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moonchildreads · 8 days ago

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don't you know what the night can do?

summary: you call for help in the middle of the night and eddie comes to your rescue

pairing: best friend!eddie x reader

tags/warnings: mdni. technically a college au? depression, abusive relationship (not eddie, he's a sweetie), talks of potential homelessness, no SA happens but eddie thinks it did for a second before it's cleared up (again, it does NOT happen, but since it could be triggering consider this your warning), hurt/comfort, happy ending!

wc: 2.8k

a/n: i was supposed to post this yesterday but upon rereading it i realised it was me trauma dumping so i rewrote a significant portion of this to make it into it's own thing. i hope it brings you as much comfort for you as it did for me, and if you are in a situation like reader is, please seek help. i believe in you and i am rooting for you 🖤

Now's the time when it's down to me and you Spread these wings, we'll be flying

It’s already late when the phone rings and he’s immediately shoving his feet into his sneakers, rushing out the door of his apartment and into his van. It’s even more late when he parks across the street and decides against waking your entire building up by ringing your doorbell. Hurriedly, he searches his glove box for that little spare key you gave him for emergencies - the one that has a big metal ring and a tiny plastic tab with your name on it. He lets himself in, the storm outside in the sky and inside your head getting worse and worse every second that ticks by.

Eddie finds you slumped against the small table where your phone rests, the receiver still in your hand, and he knows. He knows something terrible has happened and it doesn’t matter that he’s been anticipating it ever since you told him you’d begun dating that asshole classmate of yours because nothing could have prevented his heart from shattering the moment he sees you.

You’re a lifeless looking doll, devoid of any emotion and feeling. He’d fear you’re actually dead if he couldn’t see your chest rising and falling slowly.

“Sweetheart?” he says, lowering himself to where you’re sitting and trying not to spook you. “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” you say, almost surprised when his eyes come into view. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, baby, of course I’m here,” he shuffles closer to you, but still doesn’t touch you.

Eddie swears he can still feel your arms around his neck sometimes, how your hands always used to find his, and how your legs would tangle on the couch all the time. You don’t like to be touched too much these days. He misses your warmth.

“Are you okay?” he repeats.

“Cold.”

“You’re cold? Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“NO!”

Your voice rings loud in the quiet apartment, your eyes locking with his in a fiery yet terrified stare. What are you so afraid of? Eddie takes in your appearance and it’s clear that you’ve been crying, though he doesn’t really understand why. He peers into the hallway that leads to your bedroom, searching for answers though he finds none.

“I- I’m sorry… I made a mess,” you explain, deflating once more. “I was upset and the sheets, they… they’re not on the bed anymore.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie says. “We can put them back on.”

You afford him a movement that barely registers as a nod and he thinks he hasn’t seen duller eyes in his entire life, except for when he used to look into the mirror when he was younger. You shouldn’t feel like that, not if he can help it. He raises up onto his knees, still keeping his distance but signaling that it’s time to get up.

“It’s late, sweetheart. Come on, you need to get some sleep.”

“Can… can I get a hug first? Please?” you whisper, your face contorting into a pitiful sight.

Eddie doesn't say anything before he pulls you into a tight hug, his arms shielding you from anything and everything that might be trying to hurt you. He lets you bury yourself into him, lets you crawl underneath his skin and bones, become a part of his very soul and he holds you tighter whenever you exhale another heavy breath.

He waits and waits with his ass turning into ice on the harsh linoleum floor of your kitchenette area, and he doesn’t let go before you do because you once read to him that you should always hug kids until they let go first and he still hasn’t forgotten about it. A booming thunder shakes your windows and Eddie feels as though the storm has moved inside your home. You are no longer a kid, but right now you remind him too much of himself when he first went to live with Wayne, and so he keeps holding you until you pull away first.

"I really needed that, thank you," you smile up at him, but it doesn't reach your eyes. He takes it as a win anyways, because you haven’t smiled in a while and Eddie has always loved your smile.

"You can have as many hugs as you'd like, sweetheart. Why don't you go take a shower while I get your bed ready, huh? You can leave the door open if you want, I’ll be here."

You follow him into your hallway, eyes full of tears at his words. He might be the only person in the world that knows you better than you know yourself, and you don’t take that for granted. You take a hot shower and rub at your skin with your washcloth until it's raw and sensitive and cleansed, and when you come out wrapped in your fluffiest towel Eddie says nothing about the fact that when he walked into your bedroom, he could tell that you’d ripped your bed sheets off the mattress somewhere between a nervous fit and calling him in the middle of the night. There’s a new set, clean and smelling like your favorite fabric softener, and he’s laid out your most comfortable sleepwear at the end of your bed.

Eddie throws your used sheets into the washing machine and gets it started while you get changed, and when you're done you fish out a pair of his pajama pants and a shirt he left behind what feels like eons ago. He thanks you, almost surprised to see you have those clothes and it dawns on you that he doesn’t remember he gave them to you, because you haven't had one of the movie nights where he used to wear them in a while now. When you're both ready for bed, Eddie lifts your covers for you and tucks you in, laying next to you on top of the duvet.

"You can get in if you want," you say, and it's clear you want him to do it.

Eddie thinks he'll never be able to say no to you, so he gets in without you having to ask twice. You are quick to shift closer to him once he gets under the sheets and he takes the hint to put his arms around you, bringing your head to his shoulder and tangling his legs with yours. It’s been ages since he’s held you like this and he’s not going to start complaining about it now - not when you’re right back where you’ve always belonged.

"I have to move out by the end of the month," you mutter, starting to explain the night's events.

"That sucks. You’ve been house hunting yet?"

"No. I found out today and I was hoping Matt would help."

"And he didn't," Eddie says, knowingly.

"He didn't," you confirm. "I asked him to come over earlier because I was upset and he said he’d be here for dinner."

"You cooked?" he hums, petting the back of your head.

"Yeah. I made, uhm, lemon chicken? It wasn't very good."

You've always been a wonderful cook, at least in Eddie's eyes. You don't have a lot of recipes you can whip out from under your belt upon short notice, but the ones you do have are some of his favorites. The chocolate chip cookies he has to hide from Wayne, the chicken noodle soup you bring over when he’s sick, the banana pancakes that always went along with his scrambled eggs and bacon when he used to sleep over. You've never made lemon chicken for him, but you're good at following a cookbook so he thinks it mustn't have turned out inedible.

By now Eddie has learned that "it wasn't very good" means "Matt didn't like it". He doesn’t understand why that piece of shit is dating you if never likes anything you do. Hearing you repeat the things he says to make you feel bad makes your best friend want to dig through your fridge for the leftovers and eat them all just to prove to you that your boyfriend is wrong.

"I think I have to break up with Matt."

Your words make Eddie's head turn. Of all the things you could have said tonight, this was not something he ever imagined. He could have sworn you'd date Matt until he'd decided he'd had enough of you, or you'd marry him and he'd have to sit in the front row watching that fucking guy sap you of your life force for the rest of your days.

Eddie is haunted by the sound of your vacant voice when you'd asked him to come over. At the forefront of his mind he can see it all in loose pieces: the disarray in your bedroom, your obsession with being clean, Matt not being here after you said he’d come over earlier for dinner. He waits for you to paint a clear picture, hoping he won't have to break your boyfriend's nose (or worse) when he sees him around.

"Did he hurt you?" Eddie asks, heart sinking.

"I don't think he likes me anymore," you say, breaking down. Eddie shifts closer and holds you while you shiver. "He, um… he said I can't live with him if I can't find a place before I have to move out of here. A-and when I got upset because I don't want to be fucking homeless during my last semester, he- he tried to distract me with sex."

"What the fuck."

"I t-think he only came o-over ‘cause he wan- he wanted to get laid," you admit between hiccups. "And when he- he couldn't g-get it, he just left.”

"Sweetheart, fuck, I'm so sorry. He's such a fucking asshole," he lets you sob into his arms, the tears coming out of your tired eyes rivalring the downpour outside hitting your windows.

“He- he wouldn’t even hug me. I was crying and he just stood there! He doesn’t care about me being homeless, he- he doesn’t care about me at all!”

“Shh, it’s okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, I’ve got you,” he says gently, and you want to believe he’s telling the truth but you don’t. You can’t.

“It’s not. It’s not okay,” you try to move away but he follows you, heart chasing after yours.

"What do you mean, baby?" he brushes a tear away from your face as you both sit up.

“I- I don’t know what’s wrong and I’m just… there’s nothing in here,” you say through your teeth while you grab at your shirt frantically, scaring him with the rough motion. "I feel so empty and I think- I know there's something really wrong with me, Eddie. Something has to be wrong. I’m not normal.”

"Hey, no, no, there's nothing wrong with you," he pulls you into him once more, not letting you run away from him again. "Sweetheart, I promise you, you're- you're not empty, what are you even saying? You're full - you're so full. You're full of love, a-and kindness, and if that son of a bitch is making you feel like you're not full then, I don’t know, dump his ass! He's mean and pathetic, please don't- don't break yourself into a million pieces for someone who doesn't deserve you."

"I don't feel full, Ed."

"That’s okay, we can work on it," Eddie says, confidently. "And I’m not gonna let you be homeless, I swear. You can move in with me until you feel ready to start house hunting!"

"What if I never feel better?"

"Then we’ll live together forever,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you know he means it.

"Ed-"

"Babe. I'm serious. One hundred percent. You can even have my bedroom, I don't care."

"And where are you gonna sleep, huh? Don't be stupid."

"Wayne slept in the living room for like a decade and he's still kicking, I'll survive."

You turn in his arms so you can look at him. Eddie looks back at you with his warm eyes and mischievous smile firmly planted on his face. He’s so special to you. And luckily for him, you've never been able to say no to him either.

"When is your lease over?" you ask, wiping your tears and feeling suddenly determined.

"Uh, after you graduate I think?"

"I’ll move in with you but don't renew it. Let's find a new place."

"Yeah?" Eddie grins. "You wanna be roommates? For real?"

"I think- I think it could be good for me," you raise your hands and squish his cheeks. I think you could be good for me. "I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you."

"Me too," he says, gaze softening.

He knows it's not your fault Matt has taken over your life, not when he's conditioned you for the past year to depend on him for everything. Eddie also knows he himself has been the source of many of your fights, and while it hurts to see you cry every time Matt gives you the silent treatment until you apologize for something you didn't do, your adamant refusal to cut your best friend off your life makes him incredibly proud of you.

As much as you've stood up for Eddie throughout your lives, you've never been good at standing up for yourself. He thinks it’s time he starts standing up for you too.

"You, um," Eddie starts, grabbing your wrists to pull your hands away from his cheeks and onto his lap. "You really are gonna break up with him though, right? Because I don't think I can pretend like everything's cool with the guy when he keeps hurting you like this."

"No, I know. I can't keep going like this anymore. There's... there's so much stuff you don't even know, Ed. Sometimes he really scares me," you confess.

"He hasn't, like… hit you or anything, right?" his throat constricts.

"No, but he says things... weird things. He's so mean sometimes,” you huff, finally getting rightfully angry. “He got mad for no reason the other day and said that the only time he felt I loved him was when he got sick and I stayed with him during Spring Break. I spent an entire week taking care of him and then when he gave me the fucking plague, because of course I got it from him, Robin had to take care of me because he was sooo busy."

"He's such a goddamn loser, he totally held you hostage ‘cause you had plans that didn’t involve him for once. I knew he had a problem with us going to Steve's cabin, he’s never liked any of us!”

"Also he says I humiliate him in class because I think I'm smarter than him. Like it’s my fault his grades suck.”

"You are, though," Eddie says, grinning.

“Huh?”

"You are smarter than him. You have always been the smartest of us all."

"No, I’m not,” you scoff. “Nancy was valedictorian."

"Be real, you didn't want that shit anyway."

"No, I really didn't," you giggle softly. "I was too busy running around town with you and Jonathan.”

“Those were the good days,” he snorts. “We totally made Hopper age in dog years.”

After the laughter ends, you two look at each other and know that something has changed tonight. Something that was slowly veering off track got violently course-corrected, and you let yourself feel hopeful for the first time in a very long time.

You’ll go to sleep in Eddie’s arms and wake up to the smell of him frying bacon. You’ll whip your banana pancakes from thin air and you’ll start deciding together what you want to sell, what you’ll put in storage and what you’ll take with you once you move out of your place. You’ll talk about your finals coming up and Eddie’s new job, and he’ll do the dishes while you call Nancy, who’ll call Jonathan, who’ll shake Argyle up, who’ll call Eden, who’ll call and wake up Robin, who’ll yell at a sleepy Steve to get up, who’ll then call you to ask when they should be coming to help you lug all your stuff into Eddie’s van.

And Matt won’t call all weekend, because he doesn’t care about you, but you will never know that because you’ll be getting drunk at Robin and Steve’s while Eden tells you about a two bedroom apartment that a classmate of hers is vacating after graduation, and everyone else will make bets on how long it’s going to take for you and Eddie to notice that you won’t actually need two bedrooms.

But for now, with eyes that hurt from crying and limbs that feel heavy with a tiredness you’ve been carrying for months, you feel a little less empty because you know that no matter what the future holds, you’ll always have Eddie by your side.

thank you for reading!

#bunny writes #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson

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angelsleepinggurl · 5 months ago

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𝙏𝙃𝙀𝙔 𝙇𝙄𝙆𝙀 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝘼𝙔 𝙈𝙔 𝙉𝙊𝙊𝙉𝙄𝙀 𝙄𝙎 𝙋𝙀𝘼𝙆𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙊𝙐𝙏 𝙈𝙔 𝙎𝙆𝙄𝙍𝙏

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. As a popular, pretty, head cheerleader in highschool with thee perfect dreamy boyfriend, you could not ask for more, your life is perfect. after an exhilarating football match, you and your boyfriend find a way to 'cool down' before heading out for dinner with the winning team.

wc. around 2,780

tags. satoru gojo x reader. populargojo! x reader. satoru gojox reader smut. all characters are 18 years old. alternative au. non curse au. highschool au. fucking in a car. unprotected sex. dirty talk.hitting it raw. dom yn (temp). riding. squirting.18+ mdni!

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒..⭒☆━━━

You live for your school's games. The field always seems to be pulsating with an electric energy in, as people roar from the bleachers in hopes of their team winning. You'd been on the cheer team for as long as you can remember. You initially joined it when your friend Jodie persuaded you, saying you had a really great sense of rhythm and natural ability to dance, compared to others your age. You didn't think much of it at the time, you didn't even think you'd make it past the tryouts. But once, they got you in that bright uniform, you knew you'd love it. It made you feel like the girl you wanted to be whenever you held pom poms in your hand, whenever you got ready to cheer for a game. It’s the only time you don't feel timid standing in front of people. Now as a senior, you've managed to embody the girls you look up to when you were a freshman as you become team captain.

Your best friend Geto Suguru is playing tonight, out on the endless field of green. Cheering for your friends never failed to make you smile, filling you with a buzz as you stood in formation with your team, roaring out a chant with them. Amidst the sea of spirited faces adorned in school colours, there was only one face that stood out to you, smiling at you from above.

The school’s heartthrob: Satoru Gojo. Your boyfriend.

The two of you got together in Junior year, he noticed you when Geto dragged him to one of his games. That night you were practicing leading the team for a dance. Ever since then, he was hooked. The way you moved, the way your hair fell, the way your lips curved into a pretty smile. He wanted you. He needed you. He had to have you. Something about your air and manner had his love-struck for you. He’d try his hardest to strike up a conversation with you after classes, at lunch after school. Though you played hard to get, you couldn’t deny how your heart would beat a little faster when he was nearby. The tension between the two of you was undoubted and heated, the both of you communicated through flirting. Even before the two of you started dating people started to identify you as a couple. The couple.

The crowd is buzzing with animated chatter, a cacophony of voices rising and falling like waves. Laughter, cheers, and the occasional jeer painted the backdrop for the unfolding drama. Looking up into the stands again you make eye contact with Satoru again. A familiar smirk on his lips as he watched you like a predator watching and waiting for their prey. It wasn’t strange for you and Gojo to fuck after games, he just found your uniform irresistible. The short skirts, tight tops, how it fit your form perfectly, how could he not be turned on?

“We got it all together, We're fighting for a win TMCC on top again!” You all chant, rearranging and organising yourselves fluidly into new formations as you all chant and cheer. You watch as he leans back in his seat, the grin on his face getting wider. You notice him readjust in his seat as he manspreads.

The air is hot, the tension is almost tangible, and you can feel the heat grow from within you, as you lock eyes with his cerulean blue ones.

The scent of freshly popped popcorn wafts through the air, blending with the familiar aroma of sweat and anticipation.

The announcer's voice resonates through the field, commentating on the progress of the game. With each dribble, pass, and score, the field becomes a theatre of emotions. The crowd's reactions painted full gasps of disbelief, exuberant cheers, and groans of disappointment. Every point scored was met with an explosion of noise,

As the clock ticks down, the atmosphere intensifies and your cheers get louder. You and your team doing your best to motivate the players to victory.

The stadium roared with anticipation as the two teams clashed in an intense soccer battle. Tension hung in the air with each kick, and the crowd's collective breath held as the clock ticked down. The teams were now tied and time was running out. All eyes watched the players in suspense, all awaiting for the final goal.

Geto cut through the players, a determined look in his eyes. Strands of his tied-up hair fall loose and out of place and he wizzes down the field. He looked at his teammate, signalling him that he had it all under control. A subtle nod from his teammate and the ball was now at his feet. Everyone watching and the other team closing in on him. With his collected thoughts, Geto turns and dribbles through the opponents, careful to not lose the ball in the final minutes.

The goalkeeper seemed determined to block the ball but once Geto kicked the ball, it flew up into the air and hurtling towards the net at a whopping speed.

And GOAL!

They’d won! Geto pulled his team through. All his teammates jumped on him pulling him into a triumphant hug. The entire stadium thundered in celebration creating a symphony of joy that reverberated through the air.

You screamed and jumped for Geto, feeling immensely proud of your friend.

Soon, everyone dispersed from the stadium and you stayed to congratulate your cheer squad on their efforts and energy. A hand snakes around your waist, and as you look up you see a familiar mop of white hair next to you.

“Toru, I thought I told you to wait for me outside.” You scold him “I’m trying to talk to my team.”

“It’s okay girl, y’all are cute we’ll forget about this.” Jodie pipes in leading the group of girls who kept whining about how jealous they were of your relationship, and how they wanted a boyfriend like Satoru.

“See you guys Thursday, Well done!” You shot after them, watching the group of girls dissipate. Seconds after, the tall frame of Suguru Geto walks up to the two of you. Satoru releases his grip on you and walks up to his friend slapping him on the back and congratulating him on his win.

“Well done Geto.” You say once the two boys walk back up to you.

Geto put his hand in your hair ruffling your pigtails a little bit. “Thanks. Hey where do you guys wanna eat after this, it’ll be on me.” Geto asks.

“Let it be on me, you won.” Gojo insists which Geto doesn’t comply against. “We should go to Five Guys.” He suggests and you all nod in agreement. “See you over there bro.”

“See ya dude.” Geto says, leaving the two of you alone again.

Gojo's lips immediately found yours, kissing you with so much vigour as if he was trying to suck the air out of you. “Wasn’t someone being naughty today.” He whispers in your ear, causing you to bite your lip in excitement as you know where this is going.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You say with faux innocence. He smirks as his fingers find their way into your pigtails, playing with the ribbon and twirling them together.

The two of you start walking towards his car, his arm around your waist. His fingers toy with the hem of your skirt and flick the band of your panties against your skin.

“Geez Satoru, can’t even wait now can we.” You say with a smirk leaning in front of the car door now.

“Says you. I saw you out there, shaking and twirling for me. Y’were doin' it s'much I could tell you your panty colour." He responds, opening the car door for you.

“Okay then, what colour are my panties?” You ask teasingly, playing with your lip between your teeth.

“I may need to get a better look.” He whispers to you, before closing your car door and walking over to his. The second his car door closes he immediately starts kissing you sensually, as if if he didn’t kiss you any other way you would disappear from him completely. His lips were fast and his tongue was skilled in making casual unexpected appearances, but his touch was gentle, cupping your face in his hands as if you were the most delicate thing in the world.

You sigh, unable to wait any longer. Swiftly, you climb onto Satoru’s lap. He breaks the kiss and chuckles a little. “Eager now aren’t we.”

Instead of responding you start rocking your hips back and forth. Snapping them forward and rolling them back. With every movement, you could feel him grow from underneath you. “Who’s eager now.” you whisper a smirk on your lips.

“What a bad girl. I didn’t know my girl was like this.” he says, his large hands now groping your ass. With one swift movement, his hand lifts up your skirt to reveal underwear in all its glory, a pretty blue colour. “Oh, they really were blue. Luckily I got this opportunity to see you wearing my favourite colour panties.” His longer finger looks under the hemline of your underwear this time, slyly sliding down, inching towards your clit.

“Not so fast big boy. ” you whisper teasingly, placing a gentle kiss on his jaw, relishing the moment. “ You need to be patient.” by now the white-haired maile is finding it extremely difficult to sit still and let you do all the work, he’s itching for his hands to roam your body, your curves your tits, all of you. Gojo is a very handsy guy when it comes to both of you, he’s always touching you in some manner, it’s like the guy doesn’t know anything about personal space. So for you to ask him to remain hands off is torture, resulting in his grunting and groaning restlessly, yet still, he obeys your wishes to let you take charge. This side of you is not something the guy is used to seeing and it’s seriously turning him on. You feel his bulge press against your clothed wetness, making you giggle.

“Already excited prince? Y’thinking bout how this pussy is gonna suck you in, hmm Satoru.” you hum yet again, and Gojo doesn't respond, he shifts in his seat yet again. “Looks like the prince is lost for words, I wonder if I should just-” Your fingers travel down to his trousers, speedily pulling the zip of them down. Watching the tent, spring upright. Your hand slowly starts palming his hard-on, a specific spot dampening with pre-cum. Exactly the sight you’ve been waiting to see all night. “You wanna feel me big boy?” you ask, your voice sounding like honey in his ear like a siren’s voice hypnotizing and tempting him. It is like his body is the only one speaking for him, the way he nods and swallows, hard. You watch intently as his Adam apple bobs on his throat, turning you on even more. Without wasting any more time, you grab his hand, slithering it down your panties. “Feel how wet you made me?” You whimper, slowly riding yourself on his fingers, feeling absolutely ecstatic. Your other free hand, slowly palming him still.

Although the usually rebellious guy is for once doing as you say, it does;t feel right. You pull his hand out of your underwear, which he doesn't put up a fight for. A pout forms on your lips as you look up at him through your lashes. “Why aren’t you responding to me?” you whine, self-doubting your skills at being dominating in this setting.

Gojo doesn’t speak up yet, his words lost in his throat as his eye slock unto yours. “ Cuz if I start talking and taking charge, we won’t be leaving this car anytime soon.” This is the first time you've seen such a sight on the white-haired male, a deep blush generously dusting both his cheeks. The both of you maintain eye contact, feeling the tension heighten and instantaneously the both of you run purely on feeling. Your hand sliding down his boxers to pull out his dick. His tip is a bright red with pre-cum rolling down to the base. You gather spit in your mouth and watch as it slowly drops down onto his member. He twitches once your spit touches it. Sensitive. A couple pumps with your hand and the man is already whimpering quietly.

He is totally not getting away with this. You smirk.

“You want me to put it in big boy?” you ask him. His usual persona is back when he instructs you to “ Put it in princess.” his eyes low and closed with intense lust. You slowly lower yourself down, taking in all his inches, till it can’t be seen anymore. It’s all in and you feel stuffed as always, it’s like his dick was made for you.

