#WE ARE BARELY HALFWAY INTO THIS ONESHOT.

[critdeeznuts]

only in a jrwi oneshots could the protagonists of a murder mystery based around proving their innocence become murderers

[runariya]

Beyond Probability JJK (m.)

summary: Matching with an idol? Unlikely. But with a 99% compatibility? Beyond probability. pairing: idol!Jungkook x f!reader genre: idolvers, S2L, fluff, smut rating: 18+, MDNI! warnings: fluff, fluff, a bit of self doubt, fluff, fluff, explicit sexual content, shower sex, unprotected sex, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 4k

a/n: It’s a rly cute and short oneshot, light and mainly fluff, nothing too deep, no big words etc this time. Just had to get it out of my system since the idea’s been on my mind for months now (unedited bc I fell ill halfway through writing it 🤒)

a/n 2: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

Your biological clock’s ticking—has been for some years now—and even though you’re only now nearing 30, you’re painfully aware that the life you pictured as a kid might never come true.

It’s not like you’re unstable in who you are or what you’re doing. You’re fairly successful at your job, you’ve got your own place, and you’re more social than most people these days. Still, you’re only what most would call average-looking, and even though you’ve got a good career, you’re too soft to keep it up forever. You picture yourself more as a loving wife and mother than a corporate boss bitch climbing the ladder of success.

That’s also why your dating life has been rocky all along. Men see what you put out there, but they don’t like who you really are or what you want from life, which has left you single for most of it.

So, when a new project starts—after the K-pop industry finally acknowledges that idols need partnerships and a life of their own, and fans finally understand that these people are human too, that they deserve to experience love and happiness like everyone else—you decide to take your chances too.

Funnily enough, all the labels have teamed up, hiring not only the best scientists and psychologists from Korea but from around the world to create a program that can find ideal matches for their idols. Sure, science shouldn’t determine who you fall in love with, but… what if it could?

After being pre-selected—just to confirm you’re not some crazed fan—you’ve spent over two weeks going through tests. Recorded interviews, personality assessments, even physical evaluations… now you’re staring at your company’s computer screen, listening to Dr. Song explain the results through the phone. 

“Ninety-nine percent?”

“Yes. The chances of such a high compatibility score are next to impossible. We see it as a perfect match and would like to introduce you to your match.”

“Sure, of course.” Even though your voice is steady, you can feel your nerves flaring up like never before.

“Is tomorrow at 8 p.m. alright for you?”

“Yes, that works for me.”

“Perfect, we’ll see you then.”

Well, joke’s on you, you didn’t expect this outcome. 

Meeting an idol feels surreal, and the closer you get to 8 p.m. the next day, the more you can feel the anxiety and doubts inside you rising. Every last detail in Dr. Song’s calm, clinical rundown replays in your mind, the ninety-nine percent match, the endless rounds of testing, the surreal realisation that, somehow, all those numbers and algorithms miraculously spat out a name next to yours. 

You want to trust that there’s a reason for this, that somehow science isn’t just working with chance, but the tension of actually meeting someone this special is so overwhelming you barely notice yourself entering the lab building until you’re standing outside Dr. Song’s office.

“Right on time,” she chirps, giving you an approving nod. She seems to sense your nerves, and as she leads you down a hallway you’ve never been before, she gives you a reassuring smile. “I know this is all a lot. But he’s likely feeling the same way. The tests told us that he’s, well, quite like you.”

Her words would make you laugh in any other situation, though disbelief and a strange kind of comfort floods through you still. Like you. An idol, standing here in a lab somewhere to meet some random stranger, feeling just as out of place as you. You’re not sure of that but still like to think it must be true. 

You don’t have time to process it fully before you’re led into a quiet room with yellowish walls so plain they almost blur in the corners of your vision, a low, comfortable couch and a couple of chairs standing there and none of the lab equipment that surrounded you in the testing rooms all those weeks ago. 

And then you spot him, sitting on the couch, alone. He stands the second you walk in, hands half in his pockets, a slight, almost unsure smile grazing his lips as he glances down at you. He’s got that casual look about him, the same dark eyes you’ve seen a hundred times on a screen that somehow feel warmer and more human here. 

He looks not quite better than he does on screen, but not worse either. Somehow, he’s realer, if that’s a word—close enough that you can see the little flecks of colour in his irises, the slight tension in his posture, the faintest trace of nerves hiding under his composure.

“Hi.” Jungkook’s voice is lower, softer than you expect from an idol. “Nice to meet you, I’m Jungkook.”

“Nice to meet you too. I’m ___.” There’s a pause, and you can tell he’s just as unsure what to do with the space between you two as you are. The click of the door makes you turn around briefly, only to realise Dr. Song has left you both alone. “This is, um, weird, right?”

He nods, a quick, breathy laugh breaking through. “Very. I mean, this isn’t exactly a ‘normal’ kind of meeting, right?”

His words are awkward but disarming, and suddenly, you’re aware of all the tiny, meticulous details of him that somehow make him feel more relatable than his polished, on-screen persona. The way his hand keeps moving to rub against his thigh or abs, his tongue playing with his lips and piercing ever so slightly—everything about him is familiar but also somehow close enough to feel completely new.

“I don’t think I was ready for this,” you admit. You aren’t really talking to him but more like letting your own thoughts slip out in the safest way possible, like saying it makes it feel less absurd.

“Honestly, same.” He laughs, and you think there’s a light flutter in your chest now. “I kept thinking about this whole ninety-nine percent thing. Like… how does that even work? Isn’t it supposed to feel, I don’t know, obvious? Like you know the moment you see someone?”

You nod, understanding exactly what he means, and somehow you move on autopilot, walking towards him and sitting down on that couch with him beside you. It feels like you should both somehow know, like there’s a sign or an instant connection, something that would make all of this feel simple, easy. But it’s just the two of you in a quiet room, barely knowing each other, held together by nothing but a number on a report.

“Yeah, that’s so wild. I didn’t think I’d have a match, this close to a hundred even less. Might be a glitch if our score is this high.”

Jungkook nods with sparkling eyes, seemingly relieved by your honesty and humour. “Yeah, I get that. I kept thinking about it too. Wondering if maybe the tests were wrong, or maybe I was just…thinking too much.” He lets out a sigh, his gaze meeting yours for a long, meaningful second. “But I think maybe this is about finding out, right? Not having it all make sense right away.”

“Hm, makes sense.” You giggle, because what else can you do in the presence of him.

The two of you sit there in a momentary silence, as if testing each other, feeling out the small boundaries that keep you both distant.

“So, what did the report tell you about me?” You ask the question half-jokingly, trying to break the quiet, but also curious. You want to know what he knows, how much of this supposed ninety-nine percent compatibility is actually something that either of you feel. 

He lets out a silent breath, looking down as if slightly embarrassed. “Honestly, not as much as you’d think. They told me you were kind of… soft-spoken but resilient? And that you have a job that’s, uh, stable and…” He trails off, the tips of his ears slightly pink, like he’s embarrassed to keep going.

“And?” You can’t help but push further—not maliciously, just way too curious and playful for your own good. Jungkook’s expression shifts from embarrassed to surprised, and then to a look that’s just as playful.

“And that we’re, apparently, very much sexually compatible.”

Really, you should be the one feeling embarrassed or shy now, but you can’t help the laugh that slips out. You know exactly what he’s hinting at—your report clearly showed the same.

“Well, it might be not wrong. And they told me…” You pause, realising that you barely remember the details in the face of the reality in front of you but alas. “They said you’d be a good match because, I think, there was something about humour?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Humour? Never heard of it.” And it makes you laugh all over again. “I feel like they just told us things we’d want to hear, to make it seem easier and normal.”

His words hit close to home, but they’re strangely comforting in the way he says them. You reckon, he’s just as bewildered by this as you are, maybe even more so. And somehow, in the middle of all the awkwardness, you find yourself genuinely smiling at him, naturally gravitating towards him, finding that there’s a softness and reassurance in his gaze, a gentleness that cuts through your nerves like a knife through melted butter in the sun. 

You start talking more freely after that, exchanging stories that are too mundane to make sense in any real context but feel right here. You tell him about your last trip to the beach, how you got sunburned and spent the whole evening sitting on your balcony, nursing it with iced water and aloe, wishing for a helping hand that you didn’t have. He laughs, nodding along as if he can picture it exactly and tells you about how he tried to make pasta he ate in Italy for the first time a few months back and ended up burning the whole batch, because no one was by his side, so badly his kitchen smelled like smoke for days.

The more you talk, the more you notice the little things about him that aren’t so polished, aren’t so perfect, and make him feel more human and real than anyone you ever met. He has a way of listening, eyes intent on yours, like he’s trying to pick apart every word to understand it better. When he laughs, it’s with his whole face, even body, not the careful, composed look of an idol but a natural, carefree laugh that makes you feel like maybe he’s as relieved as you are to be here, to have someone he doesn’t have to impress. 

At some point, you both lapse into a comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts but somehow still connected. The tension from earlier has faded away, replaced by a soothing aura you know you don’t want to miss for a day in your life.

Eventually, Jungkook glances over at you, his eyes sucking you in without much resistance. “I kept thinking this would feel forced, you know? Like we’d be sitting here, struggling to find anything in common.” He leans back, drapes his arm around the back of where you’re sitting, glancing up at the ceiling as if searching for the right words. “But… it doesn’t feel that way. You feel… I don’t know, right?”

The slight flutter in your chest has now swelled into a full-blown hurricane, and you’re not sure if it’s that ninety-nine percent compatibility causing it. But you don’t let yourself think too much—not when you’ve both been inching closer with each word, not when you take a chance and lean in, resting your head against his side. Especially not when his arm settles directly over your shoulder, pulling you a little closer, his other hand finding yours, fingers intertwining just to see how it feels.

“Yeah, it feels right. I really like this.”

As you absently play with his fingers, breathing in his scent for the first time and deciding it’s like heaven, you let yourself trust science. Because this feels like exactly where you’re meant to be.

While the first meeting with Jungkook went better than you’d ever hoped, you’re painfully aware of your overthinking nature. Overthinking in a way that makes it painfully clear there are countless women out there who, on the surface, would seem a better visual match for him than you.

Overthinking to the point where you wonder why Jungkook would even need matchmaking when he could so easily choose a partner on his own. It’s also why staying focused at work isn’t exactly easy today, knowing that soon his label will be sending a car to pick you up for your next meeting with him.

You understand the precautions they’ve taken and completely agree it’s better to meet in a private, safe space rather than making headlines this early on. That’s why, as the tinted car arrives, you feel a bit more at ease than you have all day.

Soon enough, you’re driving down the path to the label’s underground garage, and while you fix your makeup real quick, the car comes to a stop. The driver nods and guides you towards the lift, where the lights are dim and everything has this quiet, professional atmosphere you’ve only seen on screen.

You try to take it all in, letting your thoughts settle just a bit more as you follow through to the hallways upstairs, past doors labelled with room numbers and studios, and then finally, you’re outside the door to Jungkook’s studio, right where you’re supposed to meet.

Your heart beats a little faster as you hear Jungkook’s familiar voice call out, “Come in,” and when you open the door, you find him leaning casually against the chair before his equipment with an easy smile that somehow manages to be both happy and slightly flirty. 

Again, Jungkook’s dressed just like uniquely him, with a few silver rings glinting on his fingers. And while you didn’t think he’d even get up to greet you, he steps forward and embraces you in hug so tight, it leaves you drowning in him. 

“Hey,” he greets with that disarming grin, eyes boring into you, taking in your formal work attire, as he gestures to the coffee set up besides his laptop. “Hope you don’t mind the casual vibe.”

You laugh a little, settling onto the free chair beside him, feeling a bit strange but somehow not. “I think it’s perfect. And to be honest, I don’t think I’d cope well with the whole five-star dining treatment and whatnot.”

He laughs, nodding in agreement, taking your purse from your hands and draping it casually over the back of his chair. The fact that he’s still so attentive, even though he’s clearly in his element here but completely relaxed, is rather fascinating and pulls you in even more.

Like the day before, talking with him comes easy, and while there’s nothing groundbreaking in your conversations, every word feels meaningful in the bigger picture.

Eventually, you feel yourself relaxing like you were at home by your own, getting comfortable enough to let out the thoughts that have been swimming in your head since last night. “I’ve thought a lot about how all of this could play out,” you admit, taking a sip of your coffee, trying to find the right words, though knowing there won’t be any wrong words when talking with Jungkook. “And honestly, I’m not really interested in taking things public if they did work out. I know that’s probably strange to say, but I’m not cut out for the spotlight.”

He tilts his head, watching you thoughtfully. “No, it’s not strange at all. I get it.”

A small smile tugs at your lips as you go on, “I just want something real. A partner who’s loyal, someone who’s there because we get each other, not because we’re some public ‘it’ couple, parading around every chance we get. Does that sound crazy?”

He shakes his head, while he swings from one side to the other.  “Not at all. That actually sounds perfect to me.” There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes you feel, for the first time, like there’s some truth to your report. “The whole ‘idol’ thing is just a job. It’s not who I am, not at the core. And having someone who sees it that way, is what I want too.”

It elates you to know that you could have something like this, with him,  someone you could genuinely share your life with.

Then, in a thoughtful voice, he asks, “What do you want for the future? I mean, outside all of this.” 

You take a breath, feeling a little nervous but wanting to be honest. It’s not like it’s news to him, seeing that this information’s written in the report he was handed. “I want something traditional. A home, a family, maybe staying home with kids, having that steady, grounded life. It sounds simple, I know, but it’s what I’ve always pictured.” You look up at him, expecting maybe a hint of judgement, but instead, you find him nodding, his eyes lighting up like a candle in the night.

“I don’t think that sounds simple at all, but meaningful.”

A shy smile forms on your lips as you add, “Sometimes I feel like people don’t see that side of things anymore, you know? Like everyone’s so focused on careers and success and everything else… and I get that, I do, but I’ve always just wanted something steady. Something I can hold on to.”

His hand finds yours, his fingers like second nature intertwine with yours, and the gesture is so simple yet so heartwarming that you feel like squealing out of happiness. “That’s exactly what I want too.” It’s nothing new to you too, but him saying that, seeing the honesty in his eyes, is better than any data shown to you. “I want that sense of home.”

You feel yourself falling a little harder, a little faster, and maybe that scares you a bit. You’ve seen the kind of attention he gets, the kind of girls that throw themselves at him, and it’s hard not to let those doubts creep in. Especially now. “I know this probably sounds insecure,” you start awkwardly, glancing away, “I think, I don’t know, maybe I’m not the kind of person someone like you would go for. I mean, you could have anyone, and not just because you’re an idol.”

He gives your hand a gentle squeeze, his thumb tracing soothing circles against your skin. And while his mouth opens to say something, the pull against your hand surprises you as much as him settling you in his lab. “Hey, don’t think like that. I’m here because I want to be. And trust me, I’m not looking for ‘anyone’. I’m looking for someone who gets me. And that someone is you, no?”

The look in his eyes is so genuine, so unguarded, that it’s hard to keep your heart from doing all sorts of stunts. He’s not the polished idol right now; he’s just Jungkook, being flirty, being compassionate, being so him, sitting in a cosy studio with his tattoos, his piercings, his moles, his beautiful smile, his whole presence more comfortable and inviting than you could have imagined.

And as he sits there, looking at you like you’re the only person in the world, you realise that you definitely don’t have to doubt this. Maybe it’s okay to let yourself believe that he’s here because he wants to be, that he’s falling for you irrevocably just as you’re falling for him. 

“Sooo… that means?” You know you need to be brave now, because if this isn’t a dream, you’d never forgive yourself for not taking the leap.

“That means, if you want to, I’d love to have you as my girlfriend.”

“Isn’t it a bit rushed?” You don’t actually think so, but you still need to be sure.

“I’m all in if you are. I don’t want to waste any more time, and even though it’s just a report, I can feel there’s real truth behind it.”

Fast forward seven months, and you find yourself pressed against the shower wall like you do every night. But this time, it’s different—just hours ago, you made your first public appearance on a music show with Jungkook, just because you both felt ready, where he was not only nominated for Best Singer of the Year but won as well.

“Koo, right there, right there.”

It still amazes you how his cock seems to find your g-spot as soon as he enters you, though you wouldn’t want it any other way.

“Yeah? Right there, hm? Or is it…” he trails off, shifting his hips ever so slightly, making you realise he’s actually hit the centre point of your g-spot now, his hard, unrelenting thrusts pushing you over the edge without warning.

“Oh my goooddd,” your eyes roll back, mouth hanging open against the cool shower wall, as your cunt keeps gripping him even though it’s already creaming around his cock.

“Good girl, keep going, love. Show me how many you can take tonight.”

There’s nothing you can do, not that you’d want to do anything other than let him rearrange your insides. Especially not when his tattooed hand finds its way from the back of your hair to your jaw, tilting your head to the side, giving you the perfect view of his upper body—rivulets of water cascading down his chiselled form, lips parted, eyebrows furrowed. 

He’s the epitome of perfection. Not just a ninety-nine percent but a hundred. 

His eyes, though hooded, bore into your soul as his hips pick up the pace. It’s this connection you share with him make being with him feel so special.

“Koo…”

“I know, love, just a bit more. Can you be a good girl?”

“Yes,” you moan, because hell, you can. “Yes, for you…ah, winning the trophy.”

Even though you shouldn’t feel his cock twitch with the pace he’s set, you do, realising instantly what he needs tonight.

“Best singer, Koo…fuck…best boyfriend, only fucking me when, hmm, the whole world wants a piece of you.”

“Only you. Always you, ___, love.” You think you catch him licking a drop of saliva from his lips as he stares down at where your bodies connect, sending another wave of arousal from your stretched-out hole.

“You’re so big.”

“Just for you, fuck, squeeze a bit more.”

It’s not that you did it on purpose, but when his hand shoots down to your clit, circling it just right, your body responds as though it’s never felt this good, soaking him even more and gripping him tight as a vice.

“Like that, love, like that.” Jungkook grunts and pants, holding you harder, tighter as his cock seems to swell even more, pumping frantically in sync with your impending second orgasm.

When Jungkook can’t hold back any longer, it’s all you need to let go too, the rush flowing through your veins just as fiercely as the love you feel for this man.

After some time, Jungkook pulls out, helping you straighten up and lean against his chest under the stream. His veiny hands trail down your body, washing away his release dripping out of you, as he plants kisses along the side of your face.

When he’s had enough, he, like always, turns you, brushing the wet strands of hair from your face. And as you do the same to him, captivated by how content and in love he looks, you can’t help but feel like the luckiest girl in the world when, for the first time, Jungkook declares his feelings.

“I love you, till the day I die, ___.”

“I love you too, and beyond.”

Because this, because having Jungkook calling you his, is beyond probability.

a/n 3: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀 If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a ☕️ Ko-fi.com/runariya 💕

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[lovebugism]

could you do some drunk Eddie blurbs or oneshots? Thanks! I love your stuff btw

✶ ┄ DRUNK IN LOVE !

summary: "you're drunk, eds" / "yeah, super drunk. and in the morning, when i'm sober, you’ll still be beautiful… i’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you." pairing: best friend!eddie munson / f!reader word count: 3.8k warnings: talks of alcohol, getting drunk, and taking care of a super drunk eddie! barely proofread so pretend any typos are nonexistent <3 a/n: i'm learning it's next impossible for me to write blurbs. i get an idea for one and boom. it's nearly 4k words. thanks for the request, anon! hope you like it xoxo

( MASTERLIST )

Eddie didn’t realize until he was halfway through his fifth beer, that he probably should’ve stopped at his fourth. 

