he says must be true. But if that were the case why would you want to be near him? Why would you come to him for help if you believed he disrespected you? Nice try Shao, you failed again. Your lieutenant is loyal, not braindead.

He gave up. Shao didn’t try to hide that he didn’t want Reiko getting close to you. You two already had a connection going without knowing. All that was left to do was to have someone confess. But Shao said no. Even now, yes now, Shao was telling Reiko not to pursue you.

After training one day Shao takes Reiko to his office to command him to stop. Stop his feelings for you and be the soldier he was before you joined. There will be no argument about it.

“I don’t want you getting close to her, Reiko. Don’t make me regret letting her join my army.” Shao growls.

Reiko listens to Shao, he always listens. If General Shao tells him not to pursue you, even though he is starting to lose it a little, he won’t pursue you. He will continue his night like he usually does.

He lets down his hair from its bun before he washes away the day’s stress. The warm water cleanses him of sweat and war paint while relaxing his tired muscles. His hands travel down to scrub the soap against his body and his mind begins to wander. He wants to be close to you. He wants to feel your skin against his again. He wants to hear you pant and groan without the need to start a fight.

The shower grows steamier and his body grows hotter. Was it the water or his mind doing that, who’s to say? Oh but that mind of his truly can’t be contained because he starts to wonder what it would be like to have you with him in the shower. To see the water drip down your body and to watch the soap flow down every curve on you. What would you two do in there? The possibilities are endless. Would you be shy and have your back to him? That’s not a bad outcome, it would just mean a surprise for you. Or would you be looking at him the whole time, letting your eyes tell him what you want? If so, it wouldn’t be a surprise if you kept looking at him as you kneel before him. You would look him right in his eyes as your hands, deadly yet so soft, start to stroke his hard cock as your tongue begins to—

Woah! Yeah, Reiko is painfully hard. He has only himself to blame yet he will pin this on you. He has to wait for it to go down while he bangs his head softly against the shower walls. Once it’s soft, or at least semi-hard, he wraps a towel around his waist and tries to wipe the smeared war paint off with another towel. Don’t think that stuff comes off easily it is made to last through the day.

Reiko keeps wiping the black paint off as he walks through the halls of the barracks. As he starts to think that he has his emotions and desires under control—HE JUST CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE! The confusion! The eyes of other soldiers! The fact that everyone is telling him not to say anything to you BECAUSE THEY HAVE SO LITTLE FAITH IN HIM AND ARE TRYING TO TRICK HIM!

That does it! He throws down the towel in the middle of the hallways before turning on his heels and walking towards your room. The war paint was not fully off so it looked like he lightly used a black eyeliner pencil around his eyes. It was hot you’ll see in a second.

Reiko wastes no time on knocking or even turning the doorknob to your room. You had only five seconds before your door was kicked in. In those five seconds you heard quick wet footsteps up to your door almost like someone literally stepped out of the shower and walked to your room. It started off light then grew heavy before a BAM.

You’re in the middle of doing your skincare routine because screw letting your pores be clogged with sweat and dirt. You see in the reflection of the mirror to see Reiko standing in the doorway. Your mouth falls open from the shock of the door being kicked open to being even more shocked that he has only a towel wrapped around his waist. He’s huffing as he slams the door shut behind him before making his way towards you and only then do you react. You turn around and try to keep your distance because you have no idea what he is mad about now. Did General Shao talk about you? Did someone taunt him? Did it even have anything to do with you?? You had no clue.

“W-wait! What?! What did I do now?” You whine as you leap onto your bed with the idea of using it as a barrier between you two.

It fails because he is quick to move to the other side of your bed. You are so scared you drop onto your bed with a little bounce. You clutch the top of your bathrobe together like they were an imaginary set of pearls. Your eyes stare up at Reiko as he creeps closer. His hands suddenly grab your face and you are a bit surprised it’s not rough enough to bruise you. And then he said it.

“I like you…I think I love you. I love the way you fight. I love your need to serve all of Outworld. You are the woman I need. Ever since we fought I knew I needed you by my side.”

“…”

“…”

“…oh…”

There is this awkwardness that takes over the whole room. You don’t say much because you are unsure of how truthful Reiko is. This could be a trick. Someone could’ve snitched and this was his way of humiliating you. But would he really go through that with only a towel on, his war paint nearly wiped off, and his hair down as it still drips with water? He is just as vulnerable in this situation as you are. You are two vulnerable lovesick fools who took too long to say something. Now that love and admiration have come dripping out.

“Are you…being serious?” You are not trying to be mean, you are genuinely asking.

His eyes narrow in anger and for a second you feel panic rising in you. But then he kisses you. It’s messy and rough and yet it feels so good. Your lips are soft compared to his slightly damaged rough lips. One hand stays on your face while the other slides to the back to hold your head. Your breathing grows heavy as the passion chokes you both before he pulls away. You look into his eyes and you know that his intentions are true.

“Any more stupid questions?” He asks somewhat aggressively, which is natural.

You nod your head no. Reiko leans back in and kisses you more, passion driving his actions. His kisses are not perfect, but you still love them. You’re not perfect with your kisses either. His body begins to press against yours until your back is pressed against your bed. His hands touch you with great curiosity and hunger, knowing where he wants to touch you but savoring every feeling beneath his fingertips. Though you hate to stop this beautiful moment as your bodies begin to heat up there is an important fact you must share if this tension is gonna break soon.

“Wait, Reiko, hold on,” you place your hands on his chest to push him back a little, “I’m a virgin.”

“So am I.” He replies casually because why should he be ashamed? He spent all his life fighting and winning battles. Do you think anyone’s gonna shame him for not having sex before this point?

There is much to talk about with this new relationship but that must wait. You two need to release that tension that has been building up for a while now. Make sure to take it slow.

══💤══╡°˖✧🦊✧˖°╞══💤══

The moans and groans of virgins can be so sweet. Skin-to-skin contact is exhilarating when the need to love one another runs through you. Oh yes and the fact that Reiko was pounding into you.

You two tried to take it slow. You especially wanted to take it slow once you saw what was behind that towel. Six inches is nothing to sneeze at. But it was the fact that it was thick and had a curve to it. That’s what made you question if it would even fit. He would make that fit, slowly but surely.

Look, he tried to do it slowly and gently but the moment the tip went in it was hard to hold back. His hands gripped your sheets as he stretched you out. The pain you felt was dull and almost pleasurable. You let out little gasps as you took in more of his cock. Your pussy clenched around him, making it even harder for him to stay calm. Reiko struggled to hold back. Your body was like a drug, and he wanted to chase that high that your warm pussy was giving him. The moment you gave him the okay his mind went blank and he started thrusting.

Whatever Shao told him before was forgotten. What did he advise him about? Reiko can’t recall. All his mind could focus on was the pleasure and heat of your body.

And now, Reiko has you right where he wants you. Beneath him and at his mercy. Except it wasn’t like before when you two fought. He doesn’t want to put you beneath him to teach you a lesson about how he is better than you. He wants you beneath him so he can give you the greatest pleasure a man could give to his lover. And that’s how he will show you that he is better and on top. Sorry, he’s competitive even in bed.

He looks down at you, your eyes closed and your mouth slightly open as you pant. Your moans bounce off the walls and slip under your door. The bed creaks with the headboard occasionally tapping against the wall. Reiko’s head reels back as he groans in pleasure like he is letting the gods know the sins you two are creating. But even if the gods don’t hear it, the barracks do. Y’all really shouldn’t be this noisy but your minds are mush. You could only focus on each other. And damn any soldier who is against you and Reiko having some fun.

His hands squeeze your thighs harshly as he keeps your legs open. His eyes move across your body, taking in every bruise and scratch you gained from training. A bit of pride creeps up into his chest as he takes in the fact that he is fucking the best female soldier he has ever seen. That pride urges him to do more. Pleasure you with the love and desire he holds for you.

He leans down and nuzzles his face against the side of your neck before biting it. Yes, biting, because kissing wouldn’t be enough for Reiko. He bites just enough for it to sting but not enough to break skin. You yelp out in pain before it gets drowned out by another moan as he thrusts into you. You can’t see it but as his teeth find another place to sink into, he has this smug smile on his face. He indulges in your reactions. More, more, give him more! Feed his ego!

He starts going rougher, pulling out till it’s only the tip left inside before slamming back in. A wet sound is made every time he pulls out. The sound of skin slapping against each other was now added to the orchestra of lewd sounds coming from your room. If you weren’t somewhat fucked out of your mind you would be embarrassed by how your body was reacting to this. Your cheeks would heat up hearing how wet you were for Reiko. Getting turned on by a man who is happily marking you, slut! Reiko’s slut!

The left side of your neck and your shoulder are littered with bite marks that will surely bruise by the time the sun rises. His lips dance across your skin to find another place to mark up. He moves lower till he gets to your tits. The way they jiggled slightly with each thrust tempts him to mark them too. Why not, what does Reiko lose from showing others that you are his lady? Exactly, nothing. That’s why he starts sucking at the sensitive skin of your tits to mark them with hickeys. Those beautiful red hickeys will take days to fade away.