“Fuck.” you whisper breathlessly. Satoru’s hand snakes its way to your hips, placing a firm grip on them.

“Sorry baby, I couldn’t help it. You just look so good.” With ease the male lifts you up slightly and plops you back down again, your weight sinking down on him. With every time your body is lifted and every time his dick grazes that sensitive spot in your warm cunt, your moans get louder and louder. The sounds of skin slapping are now loud in the car and the windows are starting to fog up. You place your hands on his shoulders once he pauses to get a good grip on your ass, using it to help lift you easier and to thrust into you faster. You don’t seem to be complaining about the fact he’s adapted his usual dominating role again, as each repetitive thrust makes your mind cloud. With your thighs dripping in your arousal and with your cunt squeezing him tightly, Gojo starts to grunt as you moan into his neck, begging and pleading for him to not stop and to “keep going.”

“Fuck Toru, hmmm. Feel’s s’ good.” you whine, laying your head in the crook of his neck, the smell of sex filling your nose, a thin layer of sweat covering his chest. “Don’t stop Toru.” you cry out.

“Do you hear how wet you are f’me? Hmm? We’re you thinking about me during the game. Thinking about me touching you, about me fucking you?” he asks teasingly, the smirk evident in his voice. All you do is moan in response, nodding your head desperately. “Tell me what you were imagining princess.”

“Was thinking about you fucking me like how you are. Ohh fuck.” your mind is turning hazy, the only goal in your mind is finishing. “ Was thinking about how you’d call me a good girl for doing so well. Was thinkin’ bout cumming all over your dick babe.” you answer.

“Oh? I knew my girl had a dirty mind, didn’t know you were so nasty though ” he comments., intently watching your striped skirt hang from your waist, its movements in sync with his thrusts.

“Wanna come Satoru, pleaseee.” you whine unsure of how much longer you can hold out for.

“Don’t worry pretty girl, I’ll let you come.” he groans in your ear, the sound of his grunts and groans nearly sending you over the edge. A repetitive string of “ Please, Please, Please.” And “Fuck, Fuck, Fuck.” leave your lips in alternating patterns. The guy is thrusting into you like a machine, like there's no tomorrow like this time will be your last. “Shit.” he huffs, feeling his own end approach. Your grip on his shoulders tighten, your jaw goes slack and your body goes limp. You feel the familiar knot in your stomach tighten and soon you’re cumming, hard… and everywhere. A wetness gushes out of you but this time, landing everywhere.

“Good girl. you squirted for me.” he congratulates, a few thrusts away from his own pleasure, and now with every thrust your high is prolonged, leaving you overstimulated. You’re screaming in pleasure and soon the white-haired male is moaning loudly too, his cum shooting up into your warm cunt, making you whine in pleasure. Tears fall from your eyes, from overstimulation. The both of you remain completely still and silent, slowly riding out your highs, both of you panting for air.

The both of your cum drips out of your stuffed hole, making a mess.

“Geto’s gonna get suspicious that we’ve been gone for so long.” you say, craning your head to look up at him.

“Who cares what that fool thinks? Round 2.”

.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒.⭒☆━━━✰━━━☆⭒..⭒☆━━━

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theorphicangel · 9 months ago

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“𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐜𝐮𝐩𝐢𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬?” | 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

synopsis: you have a valentine’s date tomorrow and you’re somewhat excited for it. but there’s just one thing you’re unsure about…thankfully your trusted roommate can help. right?

tags: roommate au! (Here we go again), mutual pining, these mfs are in DENIAL, no smut in this part but part 4👀

taglist: @ghost-lantern @mreowmoreww @maomaimao @ahano @haileycannotcometothephonern @amberbalcom14 @fire-in-her-veinz @roserfz27 @that-sounds-stupid

PART THREE (click here for part 2)

Miguel remains unmoving for what seems like hours.

He’s cleaned himself up; now changed into a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie — one of your favorites that you like to steal. He’s not bothered to make dinner for himself, limbs glued to the couch.

His mind wonders how your date is going, delirious with fantasy how your date might be treating you. Probably gotten you better flowers, a better gift, maybe even a reservation at that restaurant which recently opened in upper Manhattan, most likely beating your favorite italian place in downtown Brooklyn.

His whirling thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a key twisting through the lock.

Miguel frowns, glancing at his phone for the time.

It’s only 10:24pm.

Turning, he finds you walking through the door before shutting it behind you and taking your heels off with haste. Miguel hears you groan with satisfaction as you waddle over to the couch.

“Hey.”

He notices that you have no flowers, not even a gift. The purse that you had taken for the night is now discarded on the coffee table without a second thought, your exhausted body sinks onto the couch next to Miguel with an empty sigh.

“You’re back early.” He figures he won’t even try to not state the obvious.

“Yeah.” You mumble, looking down and fiddling with your hands. “It was a quick date.”

He raises a brow. “Quick?”

You shrug. “Yeah, we went to that new posh bistro near Manhattan.”

Miguel internally curses. He was right after all.

“Was it good?”

“It was alright. I didn’t eat much though.”

“Why not?”

“Nothing looked interesting.” You shug. “Y'know, for a luxury restaurant like them their portions seemed kinda small. I was kinda hoping that you’d make something good for dinner when I came back, m’craving pasta like crazy.”

Miguel perks up a little at your words. “Do you want me to make something for you?”

“No, it's fine.”

“Are you—”

“And why haven’t you eaten?” you cut him off, knowing all too well that he’d get up and start cooking for you. You didn’t want to be a burden to him. You noticed that the kitchen was the exact same as before you left.

“I wasn’t in the mood to eat.”

“Not even take out?”

Miguel shakes his head.

Your brows furrow, finding it unusual but decide to say nothing more about it. The awkward tension from this morning seems to return, lingering around the apartment walls and now beginning to creep in between the two of you.

Your thighs are just brushing his, you can sense his chest rising and falling next to you; you feel so close to him but at the same time so distant all of a sudden. You can sense that there’s something that hangs over the two of you, lingering like melancholic clouds over the late winter skies in New York.

The tension is heavy, too thick to be cut with a knife. You feel a desire to leave perhaps to ease up whatever was going on between the two of you. But before you shift, Miguel seems to finally let his words ease you out of the cage that you were in.

“Did our–uh lesson …work?”

“What?”

It takes a few seconds before realization creeps in, your face softening. He was talking about last night.

“Oh, that.” You avoid eye contact with him. “Yeah, it helped.”

That was the last punch in the gut for him. Internally, his stomach churns. Almost nauseous at the idea of you pleasing someone else and having that look in your eyes which wasn’t solely for him.

He had no right to feel this way, he knows this, you’re free to do anything you want but it takes a moment for Miguel to ease the growing ache in his stomach; letting out an exhale before speaking again.

“You were right earlier.”

“Huh?” You glance towards him only to find that Miguel’s not looking at you, instead staring straight ahead at the window, showcasing the glorious glow of New York.

Skyscrapers of different heights dotted around the landscape, numerous tiny squares glowing with light only emphasized the burn of sonder.

“Y’know you were right earlier, you were right about me having no plans for valentine’s.”

“Oh, I was, was I?” You jump at the chance to lighten up the mood immediately, your tone turning to curiosity.

“Yeah, I had a reservation but uh— I canceled.”

“Oh, why?”

“They uhh – they said they had other plans so…” his voice trails off.

Your teasing grin drops and your voice effortlessly changes effortlessly from playfulness to one of compassion. “Oh, Miguel, I’m so sorry.” Truly, your heart dropped at the thought of him being stood up.

“It’s fine.”

A pause settles between you once again and you muse over what had happened tonight.You let out an exhale before speaking. “If I'd known that the date was going to be shit, and to be fair I should’ve known from the moment that he ignored me at work, and I would’ve stayed with you and–”

“Really?” Miguel interrupts, finally gaining the courage to meet your eyes. “Would you?

“Yes, I would've. You know I would have.”

“Really?” he repeats dumbfoundedly, as if he didn’t believe you the first time.

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I just didn’t think–” Miguel cuts himself off, abruptly turning his head away from you. Fear began to build up in his lower abdomen.

He didn’t think that he was worth it.

He didn’t think that you loved him. He didn’t think that you see him in the same way that he sees you.

He sees you in a way which makes him realize that nothing in the world makes sense if you’re not there by his side to explain it all to him.

He sees you in a way that keeps him up at night for hours, staring at the ceiling whilst he conjures up one hundred and one ways to confess to you; working through each scenario before ruling it out because of his fear and apprehension.

If you knew how he felt, how would you react? Would it upset you? Excite you? Do you even feel the same? If you don’t then it could change everything between the two of you. Maybe you’d move out because of his feelings.

No. He doesn’t want that.

Anything but that.

“Your voice is quiet, full of overwhelming empathy. “Miguel, of course I would’ve stayed with you. All you had to do was ask and as a friend, I would’ve done something with you instead.”

“As a friend?”

Your expression turns to confusion, hesitant in your answer. “Yeah, yeah and as a roommate of course.”

You tried to add that on as a joke but he doesn’t laugh, instead taking another deep breath to calm himself.

Fuck, why was he doing this to himself?

“Did I know them?”

“Huh?” Miguel glances at you.

“Did I know your valentine’s date?”

Miguel hesitates. Does he lie about it? He figures that you wouldn’t catch on anyways. He goes with a semi-lie. “I dunno’. Maybe I mentioned them once or twice to you or Peter.”

You nod at his words. He definitely didn’t mention it to you. You remember everything that he tells you.

“Any reason why they canceled?”

Miguel shakes his head. “Not really.” He takes a shaky inhale. “They just said something came up.” It’s still relatively awkward in the room; your fingers digging into the soft fabric of the couch.

“Did you like them?”

Miguel holds back a scoff. To you, it seems like you had asked a stupid question, regret immediately filling your body as soon as the words had left your mouth. Of course, he liked them, why else would he be asking them out?

But to him, he scoffs in frustration. Your use of the word ‘like’ isn’t enough to accurately describe his infatuation with you.

Miguel swallows thickly before giving his answer, it’s breathy and it comes out more strangled that he had expected. “Ye-yeah.”

You glance down, your fingertips still painfully digging into the couch.

You can feel the disappointment emerge within you; jealousy begins to eat away at you but you suppress it just like you have with your other emotions – a consistent coping mechanism.

But this wasn’t about you right now. This was about Miguel and right now you have to be there for him. Whether it be as a friend or roommate, you want to let him know that you care.

The week leading up to valentine’s you spotted his excitement from a mile away: a cheesy grin at his phone on the couch or his feigned confusion that one afternoon when you had come home earlier than he had expected and caught a glimpse of a pack of red balloons in his hands. Of course, your interrogation came to nothing but you estimated that it had something to do with valentine’s.

For him to go through all that effort to be stood up on made your heart ache.

You’re not really sure where to start with your consolation.

“Miguel—”

“Let me repay you for last night.”

His words seem to leave his mouth in a rush. His tongue spilling out the words in a haste.

Your mouth is slightly agape, unsure of what he means.

“If uh– only if you wanted to...uh but you don't-” A hand rubs at his forehead, frustrated with himself for being so blunt. “fuck! I wasn’t–”

“You want to do what we did last night?” you interrupt, suddenly catching on. You’re still unable to make eye contact with him.

“Yes but–” Miguel hesitates, as if his words are lodged in his throat.

“But what?”

“ But you don’t have to feel the same way, I just—” he pauses, taking a breath to consider his words. His eyes flutter shut as he finally explains, finding it easier to not look at you. He can't bear to see your expression as he says this.

“Just...uh, fuck, how do I say this? Just... let me have you for tonight...please. Just this once and we can forget that it ever happened but I– I just want –”

His sentence is cut off once he feels your hands cup his face. For once, you forced yourself to look at him. You could tell how much he refused to look at you, his expression was painted with a deep yearning that you’ve never seen before, painted with a starvation for love.

“Miguel.” You don’t even know where to start with your own words.

“Can I show you?” He mumbles softly. “Can I show you how bad I’ve wanted you? Please?"

There’s a pause in the room before you give an answer.

“Yes.” The word leaves your lips so softly you weren’t sure that he heard it the first time.

“Yes.” you repeat a little louder this time.

For him, it was always a yes.

reblogs are much appreciated!!

(😮‍💨 I know this took me ages to upload but tysm for hanging in there…maybe I’m done torturing you guys…maybe…)

#angel writes #miguel o hara #miguel x reader #miguel spiderman #miguel 2099 #miguel o'hara #spiderman across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara atsv #atsv x reader #spiderman atsv #atsv headcanons #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara smut #miguel x you

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bloodreinasbathwater · 6 months ago

Text

Jacked Up Love

part 2

Jack Hughes X Best Friend! Reader

(Brothers Best Friend AU)

a.n: I have been debating whether to add some spice to this but after not seeing it fit my ending yet, it will be in part 4 or 5 instead. this one feels a little short but it's getting the story going until we have our final confrontation. I hope you guys enjoy and please message me if you have any questions or want to be added to the tag list. <3

warnings: flirting, not proofread, fuckboy jack, kissing, cursing, mentions of cheating?

masterlist link

Summary: Hurt and angry, Y/N avoids Jack for most of the night until he confronts her as the party winds down. Just as things are heating up between Y/N and Jack, Lee walks in on Y/N and Jack in an intimate moment.

word count - 4341

...

Jack chuckled as he observed Quinn and his dad bickering good-naturedly over the stove. Quinn kept trying to slather more sauce onto the ribs, much to Jim's exasperation.

"No, no, you're doing it all wrong!" Jim complained, attempting to wrestle the basting brush from Quinn's hand. "You're supposed to let the meat speak for itself, not drown it in that sugary nonsense."

Quinn rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, live a little! Everyone knows the secret to killer ribs is in the sauce dad."

Their playful argument carried across the large house, drawing amused glances from the other partygoers. Jack shook his head, grinning at their antics. He loved these laid-back gatherings in the winter, where everyone could just kick back and enjoy each other's company.

Turning his attention back to Lee, Jack tried to focus on their conversation about the latest Cardinals game. "...and did you see that pass in the third period?" Lee was saying excitedly, his hands waving animatedly as he recounted the highlights of the game. "I thought for sure they were going to score off that turnover."

Luke nodded, taking a swig of his beer. "Yeah, man, that was a close call. But the goalie really stepped up his game tonight. Those saves were unreal."

They continued to chat, their voices rising and falling with the ebb and flow of their enthusiasm. He tried to focus on the words, but a familiar laugh rang out, causing his heart to skip a beat. Jack's attention drifted from Lee's animated play-by-play of the game, his gaze inexorably drawn to where you stood by the dessert table with your girlfriends.

You were laughing at something Mia had said, your eyes sparkling with mirth. Jack watched, transfixed, as you tipped your head back, exposing the smooth column of your throat. Time seemed to slow as he took in the sight of you, the rest of the party fading into the background.

Lee, oblivious to Jack's distraction, continued chattering on about batting averages and on-base percentages. But Jack was only half-listening, his attention continually drawn back to you. "Hey, Jack! Did you catch that insane goal in overtime?"

Jack merely hummed noncommittally, his tone casual. "Yeah, yeah, I saw that. Pretty sick shot."

His gaze traced the curve of your smile, the fullness of your lips. An ache blossomed in his chest, a longing so acute it stole his breath. What would it feel like, he wondered, to have those lips pressed against his own? To trail his fingers along the silken expanse of your skin, to hear you sigh his name in the darkness?

In a trance, Jack's eyes roamed over you, drinking in every detail. The way your dress clung to your curves, the faint smell of your perfume on the jacket he had offered you outside, which of course you had given back covered in your smell. You were a masterpiece, a work of art come to life.

God, you were beautiful.

And then, as if sensing the weight of his stare, you turned. Your eyes met his across the flickering flames, and the world ground to a halt. In that suspended moment, Jack felt a jolt of electricity coursing through his veins, a pull towards you that was almost gravitational.

Your lips curved into a soft, secret smile, and Jack's heart stuttered in his chest. That smile held a thousand unspoken promises, a wealth of possibility that both terrified and thrilled him. He knew he should look away, knew he was treading on dangerous ground. But he was powerless to resist the magnetic allure of your gaze, the siren song of your presence.

Did you have any idea what you did to him? How much he wanted to pull you into his arms, consequences be damned?

He took a swig of his beer, trying to calm the riot of emotions swirling inside him. This was getting out of hand. He needed to get a grip on himself before he did something stupid.

Like confess his feelings for you, the one girl who was absolutely, completely off-limits...

Shaking his head, Jack forced himself to focus on Lee's words, determined to push all thoughts of you from his mind. At least for now.

But deep down, he knew it was futile. Because when it came to you, resistance had always been impossible. And maybe, just maybe... that was starting to feel more thrilling than frightening.

"Right? I thought the puck was going to bounce right off the crossbar, but nope - top shelf, baby!" Lee nodded, oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around him.

…

"No, but seriously," Ava said, her face deadpan, "I think I'm going to start a GoFundMe for my boss's fashion sense. It's a tragedy, really. The man needs an intervention."

Sophie snorted. "What, you mean the 'middle-aged dad on vacation' look isn't working for him?"

"Please," you chimed in, grinning, "I've seen actual dads on vacation with better style. He's more like... a cross between a used car salesman and a cruise ship entertainer."

Mia nearly choked on her drink. "Oh my god, I can't unsee it now. The tacky Hawaiian shirts, the ill-fitting khakis..."

"Don't forget the socks with sandals!" Ava added, shuddering dramatically.

You all burst into laughter, the absurdity of the image too much to handle. Your shoulders shook with mirth, tears of hilarity pricking at the corners of your eyes. But then, gradually, you became aware of a prickling sensation on the back of your neck. The unmistakable feeling of being watched, the stare burning into your skin like a physical caress.

Still giggling, you scanned the crowd of faces, trying to catch the culprit. Your gaze flitted from person to person - Uncle Joe by the cooler, Quinn and Jim still arguing over the grill, a group of Lee's friends from college - but no one seemed to be paying you any attention.

Until your eyes locked with a pair of striking blue ones.

Jack.

The laughter died on your lips as your breath caught in your throat. He was staring at you intensely. The old, faded baseball cap perched backwards on his head did little to tame his unruly dark hair, and the worn grey hoodie he wore strained against the muscles of his chest and shoulders.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as you drank him in, heat rising unbidden to your cheeks. In that suspended moment, it was as if everyone else simply fell away, leaving only you and Jack, connected by some invisible, unbreakable thread.

But then Lee came into view, saying something to Jack with an easygoing grin. The spell was broken as quickly as it had been cast, uncertainty flooding in to fill the void.

Swallowing hard, you tore your gaze away, only to find Mia watching you with a knowing smirk. Her green eyes sparkled with barely contained laughter, and you knew you'd been caught red-handed.

"Shut up," you muttered, feeling your face flame even hotter.

Mia held up her hands in mock surrender. "Hey, I didn't say anything! But seriously, Y/N, when are you going to put that poor boy out of his misery and jump his bones already?"

"Mia!" you hissed, mortified. "It's not... I can't... he's Lee's best friend!"

Sophie rolled her eyes. "So? That doesn't mean you two can't get your freak on. Just think of how hot the sneaking around would be..."

You buried your face in your hands, torn between laughter and abject horror. "I hate you all. You're the worst friends ever."

Ava slung an arm around your shoulders, grinning. "Nah, you love us. And you know we've got your back, no matter what. Even if 'what' is climbing that tall, dark, and broody tree over there like it's your job."

Despite your embarrassment, you couldn't help but dissolve into giggles once more, your heart feeling lighter than it had all evening.

…

You snuggled deeper into the cozy embrace of the blanket, content to simply bask in the company of your friends. Ava, Mia, and Sophie had settled into the chairs around you, the conversation flowing as easily as the alcohol.

As the minutes ticked by, you found yourself growing increasingly drowsy, the events of the day finally catching up to you. Your eyelids grew heavy, and you had to fight to keep them open. Dimly, you registered Quinn hopping off rib duty, his arm slung around his girlfriend's shoulders as they made their way to the other living room, easily getting swept into his mothers conversation.

A moment later, Lee and Luke disappeared upstairs, their good-natured trash talk about the upcoming NHL game fading as the door swung shut behind them. Suddenly, feeling restless, you stood up - only to sway on your feet, the blanket flopping back down onto the love seat.

The world tilted alarmingly, and for a dizzying second, you were certain you were about to face-plant right into new glass table Ellen had bought.

quick as a flash, strong hands gripped your arms, steadying you. Before you could process what was happening, you found yourself being tugged down onto a solid, warm lap.

"Hi, Mini," Jack's deep, honeyed voice rumbled in your ear, sending a shiver racing down your spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. Your heart leapt into your throat, a giddy thrill coursing through you at his close proximity. This was the closest you'd been to him all night, and the heat of his body seemed to seep into your very bones.

Tipping your head back, you met his gaze, a slow smile spreading across your face. There was just something about Jack, something that never failed to bring a grin to your lips and a flutter to your pulse.

Whatever it was, you knew you were hopelessly entangled in his web, caught in a pull that only seemed to grow stronger with each passing day.

"Hi yourself," you murmured, your voice coming out breathier than you'd intended. "You come here often?"

Jack's lips quirked, his arms tightening around your waist. "Well, you know me. I never could resist a damsel in distress."

You laughed, swatting at his chest. "My hero. Whatever would I do without you?"

His expression softened, something tender and unguarded flickering in his gaze. "Guess you'll never have to find out, huh?"

Your breath caught at the unspoken promise in his words, the implications hanging heavy in the scant space between you. Suddenly, the air felt charged, electric, like the moment before a thunderstorm breaks.

Awareness prickled over your skin as you stared up at him, your senses hyperattuned to every flex of his fingers on your hip, every hitch in his breathing. The rest of the world seemed to recede, fading into insignificance until there was only this - the crackle of the fire, the pounding of your heart, and the magnetic pull of Jack's eyes on yours.

It would be so easy, you thought hazily, to just lean in and close the distance between you. To finally, finally discover if his lips were as soft as they looked, if he tasted as good as you'd always imagined...

But then a burst of raucous laughter from across the yard shattered the spell, jolting you back to reality. You blinked, heat rushing to your cheeks as you realized just how close you'd been to kissing your brother's best friend - in full view of everyone, no less.

Clearing your throat, you started to pull away, only for Jack's arms to tighten around you. "Hey," he said softly, his voice low and intimate. "Where do you think you're going?"

You swallowed hard, your heart hammering against your ribs. "I... I should probably go check on Lee upstairs. He gets super sensitive over chel, you know that." It was a flimsy excuse, and from the knowing glint in Jack's eyes, he wasn't buying it for a second. But he loosened his hold, nonetheless, letting you slide off his lap on unsteady legs.

"Hurry back," he murmured, his gaze hot and heavy on your skin. "I'll be waiting."

And as you stumbled away, your pulse racing and your mind awhirl, you couldn't help but wonder...

What the hell had you just gotten yourself into?

You knew you needed to be more careful, needed to keep a tighter rein on your reactions to Jack. The last thing you wanted was for Lee to catch on to the tangle of feelings knotting in your chest.

…

You managed to tear yourself away from the magnetic pull of Jack's presence, mumbling some excuse to your friends about needing to use the bathroom. But instead of heading inside, you found yourself climbing the stairs, drawn by the muffled shouts and laughter emanating from Lee's bedroom.

As you reached the top of the landing, the sounds of aggressive button-mashing and colorful trash talk grew louder, bringing a smile to your face. Some things never changed.

Pushing open the door, you were greeted by the sight of Lee and Luke sprawled out on the floor, controllers in hand, their eyes glued to the giant TV screen. They were in the middle of an intense NHL match, their players zipping across the virtual ice in a blur of motion.