He’d stumbled upon that finicky little fork in the road at the crux both drinks, a line he was toeing all night between blissfully tipsy and borderline obliterated. You can only really maneuver it if you’re smart about it, and in true Munson fashion, Eddie opted for the exact wrong decision.

It wasn’t like he’d ever prided himself on being a man of self-control. He was gluttonous to a fault, green and greedy at times, especially when there was free alcohol involved.

Eddie had been a grumpy little stick in the mud when you and him first got to Steve’s place. He didn’t feel like partying that night or sharing you with people he could barely stand. They were your friends, after all, not his. He only tolerated the bunch of them because you did. He spent the entire drive lamenting about how illegal it was — to be his best friend and have other people in your life you cared about the same way you cared about him. 

“That’s obviously against the rules,” he joked.

You only scoffed in response. “Obviously.”

Undeterred by his complaints, you drug him halfway across Hawkins with you like a storm cloud on a leash.

When you arrived, he found that it wasn’t a party at all. It was just Steve and Robin drinking together on the couch while Nancy and Jonathan stirred around in the kitchen and scolded Argyle for rifling through all the cabinets.

Music spilled lowly from the radio, a platter of snacks were laid out on the coffee table, and everyone smiled at you when you walked in. It wasn’t nearly as loud or as overwhelming as he’d dreaded it might be on the drive over.

Didn’t mean he was any happier about it, though.

“I don’t know about this,” he cautioned in your ear from where he stood behind your shoulder, seeking a familiar refuge in you once all the greetings were done. “We talked to everyone, can’t we just, like… go? I don’t think I’m gonna have a good time here, babe.”

Babe, he calls you, a nickname that’s left half of Hawkins believing the two of you were really dating. You stopped blushing about it some years ago, when the novelty of it wore off and it ultimately replaced your actual name.

You shrugged, grasping for a reason to make him stay. “Steve said he had a keg.”

The big silver thing next to the kitchen island didn’t catch his eye until then. You peered up at him, finding a sudden sparkle in his gaze. His bushy brows bounced and his pink mouth fell soft agape at the sight of it. Something swelled in his heart then, a distant and boyish happiness. 

“…I’m gonna try.”

He was pretty much a goner after that.

The beer was pretty stellar, but more than anything, the keg kept it cold. Eddie could barely drag himself away from the damn thing — the red solo cup hadn’t left his right hand all night. And when Steve let him handle the music, that was even better… Well, technically, he let you handle the music, but you sifted through his tapes and picked only what you knew Eddie would like — just like you always did.

Any other time, Eddie might’ve asked what the hell King Steve was doing with so many KISS cassettes, but he was already too drunk to think logically about anything by the time “Detroit Rock City” started playing. He stopped caring and let all the beer and music coursing through his system do all the work for him.

And while stumbling for his sixth refill with Robin, he concludes that he is, in fact, completely and utterly and unabashedly drunk. He’s still sober yet, enough to make such an admission to himself, but too far gone now to stop drinking.

He crouches slightly to bring the nozzle to the rim of his cup without much resistance. His tongue pokes through his tingling lips as he pours all of his concentration into aiming the beer into his plastic chalice and not completely toppling over onto the kitchen floor below him.

That’s when he spots you and Steve sitting on the couch, a little too close for his liking.

The brunette boy has his arms sprawled over the back of the sofa like he owns the place (Eddie’s too drink to remember he does, in fact, own the place) and your legs are delicately crossed and turned towards him, too enraptured in whatever conversation you were having to notice that your best friend had run off (you’d been trying to look after him all night, it wasn’t your fault he kept dodging you).

And it wasn’t his place to be jealous, he knew that. You didn’t belong to him. You could do whatever the hell you wanted to.

If he wasn’t so sloshed, he might’ve been able to recall that you don’t have a thing for Steve — that you’ve never had a thing for Steve, because you’ve spent your entire life in love with your best friend.

But you were too chicken shit to tell Eddie and Eddie was too oblivious to see any of it and it left the both of you in a permanent limbo of unsaid feelings.

So much so, that he once encouraged you to conquer the feat of King Steve one night, many moons ago. He thought he’d noticed the two of you being overtly touchy in the back of a dimly lit club.

Eddie was sober enough then to make fun of it all while still feeling every ounce of his misplaced jealousy as he playfully promised you that “you had his blessing to screw Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington.”

You should’ve known you were screwed when you told him that you didn’t want to screw Steve because “you had your eyes on someone else,” and he completely missed the brave, longing look you shot his way.

Eddie spent the rest of the night pestering you endlessly about your crush, while you just sat there, red hot and embarrassed about the whole thing.

Now he’s the one feeling like a fool, watching his best friend make nice with the dowager king of Hawkins.

Being without you makes the distance feel somehow wider from where stands across the too big house, feeling like a stray puppy everyone adores but never actually choses.

Robin taps him on the shoulder to bring him from his stupor before he can waste the foaming beer rapidly filling his cup, though there was no stopping the drunken war path he goes on after.

You and Steve giggle to yourselves as you watch Nancy twirl drunkenly to the tune of the Joan Jett, louder when Jonathan fights to keep her from stumbling over herself. The boy leans over to you, whispering a joke only you can hear, and smiling when it makes you laugh.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Eddie scolds when he stumbles up to the couch. “What’re you two love birds whisperin’ ‘bout over here, huh?”

The two of you blink up at the boy, surprised by his sudden visit and how much drunker he’d gotten since you spoke to him last.

He’s all flushed out, cheeks glowing red with the alcohol in his system, and slurring something fierce — the kind of drawled out garbles that only sound clear to the one that’s speaking.

“We were talking about you, Eds,” you smile without missing a beat. “Been missin’ you over here.”

Steve nods with a dumb, tight-lipped grin. “Yeah. You’ve been making friends with that keg instead of the rest of us, man—”

“Yeah, right,” the boy scoffs out a laugh with a bitter nod. He less than gracefully squeezes between your legs and the coffee table. “Scooch over, Harrington. Make some room. ’S too damn cuddly over here.”

With no choice but to comply, the two of you part.

“Scooch?” you hear Steve mutter under his breath with a faint laugh that has you giggling too. Eddie’s not drunk enough to miss the glance that both of you share, seemingly having some sort of silent conversation that’s left him, yet again, out of the loop.

He’s got a full on pout on his numbing face when he settles between you and Steve, losing his balance briefly before landing in a clumsy pile between the both of you. The beer in his freshly filled up cup sloshes over the rim and splashes into your lap. The alcohol stains the belly of your t-shirt, leaving it cold and clinging to your skin.

And it’s not as dramatic as the movies make it seem, where a guy spills a drink on a girl and something terribly melodramatic ensues. You weren’t trying to impress anybody, least of all with your outfit — hell, you’d probably stolen it from Eddie himself a lifetime or more ago. You don’t get angry or rush out of the room for a good cry.

Actually, you smile sweetly at him, with the realization that it was time for you and your way-too-drunk-to-function best friend to head home.

Eddie gets all sad about it anyway, though, because to him it really does feel all that dramatic. His face screws up like he’s just done something irreversible. His umber eyes glimmer at you with a particular sadness only a drunk person could possess. 

“Shit, babe… I’m so fucking sorry.”

“It’s okay, Eds—”

“No, it’s not okay. I’m sorry,” he slurs with the sloppy shake of his head. “Please don’t be mad at me, babe. I didn’t mean to.”

“No one’s mad at you, Eddie,” you affirm with a soft laugh, dabbing at the wet spot of your shirt with the bunch of napkins Jonathan (the only other half-sober person aside from you and Steve) haphazardly hands to you.

“I can give you another shirt, if you want,” Steve offers, already standing to retrieve it for you. “Might be too big but it’s—”

Eddie’s head snaps away from you and to the brunette boy. A cartoon-like anger coats his buzzing features. “Like hell you will, Harrington,” he tries to threaten, though the words come out half-jumbled together. “Won’t have my girl wearin’ your shit, Steven—”

You burn red hot at the new nickname, equal parts embarrassed and delighted as you stand from your position on the sofa. Suddenly eager to escape the situation, you reach for Eddie’s hand. “Alright, Eds. Let’s go.”

He accepts your touch without question, rising on swaying feet and forcing you to keep an arm around his waist to keep him steady.

He’s already forgotten what he just said. He has no idea that your heart’s just done a billion backflips for him. He focuses, instead, on the thought of a new adventure with you. “Ooh. Where we goin’ now?”

“I’m taking you back to the trailer, okay?���

Eddie rolls his eyes, suddenly displeased again. “Yeah, whatever… You wanna spend more time with King Steve, I see what you’re doin’—”

“I’m coming with you, Eds,” you laugh.

It’s like the switch flipped and he’s grinning all sloppy and stupid at you again. He tosses the smug look to the boy standing at his other side. “Suck it, Stevie—”

“Eddie!” you scold.

“You guys can just take the spare bedroom,” Steve offers despite Eddie’s teasing. “I don’t want you driving like this.”

“Oh, how fucking chivalrous,” your best friend grumbles under his breath.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” you press with brows furrowed in concern. “I don’t want to, you know, intrude or whatever. I’m good to drive—”

“No, it’s fine. Really. He should probably lie down anyway.”

“Yeah… Okay.”

“You know where it is, right?” he asks you and you nod

Eddie takes great offense to your affirmative answer.

“Wait, why do you know where it is?” he pouts down at you, figuring there’s something dirty hidden in the fact you’ve slept in your friend’s guest bedroom before. You shake your head and opt not to answer as you help him towards the stairs. “Why do you know where it is?”

“—Go upstairs, okay?” you shout over him, trying your best to stay patient. “I’ll check on you in a second.”

He lingers on the first stair and juts out his lip. His pointer fingers trails the intricate carvings in the wood of the banister while his glassy puppy dog eyes glimmer down at you. “…Promise?”

“Yes, Eddie. I promise.”

With that, he makes careful work climbing the stairs, hanging onto the railing for dear life as he goes. You watch attentively, prepared to rush to him if he stumbles, and able to breathe out a sigh of relief when he makes it to the top step. 

You turn away from the hallway of the staircase and back to your friends, who — save for Steve and maybe Jonathan — haven’t yet bothered to acknowledge the situation.

Robin is rifling through Steve’s cabinets for food, Argyle’s at the keg pouring beer into his mouth straight from the nozzle, and Nancy hasn’t stopped dancing the entire time. You’re not even sure if she knows the song.

“I didn’t know you guys were dating,” Stevie remarks with a smile. “No wonder he was being so… like that.”

You shake your head and duck your gaze. “We’re not. Dating, I mean— he’s just, like, super drunk.”

“…Really?”

“Really,” you breathe out a laugh at the way your admission make this face twist in confusion.

“I’ve just— I’ve never heard a drunk person talk that way about someone they didn’t, you know… like.”

A part of you so desperately wants that to be true.

Eddie’s never been particularly shy about calling you babe or sweetheart or honey in front of people — sometimes he did it just to throw them off. But something about him getting jealous over a guy you’ve never liked, calling you his girl to bat the believed ‘affections’ away, has a foreign feeling swirling in your belly.

You force yourself to swallow your hopes down.

“Well, you’ve never met drunk Eddie,” you tell him with a shrug. “The freak’ll say just about anything.”

You make your way up to the guest bedroom and find Eddie slouched at the top step. He looks terribly sad, pouting with his elbows propped up on his knees and his hands on his chin. But he lights up like a christmas tree all over again at the sight of you.

“What are you doing, Eddie? You were supposed to be laying down,” you scold softly.

“I missed you,” he whines, gazing up at you with twinkling, red-rimmed eyes. “And I got lost… And then I forgot how to walk.”

You try your best to keep a straight face as you help him up again, trying to ignore the way your heart thrums like a hummingbird when he leans completely into your side. 

You walk the staggering boy the short distance to Steve’s guest bedroom.

It’s as extravagant as the rest of the house, complete with large windows and expensive furniture and a thousand throw pillows on the freshly made bed. The entire room practically sparkles, there’s not a single crease in the bedsheets; it probably hasn’t been touched since the last time one of you spent the night there.

Eddie flops onto the bed when you urge him to sit down. He makes himself comfortable with ease, legs still hanging over the side as he throws his arms out, melting easily into the newly laundered blankets.

You navigate through the darkness, illuminated only by a subtle moonlight, to the seating area across the room. The newly granted privacy of the guest bedroom allows you to strip off your damp shirt. The wet spot sticks to your skin when you peel it off of you. The feeling makes you grimace. 

You don’t think twice about being in your bra in front of Eddie — he’s not even looking at you now — and besides, he’s seen you in less. You’ve been friends for far too long to care. Being naked in front of each other stops meaning so much after accidentally catching each other changing a half a billion times.

Leaving your shirt in a crumpled pile on the arm of the couch, you make the silent decision to sleep there for the night. Many a bed has been shared between you and Eddie, but he’s going to need all the comfort he can get tonight — the hangover he’ll have tomorrow will feel like hell, no doubt.

You look across the dark room at Eddie and find he hasn’t moved an inch. “Take off your clothes, Eds. You’re not gonna be comfortable sleeping in jeans.”

“Mm,” he groans in the darkness, as though in protest, already half-asleep.

“You’re already gonna feel like shit in the morning, especially if you’re sleeping like that,” you advise with a soft laugh. “Come on, Eds. At least take off your shoes.”

“…Don’t know how,” he murmurs.

You roll your eyes at him, even though he can’t see you, even though you do it all for him anyway. It was second nature to you, taking care of Eddie, and you do it with an ease that makes his drunken little heart swell. 

You start with his shoes, not having to untie them because they’re so loose on his feet. His jeans come next, a far bigger struggle because you do it with little help from the boy in the bed. His belt is strangely tricky and he claims his body feels too heavy to lift his hips for you.

But what he lacks in assistance, he makes up for in cheeky one-liners — “At least, take me out to dinner first, babe” and “If you wanted to see me naked so bad, you coulda just said" to name a few.

Once he’s clad in nothing but his Hellfire t-shirt, R2D2 patterned underwear, and hand-me-down socks that barely fit him, you maneuver him so he’s lying properly in bed.

You toss away all the pillows that are more for decoration than anything else, pull the covers down and over his body, and Eddie doesn’t do a single damn thing but watch. 

He couldn’t do anything even if he wanted to because his heart is so far in his throat he can’t breathe. 

You’re so unfamiliarly soft with him — sweet in your way than anyone will ever be to him in his lifetime, than anyone will ever be to anyone else.

The love you bathe him in half-sobers him and tosses him into a spiral of self-hatred. Why did it take getting drunk at Steve’s place to realize he’s been so head over heels for you he hasn’t stood up straight in years?

Drunken words sit impatiently on his tongue. He lacks the self-control to keep the hidden.

“You’re so beautiful,” he mumbles tiredly.

Your hands almost immediately still where they bunch the covers up at his chest. Your eyes dart to his face and it takes everything in you not to duck away all over again, when you see the way he’s looking at you. 

Eddie looks so soft, basked in a soft moonlight streaming in through parted sheer curtains.

His brown eyes twinkle with stars of their own. He gazes up at you like you put them there.

He doesn’t miss the shock that coats your features. Your eyes widen in surprise of his words at first, before your brows furrow and you shake your head to yourself in denial — like you’re not deserving of them. Like you’re not standing over him in your baggy jeans and five-year-old cotton bra after he spilt his beer all over you, taking care of him because he’s too drunk to take care of himself, doting on him like it’s second nature to you.

As far as Eddie’s concerned, there’s never been a sight more beautiful than this one.

“Stop,” you manage a laugh, still swallowing down that glimmer of hope that lingers on the back of your tongue. “You’re drunk, Eds.”

“Yeah. Super drunk,” he nods unabashedly. A distant smile hints at the corner of his lips as he gazes up at you like he’s trying to commit your features to memory — the angle of your nose, the shape of your jaw, the softness of your lips, and the way you’re looking down at him like you’re wondering if he’s real or not. “And in the morning, when I’m sober, you’ll still be beautiful… I’m just gonna be too chicken shit to tell you.”

You never thought Eddie would say something like this — not something so profound it makes your heart stop and especially not to you. You always dreamed that he might. And you had nightmares that it wouldn’t. That he would utter them to someone who wasn’t you.

But here he is now, loving on you and calling you pretty and hating himself for not being able to tell you that, and you don’t know what to do.

“…Okay,” is all you can say in response, nodding your head like an idiot. You force yourself to move on quickly, focusing instead on tucking him further into the unfamiliar bed.

It’s easier than concentrating on your racing heart that ticks like a time bomb seconds away from going off.

“Thanks for taking care of me, babe,” he murmurs quietly, blinking slow and heavy up at you. “I’m sorry… I know I don’t deserve it—”

“I’ll take care of you forever, Eds. You know that,” you interject without thinking. “And you don’t ever have to apologize to me.”

Eddie lets your words settle over him like the cozy blanket you cover him with. They bathe him like warm water, prickle his skin like they’re cleansing him.

The intent behind them means more than he could ever comprehend, half-drunk or sober still.

He rises abruptly, disrupting the cocoon you’d just tucked him into, as he works with disoriented hands to peel off his shirt. “What are you doing, Eds?” he hears you laugh when his head and arms get caught in the fabric.

You help him out of it anyway, tugging the cotton over him and gaping at him when he hands the bunched up t-shirt over to you.

“Here,” he offers like you’re supposed to know what to do with it.

“…What?”

“Want you to wear it… And to go downstairs so Steve will see you in it.”

You roll your eyes though a smile plasters itself on your mouth. You slip the thing over your head and pretend it's just to appease him. It isn’t the first time you’ve worn something of his, but this time feels so much different. 

“Better?” you tease.

Eddie nods with a childlike happiness.

You’ve always been his, in your own special way, but wearing his shirt? It’s like you’re waving a big, brightly-colored flag — a lit up I’m with stupid sign with a flashing arrow pointed right at him. It makes him grin like an idiot.

“Now, go to sleep, alright? We’ll talk in the morning. When you’re so hungover you wanna die,” you joke, still perched at his bedside.

Before you rise, you lean over and press a quick peck to the tip of his warm nose. 

You want to do more than that, so much more than that, but you know that he’s still half-drunk — and that he might not mean a single word of this come sunrise.

You’ll revel in this softness now, either way it goes.

“And, for what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful too.”

[shwaesar]

Halfway

Caesar X Reader Oneshot (SFW)

Summary: Apes grow and age a lot faster than humans. Caesar had noticed it on more than one occasion; his adoptive father had hardly changed at all while he lived through his adolescent years, and his father had seemed to have always been an elderly man. Now that he has another human taking such a special role in his life, he feels the need to educate himself on the subject.

TW: Mentions of Death and Age Differences (THIS IS A LOT MORE ANGSTY THAT ORIGINALLY PLANNED IM SORRY IT JUST KINDA HAPPENED)

"We are... similar. In age." Caesar spoke meditatively, watching from his seat in your shared nest as you disrobed for the night. You never stripped fully, not if you could help it. Even with the chimp's warm, fur covered body beside you, your skin was much too sensitive to be left bare to the elements while sleeping, especially when summer still had yet to settle over the woods in its entirety. Your outer layers were removed one by one and placed in a pile, on a makeshift table of stone. A thick jacket. A sweater. Your jeans, too, were set aside in favour of changing into some sweatpants. They were much too big for you, and a makeshift belt of twine synched the waistband to keep them from falling down your legs, but he could tell you treasured the item of clothing for its comfortability and didn't feel the need to interrogate you about it. "But you... call me old. Why?"

The question wasn't asked in an accusatory manner, but it still took you off guard. Glancing over your shoulder, you caught his eyes raking up and down your form, taking in the intricacies of your anatomy. Compared to that of apes, yours was certainly odd. Longer legs, shorter arms, more space between your hip bones and ribcage.. It had always fascinated him - the ways you were different, both physically and internally - and you supposed that was the reason behind this topic of discussion. He'd taken note of how you aged in a way that didn't mirror him, and wanted to understand it.