You felt his tongue begin to swirl around your nipple. His hot breath tickles your skin as his warm saliva coats your nipple. His lips wrap around the sensitive bud, sucking on it as he starts rolling his hips. Your back arches from the pleasure that came from that. Every time he rolled his hips it rubbed against your clit. It works well with his curved cock as it begins to rub against your g-spot. It makes your toes curl and you get the sudden urge to wrap your legs around his waist and never let him go. The only thing stopping you was his hands which kept your legs open. Reiko is in full control and all you can do is arch your back as you moan his name.

Gods, hearing you moan his name drove him crazy. It makes him go rougher. The slapping sound gets louder as his balls slap against your ass. He sucks a little harder on your nipple until his teeth start to lightly graze it. They threatened to bite down, but not fully, he’s not a maniac. Once you start to feel a slight sting on your nipple that’s when your hand goes up and yanks on his hair. He groaned not from pain but from pleasure when you did that. He snickers before saying,

“What, are you afraid of a little pain? I thought you were tougher than that. Come on gorgeous, I know you can take it.”

“Shut up…” You whine out. You sound pathetic trying to fight off your moans when you say that.

You yank his hair again, earning yourself another satisfied groan from him. He slams into you while grinding his hips so he can rub against your clit. It works in making you weak enough to let go of his hair and pleasure you. He takes the chance to move his mouth to your other tit. His slick tongue licks your nipple before he bites down around your nipple. Teeth marks showed up around the areola. You yelp at the sting that dwindles into a light-burning sensation on your right tit. That’s definitely gonna leave a mark.

“Ow Reiko! You bastard!” You scold him.

But what’s the point in scolding him when he knew you liked it? He felt how your walls squeezed and pulsed around him. The wet sound grew louder since you got wetter from the pain. That son of a bitch chuckles from the fact that the pain he was giving you was pleasuring you. It turns him on more and you feel his cock twitch inside you.

You recognize that you are getting closer to cumming. It felt like a knot in your lower belly was growing tighter with each thrust. Your body grows hotter and your breath becomes shorter. Your hands grab Reiko’s shoulders before your nails dig into his pale skin. Red scratch marks are left behind as your grip grows tighter. He keeps rolling his hips and thrusting at an angle, your reaction letting him know he is hitting those sweet spots. Your pussy pulses around his cock until finally that knot in you snaps. This warm feeling in your lower belly swirls and consumes your body. You feel like you can breathe again but all that air is being used up on your desperate moans. That pleasure reaches your brain and it’s like everything you were worried about was gone. Your mind was clear and all you could think about was Reiko’s thick cock stretching you out.

Reiko listens to the sweet moans that slip past your lips as he keeps pounding into you. He looks into your beautiful eyes, eyes wet with tears. They were happy tears. Happy to be fucked out of your mind. His cock twitches from the knowledge that he was the first man to make you feel such ecstasy. He plans to be the only man to give you that high that everyone deserves to get.

All the emotions, the noises, the pain and pleasure, it was enough to make Reiko cum. He thrusts into your warm, wet pussy before he pulls out quickly. His lips crash against yours to sloppily kiss you. Truly, this kiss was sloppy. He couldn’t keep his mouth closed the whole time with all those groans and…oh fuck he’s moaning. Breathy low moans come from him as his cock twitches between your legs. Warm cum splatters all over your stomach and even reach up to your tits. It drips down your sides as he finally manages to close his mouth and goes back to kissing you. Some saliva drips out and dribbles down both your chins. Aw, poor Reiko, he was so pent up.

He slowly pulls away, a string of saliva still connecting your lips. He lets go of your legs. They go limp from how weak you are. You’re both panting. Your skin slightly glistens with sweat and so does his. You are soaked down there with some of your wetness dripping down onto the sheets. After a few deep breaths, one of you manages to say something.

“So, do you still think I am joking?” Reiko asks.

“Obviously not. I felt the love you have for me.” And you still do as you remember it all. Got you shivering like it was still going on.

He laughs almost mockingly as he grabs the towel that he used before to clean you up. Look at him being a gentleman and cleaning his cum off your body. Only a man who loves you would do that.

When he finishes, he throws the towel in some random corner as he lies next to you. His head lays against your pillows as his arm rests over his eyes. He is still breathing heavily as he takes in everything that happened. The feeling of your body against his and how nicely your pussy squeezed him is fresh in his mind. So fresh his cock twitches as if it were still in you. That’s what good pussy does to a man. It stays with him.

You snuggle up to him and his arm instinctively wraps around you. You rest your head on his chest as his hand squeezes your shoulder. Your fingers trace over his abs, something you thought you would never be able to do before. Your heart flutters when you realize that Reiko is yours. He is your man now. He wanted you just as badly as you wanted him and now he is yours. You can’t help but smile as you lean up to kiss along his jawline. He smiles before looking down and kissing your forehead.

“So what, you’re going to act all lovey with me now that we are together?”

“Hah, maybe in the bedroom but not on the training grounds. I’ll still beat your ass in a loving way.”

You can see the smile on his face become prouder as he says, “I’d like nothing better.”

With one last kiss on the lips, you begin to fall asleep in his arms. Your body is satisfied, and your heart is full of love. And even if Reiko is your boyfriend now, your words are true. You will beat his ass with everything you got. You’ll keep being the warrior he fell in love with, just with a few more kisses and hugs sprinkled in.

Ah actually before you sleep I’ll advise you to apologize to the other soldiers in the morning. You were not discreet at all. Even General Shao heard what you did. That’ll be fun to deal with in the morning.

Yap notes: Uhhhh yeah that was long. I should've been working on final papers but I really just wanted to finish this fic. I hope this is good because I felt uncertain in some places. Idk I just wanted to feel some joy again this semester sucks and the past few days have been awful. Anyway I freaking love Reiko. He makes me question my morals. But he is so hot. I can't play with him in front of my fiancé sometimes because he makes fun of him. On test your might to be more specific. There was one time I was looking for tramp stamp inspirations (don't judge me I just think they are neat) and we saw a tattoo and he said "that's probably what it looks like after having sex with Reiko" like hush 😭. 👇

I should get back to my papers and I hope I can just have some free time soon. This semester is killing me. Adiós!

[measuredingold]

Adopting a puppy with Noah. Please. I need it.

A giggly Noah sinking to the floor with the sweetest thing in his arms, all excited, tail wagging, licking his chin.

And you just like that, you’re in love. “This is the one.”

An Australian Shepherd I beg 😩‼️‼️

He goes on tour the next week, and you’d been wanting a dog, so the two of you figure what better time than now when you’ll have her to keep you company. You’re also secretly going to take this time to become her favorite because fuck if it’s Noah. (It doesn’t matter. She’s probably smitten anyway.)

Bonus: Telling the dog to [insert command] and Noah immediately obeys.

“Not you. The dog. But good boy,” you laugh, giving him a kiss.

Do with this what you will 😘 <3

- @somebodyels3

authors note: i think i got carried away with this request… 😅 definitely indulged in the domestic of it all 🥹 anyways, i hope this was somewhat of what you wanted ! i couldn't come up with a title without it being corny, so i apologize lol

pairing: noah sebastian x reader

word count: 4.2k

cw/tw: fluff fluff fluff, established relationship, seriously just reader and noah being cute, 18+ minors do not interact

"Oh my god," The happiness that radiates from Noah's voice has your chest twisting. "He's so fucking cute."

He sinks to the floor as the dog continues to jump on him, tail wagging happily through the air. Jax, the Australian Shepard that immediately caught your eye, barely waits for Noah to even sit on the floor, jumping into his arms happily. You can't help but smile widely at the interaction, chest twisting again as Jax licked happily at Noah's face while your boyfriend cooed at him, probably whispering soft praises to the overly excited puppy.

You'd been debating on getting a dog together for some time. Wanting to take that next step in your relationship and also Noah being adamant on you not being alone when he was away, you thought now was the perfect time. It'd been a few weeks searching, your boyfriend being persistent on finding the perfect dog for you - and him - and as you watch Jax happily settle into Noah's lap, your boyfriend beaming up at you, you realize that this is definitely the one.

"He likes you." You muse as you finally move closer, settling on the floor beside the two. Jax's tail starts up again, wagging happily. He wiggles his way out of Noah's grip to climb into your lap now, surprising you with a kiss.

"I think he likes you, too." Noah's voice is soft and you manage a glance at him while trying to wrangle the very happy pup in your arms, the look of adoration on his face has your breath hitching. He reaches out to scratch behind Jax's ear. "We should get him."

"You've barely known him for 5 minutes." You snort but your gaze lands on Jax nuzzling against your chest and your heart squeezes, already knowing if you left here without him you'd be devastated. 

"And? That's enough time."

You roll your eyes. "Seriously?"