"No, no, no!" Lee yelled, his face scrunched up in concentration as he mashed the buttons frantically. "Don't let him get past you, you idiot!"

Luke cackled, his fingers flying over his own controller. "Too late, bro! That's what you get for picking such a weak-ass team."

Lee let out a growl of frustration as Luke's player scored a goal, the tinny sound of a horn blaring from the speakers. "Lucky shot," he grumbled, elbowing his friend in the ribs. "I'll get you back for that."

"Bring it on, loser," Luke taunted, his grin wide and shit-eating. "I could beat you with one hand tied behind my back."

You leaned against the doorframe, shaking your head in amusement as you watched them bicker and shove at each other like overgrown children. It was moments like these that made you forget all about the stresses and uncertainties of adulthood, transporting you back to simpler times.

"Having fun, boys?" you asked, your voice cutting through their competitive banter.

Two heads swiveled in your direction, identical expressions of surprise on their faces. "Oh, hey, Y/N," Lee said, his annoyance melting into an easy smile. "Didn't see you there."

"Yeah, we were just schooling each other in the art of hockey," Luke chimed in, puffing out his chest. "Wanna see me kick your brother's ass?"

You snorted, pushing off the doorframe and sauntering into the room. "As much as I'd love to witness that thrashing, I actually came up to see if you guys wanted any snacks. Though from the looks of it, you've already got enough beef to feed a small army."

Lee rolled his eyes, chucking a pillow at your head which you deftly dodged. "Har har, very funny. But yeah, some snacks would be awesome. I'm starving."

"When are you not starving?" you teased, ruffling his hair affectionately. "I swear, you're like a human garbage disposal."

"Hey, I'm a growing boy!" Lee protested, swatting your hand away. "I need my sustenance."

Luke snickered, ducking as Lee tried to smack him with a controller. "Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy. I think you stopped growing in the eighth grade."

As the two dissolved into another round of good-natured ribbing, you couldn't help but laugh, your heart swelling with fondness for these ridiculous, wonderful boys.

They might drive you crazy sometimes, but moments like these? Where you could just relax and joke around, forgetting about all the complications and uncertainties of the real world?

They were priceless.

So you settled yourself on the bed, content to watch Lee and Luke battle it out on the digital ice, their laughter and trash talk washing over you like a balm.

And for a little while, at least, you let yourself forget about the heat of Jack's gaze, the confusion swirling in your heart.

…

you headed back downstairs, the warmth of your impromptu hangout session with Lee and Luke still buzzing pleasantly under your skin, you couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of resolve.

So what if you had some complicated, confusing feelings for Jack? So what if his mere presence sent your pulse racing and your thoughts spiraling into dangerous, uncharted territory? At the end of the day, he was like a brother to you - and that was something you couldn't afford to lose.

Squaring your shoulders, you stepped down into the living room, determined to put some distance between yourself and the magnetic pull of Jack's orbit. You'd just grab another drink, maybe chat with your friends for a bit, and then make some excuse about needing to head home early. Easy peasy.

Ava, Mia, and Sophie were huddled together, their heads bent close as they whispered furiously to each other. The easy laughter and playful banter from earlier had vanished, replaced by a tense, almost electric undercurrent that set your nerves on edge.

"Hey guys," you said cautiously, sinking down into your seat. "What's going on?"

Three pairs of eyes snapped to your face, wide and startled, like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

"Oh, Y/N! We were just..." Mia trailed off, shooting a panicked look at the other two.

Sophie jumped in, her voice a little too bright, a little too brittle. "We were just talking about... boys. You know, the usual."

But there was something off about her tone, something strained and artificial that set your internal alarms blaring. You'd known these girls long enough to tell when they were hiding something - and right now? They were definitely hiding something.

"Cut the crap, Soph," you said, your gaze flicking between the three of them. "I know you guys better than that. Seriously, what's up? You're starting to freak me out."

"Y/N, we need to talk. It's about Jack."

Your stomach dropped, a cold, creeping dread slithering up your spine at the mention of his name, but you tried to play it cool. "What about him?"

Mia and Sophie exchanged a loaded glance, she nodded encouragingly, their faces grim as Mia spoke up, her voice low and conspiratorial. "We overheard him talking to Luke earlier, and... well, he said some things. About you."

Your mind raced, a thousand possibilities whirling through your head. What could she possibly mean? A cold sense of dread trickled down your spine. "What kind of things?"

Sophie bit her lip, looking uncomfortable. "He was laughing about how easy it was to string you along, how you were just another notch in his bedpost. He even said..." She paused, as if gathering her courage. "He said he had a bet going with his teammates to see how fast he could get you into bed."

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. It couldn't be true. Jack wouldn't... he couldn't...not after tonight.

But even as you tried to deny it, doubt began to creep in, insidious and corrosive. All those moments between you - the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the whispered promises - had they all been a lie? A cruel game played by a master manipulator?

Anger surged through you, hot and bitter, mingling with the sharp sting of betrayal. How could you have been so stupid, so naive?

"I... I need some air," you mumbled, stumbling to your feet and away from the concerned gazes of your friends.

you wove your way through the crowd of laughing, chattering partygoers, a sudden commotion near the edge of the yard caught your attention. Frowning, you craned your neck, trying to get a better look - only for your heart to plummet straight into your stomach.

There, surrounded by his friends near the Christmas tree, was Jack - and he wasn't alone. A tall, stunning brunette was glued to his side, their arms pressed flush against each other as she leaned into him, whispering something in his ear.

For a moment, you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but stare as a tidal wave of emotions crashed over you. Hurt, betrayal, and a searing, white-hot jealousy that took your breath away with its intensity.

You watched, frozen, as Jack threw his head back and laughed at something the girl said, throwing his arm over her shoulder. They looked so comfortable together, so natural - like they'd done this a thousand times before.

And just like that, the fragile bubble of denial you'd been clinging to burst, the illusion shattering like glass at your feet.

You were such a fool.

Of course Jack didn't have feelings for you. Of course he saw you as nothing more than his best friend's kid sister, a silly little girl with a hopeless crush. How could you have ever thought otherwise?

For the rest of the night, you did your best to avoid Jack, always keeping him in your peripheral vision but never letting him get too close. Every time you caught a glimpse of his tousled hair or heard the rumble of his deep laugh, your heart clenched painfully, a fresh wave of humiliation washing over you.

But as the party began to wind down and guests started to trickle out, you found yourself cornered by the one person you'd been desperately trying to evade.

"Y/N." Jack's voice was low and urgent as he caught your elbow, spinning you around to face him.

"Nothing," you managed to choke out, your voice cracking traitorously. "I'm fine. I just... I need to go."

But even as you tried to pull away, Jack's grip on your arm tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with a desperate sort of urgency. "Wait, please. Just talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

You yanked your arm from his grasp, glaring up at him with all the fury and hurt you could muster. "I have nothing to say to you, Jack."

His brow furrowed, confusion etched across his unfairly handsome features. "What's going on? You've been avoiding me all night. Did I... did I do something wrong?"

"Why do you care?" you spat, the words bitter and acidic on your tongue. "Shouldn't you be getting back to your girlfriend over there?" Jack blinked, a flicker of confusion passing over his stupidly handsome face. A harsh, bitter laugh tore from your throat. "Don't play dumb, Jack. I know all about your little bet. About how I'm just another checkmark to you."

Jack's eyes widened, shock and disbelief warring on his face. "What? Y/N, that's insane. I would never... who told you that?"

You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest like a shield. "Does it matter? The point is, I know the truth now. I know what kind of guy you really are."

He took a step closer, crowding into your personal space, his gaze locked on yours with an intensity that stole your breath. "The truth? The truth is that I'm crazy about you, Y/N. I have been for years." Your heart stuttered in your chest, a traitorous flutter of hope sparking to life. "That girl... she's just a friend. I swear. There's nothing going on between us," he insisted, his voice low and fervent.

One hand came up to cradle your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin with a tenderness that made you ache. "I could never lie to you, Y/N. You're... you're everything to me."

You wanted to believe him. God, how you wanted to believe him. But the seeds of doubt had already taken root, twisting your thoughts into knots.

"I don't... I can't..." you whispered, hating the way your voice shook.

Jack's other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against the solid warmth of his body. "Then let me prove it to you," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me show you how much you mean to me."

And then his mouth was on yours, fierce and desperate and achingly perfect, his kiss searing away every last shred of resistance. You melted into him, a broken moan rising in your throat as his tongue swept over yours, claiming and possessing and branding you as his own.

The kiss was electric, a live wire igniting every nerve ending in your body until you felt like you might burst into flames right then and there. His hands slid into your hair, his fingers tangling in the silky strands as he angled your head, deepening the kiss until you were drowning in him, lost to everything but the heat of his touch and the sweet, dark bliss of his mouth on yours.

"It's you, Y/N," he rasped, his voice low and raw with emotion. "It's always been you." 😉

just as you were losing yourself completely in his embrace, a familiar voice cut through the haze of desire, shattering the intimate bubble you'd created. "Where's Y/N?" Lee called out, his footsteps echoing on the stairs.

You and Jack froze, your lips still locked together, your bodies intertwined. What were you doing? Making out with your brother's best friend, in the middle of a party, where anyone could see you...

Jack sensed your sudden tension, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes were dark, pupils blown wide with arousal, but there was a softness there too, a tenderness that made your heart ache.

"Shit," you muttered. Your mind raced, frantically searching for an excuse, any excuse. "I… I'll just tell him I was in the bathroom or we were just talking," you whispered, straightening your clothes with shaking hands.

"Hey," he murmured, brushing a strand of hair back from your face. "It's okay. We don't have to hide."

You swallowed hard, your throat tight with emotion. "But Lee... what if he..."

"What if I what?" Lee's voice was closer now, just on the other side of the door.

Your heart lodged in your throat, fear and guilt and a desperate, wild hope all tangling together in your chest. This was it. The moment of truth. Once Lee walked through that door, there would be no going back.

...

Tag List <3

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hollyhomburg · 8 months ago

Text

Before I Leave You (Pt.68)

(Sneak Peek) (Omegaverse au, Mafia au, Bts x Reader)

Summary: Your time is running out. minute by minute, breath by breath, kiss by kiss.

Tags: Angst, Hurt (no comfort yet), illusions to past mental health issues and past domestic abuse, mentions of low-self-esteem, internalized shame and self-shaming behaviors, themes of abandonment, speeding, guns, violence,

W/c: 12.4k

A/N: ahhhhh so here we are! i've been dreaming of this chapter since the very beginning of the series! this is like...the ultimate chapter...thank you for giving me a little bit of extra time to sit with it! we've still got a bit to go! fun fact that is actually my hand writing in the note in the moodboard....i couldn't find a pic of something i liked so i made it myself!

Previous part - Masterlist - First part

Chapter 68: Before I Leave you (Sneak peak)

You look striking in the half darkness, a pair of Yoongi’s green flannel pajama pants rolled up several times to fit properly around your hips. A thin white tank top that's almost falling down one shoulder. Namjoon’s heart pulses dully with the need to hold, the need to protect. He makes a soft noise in his throat and your head jerks in his direction.

You swallow, and your lips look dry, eyes glassy and innocent in their tilt when your mussed hair fluffs over your shoulder. Messy from where Hobi was nuzzling it in his sleep.

“I was just getting a glass of water.”

Namjoon wordlessly holds his hand out to help you get out of the nest without teetering or disturbing the others. Noodle dashes back down the stairs with a soft meow. Tae sighs and re-settles, smacking her lips and Jimin’s arm tightens. Your mate turns face up in the nest, chest rising and falling, mouth opening like he can taste your scent on the air.

Namjoon doesn't doubt he can, honed in on you and focused as he always is.

Namjoon doesn’t let go of your hand when your feet find the smooth floor. Checking the wounds on your hands and verifying that they’re clotting, the margins slotted together properly for minimal scarring (he'd redone the glue-suture after your shower with minimal scolding). He stoops and presses a gentle kiss to the bandages after they are re-fastened. Letting his lips linger there for a second.

Namjoon has always had big hands, warm and steadying as they cradle yours. Small and chapped and scared.

Instead of continuing on downstairs, you linger for a second by Namjoon’s side. Eating up every word he says, his scent, and the comfort of having him nearby. Something you know you won’t have forever. (Somehow- you know that this will be the last time that Namjoon holds you. You can wait one minute more. you can give him one more minute) He sets the gun to the side and pulls you between his legs.

“Joonie?” You ask. Your pack alpha wraps his arms around your waist and nuzzles forward, rubbing his spiky head across your midriff. Nose nudging the dimple of your belly button and the slight pudge there.

Namjoon will never not be happy that he can see the evidence of the pack’s love on you. Will never not feel proud of you. He nuzzles, and you huff a soft laugh that Namjoon feels against his cheek. Your warm soft skin swelling with laughter. Namjoon’s face is blushing red when he pulls back to look at you in the darkness. Corralled in the safe circle of his arms, fingers digging into your hips and squeezing.

“What are you doing alpha?”

“Just thinking- just-” Namjoon’s voice gets so much lower in the nighttime, it's a gravely growl. A sound that paints pictures of lightning and clouds hovering low like a blanket.

“When all of this is over, I want to go somewhere new.” Namjoon's hands tightening on your waist. “-With you. Just you. Just the two of us. Maybe.” Namjoon fights back a fresh blush at the confused cock of your head. “maybe- like- a fancy Airbnb? or something? Wouldn't that be fun? Would you like that?”

You pause, humming. Indulging Namjoon in this as he holds you loosely around your hips, fingers rubbing endlessly up and down the sensitive small of your back. Eyes wide and emploring like a child.

You're only too happy to forget for a second and imagine. What would happen if you didn’t leave tonight? What would happen if you found some way out of this- and imagine if you actually got your happily ever after. Just like in the movies.

But glass slippers cut. Dresses are rented not owned. Good dreams have the power to hurt- even when they’re good.

It’s easy to go further than just thinking about a simple weekend. You Imagine far into the future; a day that you'll never see. A future with Namjoon and the pack.

Namjoon would be a good father.

He’d be kind and patient. He’d never snap. He’d never yell. For a moment that’s all you want to think about- not a stupid weekend but a lifetime. A family. A world where you’re never yelled at, where you don't have to be afraid, where nothing is hard and even if it’s hard you do it together. Where you just get to live.

If you had pups, you know Namjoon would treat every skinned knee like it was surgery. Would never tell them to walk it off or say it wasn’t that bad. You know that he’d go through every tea party with gusto and stay up late to help them with their homework. That he’d struggle to say no but that you might never need to. It would be lovely- getting to give something small and innocent so much safety. It would be nice to have pups with Namjoon.

You can’t say you don’t want it, but you know in that moment that you won't get it. You'll never get to see Namjoon be a father- even if the pups aren't yours or are just his and Jin's. You’d love them all the same. What use is it to Imagine things that you’ll never get? What good are dreams like this but to tease you, just out of reach?

Namjoon nuzzles into your stomach again. His nose drawing soft circles just under your belly button.

You’d be a shit mother anyway. Too fragile. Too nervous. Too hurt. Too much of everything. You'd fuck them up just by being you. you'd fuck them up the same way you've fucked up this perfectly good pack. You've brought nothing but destruction upon them. The evidence of you is everywhere. The bullets in the ceiling, the blown apart door. Your hands and Hobi's throat. All of this is because of you.

You snap back to the present, swallowing down the lump in your throat. You’re gnawing at your own leg to survive. All things that bite cannot resist it. What good does hope do at the end other than to hurt?

Still- you can't resist asking Namjoon, curled around you like a protective barrier to keep out all the worlds hurts (or to keep you in)

“If we went? Where would we go? If we made it- What would it be like Joonie?”

Coming Saturday March 23rd at 5pm EST (Time Zone Adjustments Below)

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st1llwthyou · 1 year ago

Text

POPPIN’ CHERRY.

fandom ꕀ bts

pairing ꕀ jungkook x f!reader

applicable aus & genre ꕀ roommate au, smut

synopsis ꕀ those were the last words he ever expected to come out of your mouth. but heck, jungkook would be lying if he said that he didn’t fucking love it.

word count ꕀ 2,322

warnings & tags ꕀ language, inexperienced reader, dom/sub dynamics, biting, pet names (fem! – baby, angel etc.), nipple play, dacryphilia, corruption kink (implied), dirty talk, cunnilingus, pussy drunk!jk, fingering — RATED E for explicit content.

notes ꕀ hello! i’m a newbie lskjdikdj and this is my tumblr debut 🫣! i’m so, very nervous and scared, but i hope you enjoy <3!

“You want me to… what?!” Jungkook looks at you wide-eyed, clearly flabbergasted by your proposition. You swallow nervously, hoping with all your might that your little plan works out.

“Make me orgasm… can you not?” You whisper with bated breath. It’s uncertain where your boldness is coming from, but you’ve come a bit too far to back out now.

He shakes his head a few times, getting up from his bed to approach you. “It’s not about if I can or not, ____. Do you not understand how fucking abrupt this is? I’m sort of weirded out, where is this coming from, huh?”

You lean against the door frame to his room, heaving out a sigh. Of course, you know how out of the blue this is, to him. It almost makes you sad that he’s never picked up on any of the hints you’ve dropped before. That you like him.

“I… um, heard you.” You murmur. It won’t hurt to tell a bit of truth.

“... Heard what exactly?” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow at you, skeptical.

“You… and the girls you bring back sometimes.” That sentence stings to even utter, but you manage somehow.

A sigh escapes his pretty lips. “Fuck… I thought you’d be sleeping. And the walls seem pretty darn thick so I assumed not a lot of noise will travel.”

“I was sleeping, I just… woke up again to the sounds of, y’know…”

A heavy silence falls between you two. You wait for him to say something, anything, but he doesn’t. Jungkook just regards you silently, those magnetic pools of honey trailing over your figure with no prominent emotions visible.

“Hey… you can decline, by the way. If it wasn’t clear. I’ll go back and we can just, um, pretend that nothing happened and go back to being normal roommates.” Tears burn in the back of your eyes, but you still try to appear brave and strong in front him.

“I know I can decline. But I’m not sure if I want to.” Jungkook takes a few more steps forward, reaching for you. As his warm, big hand finds your jaw, you lean into the comforting touch instinctively. “You’re so sweet and adorable, I never thought I’d hear those words out of your mouth.”

“Can you just—”

“But I liked it. Say it again.” He disrupts your complaint even before you could start. It takes you a few moments to properly register what he said. But once you do, your whole body thrums from excitement, heartbeat going crazy.

“Mm–make me come, Jungkook.” Your voice is barely audible, but just enough for his blood to rush south. His strong arms wrap around your smaller frame to hoist you up, carrying you to his bed.

“I might just not survive this, fuck.” Jungkook hisses under his breath, gently dropping you on his mattress. He’s over aware of every little thing about you now, from the outline of your pebbled nipples on your pajama, to your glossy eyes that are locked on him.

“Can I call you ‘baby’? And other nicknames?” He enquires hopefully, his hands eagerly exploring your curves. You tremble under his touch, vigorously shaking your head in an assertive manner. Jungkook chuckles.

“Aww, you’re so cute and eager, baby.” He hovers over you, his eyes searching for yours. “You want me to make you come, hm?”

Even though your heart feels like it’ll burst out of your chest, you lock your eyes with him. “Yea… I– I’ve never orgasmed in my life.” Your voice is small, heat rising to your cheeks as you confess, embarrassed. Jungkook leans down to nuzzle your face, dropping a butterfly kiss right beneath your eye.

“Is that so? Not even by yourself?” One of his hands slips beneath your pajama, gently stroking your tummy. He smiles when you nod, his other hand cupping your face. “It’s okay, we can try it out today and see what happens.”

Jungkook is so close, studying you and everything you do — almost enamored by your nuances. “May I kiss you?” He rests his forehead against yours, waiting for your confirmation.

“Yes please.” He doesn’t waste a second, soft lips finding yours in a sweet kiss. The simple touch alone gets you exhilarated, hands gripping onto his t-shirt. He lets his tongue run over your lower lip, making you twitch under him.

That snaps something in Jungkook, his hand firmly grasping your jaw while he coaxes your mouth open to him. You gasp when he teases your tongue with his, taking control of the kiss from the get go. The way he moves his tongue against yours makes you dizzy, strange sensations flooding your body. It feels like he’s unraveling you.

Your little moans and whimpers egg him on, his teeth nibbling at your lower lip. Jungkook is feeling partially intoxicated by you, his mind hazy from lust. Although, he pulls away from the mind-numbing kiss a while later to give you some space to breathe. “Fuck,” he curses, enticed by your teary eyes and swollen lips.

It takes you a while to gather yourself, but you soon realize how much effect that single kiss had on you. Your underwear has soaked through with your arousal, uncomfortably sticking to your skin. Your nipples are also rock hard, aching to be touched.

“Jungkook,” you whine weakly, thrashing a bit to show your distress. His mouth returns to yours, right hand swifty unbuttoning your pajama. Jungkook trails down wet kisses down your neck, suckling on the soft skin in places. A moan escapes you when he tweaks your clothed nipple between his fingers.

“I haven’t started anything yet, princess.” His whisper is hot against your cleavage, right hand slipping beneath your back to unhook your bra. “So pretty,” he coos, throwing it away somewhere in the room. A sudden wave of embarrassment hits you as you realize that this is the most bare you’ve ever been to anyone. So, you try to cover yourself, but he’s faster to stop you, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t. Did I not mention how fucking pretty you are?”

Face flushed, you avoid eye contact. “Sorry… it’s just– um, the first time someone saw me like this.”

Jungkook lets go of your wrists, the weight of your words sinking in. “Good fucking lord, ____.” His eyes darken, breathing uneven. “Let me take care of you, angel.” He captures your lips in a searing kiss, strong, calloused hand massaging your breast. His other hand is at the small of your back, supporting both of you.

Eventually, he trails downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses until he reaches your unoccupied breast. With his eyes locked on you, Jungkook licks at your stiffened bud, earning a whimper from you. “Look at me, princess.” He encourages, almost losing it when your droopy eyes fixate on his face.

With his cock throbbing inside his boxer-briefs, he wraps his lips around your nipple, earning him a lewd whine. You place your arm over your mouth quickly, head falling back as he runs his teeth and tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves. It feels unbelievably good, you had no idea having your nipples sucked would be like this.

“Oh my god,” you cry out, overwhelmed by the sensation when Jungkook also starts tweaking and teasing your other nipple with his finger. More arousal has leaked from your sopping hole, a tight feeling inside your lower belly coiling. The pleasure is almost blinding, making you twitch and tremble under him.

Soon, he impatiently moves to ravish the unattended breast, adding more to your devastation. You’re just barely hanging in there, extremely unsure of what’s happening with your body, feeling like you might explode any minute. Jungkook, on the other hand, bites and suckles on your tits like his life depends on it, frenzied by your sweet taste and reactions.

But he stops short when he notices your hips bucking up, eyes teary, ready to spill the diamond drops. “My baby,” he murmurs, letting his right hand slip inside your pajama bottoms. You moan out of relief when he presses down on your clit, inner walls clenching around nothing. Jungkook is almost surprised when he finally feels the damp cloth of your cotton panties. “Fuck, can’t believe you.”

He quickly gets rid of your bottoms, eyes falling upon the massive wet patch on your panties. “No– it’s embarrassing—” You try to cross your legs shut. Quite genuinely, you had no idea that it’s possible to produce that much liquid down there. Unfortunately, he’s way too strong, spreading your legs apart with bare-minimum effort.