"Because you are old." You replied teasingly at first, earning a huff of amusement that tugged at the corners of his lips.

"You know.. what I mean. If I am old, are you not... also old?"

A hand was extended towards you beckoningly when you finally approached. Kicking off your boots, they were left at the foot of the nest as you clambered into it and situated yourself next to your mate, in the juncture beneath his shoulder. His muzzle was pressed absentmindedly into your hair, allowing him to inhale your scent as you mulled over your next words.

"Well... to apes I probably am, sure." Conceding, at least partially, your fingers rose to thread into his beard. Like most of his fur, the outer layer was coarse and rough, but got softer the closer it was to his leathery skin. When you first met, it was a dark, earthy brown that turned to a muted blonde in the right lighting. Now though, discoloured streaks had began showing up here and there, making his more advanced aging all the more apparent. "But you won't catch me going grey anytime soon. Im still pretty young in human years."

"Human years.." he repeated the phrase skeptically, prompting you to wave your free hand to dismiss it.

"Figure of speech-my point is... even though we're around the same age, we're at opposite ends of our lives, y'know? Humans-we live a long time, so we grow up slowly. Cornelius is just over two years old, but a human baby would still be learning how to walk at that point." You couldn't remember for sure if that was accurate, but it sounded right. It had been a long time since a human baby was born intentionally, and even longer since you'd seen one, so you could only make an educated guess. "And Blue Eyes-you told me he just became an adult, right? Do you know how old he is exactly?"

Caesar paused at that. His eyes wandered up to the thatched ceiling above you as he did the math in his head - something he was by no means amazing at, but had enjoyed learning. Apes understood the concept of years, but didn't often use numbers as humans did. They measured time in the passing of seasons, and an apes age would be equated to their physical development rather than the length of time they'd been alive for. This made calculating the specifics a bit tricky, although it didn't stop him from eventually giving you an answer.

"He-.... will be 8, once the cold months return." He nodded self-assuringly. "Won't be long.. before he starts thinking, about having his own children." And as he continued, his chest puffed out proudly. Being able to see his son become a father himself was something he'd never have believed possible, when he was Blue Eyes' age. When he really thought about it, he wouldn't have even believed it if someone told him he would become a father. But before he could linger on it-

"I'm closer to Blue Eyes than I am to you. In terms of... maturity."

That made him falter. His brow furrowed as he tilted his head to look at you again, the cogs in his mind turning to make sense of what you'd just told him. In truth, maturity probably wasn't the right word to use, but you couldn't think of an alternative that he'd be familiar with. What you meant was that you were at a similar stage of life to Blue Eyes, and thankfully, that's how he also interpreted it. Still, it left him contemplative.

"..... I am.... approaching the halfway, of my life. After, I will be.. closer to death, than birth. Ape death-natural death-happens when... when we are in our 30's, most often. Not always, but-" swallowing the rising lump that had formed in his throat, he forced himself to relax again. Caesar was no stranger to mortality, he'd bore witness to many deaths and births alike. He knew he would die at some point, knew what it meant to die, and had long since accepted the fact that it would one day come for him. Your mortality, on the other hand..

You shifted in his embrace, draping an arm across his midsection to stroke absentmindedly at his sternum. He was a closed book in many regards, but as his mate, you'd become familiar enough with his body language and facial expressions to read him in ways others couldn't. It was something he found both a blessing and a curse, as he was essentially forced to share his burdens with you, regardless of whether he wanted them known. And of coarse, it didn't help that his emotions ran high whenever you were the subject plaguing him, making his rising discomfort all the more noticeable.

He continued.

"Humans... you are children for such a long time. Adults, even longer. Your halfway will be.." Then, however, he trailed off. Again, sensing his mood turning, you took his hand and brought his palm to your lips, kissing it affectionately. In turn, he reacted without even thinking about it, letting his fingers cup your jaw as his thumb stroked your cheek. ".... long after I am... gone.."

"..... I know."

"I am... sorry.."

"Sorry..?"

"For-... for making you mine. Without considering all this, first." A pang of guilt struck his gut, making him take a slow breath to steady himself. "You are... so, so precious to me, my love.. and I have forsaken you... to a lifetime of grief, once... I have passed.." Another breath, this one slightly shaken. Holding you more tightly, he grit his teeth and let a wave of self-hatred wash over him. How selfish he was, for indulging in you so thoroughly. How cruel, to leave you without his care and protection for such a long expanse of your existence. To only be a part of that existence for a fraction of its length, intertwining with you in ways that would bond you forever, while forever would be something he couldn't share in. His eyes grew distant and glassy, before he blinked back the tears that were threatening to well up.

In actuality, it was something you'd considered quite a lot, even if only to yourself. The thought of growing old without Caesar at your side was one you'd had to come to terms with early on, for both your peace of mind and his, with regards to how much you intended to invest emotionally in him. That emotional investment wasn't something you really had any control over, of coarse, but it was something you could make... easier on yourself. Ultimately though, you'd come to the conclusion that the sting of inevitable loss was worth it. You would love him without restraint, and continue to love him, even when he was no longer able to love you back. Because moments like this; cuddled up next to him in your nest, basking in his presence and warmth, hearing his voice speak to you so tenderly, with such care and adoration... you might never have them otherwise. And you treasured each and every one.

His hand was still cradling your face. With a loose squeeze, you interlocked your fingers between his own and proceeded to press your lips to his knuckles one by one. It was such a human thing, kisses.. the soft delicacy of lips on rough, coarse flesh was yet another point of interest to Caesar. There was a time when apes in captivity had picked up a vague mimicry of it from humans, but with such large mouths and less controlled facial muscles, it had never managed to be quite as romantic as the original. With the development of their own customs and culture, the borrowed gesture was eventually abandoned in favour of one they made for themselves. One the two of you partook in quite regularly, in fact.

But while pressing his temple to yours was an intimate, loving act, your kisses were something else entirely. They were almost like a religious experience, as you graced him with a kind of touch not really meant for him, almost worshiping his physical form in a way that wordlessly declared your attraction, your devotion..

Yes. Kisses were, undoubtedly, a very human thing.

But that's why he liked them so much. Because only you, only his human, could ever love him in such a manner.

"I forgive you."

[americaswritings]

Voices of Roses and Ruin | Part III

Warnings: mentions of violence, mentions of killing, mentions of torture, Coriolanus being himself

Summary: Coriolanus realizes he's still a part of the Capitol's games and that your life is the prize.

Words: around 3k

Pairing: Young Coriolanus Snow x reader

A/N: I never expected this to turn into a story, but here we are! I really hope you enjoy it!! Also I'm halfway through the book now and planning to watch the movie (in English then) again afterwards! I'm so excited!! :)

If you have ideas for Coriolanus oneshots I would love to hear from you (or if you just feel like ranting about the movie, the world of Panem, the characters, Tom Blyth...lol)

Can be read as Lucy Gray x Coriolanus Snow here

Part I | Part II | Masterlist

All Coriolanus had wanted was to follow you that night.

Seeing you in the arena had been painful. Watching them use his voice to torment you had been worse. And thinking he would never see you again had topped it all.

But watching you walk away from him? That was a new kind of pain.

Everyone left Coriolanus life. First his mother and his little sister. Then his father had followed. All he had left were the Grandma'am and Tigris, but it didn't feel that way with them so far away.

But here he could have you, if he allowed himself it. And God how he wanted to. His days as a peacekeeper were dull and lifeless, but you had brought colour and a flicker of hope into his life.

There had never been the choice between you and the scholarship, but suddenly there was and he didn't know how he could decide between the path he had always firmly believed was his and the girl he had never seen coming.

But there too many reasons holding him back. You belonged to different worlds. That would never change.

It was a cruel kind of knowledge.

Every time he tried to forget about you he awoke sweating. You haunted his dreams.

The look of betrayal on your face as you had realized he would return to the capitol. That even after he had admitted they had used his own voice to manipulate you, he would still go back and pretend it hadn't happened. That he was still the same boy.

He dreamed about your body. About sacred moments of peace and quiet the two of you, the outside world forgotten. About your laugh and the spark in your eyes and that you would fall asleep and wake up in his arms.

He dreamed about every scenario involving your death his brain seemed to come up with. Death in the arena. Death because he had manipulated your chances. Death because he had let you go.

When he heard Tigris voice for the first time since he had been sent to the districts over the phone the relief almost made him cry. He wished he could tell her about his conflicted emotions, but he couldn't risk anyone overhearing him.

Besides, he didn't know if he could ever admit to her the true extent of his feelings. It was embarrassing that of all people he had fallen for a weak girl from the district.

But you were so much more than that to him. It was why it had been so painful to watch you go. Because until that moment some part of him seemed to have hold onto the improbable hope that you would start a life in the capitol together.

As the winner of the games he had assumed it could be possible. That people respected you enough that he could be seen with you and that you wouldn't be forced to return to your life of shreds and dirt.

But you had shown him that this was no future you could ever imagine. And just as you weren’t willing to change for him, he couldn’t do it for you either. Even though you loved each other your love was not enough.

But then why did it hurt so much?

"Everything okay?", he asked Tigris to distract himself from his thoughts. It was another worry that made his heart heavy, the one for his family. Their money was still as tight and with him gone there was not much he could do for them now.

He earned too little, could barely pay for his own foot and housing. Was this how the people in the districts felt? Stuck in a constant loop of worry, fear and work that would never pay off? Unlike them he would never accept such a fate. Unlike them he didn’t belong here.

"We're okay." He heard an edge to Tigris voice, "but there's something you should know about."

His posture stiffened and he gazed around, making sure no one was there. "What is it?"

"Everyone's talking about you and the girl in the capitol." His fingers clenched around the steel. "What are they saying?"

"Never in the history of the games did the gamemakers ever do what they did there with your voice." "He was aware of it, so he waited for her to elaborate. "But why use your voice? The voice of her mentor. Why not someone from her family, someone she cares about?"

To hear Tigris say that you didn't care about him, that he was nothing more than your mentor hurt, but he pushed the anger away. "She doesn't really have family left. And she trusts me. So it makes sense."

"Then why did they only use it on her? Why didn't they try to manipulate anyone else?"

He let out an impatient sigh. "I don't know. They didn't tell me they would do it. But it was our task to make our tributes trust us and I was the only one who succeeded."

"But they didn't, Coryo."

Momentarily he forgot what he was about to say and took in a breath. What was Tigris implying? "It was your task to be a good mentor. Get the people's attention and make them root for her. But making her trust you was your decision."

"Didn't you tell me I should do it?" He sounded tired and accusing and he knew his cousin heard it in his voice. "Yeah, but I didn't expect-", she trailed of and he waited for her to continue, frustrated when he realized she wouldn't.

"She really trusts you, you know that, right?" He was growing more irritated with this conversation by the second. "I think I did a good job, if that's what you're asking."

"My God Coryo, that's not what I mean!" She exhaled loudly at the other side. "We all saw how scared she was for you. For her mentor. For someone from the capitol."

Her words were another reminder how different the two of you were. He hated it.

"We all saw that you care about her too. You kept visiting her. You two talked so much even when the cameras weren't near and everyone who was in the same room saw how terrified you were for her in the arena. And then, against all odds, she wins and you disappear without another word."

She was speaking softer now, probably expecting the defensiveness he felt rising in him. She knew him well. "They gave me a task. I did what I had to. That's all."

Tigris was silent for a moment. "Even if it were true, you did your job a little too well. The people are obsessed with it! With you and her, the idea of a love story between a mentor and their tribute. A Snow and the girl from ashes."

Tigris was speaking slowly, like she was afraid she was overwhelming him with the news and her tone was grave and serious. It was the polar opposite to the hope he felt.

It wasn't the narrative he would have chosen, but a story meant attention and attention meant relevance. If it was true and Tigris was right, they couldn't keep him hidden in the districts much longer.

People wouldn't just accept the two of you together, they would demand it.

His lips curled into a smile. He could have never imaged a better way to get out of here and to convince you to come with him. What reason did you have to say no now?

"Then why do you sound so fearful?"

Tigris took in a deep breath.

"It's the people that love it. You know how they are, always looking for gossip and a good story to keep them entertained enough to forget about their own miserable lives. But-", she paused, "the people are not the capitol. Everyone who's got something to say in Panem hates it. It sends the wrong message, Coryo. That the people from the capitol and the people from the district could be equals. The whole point of the hunger games is to demonstrate supremacy and power. They don't want a girl from a district turning into a star and having a sweet little romance with one of their own."

His smile faded. He felt his heart pounding in his chest and suddenly the room was too small, the walls to high. With each second it was getting harder to breathe. The uniform- he needed to get out of this damn uniform!

"Coryo?"

Tigris voice sounded far away as he struggled between losing himself to his fears and keeping a composed and prideful image.

He had realized the situation he was in was far from ideal before, but having the capitol, the very people he needed to impress as his enemy could- no would destroy his whole life!

And yours too.

The future he had just seen before his eyes ruined by words of love.

"What do you think they'll-", he still couldn't catch his breath. He needed these peoples on his side, not against him. How had he ended up here, so useless and powerless?

No! He needed to keep it together! He would get through this, like he always did. He would find a way to make this work for him or if there was none, he would come up with something else...

He was smart and his name still meant something. Snow always lands on top.

"I don't know what they’ll do." Tigris answered his question without him having to finish it. The worry in her voice did nothing to quieten his own. "But it's only a matter of time until they will have to act. I just- I wanted to warn you, Coryo."

He nodded, more to himself than her. "I will be fine." He had regained his composure and his voice was perfectly emotionless.

"I am worried for you. I think they might try to-"

He would never find out, if Tigris suspicions had been right, because before she could finish her sentence the call cut off.

Had they listened again?

Was he even safe here anymore?

-

Two more days passed before they came for him.

Two days he had spent pondering his choices yet felt no confidence as he stepped in front of the commander. His posture was as straight and effortless as always, so one would have guessed he was secretly far from calm.

He had expected to meet his superior in an official building, something elegant, if that even existed in the districts, but instead he was led to a distant part of a warehouse, where the lights flickered and spider webs hung heavy.

Coriolanus saluted in front of the man, then waited patiently for him to speak. He hoped no one could see past his guard, noticed how fast his heart was beating.

"I was informed about certain rumours circling the streets of the capitol these days. I take it you have heard about them too?"

He gave a short nod, forcing his face to remain blank. The man, who he assumed to be in his late fifties took a step closer. His hair was completely grey, except for one white strand. It gave him an upper look that didn't suit the scenery of the district.

Was he from the capitol? He wasn't dressed like it though; he was wearing the peacekeeper uniform, but something told Coriolanus it was a disguise of his real power. The capitol liked their games.

"So what do you think?"

"I think-", he began, but his voice got interrupted by a painfilled scream. His eyes flickered to the door, but it was locked, either side guarded by a peacekeeper. None of them moved and when he turned back to the commander he simply weaved his hand, urging him to continue.

Coriolanus swallowed, taken off-guard by the noise but pulling himself together. "I think it's just that- rumours. Eventually the public will take an interest in different news."

"Ahh, so you don‘t think such a narrative could have an impact on the political climate both in the districts and the caption? That it could send the wrong image?“

Coriolanus pressed his lips together. “I believe-“, but again a cry disrupted his attempt at an answer. It could not be a coincidence that they had chosen this place to talk to him. It had probably been arranged to shaken his composure and unsettle him. He hated to admit that it worked.

It was probably just a thief, paying for her sins. No one that deserved his attention. Yet it was unnerving, a subtle reminder just how quickly he could manoeuver himself into the same position.

 “Oh don‘t tell me that’s bothering you?” The man in front of him raised his brows. “You should be familiar with the sound of traitors. So what is it you wanted to say?“

Coriolanus straightened his shoulders, but this time the sound was louder, clearer. It was a scream that cut through the air and it was one he knew too well.

No.

“Mr. Snow, what was it you were saying?“

He blinked in irritation and straightened his shoulders when he realized his loss of posture.

“I was saying that the capitol could own it. Make it their own narrative. A tribute developing…an infatuation“, he felt sick, “with her mentor could be-“ Another scream. He felt his composure crumble. The man tilted his head. He was silently laughing about him, Coriolanus was certain about it. “…helpful“, he finished, clearly distracted by the background noises.

They sounded too familiar, had been the sound of his many nightmares and a silent fear crept up his spine.

What if this was real? What if it wasn‘t his mind playing tricks on him, making everything about you? Seeing, hearing you everywhere..

“So you affirm that this- infatuation as you call it is one-sided and you hold no feelings for you tribute?“

Coriolanus lifted his chin. “I merely did my job. I earned the public’s attention and got them interested in the games again. I turned a tribute with no chances into a winner.“

“So you‘re saying the girl doesn‘t mean anything to you?“

He put on a smile that didn‘t reach his eyes. “I assure you and everyone in the capitol that I do not have any connection to the girl beyond the mentorship and that I have no interest or care for her fate now that I completed my task.“

He had always tried to mask the truth or bend it when he felt he needed to, but lying was a different kind of game. One he felt he was losing.

He could tell himself he did this to protect you. But the reality was that he didn’t know if he did.

No, he had to think of his own life now. It was better this way. He had helped save your life once. Now it was time for you to walk your own path.

“Coriolanus!“ He flinched. It was too late to pretend he hadn‘t, everyone had seen it, but he couldn‘t not react when he heard your desperate voice calling his name.

This whole time his instinct had told him that he was right. That the sounds belonged to you and this was more than just a set-up to unnerve him.

It was a trap.

“What is this?“ His voice came out too sharp and he willed himself to remain calm, but it was impossible, if you were here and you were hurt.

“Oh, it should not be of concern for you as you just told us you do not have any interest in the girl‘s fate.“

Had he just said that? In his head it had sounded much more- convincing. But hearing his own words reflected back to him just made him realise how pathetic they sounded.

They could not be farer from the truth.

“As her mentor I would like to know what you are accusing her of“, he tried a different approach, but it was senseless.  

“Oh but Mr. Snow, she is not your tribute anymore. Like you said there is no connection between you and the girl.“

His commander took a step towards him. “Now tell me, which one is the lie?“

Coriolanus swallowed. It took all of him to stand still and keep himself from running after your voice. His body was trembling from the effort. Too long he had been trapped behind a screen, unable to do anything to help you.

But here he could.

Another scream broke the silence. Despite his will he flinched again and closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself to stay strong, remain unaffected. But with each sound he felt himself losing control and a hatred took over his instinct.

“I personally believe you have been lying to us for a long time now, Coriolanus. I can see it on your face. But I would like to hear it out of your own mouth.“

Another step closer. Another cry.

“Say it.“

Coriolanus clenched his jaw, his hands balling into fists.

“SAY IT!“

His fist connected with the man’s jaw before he could even think about what he was doing. He saw the other two peacekeepers at the door reaching for their weapons, but he was faster and had shot them with his own in an instant.

Without another look at them he ran for the door, following your pleas. His heart was racing as he raced through the corridors and tried to locate where it was coming from.

Hopefully he wasn‘t too late. No, he couldn‘t think like that! Yet the thought of what he might get to see tore at him. He should have acted sooner, he should have- killed these men before they even got the chance to open their mouths. It had been a lost game from the beginning and he was done being their paying piece.

“Coriolanus!“

He had almost made it. Just another room…

Coriolanus pushed it open with so much force that the door crashed against the wall and broke out of its hinges.

Breathing heavily and sweating he came to an abrupt stop and took in the room. It was small, dimly lit, empty. He took a step forward, his eyes fixed on the only thing in the room. It was a table and on it-

A cage with a bird. 

