#and he really struggles with turning around it fries his brain

[darkwood-sleddog]

dog group behaviors are so interesting. so neighbor of aggressive doodle from sunday often walks this dog in the dead of night because it thrashes/snarls/growls uncontrollably on the end of a leash when coming across other dogs and i do truly sympathize that they have to deal with that. However. I can tell exactly where this dog has pissed recently because when walking my pack they all continually marked in a little ongoing conga line in a single area. Zombie lifted her leg which she does very rarely. they mad.

[lalacliffthorne]

📃 the basic rules of friendship 📃

Azriel x Reader

summary: the basic rules of friendship. and how to break them.

notes: oh boy. writing this one was pure and utter chaos. it gave me a headache. it did not want to work out. I changed the whole damn plot like five times, because I just wasn't happy with my ideas; they didn't work, they didn't feel right, but I had this specific part that I really wanted to write around, so I couldn't just give it up and call it a day either. then once I finally had it figured out, it still took ages to finish the whole thing, because my brain just wasn't braining - to sum it up, this lil piece of writing basically fried me. but, the last few days, it got easier, I wasn't just staring at the words anymore and what I wrote finally didn't feel blah - and I made it!

so here are the basic rules of friendship. they are long af, and even though they strongly advise against it, there's smut. steamy steamy smut.

______________________________________________________________

the basic rules of friendship

no. 1: friends are there for each other (friends also never get jealous).

Staring up at the male in front of me, I hoped my facial expression didn't convey my current thoughts.

Someone help me.

" - so of course we went in, and even though it was a bit of a struggle, we managed to get them all." The male sent me a grin, and I felt my lips curve, though it probably looked slightly pained.

Mor had decided it was that time of year again where she tried herself at being a matchmaker. She had picked me as target of the night, using the festivities as a clever cover to drag me from one male she thought might fit the requirements to the next.

The one I was talking to now was by far the most pleasant one this evening, which was probably why I hadn't bolted yet. He had even managed to make me laugh a few times, while the few males before that had been closer to making me cry in despair. He was fairly pretty too, with a cheeky smile, dimples and warm eyes. And I really should have been interested, because he seemed sweet, and funny, and actually charming.

But it just didn't click.

There was something about him - no, actually, it was something that wasn't there. His humor wasn't dry enough. He was a bit too reserved. He didn't quite get my teasing.

There was just something missing.

The way he smiled didn't do anything for me; no little skip in my chest, no hitch in my breath. His voice didn't send tingles down my spine, the dimple in his cheek was not quite right, he was a bit too hulky -

Something churned a little in my chest, and I almost winced.

Gods, what was wrong with me?

The air behind me shifted, and for a second, I wondered if maybe I had left my mental shields down and either Rhys or Feyre had caught onto my thoughts and had decided to step in before I went down a rabbithole of possibilties of what could be wrong with me.

But then the male in front of me straightened a little, suddenly looking alert, a familiar scent washed over me, cool and frosty, like pine woods in winter, and something skipped softly against my ribs.

Quickly looking over my shoulder, my eyes moved up, and up, and my shoulders sank a little when they found the face of the male suddenly towering over me.

Azriel's eyes were piercing, unwavering and unreadable as usual, and they were fixed onto the male in front of me. Shadows were swirling around him, creeping over his wings and shoulders, some gently brushing over my back like a happy greeting.

The shadowsinger's face itself looked like carved from marble, jaw sharp and set, the muscles in his cheeks shifting with what looked strangely like tension.

"Hey." I hoped the relief didn't vibrate too strongly through my voice, quickly turning back towards the male in front of me with an apologetic smile.

I had to give it to him, he had balls: Even though the Spymaster of the Night Court was staring right at him, unsettlingly quiet and brooding, the male hadn't immediately shrunk into himself.

Though he did look very uncomfortable.

"I'm going to -" He pointed over his shoulder, sending me a soft grin, and I smiled back, again hoping the relief wasn't too visible in how bright it was.

One corner of the male's lips curved. Then he turned around, and I felt my shoulders sag.

"Thanks." I breathed out, turning around to send Azriel a relieved, crooked smile.

The shadowsinger's eyes followed after the male for another second before they turned down towards me, and his gaze lost some of that unreadable coolness, softening. His eyes moved over my face, and he seemed to catch onto something, because his gaze narrowed in, and a slight crease formed between his brows.

And because it was Azriel, he didn't even have to ask.

The words just tumbled out before i could stop them.

"Is there something wrong with me?"

Azriel's lips parted a little. Then his eyes sharpened, his shoulders shifting as his gaze moved up over my head, zeroing in on somebody behind me, and something skipped high in my chest at the way his gaze froze over, becoming steely and quietly raging like a rising tide -

Hastily, I widened my eyes.

"No, no; he didn't -", I huffed and breathed out, turning my eyes towards the twinkling night sky in a half-laugh. "It's not because of him, it's - me."

The dangerous promise in Azriel's eyes vanished with a blink, but the light crease between his brows deepend as his gaze returned to my face. The warm lights dotted all over the House of Winds' terraces threw shadows under his jaw and made his amber eyes glow softly, his dark hair tousled and skin rosy from the cool wind.

"It's just -" I exhaled again, furrowing my brows softly at myself.

"There's this male, who's actually not a jerk, and who seems good and funny and interested, and - nothing. Absolutely nothing. I just kept finding things that were wrong, even though I don't even know what would have been right, and -", I shook my head and looked up at Azriel, frowning gently as something churned a little in my chest.

"Is there? Something wrong with me?"

Azriel stared at me before huffing, and something tipped over in my chest when a soft snorted laugh broke from his throat.

I frowned, feeling something tighten a little under my ribs. "What?"

Azriel's lips were still twitching upwards like I had just made some sort of joke only he understood as he turned his face away, shaking his head a little. Then he looked back down at me. His amber eyes flickered over mine for a moment, and there was something in the way he stared at me that soothed the soft twinge under my ribs.

Azriel blinked, then he said steadily, his low, deep voice gently tickling my spine: "There's nothing wrong with you." His gaze moved over my face, and something I couldn't place shifted in his eyes, tinging his voice when he added: "He just wasn't what you're looking for."

"I don't even know what I'm looking for,", I grumbled under my breath, but there was a soft skip in my chest, that bit of tightness gone when I looked up at Azriel. "How am I supposed to find something when I don't know what it looks like?"

Az blinked again, eyes resting on mine. "You'll know."

I felt my brows furrow gently at the sound of his voice, a little quiet and distant but so, so sure.

Feeling my lips twitch, I raised an eyebrow. "That's sappy."

Azriel huffed, but his lips twitched even as he glared down at me, almost like he couldn't hold back the way they curved at the corners. Then he lightly raised a brow. "Mor looks like she's got the next target."

I cursed softly and quickly slid my hand into the crook of his arm, bumping my shoulder into his biceps.

"Come on, let's go, I need a drink."

no. 2: friends talk about their feelings.

“What the fuck was that?”

The door slammed behind me, and I raised my head just in time to see Azriel turn around, his eyes burning into mine so fiercely, I almost held my breath.

Running a hand down my face, I shook my head, my voice tired when I mumbled: “Can we not –“

“I told you to get out, and you didn't listen, you disobeyed orders –“

“Orders?” I stared at him, feeling something begin to bubble in my chest. “You told me to run and fucking leave you!”

“And you didn't!” Azriel's voice sounded like thunder, not simmering anger, but loud and deep. Shadows gathered around his feet, and his wings flared when he stalked towards me, blood dripping from the wound in his side, but he didn't even seem to notice. “You came back when I told you to leave; you could've fucking died!”

“You would have died!” My voice was incredulous as I stared up at him with wide eyes, and Azriel's jaw tightened as he took one last step forward, his chest almost pressing into mine as he glared down at me.

“Then I would have died.” His voice was quiet again and cold, so cold, but his eyes were whirling with emotions I couldn't decipher as they burned into mine. “But you would have been safe.”

Staring up at him, my eyes blown wide, I felt my breathing pick up as I tried to fight against the way my chest grew tighter with every second. Then I exploded.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

Azriel blinked like I had slapped him across the face, but it felt like some kind of dam had broken, because the words just started falling, becoming louder with every second.

“I don't give a shit about being safe if it means you try and sacrifice yourself! You asshole! What the fuck is wrong with you?! I couldn't just leave you because I will never leave you to sacrifice yourself like your fucking life means nothing, because it does, it means everything!” My voice broke as my voice rose into a scream, and I felt tears well in my eyes as the ache under my ribs grew and I hit my fist against his chest.

“You're hurt, you would have died!! What the hell is wrong with you that you think I could just leave you for death, you moron, what would I be living for if you died, especially because of me; it wouldn't mean a thing! You fucking asshole!” My vision blurred as tears streamed over my cheeks. Azriel stared at me like he had never seen me before, frozen in place as I heaved with quiet sobs, my whole body trembling as I tried to fight for air.

“Don't you get it? You're –“ My voice broke.

Everything.

Azriel's eyes pierced mine, emotion whirling in them, jumbled, indiscernable. Then he blinked.

“Come here,”, he mumbled, his voice hoarse, and I breathed in shudderingly, tears streaming over my face when his hand closed around my elbow and he pulled me forward, not caring a bit that he was still dripping blood onto the carpet as he dragged me into his chest.

“I'm sorry.” I could feel his low voice vibrating through my body, quiet and rough when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders and buried his nose in my hair, and I hiccuped, feeling tears stream over my face as I slid my own arms around his middle and clung to him.

“Never ask that of me -” My voice broke, and Azriel tightened his grip, the tension not leaving his frame as he slipped his hand up my back to tangle his fingers in my hair, his thumb slowly brushing over my skin when he raised his head a little to press his lips against my temple.

“I'm sorry,”, he mumbled against my skin, soft but hoarse, and I buried my face in the crook of his neck, my body trembling with silent, heaving sobs as I held onto the male who held me.

no. 3: friends might engage in the occasional amicable teasing.

That was it.

Stopping in the middle of the street only a few feet away from the entrance to Rita's, I barely kept myself from wincing as I leaned forward, trying to balance on one foot as I started unlacing the straps of my heels. They were murderously high, and, together with the cobblestone streets and the drinks I had, that meant mortal danger for my ankles and my dignity.

Plus, they were beginning to hurt like shi-

I almost lost my balance, feeling myself tip to the side and my eyes widening. But then a hand slipped under my arm and steadied me, and my breath hitched a little when my gaze darted up.

Azriel raised a brow at me.

“Oh, shut up,”, I grumbled quickly under my breath, trying to ignore the soft skip in my chest at the way his amber eyes were twinkling almost indiscernably as I slipped out of the first heel.

Groaning happily in relief as I rolled my ankle, I carefully placed my foot on the cold ground, trying not to wince at the ache jolting through it when I shifted my weight onto it.

Azriel kept his hand under my arm, his scarred skin warm in the cool night air, even as I balanced a lot easier, undoing the laces of the second heel.