“Shh, nothing is embarrassing, angel. You’re a fucking goddess, out of the world, even.” Jungkook sounds so sincere that your heart skips a beat. “I’ll make you feel so good, baby.” He pulls at the waistband of your panties, slowly taking the offending material off. An expletive rumbles in his throat when he sees the strings of your arousal attaching you to your underwear.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy.” He hisses, struggling to keep his urges on check. Blindly throwing away the panties somewhere, Jungkook eagerly settles down between your legs, already feeling his cock twitch at the sight of your drenched pussy. “Goddamn…” He gingerly parts your nether lips, exposing your dripping hole to his hungry gaze.

“Don’t stare at it like that,” your voice is small, heart doing backflips in your chest. It makes you feel so shy, the way his eyes are trained on your lady bits. His short laugh makes you wanna rub your thighs together.

“Awe, is my princess feeling embarrassed? Don’t be, you have the prettiest pussy, all swollen and wet for me~” Jungkook rubs his middle finger along your slit, letting it coat into your nectar. New to the feeling of his thick, calloused finger, you whimper out of sensitivity. Oh, the way he’s absolutely adored by you.

He tilts his head as if he’s contemplating something. Then all of a sudden, he starts lowering himself until he is face to face with your core. “Wan’ a taste of your cute, little pussy.” Goosebumps spread over your skin as you clench at the thought. Jungkook lazily thumbs your swollen clit, enamored by your responses. “You’re so fucking responsive, makes me wanna play with you forever.”

“Nngh— Jungkook!” you squeal as he licks a fat stroke along your pussy, covering the whole area with his saliva. It’s weird — the way it feels, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He moans at the initial taste, putting your legs on his shoulder to really get in there.

Jungkook laps at your cunt hungrily, his thumb diligently rubbing your clit. His tongue teasingly rims around your entrance, before plunging into the depths of your core. You jolt, crying out of despair, hypersensitive to his ministrations. The flexible muscle strokes at your gummy walls, increasing the weird feeling inside your stomach. Now, you feel certain that you will burst at any moment, clenching on his tongue helplessly.

But he doesn’t stop, his little groans going straight through your core. Jungkook is in a frenzy, his whole mouth buried in your pussy as he greedily devours every single drop of your nectar. With his movements getting quicker and rougher, the knots in your lower stomach start to feel like they’ll snap. “Oh my god,” you cry out loud, “Jungkook, it– ugh, feels so weird— wait— Aah!”

Your body goes rigid as soon as he pinches your clit between his fingers, a flooding sensation spreading throughout you. White spots appear in your vision while your body breaks out in exhilarating shivers, a string of incoherent words leaving you. Jungkook, on the other hand, slurps at your juices, his heart swelling in his chest. This is the first time you experienced a release. And he’s the first person to taste your sweet cherry pop.

Your body loosens up soon after, leaving you all mushy. He holds you close, slowly retracting his tongue from your pussy, making you whine weakly. It makes an embarrassingly loud popping sound when he finally pulls away, his whole mouth covered with your slick, glistening under the dim lighting of his bedroom.

“Baby,” Jungkook coos at you, noticing the tear streaks on your temples. He never thought he’d be seeing you like this, but he’s loving every second of it. You look messed up in the best way possible, all for him. “Did I make you feel good, hm? You came all over my face, look at me, c’mon~”

His voice is cocky, eyes twinkling with mischief. When you finally meet his eyes, Jungkook reaches for your with his left hand, wiping away the stray tears. You’re unsure what to say, still processing everything that just happened. But still, you clear your throat, starting, “Um… Thank you…”

“Oh? For what?” He can’t help his chuckle. You’re just so freaking cute.

“For… for making me come, like I asked, Jungkook.” you whisper, nuzzling his hand affectionately.

“Trust me, it was my pleasure. But you’re welcome! Care to receive my other services regarding this?”

You flush at his words, immediately realizing what he means exactly.

“Well…?” Jungkook raises an eyebrow, quite impatient.

“Mmm… I’d love to.” He doesn’t waste a single second upon your confirmation, his tattooed right hand cupping your pussy in a rough manner.

“God—” you moan as he pushes his middle finger inside, overwhelmed by how thick and long it is compared to your own, familiar one. Jungkook leans down to press a sweet kiss on your lips.

“I’m really sorry, but I don’t think you’ll be getting any sleep tonight.” His big, brown eyes look into yours, full of lust and something softer that you can’t really place.

“I don’t mind.” Your smile turns into a broken moan when he hits a specific spot deep inside you, your gummy walls squeezing his finger appreciatively.

Being stupidly bold isn’t so bad all the time, maybe.

˗ˏˋ ★ extended notes ˎˊ˗

thanks so much for reading 🥺! i hope this was okay >.< (pls ignore typos or other mistakes, english is not my 1st language) ; i’d love to hear your thoughts about this! please reblog, comment, or even send me asks, feedback is very much appreciated!

#taffy writes ⁂ fics.#taffy writes ⁂ bts.#taffy writes ⁂ jungkook.#bts smut #jungkook smut #kpop smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #jungkook imagine #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts fanfic #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #jungkook fanfic #i am shaking :')) ; oh the horror of being perceived...#here goes nothing

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adverbally · 3 months ago

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Together We Can Take It to the End of the Line

———

Steve was sure this had to be one of the strangest ways to find one’s soulmate that anyone had ever experienced.

One minute, they were former classmates who had never spoken more than a handful of words to each other. The next, they both felt the jolt of connection pass between them, from Eddie’s hand to Steve’s throat, as he shoved him against the wall of a dark, dirty boathouse.

There was no visible mark to indicate that they were soulmates; just the warmth radiating from the spots where they first touched, glowing under their skin like a hot coal. Steve suspected it was that shock of heat, not Dustin’s begging, that made Eddie let go.

In the chaos of the days that followed, there wasn’t any time to process what it meant to find each other like this. There wasn’t any privacy to talk about what happened and how they felt. Eddie watched Steve, eyes sharp with worry, and Steve caught the way Eddie’s hand kept drifting to his own abdomen as he felt the echo of Steve’s wounds, and they didn’t talk about it.

Steve should’ve said something. Maybe while they tried to find a way out of the Upside Down, maybe when they stole the RV, maybe while they prepared for the fight at Weathertop. When Steve told him not to be a hero, he hoped Eddie could hear what he left unspoken— don’t die before we have a chance. Don’t leave me wondering.

He, Robin, and Nancy were already making their way back to the gate when ice flooded Steve’s veins and stopped him in his tracks. The feeling blossomed across his body, faint but undeniable, as he felt Eddie’s pain for the first time. It was everywhere, biting, tearing, and this was only a fraction of what Eddie was going through.

Steve wasn’t sure if his breathlessness was from his own panic or Eddie’s injuries, but it wouldn’t change his actions. He took off running toward the swarm of demobats.

His only source of hope was the cold that seemed to pierce him everywhere, stabbing with every thud of his feet over dirt and broken asphalt. As long as Eddie was hurting, and Steve hurting with him, it meant he was alive to feel the pain. Steve would bear it gladly, gratefully, to keep it that way.

He had just come into range of Dustin’s cries, saw him collapsed on the ground with Eddie in his arms, when Steve started feeling numbness in his fingers. Eddie’s fingers. It was like sensation was fading away and leaving static behind, and the absence of pain was worse than Steve could’ve imagined.

“Eddie!” He screamed at the top of his lungs, stumbling a little as his feet also lost feeling. He was almost there. He was too late.

Steve’s knees gave out just feet away from them, forcing him to drag himself across the ground to reach for Eddie’s hand. The warmth there was fading, cooling like the touch point at Steve’s throat.

“No, no, Eddie, it’s okay, I’m here. We’re gonna get you out.”

He couldn’t hear Eddie’s reply, drowned out by the sound of his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, but he could see the way Eddie’s eyes struggled to focus. The whole lower half of Steve’s body was numb, as if he had waded into an icy lake up to his waist, and he gasped every breath alongside Eddie.

“Eddie, c’mon, keep your eyes open.” He pulled Eddie’s hand up to his neck, hoping the contact would amplify their bond and allow Eddie to draw strength from Steve. The flare of warmth was like lighting a match, not the bonfire it had been at their initial meeting.

Steve’s next exhale was a sob. “Don’t do this, please.”

“Sorry.” He saw Eddie’s lips move more than he heard the words. They were pale and bloodless, and his eyes were dull, and Steve’s arms were so full of static that he shook with it. All he could do was shake as the rise and fall of Eddie’s chest slowed and his vacant gaze stared up at Steve.

Robin appeared beside him with a hand on each of his shoulders. “Steve, we gotta—”

“No, he’s still alive,” he protested, raking his nails through the dirt as Robin and Nancy worked to pull him to his feet. Away from Eddie.

“He’s not,” Robin told him mournfully, tear tracks streaming down her cheeks.

If Eddie was dead, how could Steve still feel the icy stab of his pain in his chest? How could he explain that Eddie couldn’t be dead because their soulbond still resonated with every beat of Steve’s heart? His hand came up to rub at his sternum. “Rob, I still feel him.”

Her eyes told him she understood as a fresh flood of tears welled up. He wished she didn’t have to find out like this. “I think maybe your body is having trouble telling what pain is yours and what was his.”

“No, it’s his, I know it’s his!” Steve argued. “When he— it feels like the pain I felt from him before. It didn’t stop, shouldn’t it have stopped if he…?” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought. Saying it would make it true, and it couldn’t be true.

“Steve, how does your touch point feel right now?” Nancy asked him calmly.

He couldn’t think about that, either. If he let himself think about the terrible gaping emptiness he felt, like someone had torn out his jugular and left a hole in his neck where Eddie had touched—

“No,” he whimpered.

“We have to leave. Now,” Nancy told Robin.

“Please don’t make me leave him!”

The girls all but dragged him away.

Steve thought about fighting, thought about throwing himself to the ground and refusing to move, but he was too weak. He reached for his bond with Eddie and felt nothing. The shockingly cold pain, the numbness of Eddie’s feeling fading, the warm glow of his touch point that had comforted him for the past several days, they were all gone.

Having lost everything worth fighting for, Steve just stumbled along with his friends and felt nothing.

#steddieangstyaugust #steddie #steddie fic #steve x eddie #steve/eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #mine #yes I AM writing this to procrastinate preparing for my interview tomorrow #please cross your fingers for me!

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typicalopposite · 4 months ago

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zombie AU 🫣

because @blue-arts-stuff made this little gem right here (go give it all the love because *chefs kiss* the angst was angsting there) and it wormed its way into my brain and would not leave me alone until I made this!

CHECK THE TAGS FOR TRIGGER I BEG YOU!

Buck is tired. Physically, mentally, emotionally… just so goddamn tired.

A storm is coming… he can feel it in the plates and screws that hold his leg together. He’d always thought that was a myth, but sure enough every big storm he feels a twinge of pain around them. They should get moving if they are going to make it before the rain starts.

He scrumages through what supplies are available in the remains of the little corner shop. He only takes what he truly needs—which isn’t much—and leaves all that he can for whoever passes through next. Outside he can hear distant thunder, he needs to hurry. He unzips his bag and stuffs the supplies inside, catching a glimpse of the picture frame; he takes it out.

Their wedding day.

The smell of the ocean in the background, the sound of the cheers from their family as they vowed to have and to hold each other through it all… the sight of Tommy dressed in his tux, so handsome, so in love, so happy.

They were so happy… for a while. They didn’t get nearly enough time before the outbreak.

Then it was long days, and longer nights of fighting to stay alive; fighting to keep everyone they cared about alive. So in vain, and slowly they watched as their family dwindled down until there were just a handful of them left.

It was supposed to be a simple night run. They needed water. They needed more medicine. The store was so close… but not close enough. The attack was brutal. More lives lost.

Tommy got bit.

“Ev- Evan, baby… listen to me,” he tried, as Buck panickedly tried to clean out the wound.

“No. I can— I can fix this… just let me think.”

“Evan.”

“We— We’ll cut off your arm,” he suggests. “It’s worked before…”

“It’s already spreading, baby. Look…” Tommy pulls up the bloody sleeve revealing the bluish green streaks running towards his neck and chest. “It’s too late… you have to.”

“No.”

“Baby, we promised each other—” Tommy begged, tears falling from his eyes, the infection visibly creeping up his neck. Buck frantically shook his head, tuning out Tommy’s cries. “Evan!” He gasped. “Shoot me! Please!”

“No! I can’t!”

***

Buck wipes his eyes and slides the frame back into the bag. He slowly rises to his feet and slowly makes his way over to the bathroom and pushes the door open. Loud snarling, grunting and gurgling—that would normally send him into fight or flight mode—comes out of the darkness. He shines his flashlight into the room, stepping inside and unclipping the chain from one of the stalls. “Come on, sweetheart… we’re almost there.”

They walk through the empty streets of what used to be LA; Buck leading Tommy (wrapped safely in a makeshift straight jacket, and wearing a muzzle) by the thick chain. The latter stumbles and growls, his head snapping this way and that, teeth chattering as he does his best to chomp at anything past the muzzle. They make it home just as the rain starts to fall.

Buck steps inside the door, pulls Tommy through as well, and looks around at what’s left of their destroyed house—some of the mess they had made themselves in the panic to flee the infected city, some done after by people looking for shelter and supplies. He walks through the rooms, remembering the days they were filled with happy memories and life; the promise of a bright future. They were going to grow old in this house… live out the rest of their lives in this house.

At least one of those was correct.

He sighs, and leads Tommy up to the bedroom, securing him on the solid, sturdy, bedpost of their king size bed. He opens the bag, takes out the frame and sets it up on the bedside table. He takes out what he got from the little corner shop—a gun shop— and grits his teeth as he lifts his shirt, revealing the bite mark he’s been tirelessly trying to keep from spreading… until now.

“Buck you have to let him go,” they had tried to tell him. “It’s not even— he wouldn’t want this… to live like this… for you to live like this…”

He has lost so many people, the ones he didn’t lose to the virus, he lost for his impulsive, borderline insane decision. He’s been alone for a while… but at least he still had Tommy, in some way.

Buck fights just to take in another breath, and puts a bullet into the gun. Tommy grunts and struggles against his restraints. “Almost ready,” Buck says. He is tired… but he won’t be for long. He walks over to Tommy and unhooks the chain from the bed. He looks into those glossed over eyes, gray and distant and thinks about when they were blue and bright and happy. They were happy once. Maybe they will be happy again in the next life.

He slips a key in the restraints lock, swiftly turning it and releasing Tommy, He quickly pulls him into a hug, Tommy grabbing him back, turning his head into Buck’s neck and biting down. Buck pressing his head tight against Tommy’s. “I love you,” he says, and closes his eyes.

The cool barrel against his cheek turns into a cool breeze and the salty smell of the ocean fills the air. Buck opens his eyes and is met with a beautiful sunset, a crowded beach… and Tommy, smiling at him. He blinks a few times to see if it’s all just going to disappear…

“Hey baby, I’ve been waiting for you,” Tommy says, holding out his hand, the remnant of sunlight catching on his wedding band. Buck stares at Tommy for a moment, just taking in the sight. He smiles and takes his hand, and they join their family out by the water.

It’s years later before the Buckley-Kinard house is visited again.

Years since they were sent away to a safe haven while their parents fought off hoard after hoard, until the virus had runs its course. Those lost souls that weren’t instantly killed from the virus, or the battalion sent out to fight off the undead the virus created, eventually just rotted away until they were no longer a threat.

“Hey Chris!” Jee calls from a bedroom. “I found something!” He stops poking around with one of his canes, rummaging for anything left to salvage from the house he spent many days of his youth, and goes to see what she found. In the back bedroom, laid out across the mattress of a tattered king sized bed, are two skeletons clinging to each other.

“Do you think it’s them?” Jee asks.

Chris steps closer, inspects the bodies; most notably their hands, and the matching bands they both are wearing. He looks up at the faded picture still sitting on the bedside table and smiles, a tear slipping from his eye. “Yeah… it’s them.”

#911 abc #bucktommy #zombie au #based on fanart #It was just too good not to stop what I was doing and write #evan buckley #tommy kinard #118 firefam #yall it made me do MCD… this fandom has me rewired!#mcd #But like not too sad kinda…#Ok it is #tw mcd #tw death #tw sui implied

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fall0utmind · 4 days ago

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Medical Leak AU CH9

On a roll this week!!!!

ao3 here / medical leak au tag on tumblr

Hope you guys enjoy this one, I loved writing it. We are so nearly done now wooooo!!!

Let me know what you think :)

Chapter 9: Redemption (~5k)

The sound of motorcycle engines is humming in his veins. The smell of leather lighting up every synapse. It’s better than any high he’s ever had.

He guns it off the line but misjudges slightly and drops some positions. He ends up swerving to avoid a collision in the middle of the pack and bites his tongue to hold in a shout. Pole to 10th in a corner. Fucking typical. He keeps his head down and pushes on.

Marc knows he can put on a good performance, he can feel it in his bones, the same way he knows that he can be world champion again, that he has the strength to continue in the face of adversity. The world will throw its gauntlet at his feet, but Marc continues to pick it up, bloodied and bruised from the battles that came before. He refuses to give up, taking the hard line at every turn, making moves through the pack. By turn 5 he’s in 4th, just Jorge, Enea, and Pecco ahead of him. In his peripheral, he catches a flash of yellow, Bezzecchi riding by his side. His stomach gives a sickening lurch at the lurid colour, Valentino’s yellow. His mind threatens to fixate on the memories of him but he squashes it down as small as possible. He refuses to let Valentino wreck anything else. This race is his. He will think about Valentino after.

He feels good, the bike is dancing to his tune, not fighting him on every corner like the last few years on the Honda. He’s not on the quickest bike, but he sure as hell will back himself as the best rider. He gives it hell on the next lap, battling hard and clinching a place from Enea. He almost loses the front on the same turn as yesterday, his elbow and knee brushing against the tarmac before he slings himself upright, heaving a deep breath.

He lets out a manic laugh. He feels alive.

On lap 20 he breaks the gap to Pecco and Jorge, hunting them down like prey. He passes Jorge fairly easily, whipping around him on a tight corner line, body tucked close to the track.

Pecco puts up more of a fight. They battle through the penultimate laps, trading positions once they have dropped Jorge. A glance to his right reveals that the Italian is beside him. He grins, pressing down on the throttle.

He throws everything at the last lap, taking every corner on the edge, tucking himself flush against the bike on the straights. He’s pulling away from the red Ducati; it slots in behind him on the last few turns. Marc is too far ahead now, head bowed as he approaches the start/finish straight.

The emotions that rise when he crosses the finish line threaten to overwhelm him. They bubble up and explode as he pumps his fists in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs. He ducks his head to press against his bike, fighting the tears that want to fall.

On the cool-down lap, it feels like every rider on the grid congratulates him. Marc flips his visor up to meet Pecco’s eyes as he swerves closer for a fist bump. Aleix shouts praise at him, audible even over the wind which whips past them. Even Bez rides adjacent to gesture happily to him.

He does cry when he pulls up to the number one spot. It’s been so long. After everything, it feels like redemption. His team, his family, pull him into their arms, screaming at him and slapping him all over. Marc is crying and grinning and laughing. Alex is there, tugging him into a long hug, kissing his head as they pull apart. Dani and Jorge wrap their arms around him and whisper praise into his ears. Dovi leaps over the fence to tug him into a hug. It makes Marc laugh and laugh until he can barely see straight through the dampness in his eyes and the ache in his stomach.

Pecco and Enea have pulled into the second and third-place slots respectively. They both embrace him, congratulating him quietly. Marc smiles at them, small but honest. He feels like he has broken through a glass ceiling somewhere. He doesn’t know what that means. Some of the Factory Ducati team slap his back as he passes; GiGi grins at him knowingly.

He is on top of the world.

He barely registers as they are escorted into the back of a car. Marc tries to keep his feet on the ground. He dances onto the podium, drinking up the atmosphere as his team whistles from below. He allows a real, beaming smile to engulf his face, stretching wider as he looks up at the sky. Despite the predominantly Italian crowd, he can’t hear any boos, Marc wonders what that means. They cheer when he receives his trophy and get louder as he is drenched in champagne by Frankie, Pecco, and Enea. All of them are grinning proudly at him. He feels a little drunk.

(He hasn’t had a sip yet)

As the podium celebrations die down, something catches his eye. In the crowd, standing to the side is Valentino. Marc chokes. Valentino never watches a podium when Marc is on it, even if one of the academy boys has won. Valentino does not look away, staring at where Marc is glowing on the top step, champagne and sweat glistening on his skin.

Vale looks like he has seen a god.

Marc feels off-kilter, something akin to hope blooming within him.

Rules dictate that Marc has to endure another media session after he is swept off the podium. He temporarily pushes Vale to the back of his mind as they are herded into the usual post-race routine. The media pen is as busy as usual, and the sickening dread has returned in full force. He considers ignoring any questions related to his mental health in prior years, but then he remembers the interactions from this morning. Marc decides that he will no longer be ashamed.

Instead, he stares directly into the cameras as he confirms the truth of the articles. He stands tall and says he is proud of himself for overcoming his challenges. He desperately hopes it inspires others to reach out for help. He smiles as he details that he is doing much better now, thanks to the support of his family and professionals. When he asks for respect and privacy, he thinks about all the damage this has caused. He knows there will be people who never look at him the same, their cruel words will now always take a certain tone, and from now on he will be the rider who almost died by suicide. He makes peace with it.

Marc frowns at the cameras, considering for a second. He thinks of Valentino standing at the bottom of the podium and decides. He steals himself and does what he should have done years ago. For once, he hopes it goes viral. Marc must lay out the pain caused by the people who have manipulated the truth. He bites his lip.

“My life has been dramatically changed across the last 11 years in this sport. It has been the most incredible opportunity, but it has also been the hardest time of my life. I have been slandered by the press, stalked, and harassed. It has been a rough ride, some of the most painful moments of my life. A lot of it is due to words rather than crashes or injuries. I will always be more than the comments and the press, but I am a real person, with real feelings, and a family who love me.”, he states.

He smiles slightly, feeling vindicated and continues.

“The people who say these things must live sad and shallow lives and should find a more productive use of their time. I will no longer sit and take it. I am an 8-time world champion. I have come through hell and back and have the scars to prove it. You do not get to sit and comment on me until you have been through similar.”

He smirks, his PR training has gone out of the window. The reporter looks shell-shocked. Despite it all, the pain and the lies he has relived this weekend, Marc is grinning to himself as he walks away.

When he arrives back at the garage, his press officer wisely doesn’t say anything. He detects a slight hint of pride on her face and grins widely. He knows they will talk about it another day, but for now, he allows himself to get sucked into the team celebrations. A sea of blue surrounds Marc, his little family that he now calls home. Someone is blasting music out of a speaker. Marc is singing at the top of his lungs, bouncing around with Alex, and pulling his crew into the celebration.

Before long, the booze is brought out. Two guys from the team grab Marc, holding him tight as they drench him in champagne, making him splutter and squirm in their arms. He is covered in the sticky liquid, wiping at his eyes in a failed attempt to see. Dani, Dovi, and Jorge are still with them, watching on with proud expressions. Another bottle of champagne is dumped over Marc’s head, and he cackles loudly, his elation spilling over. He has missed this. Marc drinks some of the sweet liquid from the bottle being poured into his mouth. Once he is released, he turns his attention to Alex and the crew, and an evil smile is on his face. Marc aims for revenge but somehow gets more drenched in the process. He couldn’t care less; happiness bubbling inside of him.

He feels like a weight has been lifted, in more ways than one. He won a race again; he effectively told the media to fuck off. He giggles a little, champagne going straight to his head and making him giddy. He hands the bottle to Dovi and Dani, goading them to drink some before he thoroughly soaks them straight after. Jorge glares at him for that. Marc can’t find it within himself to give a shit.