"Yeah?" Noah scoots closer to you, continuing to scratch behind Jax's ear. He leans his chin against your shoulder, humming softly. "I knew I liked you 5 seconds after we met, so this is nothing." 

Your face flushes. "You did not."

"Yes I did."

"Okay, so then why did you wait a whole year to even tell me you liked me if you knew it instantly?" It's his turn to blush, ignoring your teasing words as he continues to pet Jax. “Exactly.”

You were just kidding but every once in a while you always liked to bring it up just to mess with him.

"Anyways," He pivots, looking away from Jax to finally look at you. "We should adopt him."

You meet his gaze, your heart leaping its way into your throat. "...Yeah?"

"Yeah." A small, gentle smile settles on his lips. "We should. I think he'll fit right in with us. Won’t you, bud?”

Us. 

The world makes your entire body heat up and your stomach flip. You immediately know he's right, your gut telling you that this sweet little pup in your arms is going to be the perfect fit for the two of you as he leans into Noah’s touch, and a great companion for you whenever your boy is gone. You look down at Jax, who's already looking up at you, tail wagging once again. 

"I think so, too." You say, scratching at Jax's side. "What do you say, bud? Wanna come home with us?"

As if Jax understood every word you had said, he leaps from your lap with another happy wag of his tail. He barks at you and then at Noah, and you swear you think he's smiling. Noah reaches out for Jax and the pup happily follows, settling back into his arms as if he's done it a million times before. 

"Welcome to the family, Jax." 

Your boyfriend's words make your chest flutter, heat washing over your face. It's your turn to reach over and scratch behind Jax's ear, mumbling out Noah's exact words.

"Welcome to the family."

...

One week. That's all the time you and Noah had to get to Jax accustomed to your house with all three of you inside it. The first two days were used for him to get familiar with his surroundings, showing him the different rooms. You let him sniff around as much as he wanted, wanting every inch of this space to be safe for him as it is for you two. Between that and just letting him get used to you, you also used this time to practice good habits.

Using the bathroom outside was fairly easy, to both yours and Noah's surprise. You were grateful that the adoption center you chose had already been practicing that with Jax, having a nice wide outside area for the dogs to roam freely. 

You've been struggling to establish feeding times, Jax being used to eating whenever he wanted throughout the day. You have designated eating times in the morning and night, and had to incorporate some snack times throughout the day to satisfy his whining. Eventually you know it'll get easier, and to be fair, he is a puppy. That boy is still growing, and growing boys need to eat.

You decided against crate training after night one. Hearing him whine throughout the night broke your heart, but it was Noah who said he didn't mind him out of the crate.

"He'll be the one cuddling you when I'm not here, anyways. Might as well get him used to the bed." 

You decide to buy a dog bed for your bedroom and he didn’t seem to mind it at first, but eventually got up in the bed with you two. He wedged himself perfectly between you and Noah as if he belonged. Even through your sleepy haze, your chest still tightened at how right it felt. 

So far, you think Jax is loving it. He fit right in with both you and Noah, meshing easily to both of your schedules. 

When Noah was locked away in his studio or making sure things were set to go for tour next week, Jax was with you, whether it be playing together or sleeping by your feet as you worked on the computer. Day three he hadn't been with you at all, glued to Noah's side the entire time. Your heart grew three times in size when you had gone looking for the pup, only to find him tucked away in Noah's lap while your boyfriend messed around on the computer, more than likely tweaking with a track.

"I can't believe we got a dog right before I leave." Noah comments on his last night home, tucking a very sleepy Jax against his chest. You'd just gotten back from a walk and the poor thing was tired, all his energy gone. 

"This was your idea, bub." You tease, but can't ignore the slight pang in your chest at the reminder of him leaving. "I'm just happy I'll have someone to keep me company."

Noah gives a sad smile, but doesn't comment on it again. He knows how you feel whenever he leaves, so incredibly proud of him but can't help being a bit heartbroken that you won't see your boy for weeks. He's the exact same way. Happy to be able to live out the life he dreamed of, doing what he loves for people just like him, but he can't help but wish that you could be with him every step of the way. 

He knows it isn't feasible right now, but is determined to make it a reality one day. Where he can support you - and now Jax - and bring you along for the ride.

That night, Jax sleeps at the foot of your shared bed, having no idea that one of his new owners will be gone for a month and a half in just a few short hours. Noah's attached to your side, face buried in the crook of your neck. His hair tickles your cheek, smelling freshly washed, and you can even smell a hint of vanilla. He had insisted on using your body wash tonight after he had convinced you to shower with him, the only alone time you've had in a week, and will have for the foreseeable future. 

You still felt his touch, his fingertips etched into your skin as he dug them into your hips, pulling you closer and closer until there was no room left. He took his time with you, mumbling against your skin that he wanted to savor these last few quiet moments together. He slowly broke you apart with just his fingers, and then his mouth, before pressing your back against the shower wall and sliding one of your legs up and around his hip, pressing into you slowly.

Your face burned at the memory, only being minutes ago, and you couldn't stop the shiver that ran through your body when you felt Noah's lips brush against the base of your neck.

"Gonna miss you." He mumbles out, sleep evident in his voice.

"Gonna miss you, too." You whisper back. 

Jax makes a noise at the foot of the bed, stretching out his little legs before settling back against the covers. Noah huffs out a laugh.

"I'll miss him, too. Never knew I could get attached to something so quick."

"Honey," It's your turn to laugh, Jax wiggling around at the sound. "You get attached to every animal we encounter. You suggested we get him after only seeing him for not even five minutes."

"...Okay, whatever. I knew I would and it sucks. I wish I could bring you both along."

"I know." You say softly, fingers carding through his hair. "Maybe when he's bigger. I think bringing a puppy on tour would be a nightmare."

"It would but I wouldn't care." You don't respond, instead let Noah think on his words before he eventually says, "Okay, maybe I'd care a little bit. Thinking of him having an accident in a random green room makes me kind of anxious."

"Exactly." You laugh again, much softer, and turn your head to brush your lips across his forehead. "So, let's wait for when he gets bigger, then maybe I could use some PTO and we both could tag along for a few weeks."

Noah's arms tighten around your waist to bring you closer to him, his legs tangling between yours like a vice grip. "Okay. I'd really like that."

You let the silence take over, your eyes fluttering shut as you focused on Noah's steady breathing. You never stopped your hand moving through his hair, occasionally scratching at his scalp. It isn't until you're on the brink of sleep when he speaks up again, exhaustion clear in his voice.

"Love you."

Jax sighs out at the foot of the bed, snuggling deeper into the covers, and your chest tightens again. You're going to miss this already and it's only been a week.

"Love you, too, my Noah."

...

A month and a half goes by quicker than you thought it would. Normally it feels like the days drag on when Noah's away, the boredom catching up to you on Day 2, but having Jax has made it to where the days don't feel as long, and the loneliness doesn't creep up on you as often.

It's not to say that it doesn't, because there were still days where you yearned just to see Noah, to be able to find him lying on the couch and to crawl up against his chest. You called every night, hour long FaceTime calls until your boy fell asleep to the sound of your voice. It'll never be easier being away from him, but you think Jax was just the thing you needed.

Before Noah had left, you were sure that your boyfriend was the favorite. Jax always tagged along with you whenever you worked, but if Noah was available he was glued to him. It warmed your heart, truly, but you were determined with this time away to make him like you just a bit more. He was going to be with you most of the time, anyways.

He's practically mastered the art of doing his business outside, even to the point where he can tell you when he has to go. He'd roam around the house to find you and when he did, he'd stare up at you with those big eyes and paw at your leg. If you were downstairs with him he'd just stand by the door, giving you a look that let you know what he needed.

Eating times were still rough, but you think you've gotten it down. Breakfast as soon as you wake up, a snack or two during the afternoon depending on how well those puppy dog eyes got you, and then dinner time is always around six o'clock. It seemed to work out fairly well, but there were some afternoons when he'd go over his afternoon snack amount. All in all, you've gotten a steady routine down with Jax, and you couldn't wait to integrate Noah back into it. 

You'd even been able to teach him some tricks on days when boredom got the best of you, and you wanted to be able to show Noah something cool whenever he got home. So far you've only been able to get him to sit on command and you felt nothing but pride every time he did. He'll get the other ones down in no time, and you're sure with the help of Noah he'll get them right away. 

Speaking of your boyfriend, you think Jax is still a bit confused that his other human has been missing.

Your heart squeezed beneath your chest when you'd find him curled up on the couch in Noah's studio, sound asleep. Even in that short amount of time, your pup had not only fallen in love with you but also with Noah, and you both were more than ready to have your boy back home with you.

...

With the way Jax was staring at the door, tail slowly beginning to wag, it was as if he knew Noah was seconds away from home. Usually you'd be the one to pick Noah up from the airport but it was his idea that this time one of the guys drop him off, anxious about how well Jax would do in the car and around a group of people. 