Slipping out of it, I straightened, breathing out and trying not to squirm at the soreness of my feet when I shifted on the cold cobblestone. Then I raised my head, and my heart skipped softly.

Az was still staring down at me, brows drawn together a little as he narrowed his eyes at me.

I frowned back at him suspiciously. “What?”

Azriel huffed, but his lips twitched upwards as he shook his head and stepped forward, and I felt my eyes widen when he leaned down.

“No, wait –“

The shadowsinger slipped his arms under my thighs and lower back, and a soft squeal broke from my lips when he straightened back up, easily sweeping me off my feet.

My hands gripped his back, and my heart jumped into my throat when Azriel hoisted me up a little to adjust his grip, the motion causing me to slide up and down in his arms. I hastily clung to him and stared at him desperately.

“Are you serious?”

Azriel's eyes were twinkling a little when he threw me a look. “You looked like you were going to hobble the way home.”

I huffed, scowling at him, but it probably looked more like a pout, because the shadow of a crease formed in Azriel's cheek. Then he raised a brow at me.

“All set?”

Grumbling softly under my breath, I leaned forward a little to gather my shoes in one hand. Azriel changed his grip to hold me steady, his breath brushing over my temple, causing something to flutter gently against my throat, and I tried to ignore the sudden dip in my chest.

Wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, I pressed my forehead against his collarbone and squeezed my eyes shut.

“Alright, ready.”

There was a soft, amused huff that made Azriel's body vibrate. Then he started moving, setting down the street, every long, steady step sending a soft jolt through my body.

I blinked before cracking open an eye and furrowing my brows in confusion.

“We're walking?”

From my position, I saw only one side of Azriel's face as he looked ahead, but there was a curve to his lips that caused something to swerve sharply in my chest when he threw me a look.

“Unless you want to almost throw up again.”

I raised my head quickly to glower at him.

“That was one time."

"I wasn't actually aware anyone could turn that shade of green before you did." One corner of Azriel's lips tipped upwards.

I scowled at him. "Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

Azriel still looked ahead, but I saw the crease in his cheek deepening.

“Unlikely.”

I scowled, trying to bite back the stupidly wide smile that was suddenly threatening to break out over my face as I narrowed my eyes at him. “I don't like you.”

“I know. You want to hold on any tighter?”

I lightly bonked one of my shoes against the side of his head and earned myself a glare.

Breathing a soft giggle that bubbled in my chest, I exhaled, slowly melting into Azriel's hold as I loosely draped one arm over his collarbones and propped my chin onto his shoulder. Staring at his profile, I felt something flutter softly against my ribs, my heart skipping steadily as my eyes tracked over his straight nose, the sharp line of his jaw illuminated by the warm light of the lanterns and his soft looking lips.

The shadowsinger threw me a look, and I could see the amusement flashing through in his eyes.

“What?”

I shrugged.

“You're pretty.” I sent him a bright, cheeky smile.

Azriel blinked, and it almost looked like the top of his cheekbones started to darken a little, like the lightest shade of pink dusted his skin –

One corner of my lips slowly quirked as I softly narrowed my eyes.

“Are you blushing?” I started to grin widely. “Azriel, are you –“

The shadowsinger's grip shifted, and I squealed softly when I could feel myself being dropped for nothing more than a heartbeat.

Hastily clinging to his shoulders, I raised my head to glare at Azriel incredulously only to find him smirking, just the tiniest bit.

I huffed, something flutter harshly against my ribs as I scowled at the shadowsinger.

“I really don't like you."

no. 4: friends spend quality time together.

Diving, I avoided a swing of Azriel's wing, sliding over the mats and raising my head.

My heart skipped high, and I barely ducked out of the way, Azriel's wings almost translucent in the light of the sinking sun when he flared them to keep his balance, shadows whirling around him as he dodged a blow, a strand of dark hair falling into his forehead, muscles working under his sweaty, glowing skin -

Something caught against the back of my heel and ripped me off my feet.

My back hit the mats with a thud, and all the air was pressed out of my lungs, causing me to grunt softly. My heart skipped in its race against my ribs, and I relaxed into the mats with a huff, scowling when Azriel appeared above me, lips curving upwards as he squinted down at me, barely out of breath.

"Didn't we just talk about never letting your guard down?"

Huffing, I rolled my eyes, feeling a bead of sweat run over my temple and how my hair stuck to my skin when I just laid flat on the mats for a second before holding out my hand with a grumble.

The second Azriel's fingers closed firmly around my wrist, I pulled, my foot catching against his chest and using his own momentum to send him flying over my head.

The shadowsinger crashed onto his back with a heavy thud and a grunt, and I whirled around, using his hand to pull myself up and onto his torso, thighs clamping down next to his hips and my whole weight pressing down onto his chest as I pinned his wrists onto the mats right above his head and smiled widely.

But my remark along the lines of Right back at you, pretty boy got stuck in my throat.

Azriel's eyes were barely an inch away. I could count the golden spots in his amber iris, the dark lashes framing his eyes under dark brows between which a little crease sat that smoothed over slowly. I could feel his breath, warm and a little uneven as it brushed over my skin, could feel the steadiness of his piercing eyes as they stared into mine and how solid his bare chest was, pressed against mine.

My heart fluttered wildly; I hastily moved back a little, and suddenly, something in Azriel's eyes shifted, his body going still beneath mine.

I needed a second until I realised why; why suddenly, Azriel's gaze burning into mine looked different, why he had tensed and his lips were standing just a little agape. But then I shifted again, and Azriel grunted softly, his hips twitching.

Right under my ass.

My breath caught in my throat, my eyes widened a little, and I grew still, staring down at the male pinned onto the mats who had suddenly frozen beneath me as my heart thumped in my throat and something twinged tightly in my lower stomach.

"Sorry,", I whispered, my voice soft and a little breathy, and a spark flashed through Azriel's eyes.

The next second, I was pushed to the side, all the air escaping my lungs when I crashed onto my back again, and my heart simply gave out when my body was pressed into the mats, hips lodged between my thighs keeping me down and Azriel's face only an inch away, dark hair falling down onto his forehead as his eyes twinkled and one corner of his lips rose.

"Got you."

I blinked, something pounding and fluttering harshly against my ribs as my breath hitched and I stared up into Azriel's golden amber eyes, his lips curving and fingers loosely wrapped around my wrists, just lightly holding them to the ground next to my head as shadows whispered, slowly swirling over his flared wings. Then Azriel's lips twitched, and his hands slipped away, pressing into the mats as he pushed himself up and his weight disappeared.

I stared up at the soft blue sky high above, the first stars twinkling down at me while my heart was skipping, missing beats in my chest until Azriel offered me a hand, the twinkle still in his eyes causing me to huff.

no. 5: friends are comfortable with each other (but not overly).

Grumbling softly, I buried deeper in the cushions. There was a heavy weight resting on my waist, and something warm pressed into my back, a body, tall and solid, wrapped around me. A familiar scent surrounded me like a blanket, engulfing me and filling my lungs, and something started to flutter softly against my ribs when I tiredly cracked open an eye.

My sight was blurry with sleep as my gaze slowly tracked over the coffee table and the open doors leading into the garden, the sun already sinking and dipping everything in a golden light -

My heart jumped softly when the tall body curved around mine shifted, the arm closed around my waist tightening, and my gaze slowly focused on the hand wrapped around my wrist, laying on the cushion of the couch right in front of my face.

My mind was still tired and foggy with sleep as from under half-closed lids, my gaze dragged over the long, slim fingers, a palm far bigger than my own, veins running up a tanned forearm and the marred skin, scarred tissue rough but warm against my skin.

A soft, tired sound vibrated through my body, the thighs lodged between my calves shifting. Then I felt warm breath brush over my skin, and as I shivered softly, Azriel buried his nose at the back of my neck and grumbled lightly. Something skipped high in my chest at the deepness of the sound, how raspy it was.

There was a soft tap against my mental shields, and with a huff, I let them down.

"Please don't tell me you two are still napping."

Rhys' amused voice vibrating through my head made me grumble softly into the cushions, and from the way Azriel's lips curved upwards as he huffed softly against my neck, sending another shiver down my spine, the same question had sounded through his mind as well.

"Weren't you the one who told me that with less than ten hours of sleep, I get unbearably grumpy?", I thought.

There was a light snicker in my mind. Then Azriel growled softly. I didn't know what Rhys had said to him, but it made his grip tighten as he scowled into my neck.

There was one last chuckle in my head followed by a gentle sensation resembling a friendly headbutt before the familiar presence disappeared, leaving everything quiet again.

Breathing out, I squinted tiredly, the haze of sleep slowly dissipating.

Shifting on the spot, I started to wrestle myself around. Azriel grunted softly when I accidentally kicked his shin, and a breathy, sleepy giggle broke from my throat, then I buried myself in his chest. Exhaling, I felt Azriel slide his arm around my waist, his hand coming up to tuck my head under his chin. His fingers slipped into my hair, scratching gently over my scalp, and I groaned happily, causing the shadowsinger to huff in amusement.

His thumb lightly brushed over my cheek, and something skipped gently against my ribs, fluttering lightly.

no. 6: friends don't stare at each other (for too long).

Moving down the stairs, I slipped my fingers under one of the thin straps of the black silk dress softly swishing around my legs, pulling it up my shoulder. I could feel the hilts of my knives gently pressing against my thigh where they were tucked into the legs of my boots, the heavy heels thumping softly against the steps as the golden earrings Mor had lent me clinked softly. The heavy black leather coat Cass had gifted me a few years ago was draped over my arm, daggers hidden in the specially constructed lining.

It was time to charme some people. Maybe kick some ass.

Hopefully the latter.

Turning to walk down the last pair of stairs into the entrance hall, I grinned when Feyre tapped against my mind's walls, and when I let her in, her voice echoed through my head.

"Are you ready?"

Ready as ever.

"Alright, we'll be there and pick you up in a second."

Good. Feeling my lips quirk when I heard her chuckle, I raised my head.

My eyes met amber ones, and my breath hitched a little, my movement faltering for just a second.

Azriel stilled. Went completely quiet, head turned back to look up at me, eyes flickering over me, and his lips parted. Just a bit, nothing more than a little gap as his gaze slowly dragged down and up again, and he blinked, the crease between his brows smoothing over into nothing as he simply - stared.

"What?", I mumbled, feeling my lips curve into a soft, sheepish smile as I moved down the last steps.

Azriel blinked again, gaze sliding over me, and something shifted in his eyes, something I couldn't decipher but that made my breath hitch.

My gaze flickered over him, and there was a strange little hop in my chest. He was wearing his fighting leathers, nothing unusual, black shoulderplates making him look even broader, daggers strapped around his lean torso and onto his thighs.

Tearing my eyes away from his chest, I tried to ignore the way my heart performed a double flip when I found Azriel's gaze still pinned onto me, piercing my skin.