Part IV

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[plutocisms]

Jean x Reader, Oneshot || Drunk at a party w/ his crush

nsfw content warning <33 mdni

You’re at a party and the house is packed. You can barely make your way through the crowd and you came here all by yourself. You were invited by Armin one day while you two were catching up on some work at a cafe. 

You scan the room to find any familiar faces and you spot Eren and Armin grabbing drinks from the fridge. You’re just a little too sober for this scene so you make your way through to crowd to them, you grab Armin’s arm and ask, 

“what’s the strongest thing you have in there?”

He turn’s to face you, you can tell he’s already had a a few drinks by his reaction and because he has a light shade of red across his nose and cheeks. 

“Hey! Look who’s here everybody.” He pulls you in for a hug and passes you a bottle of tequila from the counter top. 

“I hope this is okay, you’ve met Eren right?” 

Eren tilts his head back from the fridge, also a little visibly buzzed and says,

“Of course we’ve met, you haven’t had that much Armin.”

You chuckle to yourself.

Armin throws his hand back behind his head and laughs it off, “Oops, well just in case you hadn’t.”

“It’s good to see you again.” You tell Eren.

You set the Tequila down on the counter and start looking through the cupboards for shot glasses. You notice that they’re on the top shelf. You get on your tiptoes in attempt to reach them but they’re a little out of your range. As you come down you feel a tall figure standing behind you and a hand on the small of your back, causing you to let out a small gasp.

“Hey, didn’t mean to scare you. Let me grab those for you.”

You turn around taking your gaze up to notice, It was Jean. You had only met him a few times in settings like these, but you were hoping you’d run into him again.  He reaches above you, forcing you to the lean back on the counter just a bit and the scent of his cologne overtakes you. 

“Here.” He hand’s you the shot glass. “So…you’re a fan of tequila?”

“It’s just what Armin handed me.” you reply.

“I see.” He makes his way past you towards Connie and Marco having a drinking competition on the back patio and he joins them.

If you hadn’t known any better, you’dve thought maybe you said something to upset him. You pour yourself a double shot and catch back up with Eren and Armin who are halfway across the room at this point. 

“What’s going on by the patio?” You ask them.

They both turn their heads to catch a glimpse. 

“Looks like they’re at it again” Armin responds nudging Eren’s arm.

“Oh boy, Horseface thinks he can just outdrink anyone.” He says making his way to the sliding patio doors.

“Horseface?” You say confusedly.

“Jean, he means, they have this ridiculous rivalry that is annoying but sometimes fairly amusing for the rest of us.”

You watch as Eren walks out the door and throws his hand up saying something that is barely audible with the all the loud music playing.

“We should probably head out there.” You and Armin walk outside together and your eyes meet Jean’s. He looks away before you do, refocsuing on the drinks in front of him.

“Y/n!” 

You hear your name shouted excitedly from your left side, you feel arms hanging around you. 

“Hey Sasha! You answer. Hugging her back

“Can you believe these boneheads? So barbaric. Did you get some of the buffalo chicken dip? It was amazing.”

“I ate before I got here, thank you though.” 

“That’s too bad, I’m gonna grab some more.”

“Could you bring me two shots back pl-?”

She was already inside before you could finish your sentence.

“Two shots?” Armin hands you two shot glasses filled to the brim. “There’s a bar right next to you ya know?”

You grab the two shots from Armin and just as you do, Eren makes his way towards you, "I'll be taking one of those." as he reaches for either glass. You turn around blocking his reach, your backside flush against his front as he's reaching over you for the drink you're now covering.

"I think not" you shouted. His arms now squeezing you from behind.

"Agh you're no fun." Eren remarks ,finally letting you go and getting back to the table.

You down your second, technically third shot for the night.

“Alright guys I’m good for right now.” Marco says backing away from the drinks. “I’ll leave it to you Jean.”

Armin takes it upon himself to step in as the ref for this little competition “Connie are you still in this?” 

“Nah man” He hiccups between his words. “Imma..gonna catch up with S-Sasha” he says stumbling his way inside”

You watch as Eren and Armin giggle watching Connie fumble around making his way towards Sasha devouring another bowl of buffalo chicken dip. You then notice Jean who’s not laughing. He looks over at you and it feels as if his amber eyes are burning a hole right through you and you break your gaze first.

“Alright well that just leaves-“ Armin starts.

“I think I’ve proven myself here. I’m gonna find a bathroom.” Jean interrupts. Wiping off the little bit of drink left on his chin

He makes his way inside almost slamming the screen door.

“The fucks up with him?” Eren murmurs.

“Just…you and me I guess” Armin finishes. They both look at each other and bust out laughing.

You make your way inside still babysitting that one shot you still have in hand. Jean makes his way upstairs. His pace hard to keep up with. You swim your way through the crowd with your drink in the air careful not to spill it. You pick up the pace and when your foot hits the last step you hear a door shut. You knock on the bathroom door twice.

“Occupied” Jean growls.

“It’s y/n.”

You hear his large footsteps make his way towards the door. He opens it and leans on the door frame with his arms raised towering over you.

“Can I help you with something?” He asks, seemingly annoyed.

“I- I just wanted to check on you.”

He kind of rolls his eyes and begins to shut the door. “Thanks, I’m great.”

You pop your foot in the crack of the door preventing it from closing all the way and tilt your head

“You don’t seem so great.”

 He looks down at your foot. 

“Move it.”

You keep your foot right where it is, looking straight at him.

“Move your foot y/n.”

“No, Je-“

He steps out of the door frame, and snatches you up by your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, making you spill your drink on your top. You gasp, catching your breath startled by the quick movement. 

He looks you directly and desperately in your eyes and in an angry low voice mutters,

“Do you think I wanna watch you parade around with Eren and Armin all fucking night?”

His face is so close to yours, your noses are almost touching. He notices your drink dripping from your chest collecting drops in the crease of your cleavage. He steps back in the bathroom slamming the door in your face leaving you speechless. You had no idea he felt that way. The tequila covering your chest had soaked the top of your shirt leaving you a bit overexposed.

The door opened back up quickly. Avoiding looking down at your tequila soaked chest, Jean  was standing there in a black tank top, and holding out the shirt he had on before in his hand. “Cover yourself up.”

Admiring his frame you slowly put your hand out reaching for his shirt. He looks over to see you, biting your bottom lip noticing your eyes slightly shifting up and down.

“No, don’t. Don’t do that”

“Don’t do what?” You’ve finally found some words.

“Don’t look at me like that y/n.”

“Like what?” You breathed.

He drops the shirt before it meets your grasp, running his hand through his hair letting out a frustrated sigh. He throws his hands in his pockets and takes a slight bend so his mouth is level with your ear and whispers,

“Don’t look at me like you want me to fuck you.”

You felt a tingling sensation shoot all the way through you.

He bends over to pick up the shirt and lightly shoves it on your chest, just a few layers of fabric separating his bare hand from your breasts. 

“I’m not gonna say it again, cover yourself up.” He grunts, back to avoiding your gaze.

You place your hand on top of his causing him to look over to you. His amber eyes are a hanging a little low from the alcohol.

“What if..” You hesitate

“What if I want you to?” You say warmly.

He doesn’t waste a second, scooping you up and throwing you over his shoulder. His hand gripping your thighs as you hang over his broad frame. He carries you to a nearby room and tosses you on the bed almost carelessly. He hovers over you, strands of his hair tickling your cheek

“Don’t tease me y/n”

You close the distance with a passionate kiss.

“It was never Eren or Armin I was interested in, it was always y-“ 

He cuts you off meeting his lips wet lips with yours, cupping your cheek. You could feel him smiling slightly between kisses. He guides your hand to his bulge that’s been poking you since he climbed on top. He hums at your touch. He then slips his hand onto your clothed clit, rubbing lightly over your jeans. You let out a moan causing him to tense up slightly. 

“Damn y/n. You’re gonna ruin me.”

You begin undoing your jeans and he slides them off of you, tossing them with no care where they end up. He looks down admiring all that’s in front of him and notices a damp spot on your panties.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet?” He smirks,  shifting your panties to the side to slip a finger in. Your body shudders at his touch and how his finger glides its way past your folds. He looks down seeing his finger glistening with you all around it and you can see his bulge growing bigger. His arm reaches overhead, taking his tank top off and he hungrily tugs at you panties discarding them along with his top.

He gently spreads open your thighs and lands warm wet kisses on each repeatedly. Your hips jolt and you bite back a moan, taken aback by the feelings he’s been hiding. Those kisses work there way down to your entrance, his warm breath down there making your back arch slightly until finally you feel his tongue graze your already soaking cunt. He continues to lick as your wetness coats his tongue, poking it in your opening.

“Goddamn, you taste so good.” He purred.

You tighten your grip on his hair guiding his tongue deeper into you.

 He groans as his hips are making a small grinding motions in the bed. He starts gently sucking your clit, sending you into a spiral, causing you to buck your hips forward. His grip on your thigh tightens in one hand and he hums with pleasure while the other reaches up caressing your breasts. His suckling of your clit  getting more intense. Your breath hitches, you toss your head back and your legs tense up. 

“J-jean…” you choke out.

He raises his head up.  “Un-uh” he teases. “I’ve waited quite a while for this, so you’re gonna have to hold out a little bit longer for me m’kay princess.”

His words causing you to whimper.

He stands at the foot of the bed, shimmying his pants off, gazing intensely upon you lying there helpless. He slowly pulls down his waistband. Your eyes trail from his abs to his happy trail just before his cock springs out. Your eyes widen at his size which causes him the chuckle just a little bit. He kneels down on the bed, sliding his shaft between your sopping wet folds and tapping his oh-so-hard length on your entrance, toying with you. He hovers above you, giving you a sensual kiss you can taste yourself on, causing you to melt. 

Inching closer to your ear, “hold on to me if you need to.” He rasped just before sinking into you. 

You inhale sharply feeling him penetrate your core. He lets out a strangled moan at the way your pussy is gripping him. 

“Oh s-shit” he huffs, thrusting in and out of your velvet walls as you’re clenching on to his arms, dizzy with pleasure. He reaches his thumb to his mouth, wetting it before reaching down for your already sensitive clit, now ramming his hips into you, one thing’s very clear, if he wasn’t drunk before he’s drunk with pleasure from your pussy now. 

“You’re so damn tight and taking me so well baby.” 

He groans, with your entire body jolting underneath him with every thrust. You feel a familiar coil build up in your stomach as you inch closer and closer to your release, your breath hitching again. 

“G-god Jean I-“ you cry out

“That’s right baby, cum all over this dick”

Your back arches as you reach your release feeling him twitch inside you, your whole face gets a little warm from being flushed after taking in so much. 

The sight of you experiencing such euphoria from his doing coupled with the intense tightening of your walls delivered him his own high as he stroked his cock painting a picture on your stomach panting and biting back moans with sweat glistening on his forehead. 

“Fuck, you are so hot.” Jean trembles, looking for something to help clean you up before collapsing down next to you.

Your exhales breathy and spread out. You smile at him,

“You really thought me and--“ you can’t help but laugh

He’s pulls you in, wrapping his arms around you, “Whatever I thought, you’re all mine now.” He says gently, kissing your shoulder.

If you like this please give me a little feedback hehe it's my first one! also, open to taking prompts/requests

[rinixo]

aquae vivae

Din Djarin/Reader | 4.1k | Rated E | afab reader, no y/n, PIV sex, Mand’alor Din Djarin, breeding kink, dom/sub undertones, mention of pregnancy, subtle sex pollen, wedding night, oral sex

Your wedding night as the new bride of the Mand'alor.

AU of the 'trying to sleep' series (non-linear oneshots featuring you, a university scholar from Naboo who is helping The Mandalorian seek out the Jedi). Can be read alone.

a/n: This follows the same general story as 'thrones and people and cities' but can technically be read alone.I tagged 'sex pollen' but it just barely fits that trope. Mainly just added it so folks who aren't into it can skip/you're aware of the inherent dubious consent of it - but there is nothing but 100%, enthusiastic consent from all parties here.

read on ao3

You pause at the edge of the pool, eyeing the dark depths. The sound of dripping water echoes through the caverns, the only sound apart from your thrumming heart.

The murmur of your name snaps your attention to the caped man halfway down the steps into the pool. Din is half-turned towards you, armored head to toe as usual, the end of his long, furred cape floating in the still water. The cape around your shoulders matches his, and you rub the soft fur with your fingers nervously.

Din reaches out a gloved hand. Stepping forward, you lay your own in it and let him lead you down into the water. You’re surprised - despite the dark chill of the cavern, the water is strangely warm. You wonder if it is fed by geothermal springs, deep below the crust of the planet, or if it is something deeper.

There’s magic in the sacred pools, Din had murmured into your hair one late night. He told you about how bathing in the waters had redeemed him, how it was the great catalyst leading to his eventual accession to the role of Mand’alor. Now, as you stand before him, hands grasped in his, you wonder if the tingling on your skin is from the magnitude of what was about to occur or something more. Something without a name.

When Din had explained to you what a Mandalorian wedding was like, you had been quite happy at knowing it was a simple sharing of vows. He had then suggested that the two of you journey into the depths below the city center, to where the caverns with the living waters were located. There, just the two of you, you would bind yourself not only to the man you loved but also become Mandalorian yourself. It was a big moment, and one you had put a lot of careful thought into.

“Are you ready?” Din asks quietly. Squeezing his hands, you smile softly.

“Yes.”

Though you had memorized the vows before venturing into the caves, Din lead you through the words. You were grateful, not wanting to embarrass yourself by stumbling over the pronunciation.

“Mhi solus tome.”

We are one when together.

“Mhi solus dar’tome.”

We are one when apart.

“Mhi me'dinui an.

We share all.

“Mhi ba'juri verde.”

We will raise warriors.

—

Blinking at the late afternoon light, you followed Din up out of the caves, wet gown sticking around your legs. You were looking forward to changing out of your damp outfit and spending the rest of the evening with your new husband.

People buzzed around you the whole way back to your chambers, several of them wishing the two of you congratulations. You murmured shy thanks, the feeling of being the center of attention during what you felt was such an intimate time causing some of your innate timidness to come forward.

Din had explained to you that part of Mandalorian weddings included feasting and celebrating after the vows were shared. The families and clans of the couples were usually the extent of the guests, but with an apologetic smile, Din warned you that the feast to celebrate your union was likely to be much larger. He was quite beloved as a leader - as the first Mand’alor to resettle the planet since the Purge. The first royal wedding in decades, with the capital more populated than it had been in ages, was shaping up to be quite the affair.

The delegation from Naboo had also gotten involved. The ambassador, who had been so put off by your relationship at first, reveled in the chance to showcase Naboo. All week shipments of millaflowers and lanterns were arriving, along with cases of draping fabrics, mirrors, and jewel-toned crystal. He had even commissioned a gown for you to wear during the feast. Traditionally Naboo clothing was very structured, so you were thankful to see that the gown the ambassador had made for you was in the lake country style - lighter, made of lace and tulle, with a low, open back.

As you stepped into the gown, securing it at your shoulders and around your neck, you paused to look at yourself in the full-length mirror in the closet of your chambers. You had never worn something so lovely. Draped over a chair in the corner was your cape, now dry from its dip in the living waters. It was a symbol of your new status, and you mused at the fact that the gown complemented it quite well.

A knock at the closet door drew you out into the main part of your room. Din - your husband, you thought giddily - was standing there in his armor, sans helmet. You felt yourself flush at the way his eyes widened at your appearance, drinking you in.

“You look stunning,” he breathed, and you smiled at the compliment. You step forward and fuss with his armor - unnecessary, as it was spotless as usual - and looked up into his deep, kind eyes.

“You don’t look so bad yourself,” you remarked, leaning up to kiss the side of his mouth gently. You felt him smile and tilt his head to chase after your mouth, but you pulled away teasingly.

“Later,” you whispered. “We have a feast to attend, remember?”

Din grumbled, and you smiled placatingly. You’d be lying if you didn’t want to forget about the feast and spend the rest of the evening alone with your husband, but you knew if you didn’t show up for just a little while the ambassador would drag you there himself.

“I have something for you first,” Din pulled a small pouch out and turned it over. Something silver fell out into the palm of his gloved hand.

“A pendant?” You watched him hold it up, and saw that it was a delicate chain with a silver charm at the end in the stylized shape of some kind of creature, no bigger than one of your fingernails.

“I asked the armorer to make it,” he murmured. “It’s a Mudhorn, the symbol of my - our - clan.” He reached forward and clasped it around your neck, the weight of the pendant laying heavily on your breast. “It’s pure beskar, made from a piece of my armor.”

You looked down, touching it lightly. “It’s beautiful.”

Din merely smiled, leaning forward to place his forehead on yours, and you responded in a quiet moment of tranquility.

—

The feast was certainly one for the history books. The throne room made you gasp as you entered it, arm-in-arm with Din. The vaulted ceilings were lit with hundreds of beautifully crafted lanterns, mirrors, and crystals reflecting the shimmering flames around the massive space. The millaflowers and fabric draped every surface, the sweet scent of the blooms perfuming everything around you. You gave credit to those who had decorated - all of the decorations perfectly complimented the stark, structured Mandalorian architecture. It truly was a unification of your two cultures.

All around you guests came forward with well-wishes and gifts, which a never-ending retinue of assistants would take a place elsewhere. Grogu, who was also dressed up for the occasion, gurgled happily in his father’s arms at all of the attention. You, however, were starting to feel a bit overwhelmed.

Sensing your discomfort, Din lead you up to the raised dais in the front of the room, where the two of you sat side-by-side in lavish seats set in front of the throne. You reached for a goblet and downed a mouthful of sweet, flowery liquor. Din - who had put his helmet back on before the two of you joined the celebrations - tilted his head slightly in amusement.

“Feeling all right?” He asked, placing his hand on your thigh soothingly. You nodded, placing your drink down on the table and sighing deeply.

“Yes, I just needed some space,” you admitted. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“I know,” he answered. “Just a little while longer.”

Guests continued to stream up to the two of you, though now that you were seated and there was a decadent table between you and them you felt more at ease.

An elder Mandalorian approached your table with a crystal carafe filled with a deep red liquid. Setting it gently on the table, they intoned in heavy Mando’a.

“Wine,” Din translates, “Made in the ancient tradition from herbs and tinctures symbolizing prosperity and love. It’s a gift from those who remember the old ways and hope that our union brings forth a new age of growth for our people.”

“Thank you,” you express, taking the carafe. The elder bowed, before shuffling away to allow others to come forward.

The number of people coming up to you seemed to go on forever, and you poured yourself a generous glass of the special wine to help distract you and calm your nerves. It seemed to be working, the sweet yet tart liquid filling you with a familiar warmth and ease. You offered some to Din, who accepted a small taste by lifting his helmet enough for you to tip the goblet into his mouth.

After a while, you felt yourself relaxing into the plush furs of your chair, leaning against Din’s side. You played with Grogu’s ears as he tucked into the snacks laid out on the table, smiling fondly at the child and his voracious appetite.

“Does this mean I’m his mother now?” You wondered aloud and felt Din chuckle.

“I suppose,” he mused. “I’m his father, and you’re my wife, so that would make him our child.”

“Hmm,” you wiped a crumb from the side of the baby’s mouth, amused. “I always imagined my first child looking a little more like me.”

Din coughed, tensing slightly next to you. “Well,” he intoned lowly, leaning a little closer so that his words were only audible to you, “Perhaps the next one will.”

He placed his hand on your thigh again, the thin fabric shifting as he rubbed your skin. You felt warm from your head to your toes, with most of the heat pooling between your legs and where Din’s hand was placed. Throat suddenly dry, you lifted your drink and took another sip.