As if on queue, you hear keys jingle. Both you and Jax perk up, you straightening your seated position on the couch and Jax moving closer to the door, excited barks escaping him. You can't help the way your heart squeezes beneath your chest and your stomach flutters with butterflies, a smile breaking across your face when Noah finally opens the door.

"Hey buddy!" He says excitedly as Jax all but runs towards him, immediately jumping on his legs. He barely has enough time to set his things down before crouching in front of the excited puppy, pulling him into his arms. "I can't believe you remember me."

"Of course he remembers you." You tease, heart thudding against your chest when Noah finally looks in your direction, eyes twinkling as his gaze finally land on you. "He slept glued to your side for a week straight. He's missed you."

Noah hugs Jax to him, letting out breathy chuckles as the excited pup licks across his face, wiggling in his arms. "I missed you too, bud."

Your boyfriend sinks into the floor, door still half open and his bags surrounding him. He doesn't pay any mind, instead returning the kisses Jax gave him, chuckling every so often. You reach for your phone, the tender moment making your eyes burn with happy tears and you can't help but snap a picture of this moment, immediately setting it as your background.

Your boys. 

Your heart clenches at the thought as you toss your phone back onto the couch and stand up, making your way over to Noah. He looks up when you sink down onto the floor next to him, the softness behind his eyes returning and a gentle smile settling on his lips.

"Hi baby." 

"Hi." You return his smile, face flushing under his gaze. "If it means anything, I also missed you." 

His smile only widens, eyes twinkling again. "I missed you, too." 

It takes another moment of excitement before Jax wiggles his way out of Noah's arms, scurrying off into the living room to probably find one of the new toys you had gotten him in the last month and a half. He loves showing them off to you everyday, and to anyone who stops by. Your friends had been shown his nice new red ball about a dozen times during their visit, and he acted as if it was brand new each time.

"Not as much as Jax though, huh?" 

Noah rolls his eyes before lifting himself to his feet, hand reaching down to bring you up with him. "I missed you both all the same."

Your body practically vibrates the second your hand touches his, letting him haul you up from the floor and immediately into his arms. You don't say anything, just bury your face against his chest and slip your arms around his middle. You inhale deeply, the scent of your boyfriend engulfing you instantly and you only squeeze him tighter.

You missed him so much.

"I missed you so much, too." You hadn't meant to say that out loud but didn't care, especially because Noah only squeezes you tighter, his lips brushing the side of your head. "Next time, please come with me. It was fucking unbearable."

You pull back, brows furrowing. "I thought everything went fine?"

"Oh, it did. Much better than I expected, but it still sucked not having you there when things got even the slightest bit fucked." His voice is much softer, muffled by your hair. "Need you with me always and to tell when to fucking relax. Would've made the stressful moments easier to get through."

Your heart practically bursts out of your chest at his words. You don't know what to say, honestly can't say anything with the way your throat is already closing up and eyes are burning again. You pull back more but only to unwind your arms from around his waist, reaching up. It seems like he already knew your intentions, already leaning down for you to cup his cheeks and bring his face closer. 

Your lips meet in a gentle kiss and Noah hums out a soft noise, hands sliding down your sides to your hips. His fingers flex, digging into you gently to bring you closer. Before it could go anywhere, a bark pulls you two away from each other, and you both turn your head to find Jax staring, happily wagging his tail with his new red ball sitting in front of him.

"Oh, I think he wants to show you his new toy."

"God, he's fucking cute." Noah mumbles out, a breathy chuckle following. He turns his head to press a chaste kiss to your cheek before finding your lips again, planting a quick kiss there before pulling away from you entirely. "Let me put my stuff up, bud, and you can show me your new toy." 

As if Jax understood, he barks again, the wagging only getting faster. Noah shuts the door completely, finally, and the two of you carefully move his things away from the door and towards the stairs for the unpacking that'll happen later. Minutes later, Noah's back over by Jax, reaching down for his red ball and tossing it across the room gently. 

You laugh at the way Jax rushes for it, tiny arms and legs working to get his toy and bring it back to Noah.

"He loves that damn ball." You muse, giggling softly at the excited puppy running back towards Noah, dropping the ball by his feet.

"I knew he would." Noah grins as he reaches down for the ball and tosses it again, Jax running at full speed to retrieve it.

An idea pops into your head as Jax runs back towards Noah, forgetting that you hadn't told your boyfriend about the recent trick Jax had learned. You shift on the couch, bringing your legs up under you as you settle back against the cushions. 

"Oh, baby, look." You snap your fingers, watching Jax turn his head towards you. Unbeknownst to you, Noah does the same, but your focus is solely on the puppy. "Sit."

Jax does almost instantly, dropping the ball from his mouth and happily sitting down in front of Noah. You smile triumphantly and fix your gaze on your boyfriend, but he isn't in front of Jax anymore. He's making his way towards the couch, plopping down next to you, brows furrowed.

"Look at what?"

You give him an amused grin, looking between him and Jax. It takes him a moment but you see the moment his brain catches up, looking over at Jax who's still sitting, tail wagging happily against the floor.

"Oh."

"Wasn't meant for you, baby, just the dog." You reach over, ruffling his hair playfully and lean in for a quick kiss to his cheek. "But good boy,"

You pull back to find him flushing, cheeks darker than before, and his eyes fitted into a playful glare. You laugh before leaning back in, this time placing a swift kiss to his lips. 

You get up from the couch, using your best baby voice to get Jax to follow you into the kitchen for his well deserved treat. You come back into the living room to find Noah still on the couch with his head thrown back against the couch, cheeks still flushed and eyes shut.

Your chest did that funny thing again, heart squeezing beneath at the sight of your boy finally home. You glance over at the very many bags placed carefully at the end of your stairs and then look back at Noah who may or may not be fast asleep, and decide unpacking will have to wait until later. Or tomorrow. Your perfectionist boyfriend will just have to deal with it.

"Baby?" Noah makes a noise, opening an eye to stare over at you. "Tired?"

He nods, groaning quietly as he sits himself up, rubbing a hand down his face. "Forgot I've been traveling all day. It hit me the second I sat down," He stretches his arms out and groans again before settling back against the cushions, giving you a sleepy smile. "Forgot how comfy this couch is." 

"Mhm. The dope couch is extremely comfy." You walk towards him but don't sit down, instead reach a hand out. "But I know our bed is way more comfortable than this. C'mon, bub." 

He reaches for you no questions asked, letting himself be hauled off the couch with another quiet noise. "Should unpack first, though-"

"Nope. That's a tomorrow us problem." You don't miss the small smile Noah makes at the word us, tugging him towards the stair. "Right now, you need a nap, and coincidentally this is around the time Jax takes a nap in your studio. I think he'd much rather prefer to cuddle with you. I would, too."

You call for the pup who trots out of the kitchen before pausing, stretching out his tiny legs and giving the cutest yawn you'd ever seen. 

"Nap time?" His head tilts in an almost comedic way, tail slowly beginning to wag as he trots closer to you. "C'mere." 

He does so happily and you pull him up into your arms, turning around to face a very sleepy, but very happy looking Noah. 

"I should really unpack first, baby."

You shake your head. "Nuh uh. Tomorrow problem. Right now, we're gonna nap. And then we’re gonna order dinner and sit on the couch the rest of the night. Right, buddy?" You look at Jax who's nestled against your chest, turning to puppy towards Noah, feigning a pout. "You're seriously gonna say no to this face?"

"You're unbelievable." He rolls his eyes half-heartedly, but that sleepy smile settling on his lips is telling you that you definitely won this round. "Fine. Tomorrows problem."

You let out a triumphant noise, raising Jax's paw and giving yourself a high-five that makes Noah laugh. Warmth spreads throughout your body at the sound, having missed it so much in the last month and a half. You follow Noah up the stairs and to your bedroom with Jax in your arms, excited anticipation running through you at the thought of finally cuddling your boy after so long. You couldn't wait.

Noah sprawls out onto the bed with another groan and you gently drop Jax down next to him, watching as the puppy immediately jumps onto his chest. He licks his face a few times before settling down on top of him, getting comfortable. 

You coo out softly and you crawl into the space next to your boyfriend, "God, that's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen." 

Noah wraps an arm around him to keep him steady against his chest, holding out his other arm for you to curl into. You do so happily, body fitting perfectly into his side. You can feel the tension in both of your bodies finally relax, immediately melting into one another, and your heart skips a beat at how perfect this feels right now.

Things finally make sense again, and you've never been happier to finally have both of your boys with you. 

...

if you'd like to join the taglist, the form is right here !

taglist: @xmads-omensx @chey-h @somebodyels3 @ferduttini @Follow-me-down-to-wonderland @fadingangelwisp @baddestomens @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @concretejunglefm @deathblacksmoke @ladyveronikawrites @kenjipepsi1 @swissy23 @collapsedglasshouses

[thetrasha]

Hello there, it's me again! The one who asked for the ideal types.

I hope you feel better soon, and let me know if you need a break, I don't want to bother with too many requests!