The shadowsinger blinked, and his throat worked a little like he was suppressing the urge to swallow. Then he slowly turned and stepped towards me. Wordlessly, he held out a hand, and I needed a second before realising what he wanted.

Huffing at myself and cracking a grin, I handed him my coat, and Azriel unfolded it, holding it open for me to slide into the sleeves. The lining was cool against my skin as Az slipped it over my shoulders, and I barely suppressed a soft shudder when his fingers, still out of his gloves, brushed against my neck, carefully pulling my braid out from under the heavy leather.

Turning around, I straightened the lapels and raised my head, and my heart fluttered up, getting caught in my throat like my breath when Azriel reached out.

His fingers brushed against my waist as he pushed the coat to the side, and a small crease formed between his brows when his hand ghosted over an empty sheath. He straightened a little, and my lips parted, something suddenly rising in my chest when he pulled a dagger from one of the sheaths strapped to his chest.

The silver blade flashed in the warm light when Azriel carefully pulled my coat to the side and slid it into the lining. Then his fingers brushed over the hilts concealed by the black silk, checking every single one of them as my heart thrummed into my throat and I stared up at him, his face a lot closer with his head dipped for a better view of the lining, brows drawn together in concentration, amber eyes clear and focused.

Sliding his hand against my waist to check the other side, Azriel raised his head; his gaze found mine, and my breath hitched when he slowly straightened back up a little.

With a soft swoosh of air, Feyre appeared in the middle of the foyer, and somehow, I managed to tear my gaze away from Azriel's to look over at her. She was wearing a silky dress similiar to mine, dark like the night sky and with high slits very practical for any sort of well-placed kick.

Feyre stilled for just a second as her eyes flickered over Azriel, standing so close to me that his chest almost touched mine and yet not making any move to step back, before finding mine, and something like a light twinkle flashed through her iris. Then she blinked and raised her brows.

"You two ready?"

Blinking, I looked back up at Az, and my breath hitched.

The shadowsinger was still staring down at me. I wasn't sure he had even looked when Feyre had winnowed in, and he didn't react when Mor appeared next to her either, wearing a dark red dress with a deep neckline. Both of them looked ready to smile charmingly and, if necessary, press a knife to someone's throat, but Azriel didn't even cast them a glance.

His eyes were on me, and suddenly, it felt a little hard to breathe.

Azriel's gaze cleared just a little, and he shifted, shoulders straightening.

"Give me a sign if you need me." I knew his deep voice was directed at the other two as well, but his eyes didn't stray away from mine, waiting until I nodded lightly. Then he took a step back, and shadows swallowed him.

Feyre cleared her throat lightly, and when I looked over at her with a blink, one corner of her lips had curved upwards, her iris twinkling. But she just raised her brows, and Mor held out her hand, her eyes bright as she beamed at me.

Staring at the two of them for a moment in confusion, I then blinked and shook my head lightly, moving towards them. Mor sent me a wink.

"You look hot."

I nodded. "As opposed to how I usually look."

Feyre lightly rolled her eyes and Mor flicked my forehead, and snickering, I took her offered hand.

no. 7: friends don't kiss.

Closing the bathroom door behind me, I raised my head, and my heart skipped softly against my ribs when Azriel raised his head.

He was sitting on the edge of my mattress, wearing only soft looking pyjama pants, his hair tousled and a little damp, like he had taken a shower earlier.

Sending him a soft, cheeky grin, I felt my brows furrow gentle. "Hey."

Azriel's eyes tracked down my body, over the large soft sweater and the too big pyjama pants that both had probably belonged to him at some point, and I shifted a little on the spot. Then his gaze turned back towards my face, and one corner of his lips rose into a small, crooked smile.

Slowly starting to walk towards him, I let my gaze flicker over his face, feeling the curious crease between my brows deepen.

"What are you doing here?"

Azriel blinked. His eyes tracked over my face, slow, a little tired but warm in the soft light.

"Just -" He broke off before huffing and shaking his head. "I don't know. Can't sleep."

I felt my lips curve and sent him a cheeky smile. "I could read something to you."

Azriel's lips curved, and his gaze moved over mine. "I doubt that would help."

"Hey, my reading skills aren't that bad, alright?" I grinned.

Azriel raised his brows, and I lost the fight against the soft giggle building in my throat.

"Oh, shut up."

The shadowsinger's cheek creased a little. He was still staring at me, and I caught something shifting in his eyes as a muscle in his jaw tightened and relaxed again.

Something shifted in my chest, and before I could stop myself, I quickly moved forward and hugged him tightly.

I could feel Azriel freeze a little. One second. Two. Then his shoulders sagged a bit, and his arms slowly slid around my waist, squeezing lightly. It was funny, like this; with him sitting on the edge of the mattress, the size different was reversed for once, me dropping my head to press my nose against his shoulder and Az burying his face at my collarbone.

Holding onto him for another second, I slowly moved back, feeling my lips curve softly. Azriel's arms slipped off my waist, and his muscles shifted when he turned his head. Then he went still, and when I looked up in confusion, my breath hitched.

Golden eyes stared into mine, lips parted just a bit. I could see the shadow of a few freckles on a straight nose, the softness of his lips. And suddenly, my heart was quiet.

The tip of my nose softly nudged against Azriel's, and his eyes fluttered, the muscles in his jaw working as his fingers dug into the cotton of my pants. Then he lightly raised his chin, and his nose brushed past mine again, causing a tingling shiver to travel over my skin, down my spine and into my fingers, making them tremble as I curled them into his shoulders.

I didn't know if I leaned down or Azriel up.

Didn't know if my hand slipping to the back of his neck was first, or his fingers closing around my hips, dragging me forward a little.

All I knew was that his lips were warm and soft and that they were pressed against mine, gentle but soon almost a little feverish.

That his breath was harsh, trembling when he exhaled against my skin.

And that suddenly, my heart wasn't quiet anymore. That it was rising in my chest like a storm, fluttering more violently with every second until breathing was difficult.

Slowly, Azriel broke away, just far enough for his nose to bump against mine again and his unsteady breath to hit my lips. When I forced open my eyes, something flipped against my ribs, because his were still closed, his chest moving quickly as his finger dug into my hips and he swallowed harshly. Then Azriel opened his eyes, and all air I had managed to get left me. Because the gold in his iris was melting together and his lids were heavy and for a moment, he looked a little bit like he wasn't quite there. But then our noses brushed and his lids fluttered and a soft sound broke from his chest that made the world tip over.

"You -" His deep voice sent a shiver down my spine, uneven and more hoarse than I had ever heard it, and Azriel's jaw worked, brows drawing together like he was forcing himself to focus as his eyes found mine, something in them that was strange and pleading and burning when he mumbled raspily: "If you let me kiss you again, I won't be able stop."

My heart skipped once and high and harsh. Then I whispered, soft and a little shakily: "I don't think I want you to stop."

Azriel's cheek muscles shifted and he shuddered, like the thought alone -

His fingers dug into my hips, tugging me closer as he pressed his forehead against mine and mumbled roughly: "If you kiss me again -"

I leaned forward and kissed him breathlessly, and Azriel's grip slipped before tightening as a deep rumble built in his throat and he pushed forward and kissed me back like he'd been waiting for centuries.

no. 8: friends never, ever, under no circumstances - well, you can probably guess where this is going.

My breath tumbled when Azriel dragged me closer, closer until my body curved into his sitting one and he kissed me like it was the only thing keeping him alive, deep and desperate and causing my heart to tip over in my chest when his tongue dragged over mine and his hand slipped under my soft sweater.

A soft shuddering breath left me when his rough fingers ghosted over my back, trailing up my spine, and my fingers curled into his hair, causing a deep sound to rumble through Azriel's body. His other hand closed firmly around my hips, then he pulled back, and my heart skipped into my throat at the sight of his eyes, glazed over and hazy.

Azriel's lips parted just a little and his throat worked when he slid his hand from my back to my front, fingers pushing up the hem of my sweater, up until it was bunched up under my breasts, and my spine turned to jelly when Azriel turned his burning gaze away from my face and dropped his head to press a slow, open-mouthed kiss against my ribs.

My hand flew up to tangle in the soft hair at the back of his head, my eyes fluttering, and Azriel groaned softly, deep in his throat as his hand slipped up to press against my back, pushing me into him until my thighs were pressed against the inside of his and he leaned forward, lips dragging over my skin as he began to trail hot kisses over my stomach.

My head fell back as something rose in my chest, wild and madly fluttering. My lower stomach tightened, quivering, causing my breath to hitch.

It felt like with every kiss, Azriel pulled the floor out from under me, over and over again, the whole world swaying around me whenever he got closer to where my sweater was bunched up under my breasts, my fingers digging into his hair when he dipped down again.

It seemed like he was trying to taste every inch of my skin, breath heavy and uneven, grip tightening around me when his teeth grazed over the skin right under the seam of my bra, and I whimpered.

A small, guttural sound built in Azriel's chest, and he attacked the spot, dragging my body into his, kissing and biting until I could feel my skin pulse. My eyes fluttered as my head tipped back a little and my lips parted, and the shadowsinger pressed a scarred hand flat against my spine, running his nose over the bruise like a breathless apology. Then he raised his head, and my heart skipped, tipping over at the sight of his hazy eyes, amber iris clouded, lids heavy and soft lips swollen.

A strand of dark hair fell into his forehead, and the way he was staring at me caused my breath to stumble, hitch and flutter, his throat working as he swallowed and tugged me forward, slowly pulling me with him as he leaned back, and my heart tipped over in my chest when he dragged me down into his lap.

I could feel Azriel's grip shift, saw the flutter of his lids as my chest pressed into his, and everything under my ribs coiled when his hot, unsteady breath brushed over my lips, his nose softly nudging against mine.

My fingers curled into his shoulders as I tried to breathe, even though it felt impossible with his scent invading my senses, his chest against mine and his arm heavy on my waist as his palm pressed against my back, gently urging me forward.

My hips rolled down, and Azriel's lids fluttered the same second my lips fell open as I felt his hard cock press against me, his hands slipping down to close around my hips, and I almost expected him to push me away, bring distance between us -

Azriel dragged my hips forward, and I inhaled softly, sharply, something hot zipping through my lower stomach and pulsing when I ground down against the bulge in Azriel's pants. His lips were parted just a bit, his breathing harsh as his nose nudged against mine, lids heavy. Then his grip around my hips tightened, fingers digging into my skin, and my breath hitched and stumbled when he started guiding my movements, his eyes fixed onto my face like they were burning through me, hazy but piercing.

I barely bit back a soft whimper when Azriel's hot, unsteady breath grazed over my lips, my fingers digging into his hair as I rocked against him, tantalizingly but deliciously slow. Azriel's nose brushed over mine, his hands shifting on my hips, rocking me down harder, and something twisted harshly in my stomach, a wave of heat washing over me.

Before I could stop myself, I pulled him towards me, and Azriel's lips crashed onto mine.