“C-can we go soon?” You lilted, wanting nothing more than to return to your rooms with Din alone.

“Soon,” Din promised, and you tensed your legs slightly to try to alleviate the ache growing between them. It was a familiar kind of ache, one that you had felt before, wine or no wine. However, there was something different about the way your body was reacting to the man next to you, and you weren’t sure how long you’d be able to take it before pouncing on him in front of everyone in attendance.

Thankfully it was not very long before Din gestured to a member of his staff and had them assist the two of you in making a smooth exit. He passed Grogu, now pleasantly drowsy, to one of his aides and then guided you back to your shared chambers.

When inside you kicked off your shoes, sighing at the relief of the cool floor under your feet. Din let go of your hand and locked the doors behind you, the sound of it engaging sending a throb of anticipation through your body.

You stepped towards your bed, which you had been sharing with Din for months before this. Something about its wide surface, covered in soft linen and furs, felt different this time. It was now your marriage bed.

The sound of Din removing his helmet, the seal disengaging, made you glance over to him. He placed it down gently and started with the rest of his armor. You stood there as if transfixed, watching as the man beneath the armor was slowly revealed. You always enjoyed being the audience to this ritual, and tonight was no exception. In fact, your body continued to warm, shivers of need going up your spine.

Din turns towards you, dressed down only to his most base inner layers. Realizing you were staring, your hands went to the clasp of your gown before he stops you with a low murmur.

“Allow me,” he husks, and you drop your hands to allow him to undress you himself. His fingers, surprisingly soft despite his rough past, dusted across your skin as the lace and tulle were unwound from your frame. At the same time, he began to back you up until the back of your legs hit the edge of the bed.

Pulling a pin from where your neck met your shoulder, your gown unraveled and fell softly around your legs. Din’s hands paused, his dark eyes drinking in the sight of you there, bare save for the beskar pendant around your neck.

“Beautiful,” he rasped, and you nearly moaned at the tone of his voice. It rolled over you, through you, like thick, rich honey and smoke. You could practically taste it. With a gentle push, Din laid you back onto the bed, standing over you with a hungry look in his eyes.

“I dreamed about this.” He kneeled on the bed, crawling up your body. “You, in my bed, wearing the symbol of my clan.” His head dipped to place a kiss to the center of your ribcage. “Bound to me.” You shivered again as his mouth trailed up to your collarbone, your neck, and across your jaw. Your hands, shaking with expectant thirst, snaked up his powerful arms to clutch at his shoulders.

You wanted to say so many things, all of the emotions that had built up catching on the tip of your tongue, but when you opened your mouth all that left you was a choked “please.”

Din’s mouth slotted over yours and you moaned deeply into it, body arching up to press against his firmer form. One of his hands came to your thigh, and you hitched it up around his waist, rolling your hips wantonly. Your hands ran under his linen shift, and you whined at the barrier between your skin and his.

With a groan, Din’s mouth released from yours just long enough for him to pull his shirt over his head and throw it to the side. He continued his exploration of your flesh, licking a slow stripe down your arched neck. You hissed as his teeth pulled at your skin, your nails scratching lightly across the skin of his upper back.

“Din,” you crooned, hand going to his head as he dipped down to tease the peak of one of your breasts with that wicked tongue. You cried out as he sucked roughly on your nipple, sensations of velvet and fire going straight to your swollen pussy. His mouth moved between the tips of your breasts, pinching and sucking and nipping at the flesh there until it was as swollen as your pussy felt.

He raised his head, eyes wild. He took in your body, writhing and panting, and thought you reminiscent of molten steel. You sought his gaze, pupils blown dark and wide with desire.

“What did I do to deserve you?” Din croaked, dipping his head down to nose the soft skin of your stomach. “Perfect creature…” he kissed his way down your lower abdomen. “I want to fill you up, sweet girl - do you want it too?”

You let out a wail as he licked a firm stripe up your leaking cunt. He lifted your legs to rest on his shoulders so that you were bent - your upper back laying against the bed, your hips angled up towards his mouth. You were wetter than you thought possible, your pussy swollen and flushed. Din sucked firmly on your clit, moaning at the way you keened and shook in his grasp.

Your hands thrashed, clutching desperately at the furs around you. Your thighs tensed, squeezing tightly against the sides of Din’s head as he brought you closer to the crest of your pleasure.

The feeling of his mouth leaving you made you groan in frustration as he dropped your lower body back to the bed. You opened your eyes, brow furrowed as you propped yourself up to stare at your smug husband.

He climbed over you again, shedding his pants. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the hard cock between his legs, flushed and bobbing, leaking clear droplets of pre-spend. You laid back, legs spreading so that he could settle between them firmly.

“Eager girl,” Din teased. “You that desperate to have me inside of you?”

“Din,” you groused, “If you don’t fuck me soon I think I’m going to die.”

He laughed, husked low in his chest as he pressed himself firmly to your swollen entrance. You laid your head back onto the bed, sighing in relief as he began to stretch your walls. It felt like he was splitting you right down the middle in the best way, and you arched your back to let him sink in further.

“Oh, fuck,” he rasped, leaning forward to rest his forehead against yours. “You’re a jewel,” he breathed roughly, hips snapping forward until you wailed. “Taking my cock so well.”

You shifted your hips under him, angling yourself to take him as far in as your body would allow. He chuckled at your frustrated expression, arms braced on either side of your head. He bent forward to capture your lips in a messy kiss.

“My little wife,” he breathed over your lips. “Wants my cock so badly.”

“’S'good,” you slurred. “Big. Fuck me, please.” He answered you with a rock of his hips, hitting that spot inside of you that made you keen again.

“Tell me what you want, baby” he crooned against your mouth, hips slapping mercilessly against your pelvis. “Come on.”

“C-come in me,” you begged. Flashes of images - a little curly-haired baby at your breast, curled up against Din’s chest as he whispered to it lovingly, lowly - made your pussy clench around him. Your body ached for it in a way you had never experienced. You wanted him to get you pregnant, wanted to carry his child inside of you.

“Fucking - anything you want, sweet girl,” Din gasped. “Want me to fill you up “ he rides you hard, desperate for the way you cry with every punch at your guts. “You’re so good, baby, fuck-“

He continues to ramble, lost in how you’re tensing around him. “You’re gonna look so fucking beautiful, full of my child. You don’t know how badly I want it, so badly - I can practically see it -“

Emotion wells up in your chest, binding with the pleasure thrumming through you. You’re nearly there - fire rising from your toes and flooding down from your chest. Din dips his head to kiss your neck, and you start to tip over the edge. Your orgasm starts deep inside of your cunt, from where his swollen head is grinding up into your walls, and sparks down to where his pelvis rubs against your clit. Your vision goes white and you hear Din cry out as your desperate pussy wrenches from him his own release.

“T-take it,” he growls, hips snapping against yours, the head of his cock tight against the seal of your womb. You whine at the pressure of it, the feeling almost too good to bear. You shift your hips, pulling away before his head snaps up from your neck.

“No no no- take it,“ he groans, hand tight on your hip. You writhe under him, tears of pleasure pricking the corner of your eyes. His gaze on you burns, and you struggle to see him clearly through the fog of your ecstasy.

His pace remains steady, desperation clear in the way he rams his cock up into your cunt. “Your duty,” he gasps, leaning forward so that his chest nearly crushes you. “Do your duty and take my seed, bear my children.”

He holds you there as he pulses out the last of his release, breath leaving him in short pants through his nose. His teeth are gritted, brow furrowed, gaze locked to your eyes so that you can’t look away.

“D-Din,” you shudder, and his eyes soften. His grip on your hips loosens minutely, and he lets out a shaky breath.

“You did so well,” he praises you. “You’re so fucking good.”

You blink wetly, mind still focused on his cock and how it’s anchored inside of you, pinning you to the bed, plugging you securely. Din tilts his head at your determined expression, and when you roll your hips experimentally he sucks in air sharply.

“Feels good,” you mumble, drunk on the pleasure and the feeling of him still hard inside of you. Stars, how was he still so fucking hard? And why was your body telling you to make him come inside of you again?

Think about that later, you decide, hooking your legs around his waist and pushing him further up into you. He chokes again, head drooping to look at where the clutch of you holds him tightly inside.

“Fuck,” he moans. “You’re never going to know sleep without the feel of me leaking out of you.” He rolls his hips back before slamming back into you, your mouth opening in a satisfied groan. “Not until you’re fucked full of my child, sweet girl.”

“Yeah,” you agree, nodding feverishly. It’s all you can manage to say, everything in you focused on where his body enters yours, in and out, inandout-

The two of you spend the entire night and most of the early morning like that, tangled together, until your bodies are near to collapse from exhaustion. It’s Din who taps out first, placating your desire with soft kisses to your temple and strokes to your still-swollen cunt. It isn’t long before your eyes start to droop, sleep just on the edge of your consciousness as he teases you to one last, lazy orgasm. You all but pass out, head resting on his chest to the feeling of him stroking your hair lovingly.

You wake hours later, alone in bed. Your body aches sweetly, and as you start you rise you roll your neck and groan.

“Good morning,” a raspy voice greets you, and you turn to look at where Din leans up against a dresser. He sips from a steaming mug, brow raising in humor at your bedraggled appearance.

“G’morning,” you croak, throat dry. Din sets his mug down, trading it for a glass. He comes over to the bed, sitting next to you, and hands it to you. You take it, gulping down the cool water gratefully.

“What time is it?” You asked, licking your lips. When he tells you - mid-afternoon - you scoff. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Din’s brow raises again, and he leans back against the headboard. “Thought you needed the rest,” he said, amusement in his tone. “Since you kept me up all night.”

You pouted, indignant and embarrassed. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it,” you mumble, and he laughs.

“Quite the opposite,” he husks. “And as much as I’d like to take responsibility for your behavior, I had a feeling it was due to something else.” You tilted your head in confusion, sipping more of the water.

“The wine,” he explained, and you thought back to the previous night - somewhat difficult a task - and remembered the crystal carafe.

“Turns out they mean “new age of growth” more literally than I understood,” Din continues. “That wine is made from herbs that act as an aphrodisiac and increase fertility. You drank a lot more of it than I did, so it hit you harder than it did me.”

You choke on your water, some of it dribbling down your chin. Wiping it away, you set your glass to your side and cover your eyes, groaning. Din pulls you closer and you bury your face in his chest, burning with embarrassment at the situation - and the implication.

“Silly girl,” he croons, hand creeping down your side. You look up at him, another shy pout on your lips, and he tips your chin up to kiss you slowly, deeply. You sigh into it, shifting your leg to straddle his lap and feel him smile against your mouth. You shift down to where his cock sits, firm and proud, and grind your bareness against him until he groans.

“More? So soon?” He whispers darkly, and you nip at him cheekily. Pulling back, you look your husband in the eye, a mischievous glimmer in your gaze.

“Might as well make sure it works, right?” You tease lowly, and shriek in loving laughter as he throws you down and begins to devour you again.

[whyareyoulookingatmelikethat]

[4]: Rock-A-My-Toon

Fluff/Comfort for a change. I'm way better at writing angst but here ya go.

It’s implied that the previous oneshot I made(Looming End) was what all of the Toon’s nightmares were. They love you too much to lose you, and so they came to your room to be assured that you were alright.

REMINDER: The toons are not kids. They may act like how children would sometimes, but it's because they’re very innocent. The toons will grow older, but they won’t show it. After all, they’re not normal people. Dandy could be 502 right now for all we know!

Multiple sentences imply you to be a human in this, with how much bigger you are than them, but I guess you could be creative.

You woke to the sound of knocking on your door, weak and faint. You barely heard it, but then again, you’ve always been a light sleeper ever since you saw a Twisted.

“Yes…?”

Your voice was equally as quiet, to match the darkness the room was enveloped in.

When no answer came, you slowly slipped off the bed and padded your way to the door. With a creak of the knob, it slid open, revealing Poppy wiping her eyes. A very scared-looking Boxten was behind her, clutching to her shoulders.

Your heart instantly melted at the sight. You didn’t even need them to say anything to open the door wider and let them inside.

Poppy gladly took the silent offer, but Boxten stood shaking in the doorframe.

“You okay?”

He didn’t say anything.

You sighed, and kneeled down to look at him.

“Hey. Hey, look at me.”

He peeked up at you, meeting your concerned eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

He sniffled, rushing forward into your waiting arms. Scooping him up and holding him close to your chest, you closed the door behind them and turned to see Poppy waiting by your bed.

Carrying him along, you settled him down on the bed and helped Poppy up, then sat between the two. The second you were sitting down again, Boxten launched back into your lap, squeezing his you as best he could. He was so small compared to you, not even being able to wrap his arms halfway around your waist!

You heard him mumble something into your clothes, muffled.

“Boxten, you need to lift your head. I can’t hear you.”

“Nightmares…”

The second Boxten spoke, Poppy burst into tears, wailing.

“You d-died! Trying to save me! Hic…I was so stupid to trip and-”

“Hey hey hey shhhh, calm down. I’m still alive, it was just a bad dream, not real life. Did you two have the same dream?”

The nods in unison told you everything you needed to know. You’ve gone through this so many times, nightmares that bent and warped reality until you weren’t sure what was real anymore. You leant down to squeeze them when another knock at the door was heard.

“Again…?”

Two times? That was unusual.

“Wait here, I’ll be back, okay?”

Poppy nodded slowly, but didn’t let you leave before she gave you one last hug.

Walking across the room again, you peeked around the corner of the door, looking down to see more toons.

This time, Glisten, Goob, and…Dandy?

Yeah, that was Dandy alright. You haven’t seen him much out of his shop before, really. You didn’t mind though.

“Y-Y/n…you’re okay…”

You felt your heart about to burst. Don’t tell me they all had the same nightmare…

“I am okay, why Glisten?”

Dandy looked to the side, grimacing.

“We all had the same nightmare, it seems…”

You sighed, and opened the door wider for them to see inside. The two on your bed perked up at the commotion and leaned towards you and the other toons.

“Poppy and Boxten have also had a nightmare…if you need, you can also come in.”

“Th-thank you!”

Glisten tried his best to smile, but it was really shaky. Nonetheless, still a smile.

You heard the quiet whiz of Goob’s arms extending, and a slight pressure encasing your hand. Kneeling down, you beckoned him forward, to which he gladly ran towards you. Dandy stepped into the room after Glisten, but looked…frustrated? Upset? You couldn’t tell. He was always hard to read.

The second you were back over to the bed and had helped the others up, you heard more knocking.

You let out a sigh, and turned around.

Did everyone have a nightmare?

[luvkuvi]

24 – best friends ?

What's so good about him ?!

Scaramouche x reader smau series

synopsis — Your ex boyfriend kuni is in a band called 5wirl and they're pretty well known considering him and his bandmates are still in college but you still hated his guts on how he ended things with you back then in highschool the day before graduation. So whats the best course of action in this situation? make a hate account of him of course.

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Notes: yay we are halfway thru the smau :D but i really miss it when i upload 3-4 times a week now im barely on tumblr and upload only once a week :(

Taglist!(closed): @sakiimeo @sagegreenthinks @evsolostheuniverse @ozzierenato @mechanicalbeat1  @bananasquash @admiringfish @yuraasia @wolfe02 @msameikanevaeh @yukiipc @magica-ren @r0ttenhearts @vvyeislazzy @yuumaofc @klanxii   @darthvada @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @yoyo-yui @deluluangel @katsumikumo @thenightsflower   @lazy-sanns @sukunasrealgf @4thnocturne @danhenglovebot @sketcheeee   @fumichannorakuen @featuredtofu   @mine-lu @karma-gisa @amyena @onmywaytoteyvat @fujimoribaby @eliqusgenma   @buubbbbly   @reekapeeka @elernity @323jelly @kunikissr @miko1ly @feverish-dove @zuunotsane @pomeiu @yxcade @kascar-chronicle @supercoolusernameomg @otomegame-oneshots @cookieofwishes @swivy123 (bold usernames means i couldn't tag you :<) 1/2

[trashcanfanfics]

Can you please write a oneshot about Alastor after he had a fight with reader, and he clearly was the one in the wrong. What does he do to make it up? Does he realize it himself or does someone like Rosie or someone from the hotel have to point it out to him. Does he feel guilty? Did he make reader cry? Sorry if this is too much or too sad.

What a way to rise from the dead

He doesn't know what happened, really. One second he was telling jokes and you were laughing, the next you were in a heated argument. Something about him trying to push a punchline that you thought was hurtful and him disagreeing heavily. The argument was brief and he just didn't close his damned mouth fast enough.

"Perhaps you should learn to just take a joke, my dear. Wouldn't want to become a flat tire, now, would we?" His ever present smile held more condescension than he'd ever directed towards you before. your fists shook at your sides and you glared at him with all the rage and heartbreak you felt.

"I need space." And with that, you'd turned on your heel and left the hotel entirely. Alastor shrugged it off and sat down at the concierge-slash-bar to enjoy a drink.

It had been hours since then and Alastor hadn't made any moves to try to find you or remedy the situation. He did notice that his drinks have all tasted sour. At some point he knew he was going to have to face you again. The feeling in his stomach was curious but he was sure it's because of the amount of giggle water in his system.

"God, has anyone seen that asshole?" A certain feminine spider came down the stairs. "I've got a thing in thirty minutes and they still have my fuckin' glue." Angel rounded the pillar and looked at Alastor, tipsy, and squinted.

"They haven't been here most the day." Husk was grumpily cleaning a glass. "Why don't you text 'em?" Angel flopped halfway on the bar and half on a stool, a little too close for Alastor's liking. He decided that he was too sloshed to care much. The spider sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I tried that!" All four of his arms raised up in exasperation. "They ain't answerin'! I sent three already! Ugh, I'm gonna have to go to the store!" Two sets of arms crossed to show his annoyance. Alastor paused at this. It wasn't like you not to answer after the second text. Were you injured? Had you gotten lost? Was someone else bothering you right now? Was someone...entertaining you? More than he did? He couldn't bare it and stood abruptly, only to stumble slightly. The Radio Demon regained his footing and rushed into the shadows, leaving behind the two sinners. He'd ignored Angel's snicker at his less than stable start and focused more on finding your energy. It was harder in this state but he was determined.

You were sitting in a secluded garden of blood red roses near the more peaceful part of Cannibal Colony. It had been a few hours since you left and you keep going over how Alastor insinuated you were boring for not wanting to be the butt of a joke. It hurt you and made you angry at him for trying to turn it back on you. You'd spent too much of your life hearing other people tell you that you're "too sensitive" or "need to take a joke". You won't tolerate it in death and especially not from your boyfriend.

A loud thump ripped you from your thoughts. You looked in the direction of the noise and see Alastor, halfway in a rosebush. He hardly took notice as his eyes met yours. His smile almost looked strained and his eyes glassy.

"Darling! There you are!" He stumbled out of the bush, pants ripped enough to almost see his leg. He rushed to your side and tripped, falling to his knees. You looked down at him as he grasped your legs and looked up at you, slightly dazed.

"Are...Are you drunk?" His smile lifted at your voice and he sighed dreamily up at you. "Oh my god." He tried to get up again but his foot caught a rock and he slipped back down. You stumbled a little as he grasped your legs tighter during this.

"Dar-darling, where have you been? It's been hours!" He looked back up at you. "I missed you! Can we get home?" You couldn't believe what you were seeing. Alastor, The Radio Demon, was drunk and on his knees in front of you. A small part of you felt powerful like this, but you quickly tucked it away. You sighed.

"Yeah, let's get you home." You reached down and helped him to his feet. He leaned on you as you both made your way out of the garden. "I can't believe you're out in public like this." He giggled, actually giggled, in response and sighed as he leaned more on you.