Have you finished Dressrosa? Today I'm here to request something for a specific character. This ask will be even vaguer than the previous ones; I'll give you a lot of creative freedom because I don't even know what I want :')

The only thing I know is that I need something fluff whit Corazon (Rosinante). We need more content of this man here on Tumblr!!

This feels like ages ago but just to confirm: Yes, I'm not sick anymore lol hooray

I can't believe it myself, but I'm ALMOST done with Dressrosa!! :D "Almost" (25 episodes bye). We're so back (Well, I wasn't ever gone, but you had to wait a long time to have this request fulfilled so I do hope I did it justice)~ Take care and without further ado: Rosinante requests are officially allowed on this blog‼️😤

I hope you like this <3 I think it's pretty good (❁´◡`❁) But long!!

Still Waters Run Deep

feat. ROSINANTE

“You look ridiculous, Commander.”

“Thanks for your input, (Y/N)…”, Rosinante grumbled, practising his new makeup routine over and over again. He couldn’t quite get the look right, the blue star beneath his right eye not coming out as symmetrical as he’d hoped. The painted grin on his face was also pretty lopsided. Sengoku started laughing right at his face yesterday morning.

You could all but giggle at your friend’s strange change in appearance. This wasn’t like him at all…

You were found mere months after Rosinante was – your home island had fallen victim to natural disasters, leaving it totally uninhabitable. Most people, including your family, eventually chose to flee from the elements for your own safety, but you all got caught in a vicious hurricane that beat down on your rudimentary rafts that should have carried you far and wide, away from such a hostile environment. By some miracle, you survived, but were now stranded at sea… with no one to talk to, hungry and broken.

That is, until a marine vessel almost crashed into your tiny sailboat as you were slowly dying of thirst. It didn’t even register to you that you’d been saved, you’ve started hallucinating ships on the horizon days ago, so this was just another hopeless fever dream to you. After it’s been confirmed that there had been no other surviving relatives, Sengoku had personally ordered that you’d be taken into Navy custody after you’ve confirmed your own age under wails and hiccups, suddenly desperate to re-socialise his traumatised foster son Rosinante… with a friend he could relate to.

You grew up together as a package deal, experiencing each other’s highs and lows through your teenage years and early adulthood.

Maybe that’s why you were the only other person who knew about his secret mission – despite only being a mere Lieutenant. You firmly disagreed with his choice to contain his older brother’s madness. In the North Blue, the Donquixote Pirates were rampaging like the lunatics they are… and you genuinely thought that Rosinante was going to regret this mission and get backed into a corner, even if he was steadfast in his conviction. This was the only point of tension between you two – and the arguments kept piling up in recent months, especially after he’s officially requested to be sent on “extended medical leave for sustaining severe injuries”…

Yeah, right. Like he’s ever cared about that in the first place. HQ was so damn naive!

“If only you chose a non-smoker as your persona instead of… whatever this is.”, you commented dryly, watching him cough and double over as soon as he inhaled a bit of dark blue eyeshadow dust. He even tripped over his own feet and landed right into your arms. Luckily for the both of you, you were strong enough to hold his entire frame in place for a short moment.

“It’s called stealth.”, he said directly into your ear, making you shiver for a moment.

“Uh-huh. Evidently, it’s not called ‘health’. You’re going to set yourself on fire if you continue smoking in this absurd attire, Rosi. Look at that coat. Horrible. You’ll die before you even get there.”

You clicked your tongue in annoyance at his decision to leave soon, groaning as he slowly moved away from you, using your shoulders as leverage to stand up to his full height. Since he suddenly stood a lot closer to you, you had to crane your neck up to look into his copper-coloured eyes.

At least his eyes were still the same ones you knew. Other than that, he might as well have turned into a caricature of his older brother – extravagant feather coat, dark shades and a bizarre suit. The only thing that was kind of cute was the dark magenta beanie with little heart tails.

“I won’t die, I promise.”, he smiled, trying to manoeuvre you into a sweet hug, but you didn’t want to hug him when he looked like this.

You pouted, pushing him away, at which he frowned. The sad, red grin on his cheeks became even more uneven as the corners of his mouth turned upside down in disappointment.

“You might. Sengoku sent me away to work with Vice Admiral Tsuru, she operates near Spider Miles, you fool! What if we have to fight each other?!”

He breathed out shakily, flashing you a trembling smile that couldn’t have been more of a lie if he tried, “You’re transferring to… Spider… Miles?”

His large hands found your shoulders again, squeezing you as he pulled you flush against him. The intensity of his hug might as well have crushed your bones, but you wrapped your arms around his waist in return, knowing that he needed it right now. But when he pulled back, he looked visibly sick.

“Don’t faint, Rosi…”, you cooed in a gentle voice, but watched the sway in his step with a gulp before he came crashing down upon you, “Ah- Help! HELP!!! He’s- crushing me!!”

What you didn’t know is that evening, on that very fateful day, marked the only time Rosinante ever screamed at Sengoku for even entertaining the idea of you being anywhere near the Donquixote Pirates. His foster father explained that he thought his son would love to, at the very least, see you around on his undercover mission, but that couldn’t be further from the truth.

Rosinante didn’t ever want to have you watch him commit sins right under your nose while you’d have to try to contain him and the other Donquixote elites. He especially wouldn’t forgive himself if you ended up hurt because of him. Worse if it was at the hands of his brother. He would see red and be blinded by rage, no rational thought left. It would… jeopardise this whole thing.

The next day, the cancellation of your transfer sat on your desk.

One week later, you’d be seeing each other for the last time in a long time.

“So this is it...”, you said quietly, looking at a new version of the man you’ve spent your life with. He nodded, swallowing a dry lump in his throat.

Now Rosinante would become a pirate, commit the unspeakable and… work under this madman of a brother. Nothing you said could have convinced him to stay – you tried so many things, so many times. It was pointless to attempt to sway him now, all you could do was accept fate at this point. It wouldn’t ever be the same again; he… might as well have died that day.

He’s been such a steady presence in your life… you don’t even know whether you could live without him.

Maybe that’s why you never confessed your feelings to him. Rosinante was destined to fell his own brother’s evil empire. Every choice would have eventually led him down this path – it was in his kind nature to try and mitigate the damages Doflamingo might cause. Hell, it was in his nature to try to save the world, even if he was but one man; even if it was hopeless, he would always try… just on the off chance that it might do something. He is an extreme idealist who dreams about leaving the world a better place than he found it. And you’ve fallen for this sentimental idiot, knowing that he’d exchange his life for someone else’s. Loving him was futile, even if he secretly longed to experience it – his calling would be his death sentence. You just knew it…

So you gave him one last look, blinking away tears. Rosinante wouldn’t have to see you cry for him, it would just weigh on his mind and make him feel guilty for leaving you behind, but this was what he trained for. All those years spent rigorously training… He’d been ready before he decided to go on this undercover mission in the first place.

You spoke up, burying your face in his chest to hide your sorrowful expression from his view, your voice cracking with heartbreak, “If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”

...

Two years.

Two wretched years.

Rosinante hadn’t talked to you for two years, but he’s thought of you every single day of his new life. It wasn’t easy, being a commander of the Donquixote Pirates… among such vicious and callous men who’d kill anyone who stood in their way. Worst is that, on the surface, he has become just like them, even if they believe ‘Corazon’ never changed – that he’s always been cruel. That… couldn’t be further from the truth. It was so, so hard to leave you. This mission might have cost him everything. The beauty of growing up with you was witnessing the person you became. You were a deity in every way – benevolent, gracious, just… you really looked out for your people, always keeping an eye on your best friend. How could he not fall for someone like you? Someone who’s held him when he suffered through nightmares that soaked him in a cold sweat, someone who hummed a sea shanty whenever he saw a vessel of World Nobility pass by, someone who… came to him – only ever him – when there was an earthquake, or a volcanic eruption or a tsunami… because you saw a protector in him.

You knew Rosinante wasn’t meant to destroy, he was always meant to defend.

God… how much he loved you for that alone.

How pathetic.

You’d probably moved on with your life. While your best friend was stuck in the same Hell he chose two years later, you were probably a Commander these days, perhaps you even outrank him now, maybe you’d gotten… married – and forgot about him.

He tripped over a raised root of an oak, rolling down a steep hill until he fell right in front of Law’s unimpressed face, holding a bunch of unknown fruit he deemed edible… maybe not delicious, but edible.

Rosinante had probably broken a rib or two by crashing into their camp like that, but he didn’t even think about the pain because you’ve been haunting him.

“If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”

Law wasn’t improving at all and they were running out of time. He chose to save that boy’s life three months ago, but no doctor was willing to help him… if anyone could help him at all. The papers continued writing about a child with Amber Lead Syndrome showing up in different parts of this ocean, always somehow evading the World Government – all thanks to the Calm-Calm Fruit.