My heart rose into my throat, fluttering as I felt myself twist around nothing, and I whimpered, curling my fingers into the back of Azriel's neck when he kissed me like I was his last breath, devouring, desperate. His tongue slid against mine as his hands slipped under my sweater, curving around my waist, and something swelled in my chest when his rough warm skin pressed against mine, his thumb brushing over my ribs, up against the underside of my breast.

I moaned softly into his mouth, causing his grip to tighten and drag me closer like I wasn't already pressed flush into his chest. His hands closed around the hem of my sweater and pulled it up, up until I had to break away for him to tug it over my head. My arms slipped back over his shoulders, and Azriel leaned forward, into me, kissing me again, deep and hard as he threw my sweater carelessly into the room.

My fingers dug into Azriel's shoulders when his hands slipped under my thighs. Then he lifted me up, turning to place my back on the mattress, his warm, solid body between my legs pushing my knees apart and causing something in my chest to rise and flutter madly, and a soft groan broke from his chest when his body pressed down into mine.

My fingers curled into his hair, and Azriel broke the kiss to drop his head, his hand sliding to the nape of my neck, tangling in my hair and dragging my head back as he began to press hard kisses against my throat, his heavy, uneven breath hitting my skin as his teeth grazed over my skin. A whimper fled my throat, and my eyes rolled back lightly.

A deep, rough sound rumbled through Azriel´s chest, and his lips brushed lower, kisses growing more deep, more desperate the lower his rough hands slipped on my sides as he slowly made his way down my torso. My body arched into him as he breathed harshly, kissing and nipping at my skin as he pulled down my pants. Then his nose grazed the rim of my panties, and my head fell back as my insides twitched and Azriel groaned deep in his chest.

His hot, harsh breath brushed over the soaked material, and his nose nuzzled against my hip like he was trying to reign himself in, the tension in his shoulders looking unbearable as his lips ghosted over where my thigh and middle met. Then Azriel's fingers hooked into the waistband of my panties and pulled them down, and a soft groan left him, almost desperate.

Raising my hips to help him shimmy the material down my legs, I expected him to move back up my body. But Azriel didn't. His shoulders pushed my thighs apart, and my heart stilled, simply stopped when without hesitation, Azriel sank to his knees.

My breath caught when his hands closed around my hips and dragged me towards him, and a whimpering sound left me when I felt his nose gently nudge against my skin, an ache spreading through my lower stomach like a weight.

My hips bucked, my fingers digging into the sheets, and with a soft rumbling sound leaving him, Azriel pushed one of my legs over his shoulder and dipped his head.

My lips fell open, my heart stilled, and my whole body became weightless when Azriel slowly ran his tongue through my folds. My eyes flew down, finding his, heavily lidded and hazy, a strand of dark hair falling into his face between my legs, and a deep groan rumbled deep in his chest. Then he dropped his head and dove in.

My head fell back against the mattress, and my back arched.

Azriel moved like a male starving, devouring his last meal. His warm tongue lapped at me, running over my clit, pressing down and flicking before his mouth closed over it, and my eyes rolled into my head as breathless moans spilled from my lips.

Azriel's fingers dug into the top of my thigh, his other hand slipping up to press onto my stomach as his eyes fluttered and a moan vibrated in his chest. He sounded more enthusiastic than I had ever heard him; like right where he was, settled between my legs, his nose brushing over my skin as he dipped his head to lap and suck at me eagerly, was exactly, precisely where he had always wanted to be –

His tongue flicked over my clit, and my hand flew up to press over my mouth as a loud whimper broke from my lips. But Azriel's fingers slipped around my elbow, and something flipped in my chest, rising and fluttering violently when he gently tugged my hand away from my mouth, his own sliding down my arm until his rough, scarred fingers slid between mine, lacing them together as his eyes pierced my face, clouded and lids heavy like he wasn't quite there. Then he ran his tongue firmly over my clit, and I moaned, breathily and drawn as I curled my fingers into the sheets above my head.

The weight in my stomach grew slowly, twisting tighter and tighter, and my back arched as a deep groan left Azriel, like what he was doing right now, fingers laced with mine, eyes hazy and hair dishevelled, was the best satisfaction I could give him. The muscles in his cheeks worked as he sucked eagerly on my clit, pressing his tongue against the sensitive spot, eyes never leaving my face even as they fluttered, and I felt my lips part at the sight of him.

My fingers dug into the sheets as I could feel myself pulse around nothing, the pressure in my lower stomach slowly building as whimpers left me and I squeezed my eyes shut tightly as whispered curses broke from my lips and my breath heaved, and Azriel's hum vibrated through me. Then his tongue ran over my clit and he sucked, hard, obscene sounds filling the room as he kept pushing and pushing –

The knot in my stomach collapsed and my back arched off the mattress, hips bucking as waves of pleasure crashed over me, my insides twisting and exploding like stars and loud whining sounds breaking from my lips as my eyes rolled back.

I felt Azriel's soft moan more than I heard it, sending vibrations through my body and causing my hand to fly down and dig into his hair. My hips jerked and rolled as my thighs twitched, sharp twinges of pleasure causing my whole body to spasm, but Azriel didn't stop. His tongue lapped at everything he could get, eyes fluttering as another groan rumbled through his body, making me whimper, and he moved, fingers digging into my thigh, keeping it wrapped over his shoulder as he pushed closer, sucking harshly, tongue swirling, and I could feel my stomach twist and turn as another knot built, even tighter and bigger than before.

My mouth fell open, my head pressing into the mattress; Azriel gave a soft sound, maybe an encouragement or a plea, and the world simply slipped away, bursting into a million pieces as the knot exploded, crashing down into a wave so violent, my body shuddered.

My insides tightened, tightened with pleasure so blinding, I couldn't breathe, no sound leaving me as I twitched and writhed, and Azriel kept going, kept sucking my clit into his mouth, tongue pressing against it and flicking over me until my trembling fingers curled deeper into his hair, because it was too much, too good, too much -

My insides twisted, twitching as my knees shook and a breathless whimper left me, and I dug my nails into Azriel's scalp and tugged, tugged harshly until with a soft rumbled growl, the shadowsinger pulled away.

My heart missed a beat, another.

Azriel's pupils were blown, eyes heavily lidded and a little far away when he raised his head, licking his swollen lips. His mouth and chin were glistening as he slid his hands off my thighs, and my breath hitched.

The bed dipped when Azriel pushed himself to his feet to move up my body, his arms pressing down next to my head, his bare chest brushing over mine and his knee pressing into the mattress between my thighs. His nose softly nudged against mine, like a silent question of you alright, and something tipped over in my chest, rising and fluttering.

Quickly, I slipped my hands into his hair and pulled him down, and Azriel groaned softly when I pressed my lips feverishly against his. His body sank into mine when he kissed back, deep and desperate.

My heart skipped against my ribs, and I wrapped a leg over his back, because he still wasn't close enough, not where my middle was pulsing -

The shadowsinger went rigid under my touch when I dragged him down, down until his whole body pressed into mine and I could feel -

Azriel caught my hand, grip tight around my fingers as he breathed heavily, his voice hoarse as he mumbled against my lips: "Are you sure -"

A moan slipped past my lips, soft and pleading as my insides turned, something hot washing over me as I nodded into the kiss, maybe a bit too frantic, too eager, but it didn't matter, not with the groan leaving Azriel's throat, rumbling through his body in what felt like pure relief and desperation.

I tugged at his pants, feeling them slip down his hips and over his legs as Azriel pushed my thighs apart. His lips dragged over mine, then I could feel the tip of his cock nudging against my folds.

My breath gave out, an ache spreading through my body as I whimpered, and Azriel's jaw shifted as he moved in the spot, trying to find an angle with him kneeling on the side of the mattress -

A soft, impatient sound left him; his hands slipped under my backside, and Az lifted me up.

My breath hitched, my arms quickly sliding over his shoulders when Azriel straightened, lips crashing against mine as my chest pressed into his, and I moaned when I could feel him rub up against me as he turned around.

My back hit the wall, and I whimpered, Azriel's tongue dragging over mine as he pushed closer, dragging my thigh up his side as his tip brushed through my folds, way easier like this for him to -

My heart got caught in my throat. My lips fell open, and my heart rose into my throat as I felt myself stretch around Azriel's cock, his hard length pressing at my walls he slowly began to push in.

Azriel dropped his forehead against mine with a strained grunt, his back muscles flexing as my fingers dug into the back of his shoulders, harsh breath hitting my skin as he slowly began to work his way in.

Whimpering softly, I shifted my hips, because he was big and I felt too tight and -

My eyes fluttered, a quiet sound leaving me when my walls closed around him, pulling him in, and Azriel's grip tightened when his hips settled against mine. His hand pressed against the wall over my head he breathed heavily against my lips, nose nudging against mine, and I whimpered, tugging him closer.

A soft groan left Azriel, and his hand slid down to the side of my neck, tilting my head back to kiss me. It was messy and breathless and I whimpered when his tongue slid against mine, his teeth sinking softly into my bottom lip and pulling lightly. His nose nudged against mine, then Azriel slipped his hand down to grip the back of my thigh, pulling it higher up his side, and I felt my lips part when it caused him to slide inside of me.

Azriel pressed his forehead against mine, out of breath as his throat worked, and I curled my fingers into his hair, nodding frantically as my insides tightened, and my head tipped back against the wall when Az slowly pulled out. Then he thrusted back in, and my lips fell open.

Slowly, little by little, Azriel took me apart. His lips dragging over my throat, heavy breaths hitting my skin, hot and ragged, his fingers digging into my thighs as his slow, deep rhythm shook me to my very core.

With every thrust, the world seemed to tip a little more, until there was nothing anymore, nothing but him, body rocking mine into the wall, his cock hitting deeper with every thrust. His arm gripped me tighter, then his hand tugged down one strap of my soft bra and his palm closed over my breast, causing a whimper to break from my lips that turned into a moan when Azriel's lips latched onto my nipple, a groan rumbling deep in his throat when he bit and sucked on my skin, rough palm squeezing and tugging at my breast until my insides tightened around him, squeezing as I shuddered and dug my fingers into his hair, dragging him back up, and Azriel moaned hoarsely into my mouth as our lips crashed together.

His hips snapped forward, and my hand flew out to grip the mantlepiece as my own rolled down to meet his next thrust.

Azriel's shoulders trembled as his fingers almost slipped off my thighs, and a sound left him that caused my chest to rise when his cock hit a spot so deep inside of me, I lost my breath. Lost my grip, felt my stomach pulse, and Azriel groaned against my lips when I dug my fingers into his neck and started meeting his hard, slowly quickening thrusts.

My lips fell open, my eyes fluttering as little by little, that familiar tightness began to form in my lower stomach. Only it felt even brighter, hotter and more pulsing than before, with Azriel buried deep inside me, hitting that spot that made my body writhe with every hard snap of his hips. I knew he could feel it too, the way my insides wound tighter with every thrust, fluttering and pulling him in, his grip bruising as he breathed harshly against my neck, deep, hoarse sounds leaving him somewhere halfway between moans and whimpers, and maybe those sounds alone would have done me in. But then his nose dragged up my cheek, and Azriel pressed his forehead against mine as my fingers scratched over his scalp, his ragged breath hitting my lips as his lids fluttered over his eyes that looked like melted amber.