"Mwen sonje ou ba ou dabitid mwen." You were sure that was a language but it was slightly slurred from his lips. With no other ideas, you pat his back and continued on. He took a deep breath and then disappeared into the shadows. You stopped and looked around.

"Alastor? What the fuck?" You groaned in annoyance. "Alastor!" You trudged back towards the hotel in a huff. He was going to have so much apologizing to do tomorrow.

Alastor, however, had face planted right into his bed. He rolled over and looked around. His room in the hotel was spinning and he couldn't see his darling, dearest, sweetest love anywhere. Had he not brought them with him? Did they go away again? His smile wobbled and his vision grew blurry. Was he not what they wanted? Hasn't he always provided for them? Did they not like his cooking? Or his jokes? Oh. Oh that was why. The joke from earlier. Tears dripped down his face. Oh no.

You made your way into the hotel and up the first flight of steps before heading for the elevator. Angel's voice called to you from halfway down the hall.

"Where's my fuckin' glue!" The only response he got was a quick "on my dresser" before the elevator doors shut. You tapped your foot impatiently. If he wasn't here you were going to scream. Idly, you wondered if he was even drunk and just trying to get you to interact with him. He didn't like going too long without talking to you unless it was his choice, and even then it wouldn't be more than two hours max. You'd gone nearly five before he found you.

The end of the hallway on the fourth floor was usually dark due to the fixture breaking about a year back and no one fixing it. It was the way Alastor liked it. "Easier to get a good spook in and deter those who bother me", he'd say. It never really bothered you, oddly enough. Especially now, since you could hear the muffled sniffles of your lover. You knocked on the door.

"Alastor? Im coming in!" You only got halfway in the door before you were yanked into the room and the door slammed shut. Tight arms wrapped around you and held you close to a heaving chest.

"I thought you left again! I'm sorry! For my cooking! For not giving you enough! For my jokes!" He sobbed. You blinked. Just how drunk was he? You weren't sure this was the same Alastor that would rip someone's face off, roast it, feed it back to them, and then laugh as they cried.

"Well, one of those is correct." You brought you hands up and pushed him back before tugging him to the bed. "Let's just get you to go to sleep, okay, we can talk more in the morning." God, he was a mess. Tears made his eyes redder than they were, his face was splotchy and snot was dripping out of his nose.

"But!" You didn't let him finish as you pulled back the covers and pushed him into bed. "Darling! I'm sorry!" You rolled your eyes and positioned him on his side before tucking him in.

"Okay, tell me about it tomorrow." You gently fixed his hair and kissed his forehead. His eyes closed and he hummed low. It wasn't long before his breathing became even and he was snoring slightly.

The next morning you opened your eyes to see Alastor, fit as a fiddle, staring down at you with a tray of breakfast foods in his hands. You screamed in surprise and sighed heavily after recognizing your boyfriend. Sitting up, you yawn.

"Good morning, Darling! I made you breakfast!" He set the tray down over your legs and smiled wider. You looked up at his with an eyebrow raised.

"If you think that I'm just gonna forget what happened yesterday, you're wrong." Your sentence made him droop a little.

"I'm sorry, for the joke and whatever else I did yesterday." He clicks his fingers together slightly. "I...Don't remember much." You snorted at that.

"I guess you wouldn't, but i guess...I forgive you. Just don't make any jokes like that again." You looked at the tray, which had huge servings of your favorite breakfast foods. "Now, are you going to help me eat this or not?" He eagerly jumped into the bed and beside you, making you giggle.

[enbyenvy666]

So for my next request, can you write a oneshot featuring Mirio and a male reader with harem boys, chastity and hypnosis please? In the fic, Mirio goes to an Aladdin themed spa for a part time job. There he meets the reader manager who grants him his harem uniform, plus chastity cage, and explains the types of jobs he'll be doing. But what Mirio doesn't realize is that the reader is using hypnosis on him to make him want to stay at the spa. What do you think?

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊

hope you enjoy :)

CONTENT WARNINGS - 18+ MDNI, dubcon, hypnosis, chastity cage, hair pulling, oral (r!receiving), reader has a hypnosis quirk, harem, sex work, dom reader, sub mirio, no beta we die like men

w/c - 1k

Mirio found himself hesitating as he stood before the dark wooden door. While the air of the spa was heated, his bare chest still felt cold, his lower half barely covered by a loin cloth. The metal jewellery around his neck and wrists felt like nothing compared to the cold metal of the cage encasing his cock. He wasn’t sure how he managed to fit inside the small device, but he did. 

Eventually, he steeled his nerves enough, taking a deep breath to calm the anxiety swirling in his stomach. Knocking on the door, a call for him to enter quickly replied. With a smile to hide his nerves, he entered the room. The smell of incense flooded his senses, the room a little hazy from the smoke. Other men were in the room wearing the same uniform as Mirio, and he found himself wondering if they were also made to wear a cock cage.

Lounging on a plush chaise lounge in nothing but a silk robe, you smiled when you saw Mirio enter. You noticed his nerves, even as he tried to hide it, in the way his muscular shoulders tensed and how his eyes flickered around everyone in the room. Standing from the velvety chair, you met Mirio halfway into the room, reaching out to cup his face in your hands. 

“Don’t be nervous, darling.”

Your voice sounded like honey, and it would’ve calmed him if he hadn’t noticed the eyes of every other man in the room, some with jealous expressions. Realising it did nothing to calm him, you reached for his hand, fingers running over the cold bangles on his wrist. Pulling him over to the day bed, some of the men reluctantly moved out of the way so he could sit with you. He had to resist the urge to apologise to them, ever the people pleaser. You brought his attention back to you by cupping his cheeks once more and leaning in close. He gasped softly, but that was perfect as you breathed out, making him inhale the intoxicating air. 

His muscles relaxed, his nerves tingling and his brain turning mush. He leaned into your touch and the men around you chuckled as they watched the newbie turn to mush in your hands. You hummed happily, letting go of his face to hold his hands instead. 

“What’s your name, darling?”

“Mirio Togata,” he replied, eyes watching your lips, in search of whatever made him feel so good.

“And what did the manager tell you?”

“To do whatever you want.”

“Will you do that, Mirio?” The blonde hesitated again, his mind running wild with what ‘whatever’ could be. You leaned in close again, breathing out again as you asked, 

“Will you be good for me?”

It was at this moment that he realised there wasn’t any incense in the room, the sweet smell and the haze were from your hypnotising exhales. But as he breathed it in again, he didn’t care anymore. As the calming waves washed over him, he thought about how good he wanted to be for you. The thought sent a pulse to his cock which ached painfully in its cage. He winced before he could respond to you, shifting uncomfortably. You pouted sympathetically and lifted his loin cloth to eye the cage. 

“If you’ll be my good boy, I’ll take it off for you,” you offered, stroking over the metal device. He couldn’t feel your touch but he wished he did, he prayed he could feel your soft hand around him. He nodded vigorously, trying his hardest not to grab you, touch you and feel you. But you felt how his hands shook, gripping his jaw and pulling him close. 

“Kiss me.”

He didn’t need any convincing, kissing you like a man starved. Your saliva was more intoxicating than your breath, and goosebumps rose across his skin. He lost his self-control when your fingers weaved through his blonde locks, gently tugging on them. He pushed you back until your back met the raised backrest of the lounge, hands tugging on the tie of your robe. You didn’t have to tell him what you wanted, with every kiss he knew exactly how to make you happy. 

Pushing the silk robe aside revealed your hard cock, standing tall and proud. He was quick to wrap his hand around it, making you hiss through your teeth. Mirio shuffled back on the lounge until he was face to face with your length, gazing at your reddened tip. 

“He’s an eager one, isn’t he?”

Your teasing question was met by chuckles from around the room which turned to coos as you moaned from Mirio’s tongue gliding up your cock from base to tip. As he took you in his mouth, he watched the hands of the others caress your bare body. One of the men began to kiss you, and an almost jealousy swelled in the pit of Mirio’s stomach. Determined to make you focus on only him, he hollowed his cheeks and bobbed his head. He felt some satisfaction when you pulled on his hair, hips thrusting up into his wet mouth, cock hitting the back of his throat. One hand massaged your sack, the other reaching down between his legs, hoping to alleviate the painful ache. 

If he made you feel good, you’ll take it off. If he makes you cum, you’ll take it off. He told himself over and over, motivating him almost as much as when you would curse from pleasure above him. Swirling his tongue over your tip had you roughly tugging on his hair, but taking you down to the base had you moaning and groaning, more of that hypnotising breath leaving your lungs. Your hips stuttered, twisting his blonde hair in your fist as your orgasm came to its peak. Roughly shoving his head down until his nose met your pelvis, your cum rocketed down his throat, to which he hungrily swallowed. 

Sitting up, beady blue eyes glaring impatiently down at you, waiting for you to unlock his cage and give him the relief he prayed for. Instead, you smirked at him, slowly stroking your flaccid cock, slick with his saliva until it began to inflate again. 

“Do it again, won’t you?”

For a second, Mirio felt an almost sense of betrayal and confusion, until you leaned in close and sighed deeply.

“Won’t you, Mirio?”

[pauli-writes]

warning: fluff, mutual pining, a little repressed feelings, ipc stuff, topaz’s real name

pairing: topaz x afab!reader

author’s note: i love topaz so much and i definitely listened to too much chappell roan recently. this oneshot might be inconsistent, because i started it one day and finished it another, sorry about that

you never particularly enjoyed working for the ipc, but what else were you going to do with the degree you got from a university from your home planet? and in fairness it wasn’t all bad, the marketing development department was not a terrible place, and you had some perks as a p25 employee, but the thing that made it enjoyable for you, was occasionally catching a glimpse of one of the ten stonehearts.

“jelena! i- i mean director topaz!” you yelled as you spotted her during one of your boring assignments on another small planet. “are you here to oversee the progress?”

topaz’s face lit up as she saw you walking up to her, and so did numby’s. despite her quick rise through the ranks, she would always remember you. the person who was by her side during her initial internship in the marketing department, her first friend, the only person she didn’t have to act formal around.

topaz watched as numby ran up to you and jumped into your arms. she liked it when you smiled, it made her happy.

“yeah, i’m here on behalf of madame jade. she got caught up in something else.” topaz explained as she walked up to meet you halfway. your face visibly paled at the mention of the older woman and you gently let down numby, before focusing on topaz again.

“i’m glad it’s you here. i’m always scared to say something wrong around her.”

topaz couldn’t help but laugh at your comment, and it made you blush a little. you liked hearing her laugh, it made you happy. you quickly composed yourself and fumbled out a tablet from your bag, showing her the progress of your assignment. “here is the progress report.”

topaz took the tablet from you and scanned over the number, while she did that you couldn’t help but admire her. “impressive numbers… you’re doing well.”

you blushed and rubbed the back of your neck, “aw, you’re just saying that.”

“i’m just being honest,” she replied with a smile, the smile you loved so much and could watch 24 hours a day. she handed the tablet back to you, and you noticed a small shift in her expression. “you know i miss working with you. we always had so much fun.”

“we did, didn’t we?” you replied, remembering all of the fun you had as interns, pouring over paperwork together, gossiping during break, until reality caught up with you and reminded you of the shift of positions between the two of you.

despite being good friends the two of you were not equals. you remembered that she aced all of the tests the ipc made you take, while you barely passed them, she came from a planet that was on the brink of poverty, while you were living comfortably. in the end the difference was quite clear, topaz was driven by ambition, the desire to change the cosmos, while you were happy once you made it through the day. she was so great in every way, you didn’t deserve to be friends with her, let alone her girlfriend, never mind that thought, like that would ever happen.

you snapped out of your thoughts and smile sadly, “but you’re a stone heart now, and that’s like ipc royalty. you work directly under diamond. and i’m barely managing my own branch. we’ll likely won’t be directly working with each other again.”

topaz noticed your change in demeanour, and so did numby as it gently nudged your leg with its head, she wondered what made you change like that all of the sudden. it wasn’t out of the ordinary for you, you tended to overthink a lot, but topaz usually brought you back to reality.

“don’t sell yourself short like that,” she said with a bright smile, while putting a hand on your shoulder, “i’m sure you’ll work your way up in no time, and when you do we can do all kinds of assignments together again.”

you blushed a little, but her words were hard to believe. you weren’t the kind of person to work themselves up, you were content with your position. you only got your current position because the previous guy died. regardless you forced a smile and put your hand on hers, you didn’t want to make her worry. “yeah…”

topaz smiled back at you and casually took back her hand, “anyway, i gotta check up on the other manager. i’ll talk to you later?”

“absolutely,” you replied, “let’s meet up for some tea.”

she gave you a thumbs up, starting to walk towards some of your coworkers with numby following her eagerly. “i’ll call you.”

you smiled and nodded, before watching her walk away. it was true that seeing her every once in a while made your job truly enjoyable, but you didn’t know how long you could go on like this. it was probably better to let her go instead of letting yourself be consumed by the feeling of hope, the hope of maybe settling down with her somewhere quiet one day without worrying or fearing the ipc.

[momojedi]

— as beautiful as the day i lost you pairing. echo x gn! jedi reader

**

type. oneshot, fluff note. watched the bad batch arc with my dad and he came to appreciate echo as much as I do so I wanted to write a lil about him &lt;3 warnings. really fluffy, mentions of order 66 taglist. @patapouille (open for more)

star wars masterlist

“Don’t shoot!” The clone stands still and carefully holds up his hands, dropping the blaster gun as a peace offering. “We’re not going to hurt you, I promise.” He motions his two companions to follow his lead and lower their weapons.

I hesitate. After the past couple weeks of running from the Empire and having friends turn to foes amidst battle when Order 66 was declared, I’ve lost all ability to trust anyone, especially clone troopers. The warm and friendly gaze replaced by that sudden hatred in their eyes is still a vivid memory on my mind, ever since that fateful day.

But if this really isn’t some evil scheme led by an imperial commander and if that trooper really is telling the truth then perhaps finally letting my guard down might not be as bad of an idea as it seems. After all, I feel no evil sensation, no malice in the force but rather … a familiar one.

I frown. Despite being like no troopers I have ever met before with their dark armour and their unique looks, something about them felt warm and inviting, like coming home from a hard mission back into the arms of a loved one.

I shake my head and lower the lightsaber I’ve been gripping so tightly, my knuckles now slowly turning white. “Who are you?”

The trooper - their leader I suspect - takes a hold of his helmet and pulls it off in a swift motion, dark hair falling over his shoulders. His face is halfway covered in a tattoo and he looks at me in a calm yet strict demeanour. “The name’s Hunter. We,” he gestures towards the two other men, one impossibly huge towering over the other two with a skull on his helmet and the other slender with grey armour, a pair of piercing eyes glaring at me through the goggles of his helmet, “are the Bad Batch.”

The Bad Batch, eh? I narrow my eyes thoughtfully as I dimly remember Captain Rex mentioning them before when Master Skywalker stopped at the Jedi Temple for a debriefing and updates on the current war situation. My face darkens as the clone captain of the 501st crosses my mind. Had he executed Order 66 as well? Was Master Skywalker even … still alive?

The ghost of a smile lingers on my lips as the chaotic battalion comes to my mind. I had worked with them more than once in the past, mostly involving their ARC trooper duo Fives and Echo, the latter of whom I’d developed very close relationship with, dare I say romantic even. Despite being forbidden and likely resulting in my banishment and his execution if it would’ve ever come to light, we grew incredibly fond of each other, stealing kisses and loving glances whenever we had the chance to. However, after Echo’s death in the Citadel, I refused to work with the 501st any longer when the mere memories of him proved to be too painful for me to handle properly.

I shake my head, no, this isn’t the time to mourn. “Tech, tell them it’s safe too come out.” Hunter’s voice catches my attention as the grey clone nods and walks to the back of the cantina, presumably to comm whoever else they are hiding. Then, Hunter turns back to me, crossing his arms over his chest. “What’s your name, anyway?” I eye him for a second before introducing myself. “How come you’re not killing me? Isn’t that kind of what all clones do now?” Hunter winces at that. “We got our chips removed recently so… don’t worry, we shouldn’t be a threat to you.”

“Hunter! Is everything okay?” A small voice squeals, catching me off guard as I turn to its source. Through the back doors of the cantina, a small girl runs towards him, barely noticing me. I raise a brow at that before glancing at the other person trailing behind her. Like the other three men in the room, the person - who I assume to be another clone - is covered in dark armour, a white ‘99’ imprinted on the plate of his helmet. One of his arms is replaced by a scomp, likely proving useful to slice into things.

When the clone takes notice of me, he freezes. I hum quietly, remembering one of my Jedi contacts’ words shortly after the Purge was declared; maybe he’s scared the Jedi might take revenge on him?

Unsure on how I should put him at ease, I smile slightly and clip the hilt of my saber to my belt before raising my hands. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you.” I hold back a slight scoff at those words. ‘After all it should be us who should be scared of you,’ I think.

The clone still doesn’t budge, seemingly staring at me from under his helmet before finally raising his arms to push it off his head and revealing —

I’d recognise that familiar tingle in the force among millions. For a second, the world seems to stop as Echo’s warm eyes meet mine. It’s only the noisy clattering of his helmet meeting the ground that rips me out of my trance and I immediately feel my eyes well up with tears.

“Echo?” I croak, almost in a whisper. Despite my internal struggle, my body refuses to move. But I don’t have to because before I know it, Echo has already rushed over to me and scooped me into a tight hug. Suddenly, I feel the tears spilling as I bury my face in his chest plate, gripping him desperately as if he’d disappear any second if I were to let him go. “I - I thought you were — ” My words are interrupted by a broken sob.

Gently shushing me, Echo pulls away before cradling my face in both his hand and the tip of his scomp. “It’s okay, everything’s okay, mesh’la.” His voice is steady but I can’t help but notice the light tremble in his words as he pulls my forehead against his. Unable to properly use my words right now, I just nod quickly.

“Look at you,” he mumbles breathlessly, a small chuckle laced with disbelief escaping him, “you’re as beautiful as the day I lost you.”

Without a second thought I pull him into a deep kiss which he happily indulges in, knowing fully well that I won’t ever let him go again.

[testingthewatersss]

Fireworks Trigger warnings for PTSD, mentions of war, loud noises etc. Just unapologetic cuddling. Bucky Barnes x F Reader Oneshot 4500 words fluff, angst, comfort. 18+ MDNI Reader is Tony's sister, a non-enhanced shield agent who reappeared after TWS. Tony loves throwing new years eve's parties. You'll have to do better on the soundproofing.

“Y’know…” Bucky says, a soft lilt of sadness in his voice, “…I think I used to love fireworks”

His face is sad too, even in the dimly lit room, Y/N can see the frown he’s sporting.

“Well…” she coos, “…We can always go and wa-”

The jerky shake of his head silences her—

She stays quiet as she paces into their room, shutting the door behind her with a dull click.

He’s halfway hiding in the corner furthest away from the entrance. There’s a ragged old blanket covering his body, and his hair is wild. If he hadn’t been cowering on the floor she’d have thought the whole scene was awfully sweet.

“I barely remember…” he says, when she gets close enough to hear, “but, Steve started talkin’ bout the way we used to go watch them on his birthday and I—”

A distant bang makes him flinch, looking at her totally panic-stricken as whatever words he was about to say die in his throat.

He shuts his open mouth and waits a moment before blinking down at his own lap.

“Did you get a drink at least?”

Bucky nods absentmindedly at the mug of cocoa that had been steaming to his left. It’s not quite as hot anymore, but, the sensors in his metal hand still prickle appreciatively as he inches his palm out towards it.