Rosinante has bound himself to this dying child now. He… felt responsible for him. He was sure that this was probably how Sengoku felt about him when that little blond boy couldn’t stop crying his heart out all those years ago.

“If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”

All Law had known the past few years was pain and suffering. The fact that the kid could sleep at all was a miracle. If Rosinante wasn’t aware of the wound inside his young soul, he would have thought that he was just a normal child. A bit sickly, but normal. Oh, how wrong he was. That amount of torment would have ripped anybody else apart.

This was Law’s chance at life! He’s been fighting his own demons for years and wants to be set free so bad, but neither Rosinante nor Corazon had the power to do that with time running against them.

“If you’re ever in trouble, you know where to find me.”

Maybe… just maybe… if Law was truly dying – not that he is! Of course… there is a cure out there, probably in the shape of a Devil Fruit – he deserved to be with… family.

You genuinely thought you were starting to hallucinate as soon as Rosinante stood in front of your door, a little boy right next to him. Your mouth was so wide open that your jaw might have hit the floor… you can’t recollect that moment all too well because you couldn’t stop a river of tears flowing down your cheeks as desperate wails rang through the dead of night. The man you’ve been waiting for embraced you sweetly, shushing you with gentle hums as you squeezed him tight. You were suddenly glad that you lived so far away from the base… it did make your commute to work living Hell, but Rosinante wouldn’t have ever gained the courage to come there if you chose a different living situation– because of that little boy that stared at you two.

The kid’s expression was unreadable, but there was some sort of longing in his eyes.

“And- who’s this?”, you smiled through the tears before you crouched down in front of Rosi’s companion. Meanwhile, your best friend sniffled but it turned into a pained gasp when he hit his head on your door frame…

“I’m Law…”

“Hello Law, I’m (Y/N)…”

“…” He just stared at you.

“…”

“…” His gaze filled with hope turned into a glare, his face pulled into a snarl.

“Everything alright?”, you asked quietly, trying to come closer but the strange child pulled back immediately. He briefly shot a mean look towards Rosinante, who’s started smoking behind you, before his eyes zeroed in on you again.

“Aren’t you scared?”, Law growled.

You blinked, causing him to scoff. The man who could resolve all of this stayed quiet behind you, but you did hear him put out a fire with a yelp… sigh. You told him!

“Why would I be scared?”

“Are you stupid or blind? I have Amber Lead Syndrome.”

“Ah, now all those reports make a lot more sense… Rosi, you- you idiot! Do you know what you’ve done?! Are you insane?!”

Your scolding did cause Law to slump, looking at who he affectionately referred to as Cora-san with fury in his eyes now. Of course you’d blow up at Corazon and then at Law himself. You’d think he was contagious and call the Navy-

“I promise I didn’t mean to make your job more difficul-”

“QUIET! We’ll talk in the living room, you monumental--- gah!! I can’t even insult you anymore. I’m too happy to see you. GO! And don’t… fall… I… uh… first aid’s still in the bathroom, Rosi.”

Law stood on your welcome mat, almost shedding tears upon being abandoned by the man he’s come to respect the most. This was the final straw, it was hopele-

“Law, are you coming or do you want to sleep outside?!”, you shouted from a room inside your home… and that little boy couldn’t believe his own ears.

���In fact, he couldn’t even trust his own eyes when you were sitting on your knees on the plush cushions of your couch trying to suture the fresh laceration on Corazon’s forehead with shaky fingers, a cup of hot cocoa in his tiny hands while… that walking fire hazard of a man looked at you like a lovesick fool.

“What is going on here?!”, Law screamed, pointing at you two after taking a sip of the hot beverage you’ve just made him.

“What do you mean?”, Rosinante echoed, hissing when you disinfected the edges of his cut before you went back in with the needle. He was a lot bigger than regular people, meaning that he sustained even larger injuries if he got hurt. The amount of stitches this took was ridiculous…

“Why are we here?! She’s not a doctor! She doesn’t even know how to properly treat a minor cut!”

“You’re a rude brat, you know that?”, you chuckled, patting the child’s spotted head, “But you’re really cute, so I’ll let it slide…”

Law blushed, huffing in frustration while Rosinante wore an overjoyed expression, pointing at you two with sparkling eyes.

Since it was the middle of the night, you both told the child that suddenly entered your life to go to sleep and rest well. You had no guest bedroom, so you gave your bed to Law. Rosinante smirked, dramatically showing off his Devil Fruit powers by making the entire bedroom soundproof with a dorky thumbs-up. You shook you head at him with a bright smile… This guy…

And then you went back into the living room, silently staring at each other. You bit your lip and rubbed your arms, not knowing what to say.

Neither of you had to say anything because the blond man fell to his knees, hugging you as if you were going to disappear. And you couldn’t help but fall into his arms and kiss him. Your lips desperately moved against his own. You knew you were getting lipstick all over yourself, but you didn’t care one bit. Rosinante’s hands found the small of your back whilst yours circled his neck before throwing his hat away. You buried your hands in his blond locks.

A surprised squeal left your mouth when he lifted you up in his arms, tearing away from you with an undoubtable hunger in his eyes. His pupils were blown out and he almost looked properly smitten, perfecting mirroring your own expression.

His strength allowed him to easily move his hands under your thighs while you clung to him, resting your head against his buzzing chest. Rosinante panted like he crossed the entire North Blue on foot, but looked as content as ever.

He squeezed you and kissed the crown of you head lovingly.

You looked back up at him with a sheepish smile.

“Today I learnt that I could have done this ages ago.”, he mumbled, nuzzling his head against yours with an airy sigh.

“Today I learnt that Amber Lead Syndrome isn’t contagious. Poison?”

“Uh-huh.”, Rosinante clicked his tongue, letting you back down, “Thanks for being so nice to him. He needs it.”

“I can imagine. Poor boy. He’s got that look, you know?”

He tilted his head, his fringe falling into his eyes – a sight that suddenly made you nostalgic.

“The look you had in your eyes when we met. Sad and broken.”, you confessed –

– and Law’s heart stopped for a moment.

“I’ll help you find a way to help him. Don’t know how, but… I will.”

“I love you.”, Rosinante whispered, running his hands down your sides.

You were at peace… finally. Even if times will definitely get a lot rougher from now on.

Law was about to tip-toe back into your bedroom, but you spoke up again, making his breath hitch in fear.

“Love you, too. Let’s wash off your eye make-up, Rosi.”

“About that…”

“Face paint?”

“So…”

“You didn’t get a tattoo.”

“…”

“God help you once Sengoku finds out. He’s going wish you never enlisted.”

Rosinante smirked, stealing yet another kiss from you.

Law could just watch you… – mildly disgusted – but mostly trying to hold back sobs and whimpers. You… you were so kind, as kind as Cora-san. You didn’t let your prejudiced mind treat him badly, you would have accepted infection if it meant that little boy would be at ease around you. You touched him without fear…

And you were both marines.

It… didn’t make any sense, but… what did make sense at this point? Two marines were now taking care of him as if he were one of their own so maybe there was a cure waiting for him after all.

…What a silly thought!

But he didn’t embrace death anymore.

[chrisjw108]

A Captivating Flavor

Caleb x Non!Mc Reader

Chapter One is up!

________________________________________________

Been obsessed with and idea of starting fanfic with

Caleb and Non!Mc Barista Reader at Skyhaven!

‼️ATTENTION‼️ the content ahead is JUST A DRAFT.

English is not my first language (far from it.)

This is my FIRST fanfic.

I am writing this on phone with spiderweb all over the display.

So please keep that in mind and also I would like some comeback or criticism in the comments!

Content: Fluff! + A bit of Angst

Scenario is set in universe where both characters are mature, in the final year of high school, dealing with their future, aka colleges.

Hope you enjoy!!

_________________________________________________

You sat on the roof of the car, silent breaths filling the silence, like if they were any louder, they break something inner.

Something innocent..

Something peaceful..

Something fragile.

Still, your brain did not found the right words, how to express those delicate parts of you out loud. You were scared, if you should fear of or cherish your future.

“Why don’t you come with me?” That question did not break the silence.

It broke something in you, resentment? Dismay?

“Huh?” your replied.

“You said you want to be towards them.” you looked at Caleb, just to saw him comfortably and silently looking above. You followed the path of his eyes, ending up smiling to see that near, yet far away a sacred place.

The stars.

“I don’t want to reach them, Caleb. I wanna see them. “

“But that feels distant.” He replied with certainty.

“Yet, not if you want to.” You replied with smile.

God, you loved those moments, with together, like the fate finally set the world for only you two.

You liked that both of you have forgotten about sleeping Michaela, just few steps away.

The peace, the understanding of it.

You felt his gaze linger on you, for a bit too long, then:

“Show me.”

You blinked few times, trying to understand his command.

“S..Show what?” You looked at him and god, you breath caught in your throat.

Those beautiful, purple eyes. Without resistment, without sharpness.

A soft gaze, that let you search deepness in it.

A hurt, reliability, and certitude.