His hand slipped between us, and my breath caught. Simply stopped when Azriel's rough thumb brushed over my clit, slow and hard, and the world fell apart. Became exploding galaxies and stardust as waves of pleasure crashed over me so intensely, I felt my body tremble and shake beyond measure, my eyes rolling back as my sight went blurry, and Azriel's thrusts faltered. His hips snapped once, twice before pushing in deep, then his head fell forward and lips opened soundlessly as his body shuddered.

no. 9: friends don't fall in love with each other.

When I woke up, Azriel was gone.

Something tightened a little in my chest, and I quickly sat up, my gaze moving over my clothes haphazardly strewn over the floor, the crinkled sheets and the window behind which, the sky was still a deep black, with galaxies twinkling in the far, far distance.

I couldn't have been asleep for long.

A little bit of pressure built in my throat, a gentle ache forming in my chest, and I quickly slipped off the mattress, picking up my sweater and tugging it over my head as I padded towards the door.

The townhouse was submerged in peaceful silence, the moon shining through the windows onto the stairs the only source of light as I soundlessly moved down the steps.

On the third floor, there was faint light shimmering out from under the door to the library, and my breath got caught in my throat.

Swallowing softly, I carefully opened the door and slipped through. Gently closing it behind me, I started to quietly move past the shelves until I caught movement over at the window, and my heart did a flip against my ribs when I came to a slow halt.

Azriel was with his back to me, slowly wandering from side to side, his bare feet making no sound on the hardwood floors, his shoulders tense, wings shifting and muscles working under his skin as he ran his hands through his hair. Shadows were pooling around his feet, completely quiet for once, just gently brushing against his ankles when he leaned forward, pressing his palms onto the window sill and dropping his head.

Something tightened a little in my chest, and I pulled up my shoulders, whispering softly and a bit hesitantly: "Az?"

Azriel stilled for a moment. Then he looked over his shoulder, and his eyes found mine, amber in the warmth of the fae lights.

I tried to fight against the soft skip in my chest and stared at him.

Azriel blinked before straightening slowly, his deep voice sending rushs of soft tingles down my spine when he mumbled: "Are you okay?"

I nodded, feeling one corner of my lips rise carefully as I fiddled with my sleeve and my eyes flickered back and forth between his.

"You?"

Azriel's gaze wandered over my face as he slowly turned to look at me, eyes moving over mine, almost like he was looking for something. Then he nodded lightly.

Feeling the curve of my lips deepen, I shifted a little on the spot, mumbling softly: "You don't look like it."

Azriel blinked again, and his throat worked a little, something shifting in his jaw. The tightness in my chest grew a little as I stared at him, feeling my throat close up.

I knew that look, knew how it meant he was in his head.

"Th-this doesn't have to change anything." I quickly shook my head, taking a step forward as I stared at him. "We can just forget about it, if you -" My eyes darted over his face, something tightened sharply in my chest, and I blurted hastily: "I'll get over it; I can push it away, I mean I think I have for centuries, I can pretend, and it'll go away, and we'll just -"

I broke off, my eyes darted up, and my heart did one mighty flip.

Because I had just realised what in my hurry to make Azriel's doubt go away had slipped from my lips.

And because Azriel had straightened. His lips parted as his eyes rushed over my face, and I barely suppressed the urge to swallow.

Shit.

"What?" Azriel's voice was hoarse as he stared at me, and I nearly winced.

"I don't know;", my voice rose to a panicked, high tone as I widened my eyes and quickly raised my shoulders, "you looked so in your head, and I know we messed up, but I can't lose you, and if you think this was a mistake or you don't like me like that, I -"

The shadowsinger stared at me, and suddenly, his eyes brightened. Started to shine like amber held into the sun, and his shoulders sank like the tension of centuries had flooded from his body. His lips parted a little more as he stared at me, and suddenly, the shadow of a crease formed in his cheek.

"Push what away?"

Something started rising in my chest, fluttering wildly as Azriel's eyes pierced mine and the golden spots in his iris started to dance.

Azriel stared at me. Then he began to slowly walk towards me, iris bright and twinkling. My heart tipped and tilted, and I swallowed, my gaze darting around the room.

Rough fingers gently closed around my chin, and my breath got caught in my throat, simply stopping when Azriel mumbled: "No, no, come on, sweetheart." His thumb and forefinger gently forced me to look up, up until I met his eyes flickering over my face, his deep voice tickling my spine and something shifting through his gaze, careful, anxious, when he said softly: "Push what away?"

I felt my lips open, my heart pounding harshly against my ribs, and my brows arched on their own accord.

"Oh, come on; really?" My voice rose desperately, and in any other situation, it would have been hilarious.

"What do you want to hear; that kissing you made the fucking world stop? That you probably ruined me for every godsdamned male out there, because there's no way anyone could ever make me feel that way again? That I was too stupid to realise I've fallen for my best friend like a complete idiot, even though you make my heart beat out of my chest everytime you just look at me? That you're everything? Tha-"

Azriel leaned down, and the world tipped off its axis when he kissed me, his hand slipping to the nape of my neck to tug me closer, fingers tangling in my hair. Then he started to smile against my lips, slow and wide, and my breath caught when he dipped forward and kissed me deeper.

Digging my fingers into his sides, I tried to keep my heart from fluttering out of my chest as something rose so violently under my ribs, a soft sound broke from my throat when Azriel's tongue slid against mine, and a slightly shaking exhale left him.

Gently brushing his thumbs over the side of my neck, Azriel slowly pulled away, his nose nudging against mine when he mumbled roughly against my lips: "If it makes you feel any better, you definitely ruined me for everyone I'll ever meet."

A trembling breath left me, and I pulled my head back to stare up at Azriel, that flutter in my chest growing when I saw the light in his eyes when he stared back down at me.

"You -" My voice gave out, and one corner of Azriel's lips quirked a little.

"I?" His voice was a little hoarse as his eyes tracked over mine, and he swallowed softly. "Am in love with you."

My breath caught in my throat.

Azriel's eyes moved over my face, and I could feel a gentle exhale leaving him as his hands pulled me closer until I gently bumped into his chest and he dropped his head, staring at me, looking like he was trying not to swallow as he mumbled lowly: "I've loved you for as long as I can remember. And I'll probably still love you when we're nothing but dust under the sky. The only reason I didn't tell you sooner was that I was scared to lose you if you didn't feel the same."

I breathed out and closed my eyes as my heart rose in a wild flutter and a warm thrum built in my chest as my lips started to curve into a ridiculously wide, desperate smile. "We're so stupid."

I felt Azriel's soft huff more than I heard it. Then his breath brushed over my face, and the next second, his hands slipped under the underside of my thighs and lifted me up.

My legs locked around his waist like instinct, my breath hitching as I held onto his shoulders, and my heart skipped when my nose almost bumped into Azriel's, his eyes bright as he stared at me.

"Remember when you asked me how you're supposed to know what you're looking for and I said you just know?" His low, deep voice sent a shiver down my spine, and I swallowed and somehow managed a nod.

One corner of Azriel's lips curved, then he dropped his head, and my breath caught in my throat, my eyes fluttering close when he leaned his forehead against mine.

"I was thinking of you." Azriel's quiet voice vibrated over my skin. "Because you became all I ever wanted, all I could see when I realised you were what I had been looking for my whole life."

My fingers curled into his hair, and a soft sound left Azriel's lips the same moment my heart rose into my throat.

"Sappy,", I whispered, my voice breaking a little, and Azriel chuckled against my lips before he pulled back, and something tipped over in my chest at the way he stared at me.

I blinked before looking down at his arms holding me up, chest pressing into mine, and something rose under my ribs.

"Now what?"

Azriel's lips curved, and my heart stumbled and skipped at the way his golden eyes twinkled when he raised a brow.

"Now I'll take you back upstairs and we'll do some more things that will ruin just thinking about anybody else."

no. 10 - the golden rule: friends make their own rules.

(and occasionally realize they aren't friends at all and they're idiots.)

@waytoomanyteenagefeels @ailyr92

[just-some-random-blogger]

Curse Of Womanhood

Daemon's Version

It's simple really. Your husband wronged a witch and insulted her womanhood, and now he was cursed to bleed every moon with you.

Daemon Targaryen x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, cursed fem!daemon, mentions of miscarriage/menstruation, men being men/misogyny/objectifying, Otto 'that's kinda hot' Hightower, crack fic, i hate my husband club member!reader, typos, etc.

A/N: my brain is fried so have some fried rice aka this fic. also idk at what time this would be set in canon so were just going to roll with it ok? ok.

Tagging: @pinksirensong @aralezinspace @sloanexx @delicious-xx @deniixlovezelda @targaryenmoony @risefallrise @slavyanskiyahui @thebullship @sa3losa

The scream that left my mouth was immediately muffled by a hand covering it and what I recognized to be a string of High Valyrian curses.

My eyes widened as I looked at the woman. Her brows were furrowed, her jaw was clenched, her hair was undone, and she was clad in nothing but a loose dress shirt.

"It's me!" she whisper-yells, "you have to help me."

I yank her hand away and we begin to wrestle on the sheets. Her silver hair flies around, her bare thighs clash against mine. We struggle against each other for a moment, but I eventually manage to overpower her and subdue her by pushing her on her belly, ripping her arms behind her back.

I blow hair out of my face, "you ought to know I wrestle with my husband all the time."

"I am your husband!"

I scoff and scowl, "ahhhh. So this is his fucking idea. He sent a whore to keep me company while he's away."

The woman screams my name and demands to be released.

She whimpers when I pull her arms back forcefully, "watch your tongue, wench. My title is princess."

"Look at my scars!" she strangles out with a pained voice, "it's the same fucking scars I had as a man. Take my shirt off and-"

"Shut up!" I raise my brows in revulsion and disbelief, "GUARDS!"

She begins to sputter High Valyrian again and it makes me turn to her. I pull tight at her arms and she whines; her eyes begin to water.

"I took your maidenhead in your childhood bedroom!" she muffles against the sheets.

My jaw drops. I am mortified.

"I marked your neck so that your father would give you to me!" she cries.

My stomach churns.

"You told me to bring you back a sword when I returned!" she hisses, "and I said I'd stuff my sword down your throat if you touched yourself while I was away."

I gasp and release her when she says this.

She groans and slowly unravels her arms, "fucking bitch."

I crawl back and watch the woman sit up. Her violet eyes were glassy as she rubs her arms. I stared at her, examining the lines on her face, the curve of her nose, the cut of her cheeks. My face begins to twist, "who are you?"

She ceases rubbing her arms when she turns to me. My stomach drops. I knew those eyes.