It’s Alex who shows him, once the champagne has been put away and the towels handed out. He shoves his phone into Marc’s hands with no preamble. Marc squints at the screen and almost chucks the phone back at his brother. On-screen, Valentino is giving an interview, it’s clearly from this weekend, after the race. Marc wonders what the hell Alex is thinking. He shoots his brother a look, silently asking.

“Just listen to it”, Alex implores.

Marc sighs, unimpressed by Alex’s demands. He doesn’t want to see whatever Valentino has said to the press; he’s sure it won’t be nice. He presses play anyway. Once the video loads, Marc can’t tear his eyes away. Valentino looks deflated as if the wind has been stolen from his sails. He looks sad. Marc strains his ears to listen intently to Valentino's rapid Italian, shock punching him in the stomach as he registers exactly what he is saying. Valentino compliments Marc’s race and his win, even suggesting that races like this were what made him one of the greats.

One of the greats.

Marc thinks he might have hit his head, maybe he’s in a coma and this is some weird dream. On his screen, Valentino looks into the camera and says that Marc is brave to have faced all his life adversities and come out smiling, which the average person would not be able to manage. The real kicker is what happens next. Valentino apologises, live on air. Claiming that he was sorry his actions had caused such turmoil in Marc’s life and asking the media to respect his privacy and be kind. Marc drops the phone.

The cynical part of Marc’s brain screams that Valentino is being superficial, an easy way to make himself look good. The rational part admits that the Valentino he knows could never apologise in private, let alone in front of millions of people in a public interview. He’s serious about this. This is his way of proving he is sorry. It makes him feel hesitant.

(It makes him feel a tiny bit pleased and possessive that Valentino would admit that in front of everyone).

He bends down to pick up the phone, smiling sheepishly as he hands it back to Alex. Deep down he knows it is an olive branch from Valentino, but he will have to do more than that to win Marc’s trust back. The older man has caused too much hurt to be fixed in one simple interview. At this point, Marc doesn’t know if he will be able to rekindle their friendship, no matter how much he loves Valentino.

Once the track celebrations have died down, they make plans for the evening. Soon enough, Marc finds himself strolling into a local club with Alex in tow. The lighting is low and red, very red. It casts everything in an atmospheric hue which screams drama and sex; Marc grins at the thought. Strobe lights shine in time to the throbbing bass, illuminating the floor in flashes. Opposite the entrance is a large bar stocked with every type of alcohol Marc could think of. A sprawling dance floor is already filled with writhing bodies. Across the room, tucked into a quieter corner, there are elaborate tables and booths of plush leather with golden details. Marc guesses this is what money buys.

He beelines to the bar, dragging Alex with him. He has to lean over the counter to shout his order, smiling at the bartender who stares with wide eyes. When they return with his drinks, Marc promptly chugs the first of the two drinks he ordered. He grins as he places the cup down, unabashed. Alex reaches around him to take his own drink before he tugs Marc back onto the floor.

They make their way towards the table which the team have claimed, Marc, clutching his drink in one hand and holding onto Alex’s shirt with the other. People cheer as the brothers approach, slapping Marc’s back and shouting greetings at them both. Dovi is already there and when their eyes meet, he raises his drink in a toast. Marc sips some of the sweet alcohol, allowing himself to relax. He is still in the afterglow of his win, practically buzzing with it. The weekend has been tough, but after 3 years without a win, he deserves this.

Most of the Gresini team are here to celebrate Marc’s victory with him. Marc takes the time to search the vicinity for familiar faces. He lights up when he spots Frankie walking towards the group carrying more drinks and pulls him into a warm hug. There are also several other teams and pilots, Marc thinks he sees Pecco in the distance. The alcohol is free-flowing from pretty early on in the evening, so it’s not long before Marc is feeling loose and tipsy. He allows people to grasp him, shouting congratulations in his ear. Marc feels happy.

Dani and Jorge turn up half an hour late, looking slightly flushed. Dovi smirks at them but Dani steps on his foot before he can comment. Marc and Alex grin. No one says a word.

They lose Alex at some point. Upon a quick scan of the area, Marc spots him chatting away with Franco, which is certainly a turn of events. Alex is talking excitedly, hands moving rapidly as he does. Franky is watching with rapt fascination, his face slightly awed. And gross. Since when were they a thing? He makes a mental note to grill his brother at a later date. Preferably once he’s drunk. He looks away. A head of brunette curls catches his eye in the crowd, Marc really hopes that’s not who he thinks it is. He swallows around the discomfort in his throat and suddenly feels way too sober. Consequently, he offers to get the next round, forcing his friends to come with him.

Dovi slots himself against Marc’s back as he orders, talking to Dani and Jorge animatedly as he does so. Those two have given up being subtle at this point, Jorge’s hand on Dani’s waist as they talk. Marc is happy for them; they seem to be made for one another with their shared understanding of each other’s lives and passions. It is a good fit. They are sickeningly domestic; Jorge looks at Dani like he’s the whole universe. It makes Marc’s chest ache a little.

He focuses instead on handing each man their drink, indicating that the bill should be added to his tab. Dovi takes his drink and smacks a kiss onto Marc’s cheek, laughing when he pulls a disgusted face.

“Thanks, babe”, Dovi says, amusement colouring his voice. Marc sticks his tongue out.

Jorge scoffs, “Get a room, guys.”

Dovi grins back at him, a little sharp around the edges.

“Ah, maybe we will”, he retorts.

Marc smirks, chipping into the teasing conversation, “It will be right next to yours”.

Marc laughs, loud and delighted, at the grossed-out look on Jorge’s face. Dani starts giggling, muttering something about Marc probably being loud. Marc doesn’t deny it. He’s still chuckling to himself when he realises that the others have fallen oddly quiet. Dani is staring at something over Marc’s shoulder, his eyes wide. Marc turns to look behind him, only to stumble when he sees Valentino a few steps away, his face sour.

Valentino closes the gap a little more, eyes flicking between the group of four. He looks way too sober to be here. His eyes look dull without their trademark spark of humour. Marc wonders why he’s come. Valentino’s voice is calmly controlled when he asks to speak to Marc but even he cannot conceal the flash of irritation when Dovi replies first.

“No, Rossi. Leave him alone for once in your life”, Dovi seethes.

Valentino looks like he’s going to argue, the familiar anger building behind his eyes. But to Marc’s surprise, he exhales harshly, dropping his gaze to the floor before he turns on his heels and stalks away. It leaves Marc feeling adrift, the haze of alcohol lifting and leaving behind pure confusion. What could Valentino want so badly and why did he leave without a fight? It was so unlike him.

He thinks back on the interview from earlier, the easy way Valentino had praised Marc, had defended him. Now this, his uncharacteristic calmness and walking away from an argument. Marc doesn’t understand what it means. He puts his head in his hands and groans. Things could never be simple, could they? He turns back to the others, who are staring at him with looks of sympathy and pity. He can’t stand it. Instead, he gestures to the tables, determined to forget about it all for the next few hours.

Marc has lost track of the number of drinks he’s had; at some point, people had begun pressing them into his hands- the perks of winning. He’s been dragged onto the dance floor by someone and is happily swaying his hips to the beat. He had lost his friends a while ago, he assumes they are back at the table rather than dancing (too old or something). Instead, he finds himself with a very drunk Bezzecchi and a substantially more sober (although definitely tipsy) Pecco.

Bez is careless as he happily dances with Marc, his hands all over the Spaniard as he bounces to the music. When they had first bumped into each other on the dancefloor, Bez had fluttered around awkwardly, as if unsure about what he was allowed. Pecco had pulled Marc into a tipsy hug, grinning at him and staying by his side and Bez had taken this as permission. It’s no secret that the Italian is a touchy person, and clearly, he now feels content to be as close to Marc as physically possible. Hence Marc is dancing with two Italians who can’t keep their hands to themselves. He is too drunk to care. He feels eyes on him all evening, burning hot attention. He cannot identify who it is.

At some point, Celestino joins their group. Marc is unfamiliar with the younger rider since he has not yet made the step to the higher class. But Bez is clearly fond of him. The two are plastered together from the minute he arrives, giving Marc some needed breathing room. He laughs at their clinginess. They were clearly made for each other, he says as much to Pecco, who just laughs knowingly. Marc cannot help the sense of contentment he feels, alongside the slither of sadness that he has been missing out on this. He is not sure he can lose the fondness he has gained for the other riders this weekend. He hopes he won’t have to.

Bez turns to Marc, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Can you stop Vale from being so grumpy? I do not want to do more laps next time we train”, he slurs, drawing out the ‘e’ in Valentino’s name.

“What?”, Marc asks.

“I don’t know. He has been moody all day. Pecco is not talking to him, Luca is being odd. Now he is staring daggers at us for no reason. I do not like it. I want us to be normal.”, Bez grumbles. Marc thinks he sounds a bit like a child when he is drunk and cranky.

Bez frowns, as if deep in thought.

“Although you can stay.”, he decides.

“I like you more than I thought. He is obsessed with you though. It’s always Marc this, or Marquez that. Anyone would think he was jealous with the way he goes on-”

Bez’s monologue is prematurely cut off by Pecco slapping a hand over his mouth, preventing him from saying much else. But the damage is done, Marc stands with his mouth agape, staring at the Italians. Belatedly, Marc thinks it's rather sweet that Bez already appears fond of him, although that could be alcohol speaking. His brain is stuck on the idea that Valentino is obsessed with him, that he talks about him, and that the boys think he is jealous. Jealous of what, Marc is not sure. Thinking about it makes his head spin. Suddenly, he feels like he desperately needs some fresh air.

He turns on his heel and pushes through the crowd, distantly aware of Pecco scolding Bez in his periphery. He’s hot and sweaty when he eventually escapes the dance floor. He picks his way across the room, stumbling out the back, which is blissfully empty. He gulps in the fresh air, allowing it to cool his clammy skin. Marc is too drunk to fathom the words Bez has just said.

Marc doesn’t know how long he has been standing there, staring into space, when he hears the door open and close behind him and the warm press of another body. He jerks backwards, his eyes bugging when he realises that Valentino has joined him. The older man looks worse for wear, yet somehow still gorgeous. His normally startling blue eyes are clouded, and he is swaying slightly on the spot. Marc groans internally. Now is the worst possible time for this to happen. Marc has consumed far too much alcohol for this and Valentino undoubtedly has too.

“Marc,” Valentino says his name like a prayer. It makes Marc shiver slightly, much to his dismay. Valentino clocks it immediately, whispering his name again and stepping closer.

Marc inches backwards.

“Marc, Marc please listen to me”, Valentino pleads.

“What do you want Vale?”, he responds. His voice is deeper than he expected. He clears his throat. He kicks himself for letting the nickname slip out. Valentino takes another step forward and sinks to his knees.

Marc freezes, his mouth hanging open as he stares at where Valentino is kneeling in front of him. He feels hot under the collar and really, he should not be turned on by this, not now. Not when it’s Valentino.

His eyes are wide and so, so blue as he looks up at Marc, the outside lights illuminating his face. He looks ethereal. Marc is so fucked.

“Please, Marc”, Valentino begins.

“Just give me a chance, I would do anything. I have been an asshole, such an asshole. Cazzo, I promise I didn’t know. I will have the journalists fired. I will make sure whoever leaked this loses their jobs. I will do anything.”, Valentino pleads.

“You had nothing to do with this then. You didn’t set your people on me again?”

“I didn’t know. I was blinded by my jealousy and inadequacy. I am so tired of channelling my anger into something that happened years ago. I promise I'm going to work on it”, he is slurring now, looking more defenceless than Marc has ever seen him.

Marc sighs, torn between his heart and his head.

“And the text”, he whispers.

“What text?”, Valentino asks, confusion marring his voice.

Marc pulls out his phone, showing Valentino the singular message he had received earlier in the weekend. His face drops when he sees the number.

“Bastard”, Valentino seethes. Marc watches him carefully, but only sees the truth in his eyes, he sighs.

“Someone, you do know, I assume?”, Marc enquires.

Valentino nods slowly, he winces slightly, shifting on his knees, still peering up at the younger man.

“Uccio. He has led me astray for too long. He may be my best friend but he holds a grudge.”

Marc raises an eyebrow, challenging Valentino.

“That’s rich coming from you.”, he comments. Vale winces.

“Just give me a chance. I will do anything you want Marc. I will spend every second of the rest of my life proving myself to you. I miss you. I miss your smile and your laughter. Every time you walk past, I cannot help but stare. When you get on a bike it is like I am a moth drawn to a flame. You are addictive to me. I will no longer hide from it. The past is the past. It is behind us, now I am asking for your forgiveness. Forgiveness I should have sought a decade ago. I will not stop until you can see that I mean it. However long it takes.”

Marc is saved from replying as the door bangs open. He startles at the noise, whirling around to see who it is. Luca stands in the doorway, rooted to the spot, gaping openly at Marc and his brother, who is still on the floor. He glances between the two, before setting his gaze on Valentino.

“Valentino what are you doing?”, he says slowly, as if talking to a child.

“What does it look like I’m doing” Valentino hisses back. “You said I should get on my knees and beg if I have to. So here I am.”

Marc can only watch in stunned silence. He turns to Luca

“Is he sick? Dying? Being blackmailed?”, he asks, a pleading tone in his voice.

“Nope he’s just drunk and stupid”, Luca replies, shaking his head at Valentino, who has finally clambered back to his feet.

(Marc isn’t disappointed)

(He isn’t)

“Ah, Okay.” Marc murmurs, still baffled. Valentino scowls at Luca but before he can comment, Luca has him by the arm and is pushing him towards Franky, who has stuck his head outside the door. Alex isn’t far behind him, peeking over his shoulder at the commotion.

“Look after him”, Luca demands. Alex and Franky have moved fully outside now, coming to stand next to the others, watching Valentino warily.

“But-” Franky begins to protest. Luca cuts him off.

“You can fuck Alex after, I’ll sort him out in a minute. I need to talk to Marc”, he grouses.

Marc groans but then looks at his brother, smirking as Alex turns bright red. He is unable to resist the quip.

“Be safe little brother. You know use a-”, he starts. Alex slaps a hand over his mouth, glaring. It makes Marc giggle, his inner turmoil momentarily forgotten.

“Shut up, Marc” he grits out, but cannot help the fond amusement that radiates off him. Marc continues to giggle, unaware of Valentino’s lovestruck face as he is handed over to Franky. Alex rolls his eyes and leaves, patting Franky and whispering something in his ear on his way back inside. The two Italians follow, Franky almost dragging Valentino away.

Luca has his hand on his forehead when Marc glances back at him, looking way more stressed than anyone should on a night out. He looks up at Marc and smiles, looking slightly embarrassed.

“You did well today. You should be proud.” Luca remarks with the kindness Marc has come to know him for. He smiles at the younger, who goes on.

“I’m sorry about Vale. He is trying you know? I know my brother normally has his head up his ass but I’ve never seen him this crazy about anyone but you. I get it if you can’t do it anymore. But I know love when I see it”, he blurts.

Marc is stunned. Love? Surely not. His heart aches in his chest. Before he can question it any further, or dispute it because there is no way that Valentino loves him, Luca turns and leaves, undoubtedly to go find Vale and take him home. With that, all Marc can do is get spectacularly pissed.

So, he does.

He knocks back drink, after drink, after drink. He doesn’t see Alex again for the rest of the night, Marc makes a face at the thought of where he has gone. Luca has taken Vale home. Marc has stayed with the others, celebrating with the team into the early hours. The way it should be. Yet he can’t help but feel like something is missing.

He stumbles back to his motorhome at some stupid hour. Jorge and Dani make sure he gets back safe, taking him from the club back to the track before they head off to the hotel. His memories feel hazy as he tries to fit the key into the lock, failing several times until it finally clicks into place. He remembers doing shots with some of the academy boys, dancing with Fabio (he vaguely recalls being on a table), and sloppily kissing someone. He’s pretty sure he told Dani and Jorge that they’d be great parents one day since they were looking after him so well. Dani had laughed hard whilst leaning on Jorge, who was blushing. Marc feels happy. So happy. He pointedly does not think about Valentino.

Once he is in the motorhome, he staggers through the front room and into his bedroom. He falls into bed after stripping off most of his clothes and drifts into a dreamless sleep.

#motogp #marc marquez #rosquez #motogp rpf #my fics #medical leak au #valentino rossi #really happy with this #come talk to me about it #pleaseeeee #dovquez #pedrenzo

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novaursa · 1 month ago

Text

Of Gods and Men (the path)

This is Dune/GOT/HOTD/FAB/ASOIAF crossover AU that you've voted for. If you always wanted to see House Targaryen in space, I got you. Please note how some of the lore of both universes is bent to blend in both worlds. This is my original idea that I've been cooking for at least two years. Be gentle with my work, and enjoy the ride.

- Summary: House Targaryen survives their ancient exile after being overthrown by House Corrino and the Bene Gesserit. Fleeing to the unknown planet Albiron, the Targaryens build a hidden civilization powered by drakaon crystals, reviving their dragons and creating advanced technology. Millennia later, whispers of their survival begin to surface as the Bene Gesserit confront a mysterious Red Woman on Arrakis, who warns of a coming Prince That Was Promised destined to challenge their control. The Targaryens secretly prepare to return, ready to reclaim their legacy.

- Paring: reader!Daenys Targaryen/Leto Atredies

- Note: For more details about House Targaryen and their technology, please check out the masterlist.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Previous part: god killer

- Next part: destiny

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

You woke to a throbbing pain radiating through your body, your limbs heavy and restrained. The world was dim, the cold stone beneath you rough and unyielding. Every breath was a struggle, and as your vision slowly cleared, the weight of the chains binding your wrists and ankles became apparent. The metal was thick, cutting into your skin, and the sound of the links clinking together as you moved sent a chill down your spine.

A voice cut through the haze of pain, sharp and mocking.

"Ah, you're awake."

You turned your head, forcing your eyes to focus on the figure standing in the shadows. Feyd. His smirk was unmistakable, dripping with cruelty as he stepped closer, his boots echoing ominously in the dimly lit room. He looked down at you, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"I was wondering how long it would take for you to wake up," he said, crouching down to meet your gaze. "I have to admit, watching you fall from the sky was quite the sight. Almost poetic."

You glared at him, refusing to show any sign of fear despite the pain coursing through your body. Your heart ached for Vexiae, the thought of her suffering gnawing at you. You couldn't feel her presence like you usually did, and that emptiness made your chest tighten.

"Where is she?" you demanded, your voice hoarse but steady.

Feyd's smirk widened. "Your beast?" He stood, pacing around you slowly, savoring every moment of his control over the situation. "She doesn't want to cooperate. We tried a few methods, but she’s quite stubborn, I’ll give her that."

You gritted your teeth, knowing what he meant. Vexiae would never bend to anyone’s will, let alone the Harkonnens. Her spirit was as fierce as the fire she breathed.

"Dragons are not slaves," you spat, your anger overriding the pain.

Feyd paused, looking down at you with mock pity. "Ah, but everyone can be made a slave, my dear," he said softly. "It’s all a matter of pressure, pain... and the right incentive."

You held his gaze, refusing to break, though every muscle in your body screamed in protest. The weight of the chains, the cold of the stone—it all felt secondary compared to the burning anger rising in your chest.

He crouched down again, his face mere inches from yours. "You’ll see. Your dragon will fall in line. And so will you."

"I’ll never bow to you," you hissed through clenched teeth.

Feyd chuckled darkly, standing again as if your defiance amused him. "That’s what they all say at first. But I have time, and so do you."

He gestured to one of his men, who stepped forward and handed him a device, something small and sleek, with a cruel design you didn’t recognize. "You see, we’ve developed a little toy just for this occasion. It’s going to make things... uncomfortable for you. And for your dragon. I suggest you cooperate."

You felt the cold fingers of dread claw at you, but you kept your face impassive. You couldn’t give him the satisfaction. You wouldn’t.

Feyd turned to leave, but before he exited, he paused at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder, a wicked grin on his face.

"We’ll talk more later, dragon witch. I’m looking forward to seeing how long you’ll last."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving you alone in the cold, the weight of the chains heavy around your wrists and ankles. You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to remain calm, to think clearly. There had to be a way out. There always was.

You closed your eyes, focusing on Vexiae, willing her to stay strong. You wouldn’t let them break you. Neither of you.

The Harkonnens thought they had won, but they had no idea what was coming for them.

Leto stood over the holomap, his eyes scanning the terrain where their forces were stretched thin. The temporary base they’d established was a hive of activity, Atreides and Targaryen forces moving in sync as they prepared for the next Harkonnen assault. Hawat was beside him, analyzing the data with a keen eye, while Gurney gave orders to the soldiers under his command. Across the table, Aenys and Aelor spoke in low voices, strategizing their next moves.

"Maelor’s holding the line with Duncan and Stilgar," Leto said, his tone strained but resolute. "But the Harkonnens are relentless. We need to hit them back harder."

Aenys nodded, his face impassive but his eyes sharp with focus. "We will. My sons are ready to tear them apart. The moment we have an opening, they’ll push forward."

Aelor leaned forward, his expression mirroring his father’s. "If we can divert their forces at the southern ridge, we’ll have the advantage. But we need more time."

Hawat, never one to miss a detail, interjected. "Time isn’t something we have much of. Our scouts have reported more Harkonnen reinforcements incoming. We’re on the clock."

Leto’s jaw clenched as he absorbed the information. His thoughts drifted to you, still in Harkonnen hands. Every passing moment weighed on him, knowing you were out there, fighting to survive. But they had to stay focused. They couldn’t let emotion cloud their decisions, not with so much at stake.

Suddenly, a chill swept through the room, and the atmosphere shifted. Leto’s head snapped up, as did Aenys’s, both of them sensing the disturbance before anyone else.

From the shadows, the Red Woman appeared.

The soldiers nearest to her instinctively reached for their weapons, but Aenys raised a hand, stilling them. The Red Woman stepped forward, her presence eerie and commanding as always, her red robes billowing slightly as she moved. Her eyes, glowing faintly in the low light, fixed on the group gathered around the holomap.

Leto narrowed his eyes, unsure of her intentions. "What are you doing here?"

The Red Woman’s lips curved into a small smile. "The Lord of Light has shown me things, Duke. Things that concern both your House and House Targaryen."

Aenys crossed his arms, his tone curt. "Speak, if you’ve come with something useful."

She stepped closer to the map, her fingers brushing against its edges as if sensing the energy of the battlefield laid out before them. "The Harkonnens have bitten off more than they can chew, but they are not the only threat. Darkness looms over this planet, and the war you think you’re fighting is but a piece of a larger game."

Leto exchanged a glance with Aelor, the tension between them clear. "And what exactly are you suggesting?"

The Red Woman’s gaze flickered to Leto, then to Aenys. "You seek to reclaim your lady," she said, her voice soft but laced with power. "But there is more at play here than the rescue of a single person. The Harkonnens are tools, pawns of a greater force. If you do not strike swiftly, you risk losing more than just her."

Aenys’s eyes darkened, the mention of his daughter causing the temperature in the room to plummet. "What do you know of my daughter’s fate?"

The Red Woman met his gaze without flinching. "I see her, bound but not broken. The fire in her soul still burns. But the longer you delay, the closer the darkness creeps. And it is not the Harkonnens you should fear most, Dragonlord."

Leto’s patience was wearing thin. "Enough with the riddles. If you have information that can help us find her, say it."

She tilted her head slightly, a strange glint in her eyes. "The Lord of Light has shown me where they hold her. Beyond the southern ridge, deep in the caverns they believe hidden from the stars. But beware—their traps are set. And their new weapon will strike again if you are not careful."

Gurney’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of weapon?"

The Red Woman’s smile faded. "One that has tasted dragon’s blood and seeks more."