He holds it out to her, almost expecting her to accept it.

“Good” she coos, shaking her head in dismissal, “-you should drink it before it gets cold”

He obeys mechanically, sipping deeply and trying to focus on the pleasant nostalgia the taste brings.

There’s cream on his nose when he lowers his cup back to the carpet. Y/N smiles as she moves to wipe it away with her fingers, just as her skin meets his face, another series of bangs begins.

Like before they’re distant and muffled, but this time, there isn’t just one. It’s rapid-fire, and each time Bucky thinks it’s finally going to stop, it doesn’t. It carries on, and before he knows what’s happening, he’s reaching out to hug her.

“Oh, sweetheart” Y/N sighs, wrapping him up in her arms, “C’mere— We’ll do better with the soundproofing for next year, okay? I promise”

He’s hyperventilating.

It sounds like gunfire. Like the sound of a dozen rifles going off in the trenches.

He’s cold, and shaking, and he can taste something rich and sweet on his tongue, but he doesn’t like it anymore. It’s not nice when it’s mixed with adrenaline, and he’s clutching onto Y/N, onto the woman he loves so tightly because as much as he doesn’t want her anywhere near this picture of violence, he just doesn’t want to die on his own.

And he is going to die. He’s sure he is because the shooting isn’t stopping and he doesn’t have anything to protect himself with and—

—And then, it’s quiet.

As quickly as they’d started, the noises stop.

“You’re okay” a soft voice purrs, disrupting the newly formed silence, “We’re fine… nothing bad’s coming, Buck…”

It takes a while for him to come back to himself enough to move, but eventually, he edges himself up just enough for Y/N to see his face again.

He thinks he should explain himself, that he should try and vocalise the reason for his irrational response, for the reason that he’d run from the celebrations before the first round of fireworks had even begun,

He thinks that he should… but he just can’t. The words won’t come.

“I know…” she murmurs anyway, “…It’s alright”

His lower lip is quivering as her palm drifts across his jaw. She swipes at the corner of it with her thumb, removing the last trace of cream from his face.

“Will you stay here with me?”

There’s a waver in his voice that makes Y/N’s heart ache in her chest. His arms are still around her. He’s still trying to hide against her front, despite being way too big.

“Please” Bucky hears himself add, “Please, doll— I—”

“Of course I’m stayin’ with you” she replies calmly, “What did you think I was gonna do, huh? Stop in just to say hi?”

His face flickers again, but this time, instead of landing on manic, it settles on relieved.

“C’mere, Buck” she soothes, shifting around a little, “You wanna’ stay down here?”

She already knows that he does. If he’d have wanted to be on the bed, he’d have gotten onto the bed but it’s clear that he’s picked his position deliberately. It’s got a clear view of the exit, of the door to the bathroom and the one, blind-covered window, and, it’s low, it’s low and there are two solid walls behind him offering cover.

“Yeah, darlin’… please, I… I wanna stay here”

She’s unsurprised. The shame in his voice is more than enough to make her smile, wide and reassuring.

“I’ll grab us some pillows and another blanket”

Bucky can barely believe his eyes as he watches her get up and do just that.

He’s overwhelmed, by the way he’s feeling, by the sound that’s building outside, it’s just the bustling murmur of a crowd, but it’s a promise of more entertainment, though, to him it seems more like a threat;

“You done with this?” Y/N guesses, toeing at the half-drained mug of cocoa.

He bites his lip, brow furrowing as he nods, not quite understanding why the idea of finishing his drink is making him want to vomit.

“Alright,” she says, moving it and throwing down two cushions from their bed, “C’mon then, let's get comfy”

Before he opens he can formulate any reply, any kind of way of thanking her, she’s folding down beside him, arms opening in an invitation that he can’t even think about declining.

He crawls up between her legs, looking increasingly bashful as he approaches her chest.

“W-why is it so loud, doll?”

Y/N tilts her head, confused.

“Why is what so loud?”

For a second, he thinks that maybe he’s finally snapped, that his mind has finally reached its limit and cracked under the pressure, but then, he draws in a breath and focuses, he focuses in on the distracting hum of noise that’s making him so on edge—

“…Outside…” he gulps, trying to sound confident, even as her fingers slip back up to his temples, stroking his hair back behind his ears, “…the crowd…?”

Y/N pauses, listening.

“I can’t hear it,” she says honestly, “To be honest, sweetheart- I can barely hear the fireworks”

Her thumb brushes the top of his ears, drifting down an inch to muffle them for a moment. The break from the sound is nice, even if the sudden lack of one of his senses is disturbing.

“So why—”

“Super soldier perk,” she says, bringing her lips to his brow, “Remember how Steve has earplugs?— He uses them to sleep, and for things like this, we offered you some when you first got here, but-”

“I hated them” he recalls, because he did, he did hate the way they made everything so quiet, it was too close to being drugged, it was too close to the ways HYDRA used to keep him sometimes, when he’d done something wrong, or when they wanted to ensure his pliancy, “I tried, I… I swear—”

“I know you did” Y/N promises, smoothing his hair back, “It’s okay, like I said… we’ll get better sound-proofing installed in here”

Bucky is about to argue, to tell her that she doesn’t need to do that for him, but then, there’s a particularly loud chorus of cheers that makes him cringe, and all he can do is nod in defeat.

“C’mere” she soothes, guiding him down against her front, “You’re not Steve, love… It’s okay if you’re not at the same place”

He knows that deep down.

He knows that he saw war, that he saw bullets and trenches and dead friends long before Zemo or the train; He knows that there are infinite reasons why he’s so much more sensitive to things, that the other man might barely notice.

He knows, all of that, but he doesn’t care.

He still feels like a failure, like he should’ve been strengthened by his experiences rather than weakened.

but, he doesn’t say anything. He just lets his head fall heavy against her chest and relishes in the feeling of her heart beating beneath his head.

With a deep stab of longing, he thinks about her letting him spend the night in her arms.

That would feel an awful lot like mercy, he thinks, and he’s not quite sure if that’s something he’s ever been worthy of.

Y/N listens to the sound of grinding metal as the plates in his arm strain beneath the cover he’d been clinging to earlier. He’s tense. Every inch of him is taught and strung with nerves. Instinctually, she curls her fingers across his head, carding through his hair in a bid to soothe him.

It seems to work, his body gives a lame attempt at a tremor, but then, he goes back to being a placid weight, soft and gentle in her arms.

“Let’s get you warmed up, love” she whispers, trying to stay quiet now that she knows just how overstimulated he is, “and then FRIDAY can dim the lights for us”

Bucky does his best to help her pull the other quilt over both of their bodies, but really, from where he’s poised between her thighs he’s not really able to do much more than curl impossibly further into her, as she tucks him in with a satisfied hum.

and then, the lights are lowering, and he’s trying his best not to cry.

Y/N hushes him sweetly, feeling the way he’s starting to surrender.

Feeling the way his chest is starting to loosen.

She thinks he’s going to reign it back in, until suddenly, the fireworks start up again.

There are bangs so loud that even she doesn’t like them, and they’re underpinned by the rattling of quick-fire crackers that Tony loves so much.

He shatters in her arms, sobbing lamely as he holds onto her hips in the dark.

It’s way too much. It’s a wall of noise, of loud cracks and gunfire—

“I… I want them to stop…” he simpers, “Please… please I… I’m … I’m-scared… I’m so scared…”

Y/N’s heart breaks. It cracks, straight down the middle when she hears the man she loves begging her to do something that she can’t.

“Baby boy” she soothes, bringing her palm down and flattening it over the ear that’s not pressed into her front, “You’re okay…I’m right here”

He knows that. He’s clutching onto her for dear life, weeping and shaking like a wounded stray.

The constant barrage of sound feels like torture. It feels like something handlers would’ve done to punish him, but at least he’s not on his own. At least he’s held and loved, and—

God, her hand is on his head, he can hear her pulse, he can feel her body against his, trying to remind him of his safety, and that’s the only reason that he’s not clawing at his own skin to try and find some kind of escape.

There’s a break then whilst the next display is prepared, and all he can manage to do, is blink up at her with terrified blue eyes.

“Hey” Y/N whispers, stroking under his eyes, “Did you ever go into a bomb shelter?”

His brow furrows.

He doesn’t know why she’s asking him that, he knows the answer though;

“Yeah” he sobs, “W-with my Steve-a-and my sisters”

She nods considerately, praying that they’re not going to start the show up again just yet.

“and what did you used to do?”

She knows this is risky, but she’s hopeful all the same,

“I…” he sniffs, “I- I think we- we used to play games?”

He remembers laughter, children’s laughter, and Steve’s sick, wheezing chuckle.

“a-and we used to…We… We used to sing, we used… used to do anythin’ to make noise so- so the kids wouldn’t g-get spooked”

That makes her smile again, she hopes he knows where she’s going with this;

“Do you remember when I used to sing to you?” she asks softly, “I don’t think you were really listenin’ but—”

“I… I was…” he tells her honestly, “…I- I couldn’t… I- I didn’t understand…”

Well no, she thinks, You wouldn’t have done.

It was something she’d do, sometimes, when The Solider was fresh off a wipe, or when he’d clearly had it too rough for too long…

“…I…” he sniffs, “…I… I was j-just… I… I l-liked y-you b-bein’ c-close and nobody… nobody sp-spoke to me l-let alone s-sang I… I— god, I—I don’t—I don’t think I can take this noise, Y/N”

He’s shaking like he’s having a fit.

She’s holding him close, and then there’s there’s the faraway squeal of a rocket.

Before the bang can go off, she starts,

“There’ll be blue birds over… the white cliffs of dover… tomorrow… just you wait and see”

Her voice is like honey, it’s dripping over his soul, soothing the frayed, painful edges like a balm—

“There’ll be love, and laughter… and peace ever after, tomorrow… just you wait and see”

By the time she’s on the second verse, the tremors have stopped, and by the end of the song, so has his weeping.

The fireworks haven’t finished, though and when he realises that the melody is drawing to a close, he blinks at her, desperate not to lose the relief she’s offering;

With a soft smile, she leans in to kiss his brow again, before drawing back a fraction and starting up on a whole new song.

This time, the bangs stop before she does. His chest is rattling, he’s sniffling and trying not to fall back into hysterics—

“They’re not going to let up for a couple’of hours” Y/N warns him, “Wanna give those ear plugs another shot?”

She’s stroking the side of his face like he’s precious. Like he’s not a cowering, whimpering mess.

“If I was a dog they’d shoot me”

That makes her laugh, which had been his goal, really, so, he manages a smile, even though he’s still on the verge of breaking down all over again.

“I don’t think that’s true” she purrs, drying his cheeks with her fingers, “I think if you were a dog I’d be doin’ the exact same thing”

It’s his turn to laugh then. It’s shakier, but still, it’s real.

Then, they’re both smiling at each other. She’s watching him with such hopeless affection that he wants to start bawling all over again.

“I think some ear plugs, and lots of cuddlin’ is probably the way to go” she tells him, already thinking about where some earplugs might be.

With any luck, her old pair will be in her dresser— though, god only knows how long it’s been since she’s looked for them.

“They… they make everything so quiet” Bucky hears himself say, “I know that’s the point… I- I just don’t like it”

Y/N nods, understanding his objection.

“You don’t like this noise much either” she says fairly, “ I can’t do anything to stop the party, it’s way too late now, and it’s going to last most of the night, even when the displays trail off…”

“There’ll be music” he murmurs, “and- and the people are goin’ to get louder”

“Probably” she agrees, “Since I’m assumin’ there all makin’ use of the free bar”

Bucky nods, understanding that he’s not going to have a pleasant night regardless of the details. All he can do is try and make the best of it, and hope that she might understand that he’s not acting this way deliberately.

“I think they figured it out pretty early on,” he says, when she prises herself out from underneath him, “That I was scared of the dark”

Y/N hums in soft acknowledgement, but continues her search for the ear-plugs, knowing that he doesn’t need her direct attention just yet—

“I… I don’t know what gave it away, or.. hell, I— I might’ve just told them— but, I— I remember them usin’ it when I— When I wasn’t actin’ right…”

He’s not really speaking to her, he’s just, speaking because getting things like this out is helpful. It’s therapeutic in a way, being able to acknowledge things without feeling judged.

“…then they started with the mask” he continues, as she starts digging through the second draw, “so I, I couldn’t speak— not that I’d dare talk to myself often, but… sometimes when it was real dark, I— I think I’d whisper, or, or maybe I’d try and repeat things I’d heard…”

Pretending that her heart isn’t breaking isn’t easy, but she knows any sign of emotion from her won’t be particularly helpful right now, so she keeps her back to him, as she starts digging through trinkets she’d forgotten she owns.

“…then they… they put the ear pieces in, or… if— if I’d done somethin’ bad they’d just, just put the hood on and I— I’d just, lose it.”

She grimaces at that and is glad he can’t see the look of disgust on her face.

“I couldn’t hear anythin’ in that thing,” he says, voice shaking, “I… I don’t even know how I was breathin’ in it— it— it was like a second skin it was so tight, and dark, and I— god, I— I, I was always real sorry real fast…”

Gotcha, Y/N thinks, picking up the box containing her prize.

She doesn’t turn back yet, though, she needs a minute to compose herself, to cleanse her face from the upset she’s sure is still visible there.

“and the drugs I’d get before… before they’d put me in the tank, doll— sometimes I— sometimes everythin’ would go real hazy and I— I’d just hear my blood racin’ through my body and I— I’d know bad things where coming—”

“Nothing bad is coming” she promises, looking at him now.

He meets her eyes, before bringing his palm up to swipe at his reddened nose.

He nods, with an expression so vulnerable that she has to stop herself from running back to his side.

“Nobody is ever going to hurt you like that again,” she says, slowly folding herself back down onto the floor, “and if these don’t help… if you don’t like them being in, then you can take them right back out”

She’s showing him the small pieces of plastic and rubber. They look harmless, he thinks, they look functional and easy to remove, should he need to.

“and your staying with me” he murmurs, tentatively reaching out for her hand, “W-would… would ya’ let me curl up with ya’ again?”

“Sure” she replies, bringing his fingers up to her lips, “you can always come curl up with me, baby, always— I swear”

As she presses a trail of kisses across his knuckles, he feels tears rolling across his cheeks again.

That’s all I want, he thinks, I just want to stay with you

Y/N knows he’s past his limit, she knows how hard he’s trying to hold it all together and she also knows from the way that even she can make out the cheering from outside that something big is about to start;

“C’mon, handsome” she instructs, guiding him back down between her legs, “Snuggle up, as close as ya’ like”

He gets impossibly close. He presses his entire front against hers and then, he very, very bravely, slips his metal hand up, under the thick material of her sweater so that he can feel the bare skin of her ribs with his palm.

She watches him blinking at her hopefully, as more tears drip down from the tip of his nose.

It’s so sweet that all he wants is to feel her, that all she can do is nod, bringing the hand of his that she’d been holding down so that he can slip that one into place as well.

Bucky hears himself whispering a ‘thank you’ as her fingers begin to tuck his hair back behind his ears. He shuts his eyes and breathes in deep, focusing on the way he can feel her body, warm and soft around him, as she secures the earplugs in place.

Everything goes silent.

The hectic chorus from outside is gone, but, so is everything else.

Her breathing is gone, the sound of his own breathing is gone.

He can’t hear her, and then, he realises with a terrible start, that he can’t see her either.

Blue eyes snap open, wild and anxious.

He hadn’t meant to shut them, but, fear will do that, she supposes.

She knows her saying anything will only upset him further since he won’t hear her words. So, she smiles instead and lets her hands slip around to cup his jaw.

and then, when he finally starts to calm down, she lets one hand fall away, before raising it up so that he can see;

‘It’s okay’ she signs, trying her best to form the shapes correctly, ‘I love you’

He watches her fingers moving, curling into the letters that he doesn’t remember learning to recognise.

He does recognise them though, he pieces her messages together almost instantly and feels his breathing start to deepen.

He still can’t hear it, which is unnerving, but at least he’s not in the dark anymore, and if he tries hard enough he can feel her pulse through the sensors that are woven across the surface of his vibranium palm.

“I love you too,” he says aloud, with a voice so shaky and unsure that it makes her whole body ache for him, “Can we keep the lights on?”

I can’t stop being able to see too, he thinks, I can’t.

Y/N nods and smiles, secretly proud of how he’s bringing himself to speak;

‘Drink?’ she signs, and Bucky knows it’s a question from the tilt in her head.

He shakes his head, before slowly, lowering it to her chest.

“I just want you,” he says, louder than he’d meant to, “I just need you”

Her sign language isn’t really good enough to reply, so she just holds him a fraction tighter, pressing her lips into his head as he starts to let himself sag back into her front.

The next round of fireworks is well underway, now, and it’s loud enough for even Y/N to make out the different types of crackers, as well as gauge how well each is being received by the roar of the crowd, which she thinks must be close to deafening, for those around it.

He’d hate it, she knows that he’d be freaking out if he’d been able to hear any part of it.

Luckily, he can’t, so he stays relatively calm.

As time trickles on, she begins to stroke his back with one hand, whilst the other works at carding back his hair, soothing him with her touch, figuring, based on his earlier recollections that the physical contact might be appreciated.

It is.

He loves it. He loves the feeling of her touching him.

It’s comforting in a way he’d never be able to describe. The rhythm is so calm, it’s a gentle back and forth against his skin, it’s helping him breathe deep-

Y/N only realises he’s asleep when he starts to snore.

She loves him, she loves him so, so much that the picture of him, curled up against her chest makes her heart physically ache.

He’s just precious.

Waking him would be cruel. He barely sleeps enough as it is and his passing out tonight seems like a miracle, one that’s unlikely to be repeated—

She uses the hand not in his hair to bring the covers up, tucking him in more securely against her chest, before she just… sits, more than happy to just let him rest with her.

The party goes on for hours.

It’s well past 4 a.m. when the ruckus finally dies down, and at that point, Y/N has been drifting in and out of sleep for a while.

Of course, that’s when Bucky stirs.

He blinks his eyes open, startled by the absurd lack of sound. The tensing of his body wakes his partner, who sensing his concern wastes no time in carding through his hair again, slipping her fingers around to the plugs still in his ears.

“Hey, handsome” she whispers, voice thick with sleep, “I think we missed the party”

He can hear her, now. That calms him, it helps tug him out from the nest of quiet panic he’d been in just moments before;

“I… I slept?”

Y/N nods, stroking his cheek.

“yeah, baby— we slept.”

He seems to like that. Or maybe it’s the way she’s touching him that he likes.

Either way,

“We slept a long time” she continues, “You did real good, baby… and you kept me nice and warm”

Bucky cracks a smile at that, at the way he’s clearly smothering his partner but she doesn’t seem to mind.

“I love ya’” he murmurs, hiding his nose against her jaw, “-‘m sorry we missed it, doll I— I know it’s no fun being’ with me when ‘m just cowerin’ in a corner-”

“I didn’t miss anything” she replies, “I’ll take cuddling up with you over a party any time”

Again, the honesty in her tone is what captivates him. It helps him sag back into her front, deciding to wallow in his guilt silently, instead of out loud.

It’s still pathetic, he thinks bitterly, That I’m a grown man who can’t handle fireworks-

“Shall we sneak downstairs and get some left-overs?”

The mischievous lilt she’s using makes him smile despite his mood.

“It’s your house” he reminds her softly, “We don’t have to sneak”

“Our house” she corrects lightly, “but, I suppose you’re right.”

He’s going to argue with her about his right to be in the tower, she can read it all over his face. She decides to cut him off with a kiss, silencing his attempt at self-deprecation before it can start.

It works. Her lips against his is a wonderful distraction- Bucky thinks he could drown in the affection, he thinks that that would be a wonderful way to go.