That was Caleb, not the flirting grown up boy, with lazy smile, unoccupied posture, always saying sweet nothings to MC, always reliable at her side.

This was… different.

Those stars, in that moment, were just beside you. They were so close, yet so far away from you. If he was a star, you would be his moon.

And MC probably his sun.

You scoffed in your head at that remark.

After a long pause, where you two were lost in each other, you wanted to show him.

How somethings can be close, from the right perspective.

You jumped from the roof, gently taking his wrist in your linger touch.

“Then follow me” you gently smiled, with low voice, not wanting to ruin the moment.

He followed after you, feeling his gaze on the connection. And then you felt, how his hand was snatched away from you.

But not harshly, instead intended with care.

Just as your turned around, to see what is going on, you saw how he held your wrist.

So gently, precise with care, like you were something fragile, that can be broken so easily.

A breath was cough in your throat, you gasped silently, eyes locked were your connection was made.

He laughed, not lazily, amusingly.

“what? You were slipping away from me.”

You scoffed, then laughed, knowing there is no place left for an argument.

After a few minutes, walking in the forest, you found yourselves on meadow, where the view was priceless.

You saw it, stunned Caleb, watching, trying to believe it, and yet it happened.

His shoulders relaxed, slightly moving when the silent breath came out. Smile was created on your face, slightly turning towards him, but as you did, you stopped in your tracks.

The stars were beautifully reflecting themselves in his eyes.

Like they were also lost in those eyes.

You did not say nothing, action spoke louder than words. You sat down, the higher grass hugging your body and little shining fragments flying towards the sky from that movement.

Fireflies.

The fate really loved you today.

Caleb set his gaze on you, a deep with soft edges. You felt..

You could not describe it. You felt like his eyes had only you in them.

You.

Y/N.

Not MC.

He smiled, really smiled, and ran his hand trough the grass, creating motion to set the fireflies flying. It was beautiful.

His calmness, laugh…

No, he was beautiful.

After a while, he sat down, beside you, still looking up.

Then silent, thank you, you heard.

Your gaze was set up on him, when you heard those fragile words, especially from his mouth.

Your gaze was set up on him, when you heard those blessing two words, creating some reaction inside you.

Warm?..

Was it… love?

Everything stopped, you felt so light, unreal, like it was this moment just build for you two. Like the world didn’t revolve around her, just you and him.

It would be so easy, to lean in, set the fate and place your connection on those lips.

Little did you know, his phone vibrated.

Caleb immediately checked up.

You take everything back, tha fate hates you.

His smiled faltered, his sharp eyes filling the last bits of softness in it, he stood up turning his back.

Before you could manage, what is happening, you caught his wrist gently, hoping it would have the same effects before.

“Where are you going?” you asked, with gentleness, but with something beneath it. Fear.

He stopped, looking still to his phone and yet again, he snatched his wrist away. Not softly with intention, but harshly with obsession.

“Michaela has woken up, she is asking where I am. She is scared.. She is alone..”

“Caleb I-“

“Because I am here.” He did not ended his sentence.

He killed the moment.

You were… stunned, only few moments before, there was the sweet boy, and then turning into the creature with obsession by protecting something in his eyes cherished. Sacred.

Before you could mustered up anything, words, feeling, emotions, he left.

Leaving you with clouds of emotions…

And Sea in your eyes..

———————————————————————————

Hope you like it!

Reblogs, criticism, likes, comments reaaaaallly appreciated!!

Eat, drink and have a nice day! <3

[satkru]

hewwo um

inumaki gives blowjobs headcanon?🥺

thats all ty

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : inumaki toge x reader

꒰ঌ ໒꒱ — gollyyyyy, I feel like if I don’t post an actual story im gonna get jumped by all my followers 😭 , also this is more of like a sex headcanon post more than a blowjob headcanon post so . . I deeply apologize nonnie </3

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ — service top!inumaki , pillow prince!reader , amab anatomy for reader , AGED UP INUMAKI!!! JUJUTSU COLLEGE AU!!

female/female aligned r free to read, idrc

— inumaki loves making u feel handsome, whether that’s by fucking you stupid while whispering one-word compliments into ur ear or by sucking on ur cock until ur balls r fully drained

— he likes to lick on the tip first, swirling his tongue around it while stroking you slowly

— he loves watching your back arch as he licks up a long stripe from the base of your cock to the very tip

— due to his CT, he’s not the best at deepthroating as his throat gets easily damaged, but he surely tries his damn hardest, as your pleasure is everything to him

— surprisingly, toge loves the idea of you two being caught by one of his friends or even gojo

— they were right about the quiet ones being the freakiest, as he can get down and dirty with you if he’s in the right mood

— don’t take his small and flat body for a joke, as his thrusts are diabolical and will leave your ass hurting for 2 days straight

— likes to dom, but doesn’t mind subbing every so often

— mostly fucks you either after school or while switching classes

— uses his technique to his advantage by whispering “cum” into your ear just to watch you cry and shake while a load of sticky white semen shoots out of your cock

— he doesn’t care that after he gives a command his throat starts to hurt, as long as he can see your pretty face contort into one of pleasure, he don’t give a FUCK❕

— inumaki loves tracing over his favorite parts of you, dragging his fingers along the tender skin of your thighs, abdomen, chest, and arms

— toge likes to finger u while his lips are wrapped around your cock, he likes making u cum quickly 🙏🏽‼️

— no doubt he likes it rough and hard

— he loves smacking u on the ass while his going to town on u

— although he’s a sucker for rough and hard sex, he doesn’t mind going slow and passionate with u, showing his love with every thrust

[yanderes-galore]

Could you do prompts by starbabytae 14, 19, and 21 for Aemond Targaryen?

Aemond has gone FERAL in Season 2... so I'm ready. S2 E4 has definitely given me ideas. End is a bit awkward as I was unsure how exactly to fit it with the prompts.

‼️POTENTIAL SPOILERS FOR HOTD SEASON 2 - ALTERNATE TAKE ON THE EVENTS OF S2 E4‼️

Prompts Here

Yandere! Aemond Targaryen Prompts 14, 19, 21

“I just want you all to myself. Is that such a crime?”

“That’s where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees.”

“Maybe if I branded you, other people would finally get that you’re mine.”

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Female Darling, Obsession, Swearing, Stalking, Mature themes, Typical ASOIAF themes, Potential Targcest (You replace Helaena), Manipulation, Sadism, Threats, Possessive behavior/Jealousy, Murder, Blood mention, Forced/Dubious relationship.

Aemond had gotten used to the fact he'd be overlooked. He wasn't king due to being born after his brother Aegon. He tried to settle with simply being a warrior for his king on top of Vhagar.

But he still hated it all the same.

Aegon, the whiny brat of a king and brother, always got what he wanted because he was older. As king he had all the say. Meanwhile Aemond was left envious and irritated at how incompetent his brother was as king.

Aemond studied like the good prince he is, he's even better in battle. He's a better tactician and doesn't sleep around like his whore of a brother. He doesn't understand. Why must Aegon be king simply because he's older.

What makes it worse? Aegon also got his first and only love.

You were betrothed and married to Aegon. Aemond had loved you since you both were kids, yet the younger prince was forced to watch as you married his brother. Not only that... but he had to witness the babes you bore for him.

The thought still makes Aemond seethe. He's tired of allowing Aegon, an entitled brat, get what he's always wanted. Aemond always thought he'd make the better king... he's always followed his duties...

He wishes you and him were betrothed instead of Aegon.

While you may not belong to him, Aemond still yearns for you. For years he's loved you. Even when you were married to Aegon he still fantasizes about how it would feel to have you as his.

Aemond always watched you from afar, swearing himself as your protector. On top of Vhagar he felt he was the one making decisions for this war. He's the one making plans while Aegon flirts with other women.

Aemond can tell you aren't happy with Aegon... Aemond could treat you so much better.

Aemond wasn't expecting the opportunity to act on his desires ever. At first he was just going to take Criston Cole to take down Rook's Rest along with Rhaenys and Meleys. Vhagar has been so eager for a fight.

Then he saw Aegon swoop in on Sunfyre... making him pause.

He should be ashamed... but the plan was too perfect.

It was too easy to swoop in on Vhagar when Sunfyre and Meleys were busy. Aemond just had to say one word and the whole situation would look like a freak accident. The thought of finally taking what he deserved makes him grin.

"Dracarys!"

The command is short, simple, but executed with a plume of fire from Vhagar as both smaller dragons are struck down.

Aemond took sadistic delight in taking out both riders. The fire from Vhagar was enough to make Aegon and Sunfyre crash down. However, it took some stealth tactics to bite the neck of Meleys to make the red queen fall with her rider.

By the end of the fighting, Aemond found himself standing in front of his burned brother on the ground. His brother barely moved, yet his breathing was faint. Aemond barely hesitated when he picked up his brother's dagger and hovered it over his burned brother's chest.