Aenys’s fists clenched at his sides, and Aelor’s expression grew darker. Leto felt the weight of the situation pressing down on them all, but there was no time for hesitation.

"Then we’ll destroy it," Leto said, his voice resolute. "We’ll strike fast, before they can use it again."

The Red Woman nodded, stepping back into the shadows. "Be swift, Duke. The night is dark and full of terrors, but the dawn brings hope."

With that, she disappeared as suddenly as she had come, leaving the room in a deaf silence.

Aenys turned to Leto, his voice low but deadly. "We move now."

Leto nodded, already issuing orders to his men. There was no turning back. They would reclaim you, no matter the cost.

The wind whipped through the jagged rocks beyond the southern ridge, carrying with it the scent of dust and something darker. Leto stood with his forces, his eyes scanning the horizon. Every muscle in his body was stiff, his mind racing with thoughts of you. He had to focus, had to stay sharp, but every breath he took was filled with the weight of knowing you were somewhere out there—captured, bound, vulnerable.

He glanced at Gurney, who was adjusting the strap on his weapon, his face set in a grim line.

"Any word on those weapons the Red Woman mentioned?" Leto asked, his voice low.

Gurney shook his head, his brow furrowing. "Not yet. But we’ve got scouts in the area. They’re closing in on something suspicious about a few clicks west. Could be what we’re looking for."

Leto nodded, though his heart pounded harder with every passing minute. He couldn’t shake the feeling gnawing at him—the fear that you were still in danger, the thought of you bound and suffering under Harkonnen control. He clenched his fists, trying to push the image of you out of his mind long enough to focus on the task at hand.

His thoughts drifted briefly to your twins. His children. They were back in Arrakeen, safe for now, but separated from you. He wondered if they sensed your absence, if they missed your warmth and presence as much as he did. It made his blood boil to think that you were out here, far from them, far from him, and in the hands of his enemies.

Gurney’s comm device crackled to life, breaking the tense silence.

"Sir," came a voice, faint and crackling through the static. "This is the infiltration team from House Velaryon. We’ve spotted something suspicious about three clicks west of your location. We're moving in to investigate."

Leto stiffened, his mind racing. House Velaryon was one of the Targaryen vassals—strong, capable fighters, and their infiltration team had proven invaluable more than once. But still, a sense of dread settled over him.

"Three clicks west," Gurney repeated into the comm. "Understood. Proceed with caution. Report back as soon as you find anything."

The static cut out, and Gurney turned to Leto. "What do you think?"

Leto’s jaw clenched as he stared out into the distance, his thoughts swirling. "We need to be ready. If they’ve found what we think they have, we’ll need to act fast."

Gurney nodded, but his eyes lingered on Leto’s face, as if sensing the turmoil beneath his calm exterior. "You’re thinking about her," he said quietly.

Leto didn’t respond right away, his gaze fixed on the barren landscape before them. He didn’t need to answer. Gurney knew him too well.

"I can’t stop thinking about her," Leto admitted after a moment, his voice rougher than usual. "Every second she’s out there... every second she’s in their hands..."

Gurney’s face softened slightly. "We’ll get her back, Duke. You know we will. The lass is tough, and you’ve got the best forces in the universe at your side. The Harkonnens won’t stand a chance."

Leto appreciated Gurney’s words, but it didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. The thought of you, captured, possibly hurt... it was unbearable. And the twins. His mind kept going back to them, how vulnerable they were, how they were without their mother. He couldn’t let them lose you. He wouldn’t.

Another crackle came through the comm, and Leto’s head snapped toward it. "Sir," the infiltration team’s voice came through again, strained this time. "We’ve found it. There’s a massive weapon system, camouflaged, just like the Red Woman warned. And... it’s pointed right at your position."

Leto felt his blood turn to ice. "Get out of there," he barked into the comm. "Now!"

But before he could hear a response, a deep rumble shook the ground beneath their feet. The air around them seemed to hum with dread, and Gurney’s eyes widened in alarm as he looked toward the distant ridge.

Leto’s heart raced. The Harkonnens had anticipated them, and now, they were staring down the barrel of the very weapon that had taken you and Vexiae down.

"Prepare for impact!" Leto shouted, grabbing Gurney and pulling him toward the nearest cover as the sound of the weapon charging filled the air.

He would not lose you. He would not let them win. Not while there was still breath in his body.

The ground rumbled violently beneath Leto’s feet as the weapon fired, the noise like a crack of thunder, reverberating through the air with a force that made his bones vibrate. A searing, bright light streaked across the sky, and the blast that followed shook the entire ridge. The explosion wasn’t just sound—it was a pressure wave, slamming into Leto and his men, knocking them back.

“Down! Everyone, get down!” Leto shouted as he dove behind a large rock, Gurney right beside him.

The shockwave tore through their ranks, scattering debris and sending some of the soldiers sprawling. Sand and rock rained down, and Leto could hear the groans and cries of those who had been caught in the blast. His heart raced, panic threatening to take over as he thought of you, somewhere behind enemy lines, while they faced a weapon so powerful it could bring down a dragon.

Gurney wiped dirt from his face, his eyes wide in disbelief as he turned to Leto. “What the hell kind of weapon is that?”

Leto’s mind whirled as he tried to piece it together. He’d heard of such destructive force before, but only from tales of Valyrian technology long lost to time. And now, here it was, weaponized and in the hands of the Harkonnens.

“Drakaon crystal,” Leto said grimly, his voice barely audible over the din of the battlefield. “It’s powered by a Targaryen energy source. That’s how they’re doing it.”

Gurney stared at him, understanding dawning on his face. “You mean they’ve somehow weaponized the power of a dragon?”

Leto nodded, his jaw set. “That crystal—it's what powers everything the Targaryens build. Their ships, their cities... it’s why they’re so advanced. And now the Harkonnens have figured out how to use it to bring us down.”

Another explosion rocked the ridge, the blast closer this time. Leto grabbed Gurney by the arm, pulling him farther behind cover as more debris rained down on them. His thoughts were racing, not just about the battle they were in, but about you. If the Harkonnens were using this weapon now, then they would have it aimed at you as well.

“We need to move!” Gurney shouted over the chaos, his voice strained as the ground shook beneath them again.

Leto didn’t hesitate. “Fall back to the secondary ridge,” he ordered, his voice carrying over the shouts of his men. “Regroup, and we’ll figure out how to take that thing out.”

They moved quickly, dodging the falling rocks and skirting the edges of the destruction. Leto’s heart pounded as he pushed forward, determined to survive, determined to find you. He couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that the same weapon that had struck down Vexiae was now aimed at his forces. And worse, you were still in their hands.

“Duke, we can’t hold this position!” one of the soldiers yelled as another blast hit, sending more men scrambling for cover. “We need backup!”

Leto gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He needed to get word to Maelor and the others at the Targaryen base, but communication was nearly impossible in the middle of this onslaught. And with you captured, his options were limited.

“Gurney!” Leto shouted over the noise. “Get the rest of our forces to the fallback point! I’m going to find a way to take out that weapon!”

Gurney shot him a look of disbelief. “Alone? Duke, you’ll never—”

“I don’t have a choice!” Leto cut him off, determination burning in his eyes. “I can’t let them keep using this weapon, not when they’ve already taken her.”

Gurney’s face twisted in conflict, but he nodded reluctantly. “I’ll hold them off as long as I can. But don’t you get yourself killed, Duke. The lass wouldn’t forgive me.”

Leto managed a grim smile before he turned and sprinted toward the edge of the ridge, his mind locked on the one thing that mattered: getting you back and destroying the weapon before it could wreak more havoc.

As the explosions continued to tear apart the ridge behind him, Leto ran, the image of you in his mind fueling his every step. You and the twins. You had to survive. He couldn’t lose you, not after everything. And he would tear down the entire Harkonnen army if he had to, to make sure you were safe.

Paul stood before the tactical display in the Targaryen base, his brow furrowed in concentration as he coordinated the attacks, his fingers gliding over the holographic interface. The battle raged on outside, his father and Daenys—you— locked in the struggle for their lives. He felt the weight of it all, the burden of leadership pressing down on him in ways he hadn’t expected. He’d always known this day would come, but he hadn’t anticipated it feeling like this. So uncertain. So heavy.

Suddenly, a chill crept through the room, as if the very air had shifted. Paul turned, his eyes narrowing as he saw a figure standing in the shadows of the doorway. The Red Woman.

“You’ve come,” Paul said, his voice steady but with an edge of wariness. He had sensed her arrival before he had even seen her.

Her fiery red robes shifted slightly as she stepped forward, her eyes burning with an intensity that seemed to cut through the dim light of the room. She was both terrifying and mesmerizing, her presence unsettling yet compelling.

“Your path has changed,” the Red Woman said softly, her voice filled with strange certainty. "It was never supposed to be this way."

“I know,” Paul replied, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’m not the creation they wanted me to be.”

The Red Woman’s lips curved into a slight smile, though there was no warmth in it. “The Sisterhood's plans unraveled the moment you chose a different course. You were meant to be their instrument, to bring ruin to the universe, to leave billions dead in your wake.”

Paul’s jaw tightened, and he clenched his fists at his sides. “I know what they wanted from me. But I’m not bound by their vision. I’m not their creation.”

“You think you can escape destiny?” The Red Woman’s eyes gleamed with something almost like amusement, but there was a deeper, darker truth behind it. “The Sisterhood’s vision was wrong, yes. But there is a truth they glimpsed, one even they did not fully understand.”

Paul tilted his head, feeling a cold dread creep into his chest. “What do you mean?”

The Red Woman stepped closer, her robes sweeping over the floor like flames dancing on the wind. “You must go to where it all began. To Valyria.”

Paul blinked, caught off guard by the mention of the ancient world. “Valyria is a wasteland. A nuclear ruin. There’s nothing left.”

The Red Woman’s eyes gleamed. “That is what the universe believes, but you will find that much still lingers in the ashes of Valyria. The power that once forged all Great Houses... and the power that nearly destroyed it all. You must go there.”

Paul’s thoughts whirled, trying to comprehend her words. Valyria. The ancient seat of House Targaryen, wiped out in the Doom, destroyed in a cataclysm of fire and destruction. How could anything remain there? It was said to be a dead world, poisoned by radiation, the very air lethal to breathe.

“And what exactly will I find in Valyria?” Paul asked, his voice tinged with disbelief. “More death? Another trap?”

The Red Woman’s gaze was unyielding, her expression unreadable. “You will find your purpose. You will find the truth of what lies within you. And you will face a choice, one that will shape the future of this universe.”

Paul took a breath, trying to center himself. He had learned much from you, from his father, and from all that had transpired. But this—this was something else entirely. He had felt the weight of his destiny before, but never had it felt so... final.

“And if I refuse?” Paul asked, though he already knew the answer.

The Red Woman’s smile widened, but her eyes remained cold. “You won’t.”

Paul stared at her, a thousand questions swirling in his mind. He didn’t want to trust her. He didn’t want to believe that this path was the one he had to take. But deep down, something resonated in her words, something that called to him from a place he had yet to fully understand.

After a long silence, Paul finally spoke. “And if I go, what happens then? What becomes of my family?”

The Red Woman’s gaze softened, just for a moment. “The choice is yours, Paul Atreides. But if you do not go... the universe will burn, with or without you. The question is, will you be the one to light the fire, or will you be the one to put it out?”

Paul’s heart pounded in his chest, the weight of her words pressing down on him. He looked past her, toward the tactical display, toward the image of the battlefield where his family fought for their lives. And in that moment, he knew the path he had to take.

“I’ll go,” Paul said quietly, the words falling from his lips like a finality.

The Red Woman gave a small nod, her eyes gleaming with something like satisfaction. “Then you are ready.”

And with that, she turned, her red robes sweeping through the doorway as she disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving Paul standing alone in the room, the weight of his decision settling heavily on his shoulders.

Valyria. The birthplace of the dragons. And now, the place where his destiny awaited.

You were dragged roughly through the narrow corridors of the cavern, Feyde’s iron grip on your arm leaving a bruising ache. The cold, damp air did little to dull the pain as your body protested with every step, still weakened from the fall. Every movement was a reminder of the wounds that had yet to heal. But the pain in your body was nothing compared to the fear gnawing at your heart—for Vexiae, your dragon, still in the hands of the Harkonnens.

Feyde stopped abruptly, and you were forced to halt, catching yourself before you stumbled forward. He turned to face you, his dark eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction, a predator toying with its prey.

"You'll do everything I say," Feyde hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "Or your dragon will suffer. Believe me when I say, I won’t hesitate."

Your heart pounded in your chest as he pulled you further, dragging you into a large, open chamber. The moment you entered, the sight made your breath catch in your throat—Vexiae, your magnificent dragon, chained and bound, her once fiery, majestic form now trapped, wings pinned, and her glowing amber eyes filled with anguish. The chains were cruel, cutting into her scaled body, keeping her grounded, unable to move. Her deep growl reverberated through the cavern as soon as she saw you.

"Vexiae," you whispered, your voice trembling. Your bond with her was still strong, but the pain she was in cut through you like a blade. You could feel her suffering, her rage, and her fear.

Feyde noticed the flicker of defiance in your eyes, and his smirk grew wider. He let go of your arm, stepping closer to you, too close, his breath hot against your face. His hand, cold and rough, rose to caress your cheek, the touch of it sickening.

"I see why the Duke is so taken with you," Feyde said, his tone mocking as his fingers traced your skin, sending a shiver of disgust down your spine. "Such beauty... and power." He leaned in, his voice dripping with malice. "But all beauty has its price, doesn't it?"

You felt the bile rise in your throat, fighting the urge to pull away, to strike him, but the sight of Vexiae held you in place. One wrong move, one wrong word, and she would suffer more.

"Do what I say, Daenys, and your dragon will live. You will live." Feyde's hand moved down to your throat, his grip firm but not choking, just enough to remind you who held the power. "You wouldn’t want your precious Duke to lose you now, would you?"

His words twisted in your mind like a knife, cutting deep. The thought of Leto, of your children, of the life you had built with him, made your resolve waver, but only for a moment. Feyde was a predator, a monster, and he was toying with your fear, feeding off it.

"You will never break me," you whispered fiercely, your voice hoarse but steady, defiance burning in your chest.

Feyde’s smirk faltered, but only for a moment. His eyes darkened, his grip tightening just enough to remind you that he could still hurt you. But he didn’t need to. Not when he had Vexiae. He stepped back, finally releasing you, but his threat remained in the air like a noose around your neck.

"That remains to be seen," he said, his voice cold as he glanced toward Vexiae. "For now, you'll behave. If you want your dragon to live."

You swallowed hard, your heart aching as you looked at Vexiae, her once powerful form now bound and suffering. You had no choice—for now. You would comply. But you would find a way out. You always did.

Feyde, meanwhile, paced around you, watching your every move like a cat playing with a mouse. His presence made your skin crawl, the tension between you and the chained dragon looming in the air. You could feel Vexiae’s rage coursing through you, her frustration mirroring your own.

"Tell me," Feyde said, his voice casual, but there was an undercurrent of something darker in his tone. "I’ve heard stories of how your people bond with these creatures. Dragons. They say it’s some ancient Valyrian magic, passed down through the bloodlines. You... seem to have mastered it." He stopped, standing just in front of you, his dark eyes boring into yours.

You didn’t respond, keeping your gaze locked on Vexiae. The pain of seeing her like this gnawed at you, but you knew better than to give Feyde the satisfaction of seeing your despair.

He leaned in, his breath close to your ear. "Tell me how it’s done. The bond. What’s the secret? If your people could do it, why not us?"

A bitter laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. "You think you can control dragons?" you spat, turning your head to meet his gaze with a cold, defiant stare. "You don’t have the blood for it. Dragons don’t bond with lesser men. Especially not men like you."

For a moment, Feyde’s face twisted with rage, his lips curling into a sneer. Before you could react, his hand lashed out, striking your cheek with a sharp crack. Pain bloomed across your face, and the force of the slap nearly knocked you off balance. You stumbled but caught yourself, refusing to let him see the hurt.

A deafening roar echoed through the chamber, shaking the very ground beneath your feet. Vexiae's roar reverberated off the cavern walls, her fury unleashed at the sight of you being harmed. The chains binding her clinked and rattled as she strained against them, her eyes locked onto Feyde with a fiery intensity that promised vengeance.

Feyde flinched but quickly regained his composure, though you could see the fear flicker in his eyes. He glanced at the dragon, visibly shaken by the beast's raw power, but he masked it with a smug grin as he turned back to you.

"Careful," he taunted, though his voice was strained. "You wouldn’t want to upset her more, would you?"

You lifted your chin, ignoring the stinging pain on your cheek. "Vexiae will tear you apart the moment she’s free," you hissed, your voice trembling with barely contained fury. "She’s no one’s slave."

Feyde’s smirk faltered, but he quickly recovered, his hand tightening around your arm as he leaned in closer, his voice a venomous whisper. "You’ll tell me how it’s done, or I’ll make sure she suffers. And you’ll watch every moment of it."

You clenched your jaw, your heart pounding with anger and fear. He could threaten all he wanted, but he’d never understand. Dragons chose their riders, their kin. They would never bend to the will of someone like Feyde, no matter how much he tried to force it.

"I told you," you said through gritted teeth. "You’ll never have what we do. Dragons bond with those who are worthy, those with Valyrian blood. Not with cowards who hide behind threats and chains."

Feyde’s face twisted in anger again, and for a moment, you thought he might strike you again. But instead, he straightened, his grip on your arm loosening. "We’ll see," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "We’ll see how long your defiance lasts."

He stepped back, eyeing you with cold disdain before turning his gaze to Vexiae once more. "Maybe I’ll find another way to break her," he muttered, more to himself than to you.

You stood there, chest heaving, your heart hammering as you watched him walk away. But the defiance in your eyes never wavered. You knew the bond between you and Vexiae was unbreakable, and no matter what Feyde tried, he would never have what he craved.

As Feyde disappeared into the shadows, leaving you and Vexiae alone in the cavern, you whispered softly, "I’ll free you, my love. I swear it."

Leto moved like a shadow through the desert night, the cold air biting at his skin as he navigated the rocky outcrops that led to the Harkonnen weapon. His heart pounded, not from fear, but from the weight of what he knew had to be done. There wasn’t time to send a full squad. The longer this weapon remained operational, the more lives would be lost, and worse, you—Daenys—were out there somewhere, taken by Harkonnens.

He couldn’t wait for an army. This had to end now.

The Harkonnen weapon, a towering artillery cannon forged with stolen Targaryen Drakaon crystal technology, was hidden behind a ridge of jagged rock. Its monstrous silhouette loomed over the desert, casting long, eerie shadows under the twin moons of Arrakis. Leto crouched low, observing the guards around it. They were well-armed and vigilant, patrolling the perimeter with sharp eyes, their Harkonnen armor gleaming dully in the moonlight.

He slipped forward, making no sound as he crept toward the weapon's base. His pulse quickened as he neared the control terminal—a series of glowing panels nestled into the rock face, controlling the power source and aiming mechanisms. This was the key. If he could disrupt the crystal’s energy flow, the weapon would be rendered useless, and the attack it had been preparing would be stopped in its tracks.

Leto unsheathed his blade slowly, the metal barely whispering against the scabbard as he closed in on the nearest guard. In one swift motion, he was upon the man, silencing him with a quick, precise strike to the throat. The guard fell without a sound, and Leto dragged the body behind a nearby boulder before moving on to the next.

The adrenaline pumped through his veins, but his focus remained sharp. One by one, he dispatched the guards with cold efficiency, his years of training and battle experience guiding him. There was no hesitation, no room for error. Every second mattered.

With the perimeter clear, Leto turned his attention to the weapon itself. He approached the control terminal, the faint hum of the Drakaon crystal thrumming beneath the surface of the machine. It pulsed with an otherworldly energy, powering the monstrous weapon with enough force to take down even a dragon. His fingers hovered over the control panel for a moment as he assessed the layout, his mind racing to find a way to disable the weapon without triggering an alert.

Then, a sharp sound—a voice—cut through the air behind him.

"Hey! Stop right there!"

Leto’s body tensed as he turned to see another Harkonnen soldier rushing toward him, weapon raised. Without thinking, Leto lunged, closing the distance between them before the soldier could react. They grappled, the soldier struggling to bring his blaster to bear, but Leto was faster. He twisted the weapon out of the man's hands and drove his knife into the soldier's chest, ending the fight in a matter of seconds.

The soldier crumpled at his feet, but the commotion had drawn attention. Leto heard the distant shout of more guards approaching, and he knew time was running out. He hurried back to the terminal, fingers flying over the controls as he searched for the power source.

The hum of the crystal grew louder, its energy pulsating through the machine, threatening to unleash devastation at any moment. Leto's eyes scanned the control panel, locking onto the power core diagram. With a sharp breath, he initiated the shutdown sequence, rerouting the energy back into the core. The weapon’s lights flickered, and the hum faltered.

Just as he thought he had disabled the system, a sudden surge of energy blasted from the control terminal. Leto barely dodged in time as the power surge erupted, sending sparks flying into the air. The cannon groaned as its systems overloaded, the crystal’s energy threatening to erupt in a catastrophic explosion.

Leto had no choice. He had to destroy the crystal.

With a determined grimace, he pulled the blade from his belt and slammed it into the power conduit. The Drakaon crystal let out a shriek of energy, crackling with violent pulses of golden light, but Leto held his ground, driving the blade deeper. Sparks flew, and the ground beneath him trembled as the weapon’s systems began to fail.

The crystal exploded in a brilliant flash of light, sending shockwaves through the desert and knocking Leto off his feet. He hit the ground hard, the air forced from his lungs as the blast rattled the rocks around him. For a moment, everything went still, the night deathly silent as the weapon fell into ruins.

Leto struggled to his feet, dazed and battered, but alive. The weapon was destroyed, the Drakaon crystal reduced to shattered fragments. He could hear the distant shouts of the remaining Harkonnen soldiers, confused and disoriented by the loss of their weapon. It would buy time for his forces.

But there was still more to do.

As he stood, regaining his bearings, Leto noticed something—an opening in the rock face, hidden in the shadows. A side entrance to the caverns.

The Red Woman’s words echoed in his mind once again, almost as if she was there.

“Deep in the caverns, where the shadows whisper.”

Without hesitation, Leto steeled himself and moved toward the entrance. You were in there somewhere, and he would not stop until he found you.

Leto pressed a hand to the side of his helmet, trying again to reach Gurney through the comm link. Static hissed in response. He cursed under his breath, glancing back toward the cavern entrance where the battle raged outside. The explosion from the Drakaon crystal weapon must have interfered with the signal. He was on his own for now.

The tunnels stretched before him, dimly lit by flickering torches set into the walls. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and sweat, and every step he took echoed off the stone, threatening to give away his position. He had to move carefully. He couldn’t afford to be discovered, not yet.

His heart raced as he navigated the maze of caverns, each turn bringing him deeper into the Harkonnen stronghold. The weight of his exhaustion clung to him, but he pressed forward, driven by a singular purpose—you. The thought of you in the hands of these brutes filled him with a cold fury, but he knew he had to remain focused. Rushing in without a plan would only get him killed—and it wouldn’t save you.

Up ahead, Leto heard voices—rough and low, the unmistakable cadence of Harkonnen soldiers. He slowed his pace, moving silently against the cavern wall, staying in the shadows as he approached.

“…can’t believe the weapon just went offline like that,” one of the soldiers muttered, his voice thick with irritation. “Took months to get it operational, and now it’s a pile of scrap.”

Another one chuckled. “Yeah, but did you hear what happened? One Atreides soldier took it down. Just one man.”

“Bullshit,” a third voice chimed in, laughing. “No way one guy could’ve done that.”