She suddenly lunges at me, shoving me down on the bed. She shoves herself between my legs and pushes me down. She pins my hands together overhead with one hand. She rips my nightgown up and huffs, "I should remind you of you place, stupid girl."

My heart races at her words.

She gasps when she touches herself between her thighs. In an instant, she releases me and slowly pulls her hand up. She is mortified. Her eyes widen at the sight of red on her fingers, "I'm- I'm bleeding."

She topples back on her bum then looks down at the sheets. A blot of red was stamped beneath her, blood was dripping down her thighs.

The horrified sound she makes horrifies me as well.

"I'm bleeding!" she turns to me in panic.

I sit up and watch her cheeks get soaked in tears. I am deeply unsettled by her reaction. I mutter, "it's alright. It's normal-"

"THAT FUCKING WITCH CURSED ME INTO THIS GODFORSAKEN BODY!" she snaps, shaking her hands erratically. "I should have killed her," she sniffles roughly, "I shouldn't have spared her. She will pay for this!"

I flinch when she begins to wail and scream.

"Keep it down!" I grab her in panic.

"HOW CAN WHEN I HAVE A CUNT THAT'S BLEEDING!"

I grab her face and make her look at me, "you made no issue when my cunt was bleeding."

She freezes at the words. She looks at me and thinks. She eyes me with disdain, with anger, with offence, "that's different."

"How is that different?"

"You lost a child."

I rip away from her, feeling my heart leap into my throat. It really was him. No one but Daemon and I knew this. I whisper, "Daemon?"

She tenses then melts into defeat. She falls into me, forehead crashing onto my shoulder. I whimper as I pull her in for a hug. She reluctantly embraces me back.

"Daemon," I mutter.

"It's me," she snakes her arms around my form, "ziry iksos nyke, ñuha jorrāelagon." It's me, my love.

"Oh, my prince," I pull her in, "what have you done to yourself?"

Her arms tighten, "I am your prince. Please believe me."

I nod and brush her hair, "I believe you."

She nuzzles her face into my neck and begins to cry. We sink down onto the cushions and she finds herself between my legs again.

"What did you do to the witch, Daemon?"

She growls and sniffles, "I burned that cunt's village to the ground and made her watch."

"By the Seven, Daemon!" I try to look at her. She refuses to let me pull away.

"I'll burn her next."

"No!" I push her off, "we need to find her and make her undo her curse."

Daemon rips away and looks at me with bloodshot eyes. I feel uneasy with how she looked. There were traces of my husband, certainly, but it was so familiar yet so foreign. I mutter, "I will have Ser Harwin take us to wher-"

"Harwin?" she exclaims, "what need have we of that Strong moron? I will take us both to-"

"We are two women!" I grab her face, "two princesses," I raise a brow, "I will come with you to ensure your temper does not get the best of you, and Harwin will be there to ensure no one gets any ideas with us."

After nearly an hour of arguing, Daemon remembers I am the wife in this relationship and always get my way in the end.

All at once, we go to Harwin's quarters and wake him. I had asked my handmaiden for a dress and made Daemon wear it. Daemon fussed over how itchy it was, saying I should have just gotten one of my dresses for her, and how I didn't have to wrap her hair behind a headscarf. I told her to shut up and follow through with my precautions or else be a woman forever.

Harwin, Seven bless him, asked no questions other than where we had to go when I told him I needed an escort at that hour.

Daemon eyed him the entire way to the stables, declined his help when Harwin offered to help her up a horse, and rode between Harwin and I, unwilling to let me answer any of the questions he had, which, to be fair, were mostly about directions, and I did not know them at all.

To my horror, the moment we got there, the witch was waiting for us, grinning at the she-prince. Daemon was furious and lunged out of her horse, charging at the witch. Harwin immediately stopped Daemon when she very much tried to kill the sorcerer.

One thing led to another, the witch taunted Daemon, practically begging to be killed; Daemon got close to doing so, then the witch laughed and said her death would make the curse irreversible. Harwin managed to grab Dae-- Demi, my stupid handmaiden, and threw her over his shoulder.

I ended up doing the talking. As Harwin wrangled with blazing Demi, I begged the witch to fix my husband. She was moved by my desperation and devotion to my 'vile dragon of a husband'. She explained to me every curse had an expiration and Daemon's was on the next crescent moon. I paid her a hefty amount to convince her not to extend Daemon's curse.

Needless to say, Daemon was furious by how things ended.

That morning, I was met with a myriad of complaints and a wholehearted unwillingness from her-- from him, from my husband to comply with my plans to hide his identity. He didn't want to keep up appearances as a handmaiden and demanded to wear one of my dresses instead. The fool made me think of a way to make his idea plausible. I figured if we darkened his hair, I could pretend he-- she, gods, this was confusing, was a distant relative coming to visit.

For the most part it worked, no one questioned me about it, not even Ser Harwin, who was surely incredibly suspicious about Demi. But I knew him to be good at keeping secrets, which was why I always liked him. That, and well, he was rather strong. Daemon did not like that additional explanation when he asked why I trusted Harwin.

I knew the unquestioning nature most people had stemmed over the fact my word as princess could nary be questioned, but of course, there would be some that still questioned. And by some, I meant the Lord Hand, who would not let the sudden appearance of a distant relative of mine be left unnoted.

"Princess," Otto Hightower greets me as we cross each other's paths in the halls. I mask my annoyance over the encounter with a smile.

Daemon, who was standing beside me, squares up. I do my best to keep Otto's attention on me as I greet him back, but he rather instantly turns to Daemon, eyeing his dress, his dyed black hair, and his piercing violet eyes with far too much interest. Otto rakes my husband's form then nods, "my lady."

I hold back a face.

Daemon does not; his lips curl in disgust, "Hightower."

I shoot a glare at the woman. Daemon continues to try to burn Otto with his glare.

Otto looks at Daemon, top to bottom, with a raised brow, "I've not met many women of your stature. You are nearly as tall as I."

"I'm sure you've not met a lot of women in your lifetime."

"Daem-"I hiss but manage to stop myself. I turn to Otto, "pardon my cousin. She is not from here, and has learned to protect herself using her sharp-tongue."

Otto turns to me, "your cousin seems to be unaccustomed to the graces of King's Landing."

Daemon crosses his arms and sniggers. I cannot help but smack and eye him dirtily. Otto watches this closely. My husband turns to me, then back to Otto, "ah, yes. King's Landing is so unfamiliar to me. I fear I would get lost on my own."

Otto cannot help but rest his eyes on Daemon's chest, the exposed, soft flesh pushing up with how his arms were crossed. Daemon's face twitches when he notices it, then immediately unclasps his arms. He feels anger and embarrassment burn up his ears at the blatant ogling. Had the gaze been directed to his wife, he would have struck him, and yet the scrutiny on his she-body left him debilitated.

"The Keep is not that hard to navigate," Otto mutters, "if you ever lose your way, I am sure you will find many willing to help a lady such as yourself."

Daemon's insides burn, so he spits out the fire, "and would you ever help me, my lord?"

The level of disgust Daemon feels when he catches the subtle curve of Otto's lips is insurmountable. Lord Hand nods, "if you insist."

I cannot shake the chill that runs up my spine. I play it off by chuckling, "most generous of you, my lord. But I assure you, it will not come to that. I will not let my darling cousin out of my sight."

Otto turns to me, "a pity," he turns back to Daemon, "what was your name again?"

Daemon curses roughly in High Valyrian. It makes my heart leap into my mouth and I scramble to say, "Demi! Demi!"

"Demi," Otto tests the name on his tongue, "an uncommon name for an uncommon girl."

Daemon's eye twitches, "girl?"

"She is not from here!" I quip.

"As you've said once before, princess," Otto steps forward, "where are you from, Lady Demi?"

"Se trūmāje ripo hen nopāzma," Daemon steps forward. The deepest pit of hell.

I grab his arm, pulling him back. Unlike in his natural form, it was slightly easier to handle Daemon like this. He topples backward.

Otto tilts his head, "that's quite a name for a place. I've not heard it before."

My husband laughs, "trust me, my Lord-"

Otto and I are shocked at how Demi pats Otto's cheeks twice.

"-you'll find yourself going there soon enough."

I yank Daemon back again. Otto is stunned still in his spot. I quickly bid farewell to the Hand and reel us both out of that horrid conversation. I violently pinch the stupid woman beside me as we scurry down the halls.

[eldritch-spouse]

[The results of the poll came in, thenk you for voting! :]. Fem reader. You live in a house for this one. Sorry for the wait, it got longer than anticipated (4.7k).]

TW: Dubious consent (reader is somewhat scared); Altered states of mind; Heat/Rut.

It's the fifth time you've been dumped into this rat's nest today.

Breg is in heat, or rather, the earlier days of such.

You knew trouble was coming when you found the breeder laying on the kitchen tiles this morning, an overheated and overly sweaty body trying desperately to cool itself on freezing ceramic. He had panted like a dog under the blaze of a Summer evening and barely noticed your presence before excusing himself to make undignified noises in the bathroom. Showering, arguing with himself, jerking off? You didn't know, and you didn't care- You just wanted to eat something before any of this madness really kickstarted.

As you shoved toast in your mouth, slowly but definitely not calmly, you got to see the monster stress himself out, walking between rooms with various items in hand. It was almost funny, if you didn't know exactly what was coming. When his rut starts, Breg always behaves like a bear who forgot to stock food before hibernating. Oh but he didn't forget anything, the cabinets are full, and he learned to buy instant meals for you after the first couple of heats where you tried to explain to his fried brain that you can't just eat dead animals he plops in front of you. Nonetheless, you got to see him strip the couch of its cushions, struggle with dragging your mattress into a corner, fetching all the spare sheets, coats, towels and blankets he could find- For fuck's sake, he ripped the curtains off this time.

All to make a padded, crowded mess of your bedroom. It's always the bedroom with him, it smells like the two of you, so it does make sense, you bitterly suppose... You'd rather this than the uncomfortable bathroom.

You barely got to finish your coffee before a clammy, darkened hand had grasped your arm and you were not so gently tugged into the bedroom, to "evaluate" the mess your eccentric (putting it criminally lightly) boyfriend had made. Having gone through the motions of this charade more than once, you already knew the correct steps to make sure everything went well. Turning towards the muddled breeder, you kissed him and complimented his skills, calling the crime against your sanity he had just committed beautiful before physically stepping into it and sitting down.

Predictably, Breg let out an elated trill from deep within his throat and forced you to lie down, tangling you in a mess of warm fabrics before slotting himself above you protectively. Heavy as he is, the monster's weight was crushing, although you managed to nudge him aside when he dozed off above you. In this phase of his rut, you're not really sure if he's going to try to fuck you or just hold you and fall asleep, so there's some leeway to roam if you're sneaky about it.

It was when you were trapped under the monster's cocoon, sweating yourself into an early grave, that the doorbell rang and you realized something horrific.

You have a package outside.

God fucking damn it.