“Come with me?”

He can’t refuse her, he doesn’t want to, anyway. He’d follow her anywhere and be happy about it, especially if she’d hold his hand along the way.

She doesn’t let go until they’re safely in the kitchen, having avoided a past-out Tony on the way.

“He’s going to pretend he went up to his room with those girls he was talking to-,” she says, rummaging through the food that’s still strewn across the counters, “-He probably had a chance, too- shame he-”

“Drank three bottles of Jack?”

Y/N hums in agreement, pushing a paper plate loaded with plastic-looking snacks towards him-

“and plenty of beer” she clucks, satisfied with the way he’s accepted her offering, “anyway, I almost feel bad for house-keeping-”

“Almost?” Barnes asks, raising a brow at the mess

“We pay them enough” she shrugs, heading over to the couch that looks the least disturbed, “Trust me”

Masterlist

[underthetree845]

I gave you my heart (Last Christmas)

Dazai/gn! Reader (oneshot)

Cws: gn! reader (he calls you "bella," and "my love" gender not explicitly stated), established relationship, cozy evening, christmas traditions, mistletoe, dazai osamu needs a hug

About 1.2k words

Summary: Spending a lovely cozy Christmas Eve with Dazai ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

A/n: Merry Christmas everyone! If you don't celebrate I hope this week treats you kindly and that you can find happiness in the upcoming year <3 And here is @/estrelinha-s requested credit for the dividers. ^^

The soft melody of the radio floated around the room, matching the subtlety of the flurries of snowflakes coming down endlessly out the window. A layer of white peppered the bare branches and cityscape outside, it would be salted away come morning. 

A heavenly aroma filled the quaint apartment as your oven mitt hand slid the fresh batch of treats out of their heated hearth. A brunette head of hair, fluffy from being dried after a shower, watched you from the doorway of your bedroom with a certain look in his eyes that could only be described as enamoration. You turned around in search of a spatula, only to be caged against the oven by a freshly bandaged pair of arms. Your breath stifled for a moment before your lips fell into a smile, admiring the rosiness of the detective’s cheeks and the way his hair curled to frame his face, messily but somehow still utterly perfect. “Hey ‘Samu,” your voice was low and gentle as you reached to tuck a lock of hair behind his ear. The snowy white shirt that hung from his shoulders highlighted his features; he really should consider wearing the color more often. “Bella,” he sighed, delicately resting his chin on the crook of your neck. You hooked your arms around his waist, inhaling the vanilla scent of your shampoo. It smells good on him, you think. A subtle munching sound came from the back of your head, and you turned quickly to find Dazai with a half-eaten cookie in hand. “Osamu!” you gave a playful scoff, “Those are for the agency members, remember? I said you could have the extras after I packaged them all up.” The man only grinned at the cute pout that graced your lips. “Oh, really? Sorry my Love, I must have forgotten,” he stated simply, shamelessly continuing to nibble at the warm treat. He took a half step back and leaned against the countertop. You lowered your eyebrows before coming over and attempting to swipe the cookie out of his hand. Dazai only raised it out of your reach, chuckling lightly at your attempts to pull his arm down. “Osamuuu,” you whined, and he popped what was left of the cookie halfway into his mouth. Dazai gave you a look, and you paused for a moment before feeling heat creep up into your face. Leaning closer, you took the other half of the cookie into your mouth. Goosebumps rose on the back of his neck when he felt your breath on his lips. After finishing the cookie, he chuckled again. “But my Love, now we don’t have any of the cookie left.” A light blush came to dust your cheeks. “It was worth it,” you replied with a shy smile. His heart thumped just a little bit harder. “Still, allow me to make it up to you,” Dazai caught your hand as you tried to turn back to the oven. You tilted your head and he took it as an opportunity to lead you to the living room and turn the radio up. Your hands always felt so delicate and perfect in his, as if he were meant to hold them. He would place kisses on your knuckles and palms for hours if you’d let him. 

♫ Last Christmas, I gave you my heart ♫ 

You raised an eyebrow and Dazai’s smile widened. He led you to the center of the room, taking your hand in his and resting his other on your hip. ♫ But the very next day, you gave it away ♫ 

Your pulse quickened as you slid a hand up to his shoulder, and soon he was taking the lead. ♫ This year, to save me from tears, ♫ 

Never had you imagined one singular person being able to make you so happy. It was in the little things, the lazy morning kisses and remembering each other’s usual coffee orders. Teaching him how to cook and him helping you learn how to pick locks. The arm casually draped over your shoulders out in public, the brief moments of eye contact in the office that never failed to send your heart aflutter. The way his name fell from your lips was like a gift; he uttered yours like a promise.  Dazai didn’t know whether to believe you or not when you told him he was deserving of your affection. He didn’t think he’d ever be sure. The first day you waltzed into his life, he knew there was something special about you. When you first cupped his cheeks and told him how you felt, he knew he was a goner. That night, the first time you ran your hands over his scars and gazed into his eyes with a look he’d never seen before, that was when he knew for sure. The one thing he could say without any doubt was that he would do absolutely anything for you. He had no intention of letting you go anytime soon. 

♫ I’ll give it to someone special. ♫  Dazai’s throat hummed softly along to the music, you felt a certain warmth bubbling from your chest as you twirled within the boughs of evergreen and paper snowflakes that adorned your home. Dazai’s eyes gleamed as he admired the way you were lit up by the lights of the tree. The corners of his eyes crinkled and his lips curved upwards into a smile. It made you feel light, breathless. It was a smile reserved for you and you alone. Dazai stepped one foot behind the other, shifting his hand around your waist familiarly. You slid one foot backwards, just the way he taught you, and fell easily into a dip. 

As he tilted you back, you caught sight of a little green cluster of leaves hanging from the ceiling, red berries scattered within. Mistletoe. You didn't put that there. 

Dazai’s grin widened when your gaze shifted back to lock eyes with him again. You let out a warm sigh, not being able to help the smile that played on your lips. As soon as you allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, he sunk his lips into yours. 

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his shirt to prolong the moment for as long as possible. 

When Dazai pulled you up to stand again and held you close to his chest, when you hooked your arms behind his back to return his embrace, he knew it was hopeless. 

“Y/n…” he started, the emotion in his voice would have been unreadable to anyone else, “you have no idea how much you mean to me.” 

It was easy for you to take note of the way he held you just a little bit tighter. Dazai’s silence begged you for a response, his breathing light. You searched and found the slightest hint of vulnerability in his eyes, your heart doing a backflip knowing that you were the only person he dared to trust with a look so raw. 

“I love you too Osamu,” you gave a small smile in understanding. He again questioned what he ever did to deserve someone like you, someone who spoke to him with such a gentleness embedded in their tone. He allowed himself to drown in it nonetheless. 

That night, you fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. Curled up under the covers, Dazai draped his arms over you protectively. He cradled you like you would evaporate at any moment, as if begging the universe for just a moment longer of the light he’d been granted. Dazai gave you his heart completely, utterly, hopelessly, and he knew he wouldn't ever regret it. Not in a million years. 

A/n: Thank you for reading! I'm actually so happy with how this turned out T-T Sleep well tonight and remember to be kind to yourself!

[roll-of-royces]

LaDS Oneshot: Caleb x AFAB MC (unrequited) & Zayne x MC (inferred)

Summary: Caleb attends your birthday party, and symbolically burns his entire world to the ground.

Rating: M for alcoholism, mentions of mental illness, non-consenting kiss, vulgar language, mentions of vomit, mentions of sex

Spoilers: None

Word Count: 2652 words

He knows your apartment is small, Caleb has been there a few times. He was there with a housewarming gift when you first got it. Last year he stayed there for two days on your couch for the holidays, pretending he lived there. And yet, the idea that your birthday party is taking place in someone else's 'art studio', whatever that means, has him irritated before he even arrives. 

But he'll go, because it is you. And when it comes to you he always shows up. 

He made a promise. 

So he parks his bike off the street and follows the sidewalk until he spots a gate tied with little red and white balloons. Caleb takes a slow steadying breath through his nose and reaches for the gate, swinging it open, if it swings too far and smacks into the fence then he doesn't much care. 

He's got his aviation jacket on, the one he never seems to take off, like a second skin. Like a shield. But he did bother to put on a nice shirt instead of a hoodie, and dark wash jeans. The door to the 'studio' is open and as he approaches he can hear the sounds of music and chatter. 

Caleb's a little late, possibly the last one here. He was putting it off all morning. Another quick breath and he's through the door, he glances through the crowd landing on you. 

You're in a new dress, he hasn't seen this one before. It's red, God he loves you in red, short. Short enough he can see the tan of your thighs about halfway up. Tight at the top, thin straps. Your hair is wavy around your shoulders, and he has to force himself to swallow. 

He spreads his arms, pastes on his brightest smile, and hollers, "Happy birthday, pipsqueak! Are you officially an adult yet?"  

You twist, rolling your eyes, before you rush to him. His chest feels light right before you impact and he wraps his arms around you, lifting you bodily off your feet given your smaller size. He knows he clings too tight as he holds you in the air, pressing his face into your hair. 

It's too much, and yet, he doesn't let go until you giggle and try to wiggle free. Caleb is careful with the way he lowers you to the tile, making sure you don't lose your balance on those damn fuck me pumps you've got on. 

He just got here and he already needs a drink. 

"I'm glad you could come." You reach out and bat at his arm, "Even if you're late." 

"We hit delays on the way back." He lies with a smile. Like he hadn't gotten in last night, barely slept, and hovered in his hotel room all day making sure he didn't look like shit before he showed up. 

But you don't pick up on it, you never do, especially not on a day like today when there are far more exciting things going on than his underlying depression. 

You give him another smile, the kind of smile reserved for dismissal, squeeze his arm, and you're gone again, leaving him standing in the middle of the room. Caleb heads for the kitchen, eyeing the selection spread across the island. 

The man behind it, purple looking hair and sharp eyes raises an eyebrow at him. Caleb tries not to grind his teeth, "Nice place." 

It's okay, nothing to write home about really. Wide and open, the kind of spot rich people like him can afford. 

Rafayel grabs a chilled glass and fills it with ice, topping it off with a mix of a few bottles before he slides it toward Caleb. "Thanks." 

And that's that, he goes back to hiding on the outskirts eyes everyone in attendance. It's a larger turnout than he expected, you've been busy while he's been away. That shouldn't come as a surprise you've always been a magnet for people, there's something special about you, and he was the first to see it. 

There's you of course, obviously, it's your birthday but you've also dragged Zayne from the hospital, he's sitting next to some curly-haired boy talking about something. Your hunter partner, Xavier, is sitting on one of the loveseats eyeing you. He recognizes a few other faces, people you've mentioned or taken pictures of and posted. 

Caleb is embarrassed by the amount of lurking he does on your account. Always looking in, never participating. He has no one to blame for that but himself. He sips from his glass and gives the concoction a look of surprise when it slides easily down his throat. 

Painter boy can make a drink, because it's not weak. He feels the burn on the way down, but it lacks that harsh tang of strong liquor. He lifts the glass in the other man's direction and is met with a look that clearly says 'obviously'. 

He throws back the rest and finds that there's already another glass waiting for him. And then another, and another. 

In less than an hour the party is in full swing, you're sitting in the seating area, Zayne next to you, purple-haired boy on the other. All your friends are gathered around telling stories he doesn't entirely understand. Inside jokes that he never got to learn the punchline to. 

Caleb hovers by the window a few feet away, lips numb, looking out one of the large windows. He's distancing again, he should be over there trying to fit into your new group, trying to integrate himself into your life so he doesn't get forgotten, but instead, he hovers. 

He notices Zayne's eyes slide over him, and as always even when they were kids he feels dissected under the doctor's intelligent gaze. Zayne stands, touching your shoulder with a little inside smile that lights a fire in Caleb's stomach. 

Shoulder touches. What's next? The small of your back? Your waist? 

He sips from his glass. 

Zayne wanders over, leaning against the wall next to him, and they look out together. "That's your seventh drink." 

Caleb takes a longer sip just to fuck with him, releasing an excessive 'ah' sound when he's done, "My mom's dead, Zayne, I don't need a new one." 

The doctor sighs but otherwise doesn't remark on that comment, "Come sit with everyone." 

"I'm good." 

"You're self-isolating." Zayne looks at him from the corner of his eye. "Did you just get back from an assignment?" 

Caleb laughs, "Are you experiencing difficulty with reintegration? Do you find yourself thinking of violent scenarios? When you are alone do you consider harming yourself? Please, be less obvious. You're not a field doc anymore." 

"I know you don't want to hear me, but you're showing signs of - " 

He jerks to the side to look at Zayne directly, leaning in with a hiss, "You're not my shrink."

"No. I'm your friend." Caleb wishes Zayne were easy to bend, to push back. But Zayne has never been one to back down, he's got a will like a solid sheet of immovable ice. He doesn't crack under the pressure. 

Most people are intimidated by Caleb, they take one look at that spark of fire in his eyes and they take a step back. Zayne only raises an eyebrow. 

They stare at each other. Caleb drinks what's left in his glass and sets it down on the windowsill. "I'm fine." 

"She's worried about you." 

Caleb blinks hard, closing his eyes for a few seconds before he opens them again. "And when did she tell you that?" 

Oh, purple boy definitely put too much liquor in these drinks, his head swims. Anger curls low in his gut. Zayne is standing too close to him, he feels blocked in even though he's in a huge room. 

"She told me." 

Caleb glances in your direction, you're laughing at something your hunting partner said. Bright teeth and flushed tipsy cheeks. Your dress has ridden up a little too high but no one has mentioned it. Is it too high? Or is it just him? 

"Caleb, have you been seeing things that aren't there?" Zayne's voice has gone soft, the kind of soft one uses when talking to invalids and children. "When was your last mental exam?" 

He snarls, glaring at Zayne. "I'm fucking fine." 

A few of the others glance their way, he was too loud. He feels your eyes find him and he can see it. Fuck, he can see it. The way your face says, 'not again, Caleb is going to embarrass me again'. 

Zayne reaches for his arm and he jerks away heading for the kitchen counter. He doesn't bother to pour it into the glass, he grabs the bottle. 

The doctor follows, people have gone quiet to watch him crash and burn. Caleb brings the bottle to his lips; Zayne reaches for it. Caleb sidesteps and the bottle freezes in his hand, liquor hard stopping as it solidifies to ice. 

"We're worried about you. How about some water?" 

We. What a funny word we. The insinuation behind it given Zayne never used to use the word we before. 

Caleb sets the bottle back to the counter, useless as it is now. His hand burns from the cold. Something ugly finds its way into his chest as the glass hits the stone of the counter. The clink of it might as well be the key in the lock holding back his rage. 

"Are you fucking her?" The moment Caleb says it he knows he's ruining something. He's knocking down a carefully built card tower. 

Zayne's face flashes to confusion, and then his expression disappears behind cold neutrality. "I'll get you some water." 

Caleb laughs, harsh and unamused. The room has gone silent except for the faint music from the surround system. He's not sure if he said it loud enough to be heard across the room, if you heard. He doesn't look at you -- can't. 

"Answer me." He follows Zayne ending up on the other side of the counter, running into each other in front of the door to the fridge. Caleb slams his hand to the surface so Zayne can't open it, hissing at him low enough he can guarantee you won't hear, "Are you?" 

Zayne's eyes are sharp. "You're drunk." 

Caleb grins, "I'm off duty, I'm allowed to be drunk." He leans in closer, chest to chest, using his slightly taller height against Zayne, "You are, aren't you. You're fucking giving it to her." 

"You need to listen to me. If you do this, you're going to hurt people, including yourself. Take a walk with me. Get some air." 

It's too kind, and that's what makes him angrier. He doesn't want Zayne's pity, or doctor's fixes. He doesn't want his childhood friend to give him a recommendation to some shrink who's going to dissect why Caleb has emotional detachment issues. He wants a fight.

He should have picked someone other than the unshakable Zayne. 

So he pushes harder, even as Zayne grabs him by the arm when he starts talking, even as he gets half dragged out of the building, "How does she take it? Does she like it rough? Does she beg for it like a good whore?"

There it is, anger. Caleb latches onto that little sign of weakness. "She fucks like a slut, doesn't she? I knew she would. I bet she likes it when you make her cry. I bet she spreads herself out on your dining room table and asks for it like a dirty little tramp." 

Zayne lets him go, "Enough." 

Caleb grins at him, taking on a mock falsetto, "Give it to me, Doc-tor." 

His friend points at him and that is the closest Caleb has felt to a threat from him. And unfortunately, because something in him is broken, it is only an incentive to keep talking. 

"Please, please, please, doc-tor, I need your cock to feel - " 

Zayne shoves him in the direction of the gate, "Go. Cool off." 

"No." Caleb laughs, eyes glancing toward the entrance to the studio. They've amassed a small little audience. You're watching him, all disappointment. Your new friends hover close to be 'comforting'. "No, I think I'll stay." 

"Caleb." Your voice shoots through him like a knife in the eye. "You need help. Let us help you." 

He laughs again this time it's longer, more manic than ever before. Everyone is watching him crash and burn and he doesn't know what to do about it. All he knows is he's angry, so angry and he doesn't know where to put it. 

"You can't help me!" Caleb leans in on himself, feeling a wave of dizziness. "No one can." 

You approach, because you're good like that, soft. The supportive friend, wanting to be supportive. But if you give him that little, 'we're siblings, I'm here for you' speech he's going to throw up. He's going to vomit all this liquor all over your nice new shoes.

When you touch him, hand on his arm, he goes still. Put to pasture by a single touch, he looks down at you and feels his heart fall to his stomach, acid consuming it each second you stand too close. "It's going to be okay. Zayne and I will look into -" 

He doesn't even let her finish he barks a laugh that probably spatters her in spit. Zayne and I. "You want to help me?" He leans in, "You want to help me, sister?" 

You open your mouth to say something, and he sets his whole life on fire when instead of letting you speak he sticks his tongue in your mouth. He wraps his fingers in your hair trapping you from getting away, and he kisses you. He kisses you dirty. 

He leeches affection you don't want to give, because if he's going down swinging he might as well go down with the taste of you mixed with the drink on his tongue. 

Your lips are hard against his, unmoving, as your hands push against his chest trying to shove him off. He moves back, gets one look at your wide pained expression before your palm impacts the side of his face. 

His head jerks to the side, cheek stinging, headache beginning at his temple. And then you just stare at him like you can't wrap your head around what has just happened. Several of your friends are talking all at once, offering comfort, dismay, anger. 

"What is wrong with you?" 

"Caleb." 

"You need to leave."

"Are you okay? He shouldn't have done that." 

"Caleb." 

"You're an asshole."

"Come back inside, he's not coming back in." 

"Caleb!" Zayne says.

He turns to look at him and realizes he's just ruined everything. Zayne knows it too, because there isn't any anger, there should be anger, he just looks sad. When he takes Caleb's arm this time it feels like a parent guiding a child across a busy road. 

He lets himself be led all the way out to the sidewalk. They stand there in silence. 

Zayne sighs, and lets go. "Call my office line if you want to get help. Wait here and I'll get you a driver." 

Office line. Not personal number. 

Caleb just nods, entirely out of energy. The liquor has settled into an upset stomach. Instead of tasting you all he tastes is the acidity of vomit creeping up his throat. 

Zayne walks back into the building and Caleb watches him go, waits until the door closes, and pulls his keys out of his pocket. He walks to his bike and stares at it, "Fuck it." He slides the helmet on, not because he cares about his safety, but because it hides the tear tracks. 

There's no point in waiting for a car, he'll keep going until he hits the airport, then up to Skyhaven. 

He has no plans of coming back down.