“I’m telling you, that’s what I heard. Some freak out there tore through the whole defense line. Now we’ve got no heavy artillery, and Feyde’s pissed.”

The first soldier snorted. “Better hope it wasn’t the Duke. Heard he’s been looking for the Targaryen girl. If it was him, Feyde’s gonna have more than just a broken weapon to deal with.”

Leto’s heart tightened at the mention of your name. So, they knew you were still here, somewhere in these caverns. His grip on the hilt of his blade tightened as he stayed hidden in the shadows, listening intently.

“What’s the deal with her anyway?” one of the soldiers asked, sounding genuinely curious. “Why’s Feyde so obsessed with her?”

“Power,” came the low reply. “Targaryen secrets. Bonding with dragons. He thinks if he can get her to talk, he’ll control her beast. Turn it on the Atreides.”

The others laughed, the sound echoing through the cavern. “Yeah, good luck with that. I saw the thing chained up. It’s barely controllable as it is. If it gets loose, we’re all dead.”

Leto’s blood boiled at their laughter, but he forced himself to stay calm. The more they talked, the more information he could gather. There was no point in engaging them now, not when they were still unaware of his presence.

“Well, whatever happens, I just hope Feyde can keep her in line long enough for us to get out of here. I’m not sticking around if that dragon decides it’s had enough.”

The voices faded as the soldiers moved deeper into the caverns, their laughter trailing off into the distance. Leto waited until he was sure they were gone before stepping out from the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest.

You were alive, but in Feyde’s hands. And Vexiae, your dragon, was chained somewhere nearby, just as furious and dangerous as ever.

Leto’s jaw tightened as he moved forward, his senses sharp and his focus clear. He had to find you, and he had to do it soon. But the Harkonnens weren’t fools, and the deeper he ventured into the labyrinth, the more dangerous it became.

Every corner he turned, every step he took, brought him closer to his goal—but also deeper into the heart of enemy territory. He heard the distant clatter of weapons, the shuffle of armor against stone, but he stayed out of sight, moving with the precision and stealth that had kept him alive on countless battlefields.

The path split again, and Leto hesitated for a moment, trying to discern which direction to go. The voices of the soldiers had long since disappeared, leaving him to navigate the winding tunnels on instinct alone.

Suddenly, a distant roar echoed through the caverns. It was faint, but unmistakable—the sound of a dragon, your dragon. Vexiae.

Leto’s heart lurched in his chest. You were close, and so was your captor. The time for stealth was running out.

He pressed on, deeper into the caverns, each step bringing him closer to the confrontation he knew was inevitable. Feyde-Rautha was waiting, and so were you.

Leto pressed forward through the narrow passageway, his heartbeat quickening as the air grew hotter and thicker with the acrid scent of dragonfire. The walls around him seemed to close in, and the dim light from the torches flickered erratically as he edged toward the source of the sound.

Ahead, he caught a glimpse of Vexiae—your dragon, her massive form straining against the thick chains that bound her to the ground. She was battered and wounded, her scales scorched in places from the Harkonnen’s weapons. But even in her injured state, she was fierce. Her molten amber eyes flickered with rage as she thrashed against her restraints, her tail sweeping the ground in frustration.

Several Harkonnen soldiers stood nearby, taunting her, keeping just out of reach of her snapping jaws. One of them threw a rock at her flank, laughing cruelly as it bounced off her scales.

"Keep pushing her! Let’s see how much fire she’s got left!" one of the soldiers jeered, grinning as Vexiae let out another furious roar, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to summon the energy to retaliate.

Suddenly, with a great heaving effort, she managed to unleash a stream of fire, the flames bursting from her maw with a deafening roar. The soldiers scrambled back in panic, shouting and swearing as the fire nearly engulfed them. They retreated, cursing under their breath and leaving Vexiae alone, at least for the moment.

Leto seized the opportunity. He crept closer, moving carefully along the shadows of the cavern walls until he was near enough to see the strain in Vexiae’s movements. Her breathing was labored, and her wings hung limply at her sides, the chains binding her tightly to the ground.

She hadn’t seen him yet, but she sensed him. Leto watched as her nostrils flared, her head turning slightly in his direction, as if recognizing the scent of a familiar ally. Her growl softened, and her fiery eyes flickered toward the narrow passage where he stood.

“Easy now,” Leto whispered, stepping out of the shadows and making his way toward her. He moved slowly, cautiously, keeping his hands raised to show he meant no harm.

Vexiae’s eyes locked onto him, the fury in her gaze giving way to a glimmer of recognition. She let out a low rumble, a sound of acknowledgment, as her massive form shifted slightly. The tension in her body eased just enough for Leto to approach.

“I know,” he murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re hurt. But I’m going to free you. Just stay calm.”

He moved to the side, carefully examining the chains that bound her. They were reinforced, heavy iron links meant to keep even a creature as powerful as Vexiae grounded. The locks were intricate, no doubt designed by the Harkonnens to prevent a quick escape.

Vexiae growled softly again, her massive head lowering toward Leto as if watching his every move. She trusted him—he could sense it. But he also knew that if he made a mistake, if the soldiers returned too soon, things could go very wrong.

“Stay with me,” Leto whispered, running his hand gently along the side of her neck. Her scales were hot to the touch, her breath coming in ragged huffs as she tried to remain still. “I’ll get you out of here.”

He scanned the area, looking for anything he could use to break the chains. There were tools nearby—left behind by the soldiers when they had fled. A set of heavy cutters lay discarded on the ground, just within reach.

Leto grabbed the cutters and moved quickly to the first lock, his hands working with practiced precision. The metal resisted at first, the tension in the chain making it difficult to find the right leverage. Vexiae shifted slightly, a low growl rumbling through her throat as the sound of the metal groaned under the strain.

“Almost there,” Leto muttered, sweat beading on his forehead as he worked. The last thing he needed was to draw attention from the remaining guards.

With a final, forceful snap, the first chain broke loose. Vexiae’s tail twitched, the relief in her body palpable as the weight on her wings lifted slightly.

“One more,” Leto said, moving to the next lock. His hands moved more quickly now, fueled by the urgency of the situation. Every second counted.

Vexiae stayed calm, her breathing steadying as she watched Leto work. She knew him, trusted him, and that bond was the only thing keeping her from lashing out in her weakened state.

Just as Leto began to work on the final lock, he heard the distant sound of footsteps—the soldiers were returning. His pulse quickened, but he kept his focus on the task in front of him. There was no time for hesitation now.

With a sharp twist of the cutters, the last chain snapped free. Vexiae let out a soft rumble of relief, her wings stretching slightly as the weight of her bindings fell away.

“Go,” Leto urged her, stepping back as Vexiae rose to her full height. The dragon’s eyes blazed with renewed strength, her muscles coiling as she prepared to move.

Vexiae, with a powerful flex of her wings and limbs, began scaling the cavern walls, her talons finding purchase in the rocky surface as she climbed toward one of the larger passageways above the main chamber. Leto watched in awe as her massive form disappeared into the shadows, leaving behind only the faint echo of her movements as she slithered into the higher tunnel, now free and out of sight.

He knew he needed to move quickly. The Harkonnen soldiers would return any moment, and if they found him there without the dragon, they would sound the alarm. His eyes darted around the chamber, scanning for a place to hide. The cavern was filled with jagged rock formations, but none that could conceal him for long. Then he spotted a narrow crevice in the far wall, barely wide enough for him to slip into.

The footsteps were growing louder, accompanied by the harsh laughter and crude taunts of the Harkonnen troops. Leto wasted no time, moving swiftly across the chamber and wedging himself into the crevice. He pressed his back against the cold rock, holding his breath as the soldiers entered the chamber.

“Where’s the beast?” one of them barked, looking around in confusion. “She was here just moments ago!”

Another soldier stepped forward, his face pale as he stared at the broken chains on the ground. “She’s gone! The dragon’s gone!”

Panic rippled through the group. They spun in circles, searching the shadows for any sign of Vexiae, their weapons drawn but trembling in their hands.

“How could she escape?” one of them demanded, his voice rising in fear. “No one could break those chains!”

“We’re dead if she comes back,” another muttered, his eyes wide with terror. “You saw what happened last time. She’ll burn us all alive.”

Leto could hear the fear in their voices, and it sent a surge of satisfaction through him. The Harkonnens had no idea what they were dealing with. Vexiae was far more than just a weapon—she was a force of nature. And they were foolish to think they could ever truly contain her.

The soldiers frantically looked around the chamber, checking every corner and crevice for the dragon. But they were too late. Vexiae had already escaped into the higher passages, and Leto had no doubt that she was making her way toward freedom—and perhaps, revenge.

One of the soldiers, clearly the leader, cursed under his breath and turned toward the entrance. “Spread out! Find her! If the beast escapes, the Baron will have our heads.”

The others followed his command, reluctantly moving toward the various tunnels that branched off from the chamber. Their footsteps echoed in the distance as they disappeared, leaving the chamber momentarily empty once more.

Leto exhaled slowly, easing out of the crevice as the last of the soldiers vanished from sight. He couldn’t linger here any longer. You were still out there, and every second he wasted meant you were in greater danger.

With his heart pounding in his chest, Leto moved toward the larger passageway where Vexiae had escaped. He knew he had to find you before the Harkonnens did. He wouldn’t rest until you were safe again, back in his arms.

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gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan · 5 months ago

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Just a Little Too Much

Author's Note: Debut of Draco in Waters AU. Thank you to @sleepyfan-blog for letting me borrow Cedric. Thank you to @kit-williams for letting me borrow Arnault, Roland. Thank you to @egrets-not-regrets for letting me borrow Erriox and Lenora and your help with editing and other things :)

Summary: Draco continues to be an asshole- and meets his Intense Bonded in Lana. Discussions are had.

Warnings: Panic, blood, yandere tendencies, let me know if I need to add anything.

Tagged: @barn-anon, @bleedingichorhearts, @c-u-c-koo-4-40k, @egrets-not-regrets, @kit-williams,

Tagged continued: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @ms--lobotomy @bispecsual @thevoidscreams

Tagged continued: @i-am-a-dragon34, @gra93fruit-blog

“No!” A voice- the Gray Knights bellows, loud and furious, “Cowardly Hydra! You will not succeed this way!”

With that the Gray Knight bursts out of the water and activates his flight ability- ignoring the swarm of other space marines using the opportunity to attack him and he does still block most of their blows- he’s headed straight for Claude. Lana looks down- and swears she’s looking directly into the scorchingly hot-cold white eyes of the Gray Knight.

“No,” She whispers in horror, “no, no, no!”

Lana briefly hears muffled shouts of her name as she feels something strangling around her soul, mind, and magic. Something strong, and possessive, cruel, and vicious. The strength of the bond suddenly blooming between her and this Gray Knight knocks both her and him out of the sky. Zariel swears, sharply calling out for his squad- they all pop out of the waters, two of them take Claude while he and Zarius manage to catch Lana before she hits the water.

No one tries to catch the Gray Knight- hoping the fall damage will crack his power pack and wound him further. Unfortunately, the Gray Knight is swift to recover. Feeling this- this Bond. The Warp made this Bond to tie him to that Harpy those disgusting, cowardly, Hydra are cooing over.

He lets loose a dangerous, low growl, “Don’t touch her, she’s mine!”

“She’s ours!” The quintet of Hydra howled in response, “She chose us, as we chose her!”

Lana lets out more garbled “No, no, no!” Her body spasming in pain at her attempt to reject the bond. Her claws scrabbles and claws against the hinges of Zariel’s armor, “I don’t! I don’t want this! No! No! No!!” She screams in agony as she clings to Zariel, hiding her face against his chest armor.

Zariel clings to Lana as he tries to hold her closer- trying to comfort her, soothe her pain. He could see that his and the rest of his squads’ bonds with Lana are still there- almost snapped clean through- but bonds of teal are still present, almost overwhelmed, but not fully destroyed by the bond of gray and gold, much to his relief.

“Lana. Love? Listen to me. Breathe. We have you. We have you.” He coos as he and his brothers nuzzle their harpy, Lana only whimpers as she shakes.

The Gray Knight howls like a wounded animal at her Rejection. This Bond- if she fully rejects him will kill them both. He sinks into the water, clutching his chest near his hearts, “Stop saying no! It will kill us both if you continue to try to reject this bond.”

With a mighty heave of his tail he activates his swimming through air ability and rises with a shocking, almost blurring speeds towards where the Hydra were congregated around Lana. Claude had been handed off to a couple of the Gannet Harpies- who are spiriting him and the rest of the Primaris Marines- and the wounded away from the scene.

They’d won this battle- having rescued Claude. The Gray Knight seemingly forgot, or was more distracted by Lana and the Intense Bond that was forming between them. Regardless of what either of them wanted or wished for. He flies fast and wrenches her from the clawing, greedy grasp of the Hydras, knocking them out of the way with his powerful tail as he pulls his helmet off.

He looks into her eyes, “You and I are One, Bonded until death takes one or both of us.”

With that he grabs her chin and presses his lips to hers, ignoring the way she fights him and tries to bite his lips. Her wings and claws beat against his armor futilely. The Hydra are hissing at him and uselessly beating at his armor, trying to pull at his arms, to try and take what is his from him. He tightens his grasp around her- leaving bruises, but not breaking bones, not yet at least.

“No, we are not!” Lana snarls at him, Blood started leaking from her nostrils, “I don’t want to be bonded to you! You are a danger to my family, my colony, and my loved ones. I will take you to the grave with me.” She coughs, a glob of blood splatters against the silver armor.

“No! Lana! We don’t want you to die,” Zariel and the others say more or less, voices overlapping and distressed.

“I am no longer a threat to your family, your colony, and your loved ones,” The Gray Knight insists, “Now that we are Bonded.” He isn’t sure what drove him to say that, but something is roaring at him to say something, do something, to comfort and convince Lana to accept his bond. Keep her alive. Keep you alive.

“You are a hypocrite and a liar! If we weren’t bonded, you would slaughter us all with impunity if only because we acknowledge your existence or because my species is what you decide as demonic, of chaos. You then go around stealing children to undergo your abuse for ‘training’! What difference would it make if we were bonded!”

Lana keens as another wrack of pain strikes her heart, her claws digging into her wings to stop herself from grabbing the silver armored mer and curl into him to relieve the agony, “What makes you think that I would want to bond with someone like that!” She hisses disdainfully.

He admires Lana’s conviction. She was fitting to be his bonded. If only circumstances could be different…, the Gray Knight pauses, he does not know where that thought of regret comes from. The harpy in his arms grits her teeth as her body seizes. Her pale yellow eyes glare at him with so much fire despite the pain of their incomplete bond equally affecting her.

Convince her! Something screams in his mind. The Gray Knight chokes suddenly. He breathes hard from the exertion to keep his mind separate from the pain, his chest feels like it is being crushed like a tin can.

#warhammer 40k #space marine husbandry sentience #space marine husbandry #adeptus astartes #warhammer #mermay #mermay 2024 #mermay 40k #Living waters au #poor unfortunate souls au #oc: lenora #oc: mara #oc: lana #oc: zariel #oc: erriox #oc: draco #oc: roland #oc: Arnault

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avacoleman · 3 months ago

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me posting two weeks in a row? 🎶miracles can happen once in a while when you believe🎶 in all seriousness tho, i am feeling motivated and excited to share, so please enjoy a lighter snippet this time around from the vow au!

His fingers chart across his skin. Even if his mind doesn’t remember, it appears his body does.

He skims the pads of his fingertips down the length of Alex’s arm slowly, mesmerized by the instant response, the goosebumps that rise as if summoned by magic all over the man’s skin.

His eyes flicker to Alex’s face, studying his profile as his head is half turned away. With Alex’s eyes closed, Henry sees the shadow his swooping lashes make against the apples of his cheeks. Alex holds himself rigidly, almost as if daring not to breathe, to not react.

“Alex,” Henry calls softly, his hand moving now to his face.

He tucks his fingers gently under Alex’s chin and guides his face towards him.

When Alex eventually opens his eyes, Henry’s own widen in surprise seeing how wet Alex’s eyes are.

“What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?” Henry asks, dropping his hand at once.

Alex catches it before it can fall and laces their fingers as he shakes his head.

“No. No, you didn’t. It’s…I’ve…at the risk of sounding like some Victorian, I’ve really missed your touch. I’ve always known that since the accident, when I couldn’t even hug you after you woke up, but I didn’t realize just how badly I did until now. Being this close to you again…it’s everything.”

Alex swallows hard and smiles a little. “So, these are happy tears. I promise.”

Happy or not, it twists Henry’s heart to see in this moment. He uses his free hand to wipe Alex’s tears away with his thumb. He leans forward and presses their foreheads together. Alex sighs, his soft breath fanning across Henry’s face.

Henry closes his eyes and breathes him in, his heart racing as his mind quiets down enough to make out what he’s truly thinking and feeling in this moment.

“We could be even closer,” he says.

He can hear the stutter in Alex’s breathing.

“Henry, we don’t have to. I would never ask or even expect—

“Darling, I know,” Henry gently interjects as he pulls back to look at him.

He smiles seeing Alex’s look of surprise at the pet name.

“I should have been clearer before. I would like for us to be closer, more intimate, if that’s something you’d be amenable to.”

Alex laughs.

“I gotta say, this is the most polite way anyone’s ever propositioned me.”

A laugh rumbles out of Henry as well.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”

“A real prince,” Alex says quietly, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Henry leans into him, staring down at Alex’s mouth. He studies the way his lips curl into an almost shy smile.

He looks up once more into Alex’s eyes, finding the man’s gaze resting on him too. Henry licks his lips, his heart racing faster as he closes both the distance and his eyes before pressing his lips to Alex’s.

His body’s response is instant. Henry can no longer think, can hardly even breathe as Alex starts to kiss him back. Alex’s lips are even softer than Henry had been anticipating. He practically melts into Alex, his body trembling with both nerves and excitement.

Alex sets a steady pace and it eases Henry’s nerves, forcing him to slow down and bask in the moment, to fully absorb the sensations flooding his body.

No man had ever kissed him like this, Henry is certain. Alex knows just how long to linger and draw a moment out, when to speed things along, where exactly to put his hands to further their connection. It makes Henry feel lightheaded in the best way imaginable.

Alex’s tongue skims against Henry’s bottom lip and Henry opens his mouth to him at once.

He’d let Alex devour him whole if the man so desired.

tagging my darling @sunshineacd just in case you have anything you'd like to share 👀

#rwrb fic #red white and royal blue #firstprince #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #userthai #usersonia #tuserpaige #usernicholas #usersteen #iuserzoe #userange #uservalentina #usermimsi #tusersilence #kimmy writes

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freetobeeyouandme · 9 months ago

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Chapter 6: We Take a Portal to School

Chapter 6 of my Byler Isekai AU is now up on Ao3! The party gets to relax a little after almost dying in the last one while also making plans on how to proceed. Plus there is some Mike and the boys bonding and worldbuilding happening, which is why this whole thing comes in at almost 10k. You're welcome.

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

They are found, eventually. From where Mike is sitting he can see three doors leading into the building, all made of the same heavy wood. The one that opens grates on the stone floors, the noise so loud in the reverent quiet of the courtyard that Mike jumps.

The others turn towards the noise with equal looks of dread and resignation.

The door admits two men wrapped in white robes and big, colorful fabrics wrapped around them like greek togas. The smaller of the two is elven, a little shorter than Mike himself, with a pudgy, almost dad-like shape, short, thin white hair and pale skin. The other man is an owlin with brown and creme feathers, sort of like a barn owl. He towers over the other man but hangs back as they make their way to the edge of the walkway, curiously watching their bedraggled group, whispering to each other, before they finally step into the courtyard proper.

Mike puts his hand on his sword, not sure he’s ready to fight if it comes to it but also knowing that he’ll have no other choice. The men hold themselves friendly enough and as far as he can see they’re not carrying weapons, but in a world with magic that doesn’t mean much.

One’s weapon had also only been his mind.

The others react calmly to the approach, though. Lucas straightens up a little, clearly torn between holding onto Max and assuming his princely duties as their leader. Hop, Mrs. Byers and Jonathan look from the men to the group around Mike, and Will rises to his feet and approaches them. He meets the smaller man’s eyes and bows.

The man in charge smiles a smile that isn’t really comforting when he sees their Cleric. “Young Master Byers. I didn’t expect to see you here ever again.”

Will keeps his head bowed. “High Mage Owens.”

“Did that goddess of yours forsake you after all?”

Mike is sure the intention is just friendly ribbing, but the man’s tone is just slightly off, and Will gives him no more than a tight smile when he lifts his head.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” he replies. “But we seek shelter all the same. We will leave if you need us to, but-” he trails off, looking around the courtyard at his tired and grieving friends.

Owens follows the gaze with the same look of cold kindness that he’s been wearing since he stepped through the door. His eyes snag on the corpse sprawled out beside their bags. “So it is true that the Circle has fallen. I told Martin not to trust in gods.”

El tenses at the name, looking down at her feet. Mike understands the feeling. He doesn’t like that fact that this man used to be on a first name basis with the Father of Gods.

The man behind Owens leans forward, whispering something in his superior’s ear. Owens purses his lips, then shakes his head.

“Have you brought his body here with you to resurrect him, or-”

“No,” Lucas says, much too loud in his hurry to speak up. Again he looks at Mike in a way that makes him uncomfortable – a feeling not at all helped by the way Lucas still clings to Max. “He should receive a proper burial...we brought him so he wouldn’t fall into One’s clutches, but no...we just- the body just-”

He trails off.

Owens watches him with calculated interest, the barest hint of a shadow passing over his face. Then he turns back to Will with a tight smile. “We will take care of it.” He nods at Max. “Your friend-”

Hop rises to his feet and joins his son. “She’ll be alright, she simply needs rest.”

Owens nods. “You all need rest. And you shall have it. Let it not be said that the Laboratories turned away heroes in their hour of need.” He motions for the man behind him. “Shepard, see that rooms are prepared for our guests. And have the kitchens bring some food up for them.”

The man whispers something else in Owens ear, and Owens nods. Then the owlin hurries away.

“Come,” Owens gestures for them to follow him. “We have far more comfortable places to discuss your predicament than our portal room.”

Unofficial Tag List (aka you interacted with my posts about this fic, please tell me if you want me to not tag you in the future (or want to be added)): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @willthelies @foodiewithdahoodie @doggo9 @gardenfairie @beelikesbyler @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday @oldfashionedmorphine @total-serene560 @bylersrise @hawkinsunderground @longtallglasses @generalstorecashier @usnaavi @camel-casing @bylersbear01 @turningsoft @casatoan @maru-chu @xobyers @goldentrunks @itachisnipplesharingan

#kingslayer fic #mike wheeler #will byers #byler #stranger things #byler fanfic

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bamboozledbird · 4 months ago

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IGNITE: A Teen Wolf S1 AU // prev, chapter 2, next

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Original Female Character, Lydia Martin, Scott McCall, Allison Argent Pairing: eventual Stiles x OFC, but man are we talking slow burn Word Count: 4.6k Warnings: canon typical gore/violence, parental death, depictions of depression (apathy, dissociation, 'numb little bug' vibes) Tags: canon has been lovingly scrapped for parts, author majored in english lit and is a choatic bi and it shows, prolific overuse of the em dash, the slowest of burns i fear

Summary: Four years ago, Drea Dickinson's entire life fell apart. Her mom died, her best friend replaced her, and all she could do was watch listlessly while everything else burned down around her. All she wants is to forget and maybe get through her sophomore year without flunking chemistry and completely unraveling at the seams—a seemingly impossible task with the sudden appearance of ghosts from her mother's mysterious past and a hair-raising beast ripping people apart all over town. It would be easier to pretend if she hadn't accidentally entwined her life with the most interrogatory bastard in town. She could have gone her whole life without meeting Stiles Stilinski, and she would've been perfectly fine, but now she's stuck knowing that she's made her bed in the fragile, breakable bones of the boy with all the answers. Chapter Summary: After an awkward encounter with Lydia Martin, Stiles realizes that his new acquaintance might be the perfect person to jumpstart his 15-year plan. Drea, on the other hand, isn't interested in discussing her ex-best friend; she's much more focused on the man who was attacked by the mysterious beast ravaging the town.