You were usually so careful with timing things perfectly, having the days where Breg was likely to start a heat jotted down in bright red ink on your calendar so that you'd never make plans for those days. You went as far as to orient a lot of your work life around his cycle, which is annoying, but at the very least possible. To think you were stupid enough to order something and not even care to check the estimated delivery date is pathetic. Maybe you did see it- But it didn't click in your brain what those days were.

Well shit, you had thought at the time, I can't just let it sit there.

And you were right. It was an expensive purchase. Brand new equipment, high-value tech for one of your favorite hobbies. It had been a costly sacrifice, and the specs were a rare find. The package itself isn't small enough to pass by unnoticed, you know one of your scummy neighbors can see if it they look twice at your doorstep. It could be stolen! It will be, if you don't fetch it eventually.

You had tried to stay still, knowing the monster in heat wouldn't take kindly to any perceived "escape attempts", but it was nerve-wracking. You're sure that package will be taken away if you don't get it fast. You can't lose it, can't lose all that money, that effort.

Your first attempt was a blunder, having moved too fast and woken Breg before you could even make it out the bedroom. By the second, you simply got unlucky and he woke by himself, fetching you back in a panic. On the third, you could spot signs of irritation, having been tossed to the nest none too gently and snarled at, fondled and groped and ground at until he had successfully put a gross mark on you. You'll admit the fourth incident was more of an attempt to get his musk off you than a dash for the package, but it got you barked at nonetheless, caught by the living room while Breg tried to slur out warnings, shaking you, hand around your neck while you were lead back into the bedroom. You know you hit a nerve with the fifth because his face disfigured for a moment.

But you can't give up.

This is too important to you. He can't understand it, but you need that fucking thing inside your home.

That's why you're up again, having weaseled out of his clumsy trap of coats. It's impressive he was coherent enough to use the sleeves to tie knots around you, but that's about where his expertise ends in this precarious state. You've played it safer this time, letting the breeder calm down, letting him tongue-bathe you -Gross- Feed you, let him fuck your thighs even. All just so his hormonal brain can forget you even tried to step out the nest. He's sleeping soundly, but you go through the effort of putting a shirt you recently wore next to the monster, hopefully to keep him lulled.

Breg shifts in his sleep, picking up on the scent and making weird murmurs before clutching at the fabric- As if it were you there. Almost cute, if not for the fact that you're really stressed.

Instead of walking across the house, you crawl, slow and measured to make sure not even the sound of your breathing could rise Breg. There's furniture askew, remotes and decorations on the floor from the previous times he fetched you in a hurry. Although you do your best to muffle your nerves, your arms shake with anxiety. Anything could make him stir awake, you can't ever run away from him, he could hurt you.

Perhaps it's because you're sheltered, or maybe you have too much faith in the breeder, you could just be stupid- But you weigh those odds against the pain of losing your expensive purchase and, in the end, decided you'd sooner twist an ankle than let it get stolen by a filthy porch pirate.

Reaching the front door is a milestone you smile brightly at. The problem comes when you glance at the keys. They'll jingle if you're not careful, the front door thankfully never creaks, but you know for a fact it makes a distinct click when it unlocks. Kneeling, arm outstretched, fingertips almost grazing the keys, you hesitate.

Should you...?

Maybe you should head back. Pretend you never left, snuggle up to him and just give it up for today. But then, this is only just the beginning, his instincts are only going to get worse from here on out. If you can't reach the package today, then it's pointless to even try your luck the following days! Right, this is no time to falter, you need to get it now.

With newfound resolve, an inkling of it at least, you hold the keys with both hands. One to make sure the others don't clink and clank, the other doing the actual turning. Slow like molasses, calculated, even the way you inhale and exhale is measured. On the last turn, you apply pressure and keep the grip on the key as firm as you can, trying to nudge the lock open gently enough to avoid that telltale click. Sucess! Soundlessly, you feel the door move, fully unlocked.

Yes!

The hardest part is over. Removing the keys from the door, you take great care when depositing them on the carpet. Specifically the carpet, to muffle any sort of faint jingling.

The weather outside is nice, but you're too preoccupied to consider something as simple as that. No, your eyes are locked onto your prize. There, only a couple of feet away, your package! Untouched, neatly arranged, perfectly fine as it should be. You nearly cry in relief, crawling outside, beyond caring if any of your neighbors see you like this- A disheveled, stinky mess wearing only a top and casual shorts on all fours.

When your hands wrap around the cardboard, it feels as if all is well in the world. You made it. You secured your purchase. You don't have to worry about anything else anymore, you can just head inside and-

VROOM

A car zooms past the street. You hear it before you see it pass. At first, you don't even think about it. After all, what could be meaningful about a stranger driving by in a hurry, right?

And then you realize your "boyfriend" is in a hypersensitive state with notoriously augmented hearing.

Ah.

Once more, you hear it before you see it.

A jarring thump thump thump THUMP. And a shiver crawls up your spine hard enough to make you freeze. Oh God. Clutching the stupid cardboard box like a lifeline, you glance upwards, towards the doorway, seeing none other than who you dread the most right now. Breg.

He's positively fuming. You're surprised there isn't literal steam coming off his body. Hunched, tense, but it's not the size of him that scares you. It's his face. His distorted, stretched out maw- Fully extended, gums visible, pushing those horrid teeth outward as he drools on the ground. You know, in spite of his lack of visible eyes, that Breg is glaring daggers at you, specifically.

A steady hissing fills your ears and you know it's over. You know you fucked up- Not directly, but you did. Because you left the door wide open and didn't account for the noise. You're a fool. The first thing your instincts tell you to do is rise and prepare to sprint, but the moment you sit straighter, Breg releases a chilling snarl, so you opt to fold further into yourself and remain utterly catatonic. Can he understand you still, through the haze of hormones? Would he grasp it if you apologized? Should you speak at all?

The choice is made for you.

You close your eyes the moment the ground shakes with his sprinting, choking on the collar of your shirt as you're physically dragged by it and picked up by the breeder. Where before Breg's hold had been more protective than anything, it's now oppressive, squeezing you to his chest, claws denting your meat. The proximity allows you to feel the bizarre bumps on his raised skin, frigid, yet coated by steaming sweat drops. You don't open your eyes until you're airborne for a very short period, falling face-first on the musk-heavy nest.

Breg slams the door to the bedroom shut and pants harshly, landing a fist to the wall several times. Each pound makes you jump and tense, huddling into yourself with tears in your eyes. Oh God what if he's had enough? What if he does that to you?! He makes an ambiguous roar and seems to slam his own head on the wall, but it doesn't crack or chip the infrastructure like his hand did.

You wonder if he's giving himself a concussion on purpose, for your sake.

" B-Breg? " Scared, gawking eyes plead with the breeder stationed at the wall. You note the attempts he makes at steadying his breathing, fruitless, as his chest continues to heave dramatically. What the fuck is happening anymore.

" Whah... "

Oh. He's trying to speak. Usually, he can still do it in the first day or so, this looks like it's an especially intense rut, because of course it is. That's just your amazing luck shining through. You wait patiently for the monster to come up with something in between his slurring mumbles.

" What isss wrong with you?! "

" H- Huh? " His words and voice are distorted by the shape of his extended jaw, shifting his mouth and tongue to make the proper sounds of the language you both speak becomes a challenge.

" WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?! " Breg bellows, turning around to face you properly. You resist the urge to crawl under the the mess of sheets and clothes.

" I- I just wanted to get the package. " You try, voice light and tone pleading, searching his face for any sort of recognition -A miracle epiphany that doesn't seem to be surfacing any moment soon- and finding nothing but growing confusion. Irritation.

" NO! " He shrieks, gesturing wildly as if you're the one missing an obvious point. " OUTSIDE. "

" Don't- Don't scream at me... "

He rolls his head, looking away, then back. " Outside- " He hisses, quieter at least. " Don't. Go. Out. "

It would just take one second. One second to get that box in and it would be over. Is it really that big of a sin? Breg starts moving upsettingly fast towards you, when an arm shoots out, you do what you usually have to when he's deep into his rut. Belly up, hands back, legs spread and neck bared. Good ol' trusty "please don't kill me".

It works.

The breeder's motions halt altogether and he seems to stare at you vapidly for a couple of static seconds. His jaw retracts a chunk, but his maw is still stretched, still that haunting grin. Good, he's distracted.

" ... You know you can't... Go outside. " He drools, to which you nod frantically. " Here is safe... Here is... "

You get to see the exact moment when hormones kill off just about any higher thought process in Breg. The monster shakes his head and crawls atop you, looking mildly bothered by the amount of clothes on your figure before lifting the hem of your shirt and burying his head underneath. Surprised, you can only giggle incredulously, feeling his humid hot breath fanning your stomach and chest. The breeder replies with an instinctual chirp and his breathing finally begins slowing down.

There, you think while slowly stroking his gross back, he's going to settle down, maybe hump a little and then fall asleep. Fool.

The monster stirs after a couple of comfortable moments, muttering something incoherent. He stands much too quickly and begins tugging you up as well, expression creased with what you think might be worry.

" What- What are you doing? " His grip on your wrist is uncomfortable when he starts walking out of the bedroom.

He spends his entire ruts making sure you stay in this room, now he's pulling you out? Geez, how many brain cells did he fry this time?

He only starts speaking after you tap him a couple of times. " Need to move! " He hisses, like you're particularly dumb. " ... Another cave. "

Cave...? Oh, the house. Yes.

You try to stand your ground, but given he's holding onto such a delicate part of you, it's not a good idea to pull. If he dislocates or fractures your wrist while in heat, there's no telling when you'd be able to reach a hospital- You can't risk that damage.

" But what's wrong with this one? " Really, you don't see what's wrong about the house for him to be fussing. You only have a couple of night lights on, the place is warm, there's food, he made his nest, what's missing? Is he getting pickier for no reason now?

" Not safe enough! " You're led to the living room while Breg has his weird freak out fit, glancing at the front door.

He must have shut it as he dragged you in, at least that. Unfortunately, your delivery remains outside. Though, in hindsight, if anyone saw that little stunt between you and the irate breeder, there's a pretty good chance they won't be ballsy enough to come fetch it. You certainly wouldn't be.

When it seems the rutting monster is determined to actually go outside, you start offering minimal resistance. Anything could happen with Breg in that state out and about, he could maim someone, he could force you to God knows where, he could fuck you in the streets openly- The scandal would follow you forever. A thousand yard stare settles on your face.

" B- But I think it is? " You have no cards to play with when dealing with a monster in rut. How can you logically counter his points when he's not thinking logically at all?

" NO. " Finally, he releases your wrist, now pacing restlessly, claws dragging over his own arms. He's clearly distressed and angered, but you don't know how to calm him without seemingly making it worse.

" YOU'LL RUN. " The breeder pauses to snarl pointedly in your direction, returning to barely coherent mumbling and frantic pacing shortly after.

Ah. So that's why he thinks it's not safe. Granted, you know damn well you put yourself in this spot. Now you'll have to weasel out of it.