"I will be the one to make her happy, brother." Aemond whispers, not caring if Aegon even heard or not. "I will be king, I will win this war, and I'll do it much better than you did."

It's then Aemond does the finishing blow, tucking the dagger away before leaving. The sight of the blood trickling from his brother's chest indifferent to him. Criston Cole enters the foliage to see Aemond and the corpse of the king. The knight goes to say something, yet Aemond's remaining eye glares at him.

"It was a freak accident, that's all it was." Aemond hums, walking past the knight. "Say otherwise and I'll have you gutted by my sword."

The loss of Aegon was a much bigger loss to The Greens. In comparison, The Blacks only really lost one dragon and dragonrider. The Greens...? They lost their king.

Which leads to them placing Aemond in power in an attempt to regain control.

The death of your husband makes you... conflicted. You didn't really love him... yet you feared the vulnerability that came from having the king slain. You believed it was genuinely an accident caused by Aegon's rash decision to prove himself.

Completely unaware of the culprit hovering around you, coddling you and cheering you up like he didn't kill his brother.

With the death of Aegon, Aemond began courting you. You're a widow queen... and he's the new king. Naturally... you two end up being betrothed to keep up support for The Greens. The marriage is then scheduled to happen within the week.

Such an announcement brings rumors from both sides and supporters. The whole thing seems too convenient. Soon there were rumors of Aemond being a kinslayer, killing his brother just to take his wife.

Aemond could care less for such problematic rabble.

All he really cared about was making you his, let them gossip.

Aemond couldn't help the playful chuckle that poured out of his lips when he saw you pacing about your chambers. You looked so vulnerable without Aegon around anymore. Now you are his queen... one who should listen to him and love only him unconditionally.

Aegon never deserved you, at least Aemond promises to only pay attention to you.

"Here you are, love." Aemond greets, cupping your cheek. "Gods how I love you... I've always loved you...

Aemond leans closer to brush his lips over yours, you leaning into his touch obediently.

"I'm so happy to call you mine... It makes everything I've done worth it...." Aemond hums, kissing your lips. He craves your taste, your touch, always has since you young.

Now you're finally his to claim....

"I always hated the fact Aegon got to have you..." Aemond whispers, pressing your face closer to his own in between kisses. "I always wanted it to be me... always should have been me... but now you're mine...."

Your feelings for Aemond are... complicated. You loved him more than Aegon yet couldn't help but distrust him. It felt too... planned.

Yet you were scared to push.

"Aemond... it is scandalous to act this way with a recently widowed queen...." You whisper, yet Aemond only ignores the comment.

"Let the commonfolk think what they wish..." Aemond growls, pulling you flush against him. “I just want you all to myself. Is that such a crime?”

Aemond then chuckles, the idea of the common people and the royals knowing you're his a pleasing thought. To him, this is the ultimate revenge. Even now he despises his brother for taking advantage of the privilege he was given.

At least Aemond plans to use it right.

“Maybe if I branded you, other people would finally get that you’re mine.” Aemond teases, tracing his hands over the exposed skin of your nightgown. "Just as you should be...."

The way you shiver in his touch excites him. Be it from pleasure or fear, he doesn't care. Now that you're his... Why would he ever let go?

"Do you believe the rumors, Aemond?" You ask him in such a sweet voice, his one eye looking at you affectionately. He wonders if you can see the darkness in his violet gaze. "The ones where they call you a kinslayer?"

"Do you believe them?" Aemond asks, affectionately kissing your skin. "Do you really care what the common folk think?"

Aemond waits for you to answer, yet is met with silence. He chuckles at your conflicted gaze, kissing your lips softly. It really didn't change anything if you believed them or not... only two people knew the truth...

and Criston Cole was dangerously close to being hanged, anyways.

"Don't worry so much, love." Aemond whispers, pulling back a bit to view you fully. "You'll hurt yourself... just focus on me..." He kisses you one more time before sitting on the bed, hands on your shoulders. "Could you sit on your knees for me...?"

Obediently you listen to him, making Aemond shiver in anticipation. This was what he always wanted. You listening to him... coddling him... tending to only him.

“That’s where you belong. Worshipping me on your hands and knees.” Aemond praises, petting your head as he lays your head in his lap. "No need to worry about anything, my queen... I'll take care of it all for you."

You merely listen to your new king as he strokes your hair. This is all he's ever dreamed of. Aemond can't hide the dark smirk on his face as he gives you the affection he's always wanted to give.

You shouldn't look too much into rumors, you shouldn't worry about a thing, who cares about the fate of Aegon?

You have Aemond now... he'll fix everything... for you, the kingdom, and the seven realms.

[theguyinthemathexamples]

From the Beauty, to the Creation

— to celebrate my beloved Argenti coming home after i first lost to Bronya (⁠*⁠˘⁠︶⁠˘⁠*⁠)⁠.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡

— C/W : trying a new fic format, extremely self indulgent, possibly ooc 😞, spoilers?, my first sahsr/sahsrau fic‼️

Being the vessel of an Aeon that was thought to have long since passed was no easy feat, as it required other Aeons to set their sights on you first.

Some call Them the Aeon of Creation, others the Aeon of Fate; the IPC have yet to decipher their time of arrival, much less their motives. Though, most theorize that they materialized long before the first atom had started moving, only to stay dormant in a state akin to hibernation after setting the universe up for self replication and ever expansion.

(more utc‼️‼️)

Their presence felt like home, a warm embrace, maybe even a light in the dark, or perhaps a form of escapism. Everyone is sure of one thing: once you accept Their calling, and accept the Astral Express's conductor's invitation, there will never be a way to turn back.

To others' eyes, a faint string can be seen reaching the heavens itself, tracing down a vessel, caressing their whole beings like a forced blanket thrown at their face.

An almost addicting bliss could be felt after these possessions, before that moment of ethereal release comes crashing down. Though, those that are used to always moving around — those with more stamina — don't usually feel this drawback as much as the others.

More often than not, the feeling of being watched and dazed dissipates and a feeling of fatigue sets in — intense tiredness, and even a slight chance to feel dizziness, had been reported from these... events.

But most importantly, a voice could be heard. A voice that many described as one which contained a thousand choirs, perhaps millions.

Among those was Argenti, a man of excellent talents that walked on the Path of Erudition, though claims to walk that of Beauty. One of the most recent vessels, per say.

He first felt this presence after accidentally hitting the Astral Express with his own ship, the "One and Only", he called it, the faint strings caressing the being of three out of the six Trailblazers.

To exude such a warm, calming aura around one at all times is truly a magnificent display of beauty, he thought.

The second time, however, it was quite a sudden moment. A strange letter was penned to him, claiming that it could make his goal of spreading the Beauty, if he used the golden ticket provided inside, a dozen steps closer.

The weirdest aspect was that he kept hearing faint whispers around him. Was this how vessels gained an invitation?

Though, feeling hesitant about this strange letter, he chose to send it instead to the Commander of the Silvermane Guards, Lady Bronya Rand, so that someone else could experience such a wonderful event.

The letter warned him that he must accept this invitation, were he to receive such a letter once more.

Third time's the charm, as they say, as not only did Argenti get another letter not too long after, the voices were much louder this time. They were more persuasive, more hoping and, most importantly, more enticing.

The letter beforehand told him of the earlier warning, and this one did not hesitate to emphasize it in the second paragraph.

And, left with no other choice, he had to accept this invitation. He truly didn't expect getting treated with such warmth and excitement seeping through every vein in his body.

He briefly caught sight of the Aeon in all their glory — was this a sign that his fate towards meeting the Beauty was slowly coming into fruition?

Being blessed by two Aeons, even briefly catching their attention, was a feat unlike any other, but being chosen as an active vessel by one? What a truly great achievement.

Along with the Trailblazer that caught him, four others stood behind them. A master swordsman that went by Yanqing, the owner of Neverwinter Workshop, Lady Serval Landau, the Commander of the Silvermane Guards he'd given the invite to earlier, Lady Bronya Rand, and a child that waved at him who called herself Lynx Landau.

Quite an interesting group of people, but a beautiful bond of friendship swirled among them nonetheless.

Slowly, he could feel himself getting stronger, even more so than before. This mysterious Aeon had gifted him so many things already, yet it doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon.

From the creations of the acolytes of the Aeon of Remembrance, Lightcones, to relics which were created from anomalies caused by the Antimatter Legion, and more — all were given to him to make him more powerful.

It was as if meeting and becoming the puppet of this Aeon could make you undeniably better than your former self, even after you thought you were already at your peak.

The world doesn't revolve around you? The creator of the universe lovingly revolves around me 24/7, thank you very much.

In a place unknown, a black haired Stellaron Hunter sneezes, causing two others beside him to sneak a small glance.

He merely huffs, averting his own gaze away.

... Ignorance is often bliss.

This is my first time writing my beloved so I'm sorry in advance if he's ooc 😞😞

I hope you all liked this cuz i def liked making it hehe

Next on the agenda? My thoughts on sahsr/sahsrau :DDD