A/N: This is an entirely selfish project. This rewrite has been so incredibly nostalgic, and I may or may not have cried a few times because the TW era was such a special time of my life. To be 17 again, sigh. You can also check me out on ao3 (dork_knight)!

Her dad’s SUV was parked in the garage when Drea finally pulled into their circle driveway. It was a rare sight; her dead battery had disrupted their usual routine. She was supposed to be safely tucked away in her room after an early dinner—take-out usually, sometimes a quesadilla if she was feeling exceptionally inspired—by the time her dad got home from work. It was dysfunctional in every sense of the word, but it was the only way they could function in the same space.

He used to stare at her from the other end of the dinner table: not eating, not speaking. The only way Drea knew he was alive was the slow rise and fall of his chest. After a while, he moved dinner to his office. ‘Working dinner,’ he’d say in passing, ‘budgets are due.’ Eventually, he stopped coming home altogether. It was better that way, Drea thought. They loved each other better from afar, where the power of nostalgia could cloud all the present unpleasantries. She wondered what he saw when he looked at her now. She wondered, and she desperately didn’t want to find out.

Drea shouldered her backpack and made sure her car lights were off twice before quietly creeping into the mudroom. She could hear the buzz of the microwave as she toed off her sneakers and tried to discern the smell emanating from the kitchen. Something with garlic and tomato. Bona Vita, probably. Her dad loved their al pomodoro.

She tried to make herself as small as possible as she skulked into the kitchen, shoulders hunched to her ears and grip tight around the strap of her backpack. Her dad’s back was to her; she could see the wrinkles in his collar from where he tugged at it when he was agitated. He stopped stirring his pasta once she reached the island.

“Did…” her dad trailed off for a moment, still facing the kitchen counter, “did everything go alright with the Sheriff?”

Drea shrugged even though he couldn’t see her, “I guess.”

“It’s just,” he rubbed at his jaw and looked down towards the oven, “it’s almost eight. I was wondering…worrying.”

He still wasn’t looking at her. Drea stared at the back of his head and sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Look at me. Her brows pinched, and her back molars ground together. Look at me.

“I called him. Sheriff Stilinski. He said that you didn’t speak for long.”

“Didn’t have anything new to say,” Drea shoved her hands into hoodie pockets, realizing belatedly that she forgot to give Stiles his sweatshirt back. Another problem for another time.

“That’s not what I—” Drea’s dad grasped the lip of the counter and hung his head like it suddenly weighed too much for his spine, “I was wondering what happened to you.”

“Oh,” Drea shifted her weight onto her other foot, “dead battery. I think it was the door light.”

Her dad nodded a little, “Do you need someone to pick up your car?”

“Got a jump from a friend.” Not a friend, not really, but she supposed it was the closest she’d come to one in the last four years. That was just a little too sad to say out loud.

“Good.” He nodded again, “Good.”

Drea nodded because it seemed like the only thing to do and slipped towards the hallway. She’d taken no less than five steps out of the kitchen when her dad said, “You could call me. Next time, you could call me.”

Maybe. Maybe she could if he would look at her.

Monday came, and Drea had forgotten about Stiles Stilinski and his sweatshirt. In all fairness, she almost forgot her essay too. Lack of sleep, maybe, or perhaps lack of Wellbutrin—she’d also forgotten if she’d taken her pills before she left for school.

Drea crinkled her nearly empty can of Red Bull a few times and twisted the tab in circles until it snapped off. Nervous habit. She flicked the tab into a trashcan and squeezed the can until it crumpled in on itself. Okay, she’d definitely forgotten to take her pills. However, on her list of things to forget, homework outranked antidepressants by several places, so her day wasn’t off to the worst possible start in the world. Dr. Lin always said that she should spend at least five minutes every morning changing her ‘self-talk’ to ‘gratitude, not negatude’—she also said that consistently taking her meds was imperative to her mental health, but one out of two wasn’t so bad. See. Positive thinking; she was killing it.

It was, however, pretty damn difficult to put a positive spin on a bloodied school bus cordoned off with yellow crime scene tape.

Drea lingered on the outskirts of the swarm of teenagers gawking behind the barricade that a few deputies were fruitlessly attempting to enforce. The back door of the bus was crumpled in the middle, wrenched open, and barely clinging to life with a lone intact hinge. More concerning, was the blood smeared across the yellow paint and the bloody handprints pressed against the windows.

She peered through the mass of shoulders in front of her and squinted. There were four large gouges in the door and tears in the vinyl seats—claws: Drea realized. They were claw marks.

Baffling. The entire scene was, in all sincerity, baffling.

Awful, Drea quickly corrected herself. The carnage was awful, first and foremost. It was awful, horrific, and totally tragic…but it was also bizarre. Animals, wild or not, generally didn’t hunt on school grounds; that honor was reserved for creepy super-seniors and perverse volleyball coaches.

Drea chewed on her bottom lip and stewed. A bear seemed most likely, given the battering the bus took, but they were a long way from Los Padres. Mountain lions and coyotes, however, often strolled into small-town suburbia to snack on unaccompanied emotional support animals. Still, she doubted they had the strength or dexterity to rip a steel door off of its hinges.

The first warning bell rang, and it was especially shrill while Drea was lost in her own head. She managed to not flinch with a herculean effort and pushed through the remaining voyeurs towards the front doors. Stuffing her airpods into her ears, she turned up the volume on her phone until the bass vibrated all thoughts of coyotes, cougars, and bears out of her mind. Oh my.

Positive: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded her full and undivided attention.

Negative: Ellie Rowsell’s ethereal vocals demanded her full and undivided attention.

She grabbed her chemistry notecards, a few highlighters, and a fat stack of books from her locker just as an overly-cologned jackass shoved his equally pungent friend straight into her crowded arms.

Positive: She hadn’t gotten the chance to organize her notes by unit number before they scattered all over the floor.

Negative: They were still scattered all over the floor.

Biting back a few choice expletives, Drea crouched down and gathered her notecards into a messy heap. She stretched across the scuffed tile for her highlighters; one brushed past her fingertips and rolled into the pointed toe of a sleek brown leather boot. Drea glanced up, apology ready, but her tongue went cottony when she locked eyes with Lydia Martin.

Lydia Martin was many things to many people, but Drea supposed the general consensus would be that she was the apex predator—regardless of what the bloodbath outside might lead a person to believe.

Most students were consenting prey. Enthusiastically consenting, in fact. Drea understood the impulse. Knowing she could destroy you, that was the thing that made Lydia so undeniably captivating. There were few people who proved the theory of the sublime in the flesh, let alone before they had the chance to get out of Dodge and really grow up. It was only natural to gravitate towards the only exception in Beacon County. Lydia was the duality of fear and attraction. She defined indefinable beauty—because she wasn’t just beautiful (anybody could be beautiful), Lydia was fiercely beautiful and, in the same breath, the grace of girlhood. She was…she suckerpunched Jordan Aadams in the third grade for making fun of Drea’s eyes without lifting a single manicured finger; that was the closest Drea could come to explaining the phenomenon Lydia Martin left in her wake.

Lydia’s thick red curls spilled over her shoulders as she looked down at the obstacle in her path. The angry pinch in her brows softened briefly once she made eye-contact with Drea, but she quickly corrected her slip and schooled her face into a blank expression. Returning her attention to her friend, Lydia’s heels clicked against the floor as she stepped over Drea’s copy of Metamorphosis and continued on with her conversation like it hadn’t ever stopped. Like Drea was just a mirage or a distorted oil-slick reflection—like she was a ghost who just wouldn’t fucking die already. Drea watched her go, forgetting to blink, until they reached Lydia’s locker on the other side of the hall.

Before she got extensions, Lydia liked to wear her hair in a French braid. Before she discovered full-coverage concealer, her freckles were golden against the fairness of her cheeks. Before everything fell apart, she was her best friend.

In the end, it wasn’t a terribly dramatic thing. There wasn’t a melodramatic scene or an explosive fight; sometimes, Drea wondered if that would've been better. There was a certain kind of brutality in a slow, quiet death; one that lasted long after the hot water had run out in the shower and shampoo stung her eyes. After the funeral, Drea could taste decay in their conversations, in their silences. The rot crawled listlessly—everything did back then—tauntingly sluggish. She saw the end coming weeks before they stopped speaking, and she didn’t even try to stop it. To be fair, Lydia didn’t either. On the first day of seventh grade, Lydia had new friends; they all smelled like vanilla and owned matching couture purses. She had always been magnetic, but evidently losing her only constant was her final quest before she transcended to godhood. Drea made her human; that must have been the problem. They were babies together. They were more than family. Now, they sat across from each other in a class she couldn’t bring herself to care about, and they did not look at each other unless it was straight through.

Drea snatched the runaway highlighter and quickly sunk back against the wall, pressing into it like she could force her body through the cracks in the bricks or at the very least shed the sentimentality clinging to her skin. She darted her gaze across the hall and almost snorted when she saw the amount of people who’d flocked to Lydia’s side within the last thirty seconds. Lydia was unobtainable, unknowable—and yet ever so desirable. No one really knew her, so of course they all wanted to be her.

Lydia only liked one of them, the new girl with shiny black hair and dark eyes; Drea could tell. Her top lip pursed ever so slightly when she was holding back a barbed comment and a violent eye roll. Usually, Lydia didn’t bother with niceties, but for whatever reason she’d decided her new persona should only intimidate peons with looks and confidence, never brains. It was a shame, really; her cave-dweller boyfriend desperately needed educating.

Drea resisted the urge to look across the hall again and smoothed out the bent corner of a notecard until ‘alpha’ became ‘alpha particle’. A shadow fell over the pink-highlighted text, and she frowned. Glancing up, her frown cemented when she saw Stiles’s elven nose and remembered that she still had his sweatshirt wadded on her desk chair.

“Hey,” Stiles adjusted his grip on his backpack, “did your car make it home okay?”

Drea nodded and shut her locker with her elbow, bending with the wobbling tower of school supplies in her arms until it stabilized again.

“Cool.” He nodded a few times, mouth puckered like a duck, and scratched at the back of his neck, “So. You and Lydia, huh.”

Drea stared intently at her notes, “Is that a question?”

“No, it’s a statement.” He hooked his thumbs around his backpack straps and leaned back slightly, “And that episode of telepathic taekwondo was definitely a statement.”

Drea glowered until ‘alpha decay’ and ‘helium-4 nucleus’ mushed together into an illegible pink blob, “I’ve got a statement for you—only two words actually.”

“So it is a thing.” She could hear the smirk in his voice as he grabbed the books from under her arms.

She refused to feel grateful, even as she readjusted her grip on her cards and managed to free one of her hands, “Get lost, Stilinski.”

“That’s three words.” The smirk was deafening now.

The one-minute warning bell rang and a mass of students swarmed the hallway, effectively drowning out Stiles’s smugness with a sea of jock whooping and band geek trumpeting. Drea met his gaze and smiled sweetly before stepping around him, “Kindly. Choke.”

She ignored the sound of Stiles’s large footsteps following far too closely behind her. She wanted to be annoyed with him, but English was his first-period and he did have her books in his stupidly big hands. Instead of flipping him off, Drea focused her itching fingers on stacking cards and pencils on top of her desk until Stiles sat down in the seat next to her—without permission. She changed her mind; he was annoying.

Stiles scooted the desk closer to hers with his feet, and the metal legs screeched against the linoleum flooring for her. “Was it like a ‘grew apart over the summer’ thing, or did some serious shit go down?”

Drea sighed heavily and lined her pencils and pens next to each other, first in order of length and then color, “Why do you care?”

His mouth remained open for a second, and then he shrugged a little too casually, “I’m a naturally inquisitive person.”

“You’re unnaturally irritating,” she grumbled, low in her throat, and scowled at her picked-apart cuticles like they had done her a particular disservice.

Stiles huffed through his nose and threw his hands in the air, “Come on, I totally saved your ass Friday—very chivalrously too, might I add. I won’t even press charges for the theft.”

“Theft?” Drea finally turned around in her seat to face him at the accusation.

Stiles nodded solemnly, “My sweatshirt. My most favorite sweatshirt of all the sweatshirts.”

Oh. Drea deflated a little; she’d forgotten about that pesky little detail again. She snatched her books off of his desk before their lives could become further entangled and replied flatly, “I’ll overnight it.”

“No, I insist you keep it.” His smile was a little too crooked to be truly cocky, “I’m a good guy like that.”

Drea tapped her pencil against her chin, eraser side up, and cocked her head to the side, “Isn’t it incredible how every self-proclaimed ‘good guy’ is exclusively terrible.”

Stiles’s face twisted into a petulant scowl as he collapsed against the back of his chair, and Drea was a little surprised that the desk managed to contain all of his gangly appendages without collapsing as well. “I like her, okay!” His exasperated confession carried to the next row of students, and Stiles melted into his seat when a jacked sophomore with no neck whistled lewdly behind them. Squeezing his eyes shut, Stiles lowered his voice, “Actually, I’m kind of in love with her if you want to be technical about it.”

“Oh.” Drea blinked and then laughed.

“Don’t laugh, dickface.”

“Sorry,” she grinned, not sorry in the slightest, “it’s just…isn’t everyone?”

Stiles shook his head and sighed wistfully, “Not like I am.”

Drea turned to get a better look at him, and she didn’t mask the doubt in her eyes. He was wearing a brown flannel that was practically mewling for a good ironing and a red t-shirt with the silhouette of a spider embossed over his chest. Spider-Man’s emblem, obviously. If she had to hazard a guess, she’d bet it was the Andrew Garfield version. Regardless, it was blatantly clear that Stiles’s home planet was lightyears away from Lydia’s.

Drea folded her arms over chest and leaned back against her seat, “Have you even talked to her?”

“Technically…no,” Stiles dipped his head from side to side like a bobble head and then pressed his palms together, gesturing with them every so often to emphasize the most ridiculous words in his sentence, “but we have a deep, unspoken connection, mostly via sporadic eye-contact.”

Drea just looked at him, unamused and unimpressed.

Stiles held up his hands like a director and kicked his feet onto his desk, “It’s about the long-game.”

“Gross,” Drea pulled a face. She wasn’t sure if she was referring to the gray wad of gum stuck to the bottom of his shoe or the pride in his long-con. It was probably a bit of both.

“Are you gonna help a Nobody out or not?” Stiles nudged the leg of her desk with his sneaker—the gumless one, thankfully—and sent one of her pens careening towards the edge.

Drea caught it before it could hit the ground and glared at him. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not an ‘in.’” She returned the pen to its rightful place between her pencil and purple highlighter: a perfect rainbow of neuroticism. Drea straightened her row of writing utensils again and swallowed shallowly, “I don’t even know her anymore.”

For the first time since Stiles had popped up in front of her locker like a chronic zit, understanding clicked in his eyes. Actually, he almost looked apologetic. Stiles sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and leaned forward onto his forearms, “So…what happened? Did you not make queen bee first-string?”

“No,” Drea bristled. After a long exhale, she crumpled in on herself a little and mumbled, “Yes…kind of. I don’t know. I have my version; I’m sure she has hers.”

Stiles clasped his hands together and nodded sagely, “There are as many truths as there are people.”

Drea’s brows scrunched, and her eyes went lidded as she flipped through her mental philosophy rolodex, “Camus?”

He shook his head and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth, “Evangelion.”

Drea was startled into a snorty chortle, “Obviously you’re a weeb.”

Stiles hid his amusement behind a slow roll of his eyes, “You’re at least 1/16 weeb if you know Evangelion is an anime.”

Before she could deny such blasphemy, Drea was distracted by the boy who usually sat next to her—Greg something, she was pretty sure—coming to a stop directly between her and Stiles. He lingered next to the side of his desk, breathing heavily through his mouth like some kind of sick prowler.

Stiles glanced at him with a flat expression and then looked up again, brows shooting towards his hairline, when he didn’t leave, “Can I help you?” He jerked his head forward and shook it slightly, “Need a mint?”

Greg Something stared at him, red-rimmed eyes thoroughly glazed over, and Drea wondered if being faded at 7:45 in the morning was worth the tortuous five-hour wait until lunch.

“No?” Stiles waved his hand in the air; Greg didn’t even blink. “Okay seeya.”

It took him roughly 30 seconds to comprehend what Stiles was saying, but eventually Greg shuffled towards one of the remaining empty seats in the middle of the classroom.

“Thank you,” Stiles muttered before returning his attention to the side of Drea’s face.

She smirked slightly at her notebook, doodling a little bird with sharp talons along the margins of her notes on Kafka’s thoughts on absurdism—spoiler alert: the guy who wrote a book about a dude randomly transforming into a bug was a big fan of it. She added a long feathered tail to her bird and said, “It is his seat.”

Stiles scoffed and looked over his shoulder. They watched Greg shove a handful of Cheeto Puffs into his mouth in slow-motion for a moment, and Stiles replied, “I think he’ll live.”

“Oh,” Drea shook her head a little, freshly bitten lips curling around the extended vowel, “I’m not worried about him.”

Stiles aggressively clicked his pen with his thumb and pressed his mouth together until his lips disappeared into a flat line. “If you would just answer my questions the first time, I wouldn’t have to keep asking them, so, for the love of god—” fortuitously for him, he was cut off by a loud scratchy buzz before Drea could succumb to her base instincts and throw an eraser into his flapping mouth.

Principal Montoya’s voice crackled through the loudspeaker, “Attention students: I know that many of you are concerned about the…incident in the parking lot, but rest assured that the police have it well in hand. Classes will proceed as scheduled as they continue their investigation. Have a productive day, Cyclones.”

A resounding groan echoed throughout the classroom and into the hallway, followed by the hum of students breaking into various complaints. Mr. Lyman thwacked his pointer against the whiteboard, and the force of his swing sent the cartoonish hand on the end of the stick into rapid vibration—effectively shutting everyone up. The quiet was only disturbed by the rustle of zippers being unzipped and papers being smoothed when he instructed them to turn their essays in.

Drea hastily wrote her name across the top of her paper and pointedly kept her eyes on the board when Stiles leaned across his desk. “Life’s short, y’know. One day you’re a traveling salesman, and the next you’re a grotesque, monstrous insect, wishing that you’d seized life when you had the opposable thumbs for it, so—”

“A man just died; have some class,” Drea interrupted him, voice dry as it was soft. Stiles might not care about getting in trouble, but she had worked very hard to remain on a no-name basis with all her teachers.

“We don’t know that he’s dead—or that he’s a he.”

“Oh yeah,” Drea jotted down the daily prompt in her notebook and muttered, “I’m sure the guy just decided to go home and sleep off the mauled limbs.”

“It could’ve been an animal,” Stiles huffed, bowing his head in submission when Mr. Lyman shot him a stern look from behind his desk. He continued with his hand over his mouth, muffling his words, “And they do run off to die alone.”

Drea stared at him for a long moment. “That’s cats. Are you saying a bear ripped a bus apart for a cat.”

“Well, if you say anything in that tone, it’s going to sound ridiculous,” Stiles muttered sullenly against his palm, and she was pretty sure that he was pouting behind it too.

She opened her mouth to reply and then squinted slightly when a boy with floppy hair skidded to a halt in front of them. His mouth was slightly agape as he looked back and forth between Stiles and Greg, who was now licking the nearly toxic orange dust off of his fingers.

“Sit, Scotty,” Stiles jerked his thumb towards the empty desk behind him. “Good boy.”

The boy, Scott she gathered, did not look amused, but he sat down behind Stiles anyway and leaned forward to whisper something in his ear. Stiles whipped around and responded in a hushed screech.

Drea was distracted from her eavesdropping when Lydia’s friend sat down next to Scott—directly behind her. Her jaw could cut glass. She dropped her chin onto her folded arms and refused to let herself frown; the end result was a slightly constipated pout. It was just…Allison had just started going to Beacon Hills a few weeks ago, and she was already completely intertwined in Lydia’s life.

Lydia was…prickly, so she was just surprised, that’s all, how easily Allison fit into her life. More palatable, Drea thought as she risked a peek over her shoulder; she must be more palatable than most. A terrible, ugly thing creeped over her, and she found herself imagining Allison choking on her beautiful, silky black hair until her beautiful dark eyes popped out of her head. Just for a moment. A brief, awful, horrible moment—until she remembered it wasn’t Allison’s fault.

“Hey.” Drea flinched when she felt a gentle tap on her shoulder.

She reluctantly shifted in her chair so that she could see Allison. She just looked at her for an uncomfortable moment, and Allison smiled awkwardly, “The tests.” Drea blinked and licked her dry lips, at a loss for words. Allison smiled again, a little nervous but still kind, “They're on your desk.”

“Oh,” Drea said dumbly and reached for the pile of papers on her desk that she’d missed during her lengthy period of dissociation. She kept one and then held out the rest to Allison, mumbling, “Sorry,” under her breath.

Allison looked at her for a moment, and Drea didn’t like the discerning look in her doe eyes. “It’s okay. I zone-out all the time.”

She could see why Lydia liked her; she was nice, overly so. Drea felt that ugly feeling slip into her mouth again, bitterness coating her tongue, and she wished that Allison was catty or at very least a vapid twit who was either too stupid or too self-involved to notice other people—like the rest of Lydia’s circle.

“I like your necklace.” Allison nodded a little towards the black chain around her neck.

A heavy pendant rested just over Drea’s sternum; the maze etched into the stone had eroded in places, like it had been left out in acid rain for decades. She wasn’t sure exactly what it was made of; her mother never said when she gave it to her, and she never asked. It didn’t matter much now.

“Thanks,” Drea finally said, because that was what normal people did when they were complimented, and she was a normal person. Mostly. She swallowed thickly and bit down on the scab in the center of her bottom lip before adding, “I like your jacket.” She did. It was simple, unadorned by gaudy zippers and lapels like so many of the other leather jackets on campus. She would wear it herself if she didn’t break into a sweat in any temperature warmer than tepid.

Allison’s cheeks dimpled when she smiled, and Drea quashed the sigh rising in her throat. Her smile was magnificent. “Thanks. I wasn’t sure if I could pull it off, but my friend convinced me to—” Allison let out a little breathy laugh, “Sorry, you definitely don’t want to hear my jacket’s tragic backstory.”

She didn’t, not if it included hearing about Lydia’s fashion tips second-hand. Still, Drea managed a little smile, “As long as it doesn’t begin with a cow, you’re golden.”

Allison laughed and held up her hands, “It’s faux; I promise.”

“Ladies,” Mr. Lyman called from across the classroom, “I wasn’t aware that existentialism was so amusing.” Drea felt a dizzying heat crawl up her neck to her ears once she realized that the only noise in the room, other than Allison’s tinkly laughter, was the scratch of pencils on paper as students worked on their tests.

“Sorry,” they mumbled at the same time, and Allison mouthed another ‘Sorry’ just for her before Drea turned around. Damn. She liked her. How incredibly inconvenient. She almost wished that Stiles was still pestering her so that she had a real reason to be upset—until she finally got a good look at the mid-term, more specifically at the thickness of it. Drea flipped through the lengthy test and looked at the ceiling briefly: Six essay questions?

Positive: At least, she found a legitimate excuse to sulk.

Negative: She felt a migraine coming on.

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