" I- I won't. " Your shaky, tiny voice is extremely convincing, surely. " I p-promise! It- It's alright. "

Breg stops clawing at his arms, mumbling halted, his pacing ends with the monster right in front of you. His looming, tense figure has you fixed on the spot like an ant. Part of you wants to start bawling for help, another desperately wishes to reach out and soothe him.

" You- You liar... " He seethes, glancing between you and the door as you sweat bullets. " You WILL run! I know you will! YOU'LL LEAVE ME- "

His volume startles you again, beneath the anger he's showing, beneath those drooling teeth waaay too close to your face, there's genuine panic in his tone. Almost wheezing for a second. You're momentarily reminded that it's not just you who's at peril here. When Breg gets really aggravated, the way his metabolism kicks up several notches has consequences for him as well. This isn't good for anyone, and in your blindsided excitement about your purchase, you completely forgot that your failed attempts have only been stressing his already overloaded organism out more. Suddenly, a wave of guilt crushes your spirit.

There's not much time to wallow in it, because you're being grabbed. The lack of reaction must have upset the breeder, who's darkened arms clutch your own. " YOU'LL LEAVE. I can't let you leave- Can't let you go- Mates can't escape- YOU NEED ME. " Each rise in intensity has him jostling you back and forth.

Ooh boy, this is not looking good.

You consider opening your mouth to say something, try to appease him by whatever means necessary, but given all of your attempts have failed so far, what's the use? There's got to be another way...

...

"You need me"... Hm, maybe it's not so hopeless.

Keeping your gaze focused on the breeder, you know trying to slip away from his grasp is useless, but your intent is to reach down enough to grasp the hem of your shorts, quietly shimmying the cloth down. At first, the breeder doesn't realize why you're squirming, growling in warning at your perceived attitude, until he has the wit to glance towards the movement, watching you drop the fabric to your ankles and step out of it. His gaze is wholly fixated on your pussylips, a string of drool oozing from the side of his face to the floor. This secret smirk spreads on your face at the state you have him in, feeling mildly flattered even if you know how volatile he is right now.

In an effort to distract the male just a bit more, you part your legs a little, hearing him very clearly snort grossly, inhaling. His grip lessens ever so slightly, and you take advantage of it to start edging your now tattered shirt off. He barely twitches when his arms drop, squatting on the ground like some frog as he edges closer to your pussy, about to stuff his face on it most likely. His members steadily poke out that engorged slit, already soaked in their own precum, more than ready for anything.

Summoning all the bravery you have to stick to your possibly not very bright plan, you tense on the spot, allowing him but one second of calm, before hauling ass. Your goal is not the outside, not at all, you're actually sprinting the way you came from, teeth grit with nerves.

Predictably, it's a very short dash, Breg darted after you not even a second later, hot on your tail enough to physically crash against you on the way inside the bedroom and effectively throwing you onto the nest. You're getting really tired of landing face-down on this thing... But it's exactly what you wanted. Because when the breeder looms over you, hips instinctively slotted against yours, his hand keeping your head still, you get to turn things on their head before he can bark at you.

Quickly, you bump your bare ass against his cocks, making sure to grind and sway like you're the one in heat. You can feel the startling temperature of them on your skin, spreading their slick and his scent on you in a way that makes shivers ripple through you. The movement apparently startles Breg's already muddled brain into stillness again, you can tell he's probably very confused, ping-ponging between irritation and delight.

" Hah, guess you caught me again... " You bullshit, arching your spine beneath the monster as much as you can and bumping harder against him. Breg shudders. " So, will you do something about it this time, or do I have to keep running until my mate fucks me hard? "

Please buy it please buy it holy shit-

There's a chuff above you, you're positive he understood the words perfectly when he makes an excited crooning trill that tapers off into a chirp. He pushes his dicks onto you in response and you know it worked flawlessly the moment he dips to lick from your neck upwards. Good, this is good. Not optimal, but better than getting tossed outside.

The key to making him forget about your stunts is to convince the breeder it was all a sort of "challenge", and to do such, you'll have to keep up this attitude. Sloppy rutting turns into pushing yourself onto him when Breg poorly lines one of his dribbling cocks against your pussy. Having been through this song and dance before, you don't let him get any ideas regarding his twin length, awkwardly reaching beneath you to grasp and gently stroke at whatever parts you could reach.

He's thrilled, but your taste of control is short-lived as soon as he can sheathe himself inside you. It's a stretch, lord knows it always is with him, but he's excited this time, ramming himself. If he wasn't leaking lubrication like a broken faucet, you probably would have gotten hurt. As is, you only scream in surprise, fisting the sheets and ripped curtains beneath you. He moans, low and loud, a cry of pure animal relief. And, perhaps to your chagrin, fulfills your request.

" Hhrk-! "

Not a single second of mercy is spared your way. Breg doesn't care to build you up, his goal is one thing and one thing only, to fuck his cocktease of a mate full of his hatchlings, a fruitless effort. Not that it's ever stopped him from trying, you often get the feeling he desperately thinks he can will a pregnancy into existence, even outside of heat.

The monster on top of you is fast and ruthless, all self-serving thrusts kissing deep into your cunt while his spare cock twitches and occasionally slaps against your mound. It's a far cry from how he usually behaves, obviously, but the novelty of getting the breath quite literally fucked out of you never seems to wear off. Thighs shaking, you can't muster the composure to buck against him very aptly, body wracked with intense waves of pleasurable heat every time the somewhat more pronounced ridges of his fattened girth drag on that spot -Oh, that little spot- That has you sobbing soundlessly. In reality, Breg isn't making any efforts to offer you much, if any, pleasure, but it'd be impossible not to brush against something nice every now and then with this pace. Being used like a favored, dirty little cocksock, all you can do is grit your teeth and try not to drool as much as the monster making a puddle of your neck and hair.

Apparently, Breg begins to get annoyed by the way you'll bounce forward a little too far for his tastes, rumbling. It's really not your fault there's so much horsepower behind those legs, but you'll admit you don't like getting delicious friction disrupted too much either. The monster readjusts, an arm snakes beneath to grab your neck, grip firm but not squeezing, the other captures your right hand under his, your thighs are nudged closer together to trap his unattended dick and finally- Bold teeth latch onto the skin on the back of your neck.

He's done this before, in controlled settings however. You don't think it's a particularly good idea to let Breg's currently sharpened teeth around your neck for long periods of time, so really, the faster he cums, the less danger you're in. It's difficult to think about much of anything when the rutting breeder's pace resumes, this time not as deep but fast enough to make your vision blur, the smack of skin on skin and frantic shared panting putting you in a trance. God, he fucking stinks like this, you can't escape the smell, ever, it's on you now. He growls and occasionally clips out short moans in response to your helpless flexing around his wet cock, surprising you with another chirp.

Ah, precisely. There's something you can use!

Knowing full well you've never been good at it, you cough to clear your throat before attempting, quite poorly, to imitate the sound. You do it twice for good measure, immediately rewarded with an enthusiastic, hard grind that lifts you ever so slightly off the nest while Breg makes a keening sound that melts into a more complex trill. Your eyes roll and you feel yourself cumming hard around him, grunting at the sudden pleasure. Fuck, how do you make that one? He clearly loves it, you have to at least try. Drunk on the afterglow of your orgasm, you let out a series of vaguely similar whistling clicks, not really sure what you're transmitting to the breeder, or caring really.

The monster's hold of your neck tightens enough to make you wince, though the vibrations of his muffled moaning are shamefully arousing as his next series of hard pounds nearly jostle the few contents of your stomach. You know he's cumming when claws dart to hold your hips perfectly still and his head drops on yours, braying out a shameless noise that devolves into harsh puffing and gasping. Naturally, the cock nestled between your now sticky thighs coats your front and the sheets in a stupid amount of pearly cum, making you whine at the feeling while your womb tries to accommodate as much of the other's load as possible- What it inevitably fails to hold having no choice but to ooze and squeeze out, dripping to your front as well.

Long moments pass, though the shaking of your legs only grows, causing Breg to flip you both on your sides before he ends up crushing you. it's gross, you're laying on a small pool of warm seed while he plugs you happily, glancing up to see him smile happily at you through the haze of hormones. Contented and calm, the ideal state. You don't struggle or react much when the male predictably reaches to start tongue-bathing your upper body, merely grimacing at the scent of excess saliva.

Just to make sure things are even and smoothed out between you, you turn slightly, placing a peck on that long neck and chastely licking him back. There's no way you're going to groom him in this gross state, but it appears to be rewarding enough, his tail swatting around violently.

" ... Angel. " He mumbles, head nuzzling yours lazily. " My angel... "

Crisis averted.

[treedaddymcpuffpuff]

Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen

TW: nsfw, angst

You wake up to the smell of bacon, coffee, and something sweet in the skillet.

Usually such a thing would mean you are dreaming, and you need to wake your ass up before you’re late for work. But you roll over to look into your tiny kitchen, finding a sight fit for Playgirl Magazine before your disbelieving eyes.

Dear Penthouse, I can’t believe this actually happened to me…

Detective Tom Ludlow is in your kitchen, making pancakes…in nothing but a towel around his trim waist. His dark hair is combed back, still wet from the shower. His broad shoulders are something to write home about–Kansas farm boys had nothing on this beautiful specimen of masculinity.

Had the night before even been real?

As though he senses your return to consciousness–or maybe the weight of your gawker’s stare upon him–he turns to look at you. “Morning, beautiful.”

You blink with surprise, because he is talking to you.

“Hi,” you greet, clever as ever, and goddammit but are you blushing?

“Whacha looking at?” he teases, spatula in hand. The very picture of domestic bliss. God help you, but in that moment you were 300 percent ready to put a ring on this man.

“Just…the most best thing I’ve ever seen,” you admit, knowing you’ll kick yourself for it later.

However, the smile he pays you, smug yet somehow gentle–it fries your brain entirely.

“Likewise, sweetheart.” He crosses the short space with a few long strides to press his lips to yours. “You like pancakes with blueberries?”

You’d bought the ingredients–and promptly stuck them in the cupboards–for just such a purpose, thinking that someday, when you had time, and weren’t bone fucking tired from working 12 hour shifts days in a row, you’d make a point to treat yourself.

Funny, how that never happened, until Tom Ludlow came around.

Here you are, getting emotional about blueberry fucking pancakes.

“Yes,” is the only answer you can muster, and he kisses you so sweetly that it curls your toes.

His soft smile down at you will be the death of you. “Sleep well?”

“Like a well-fucked rock,” you tell him, winning a bark of masculine laughter. 

“Likewise, beautiful. Definitely likewise.” He vacates the couch to flip his pancake. You continue to stare, still dumbfounded.

“Tom?” you ask, still struggling to wake up.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Did last night…actually happen?”

“Sure did. Don’t you remember driving to Vegas? We got the best Elvis in the building.”

You blink stupidly for a few moments, before registering his absolutely shit-eating grin.

“Very funny. And the joke would be on you, if you married me on a drunken lark.”

“Why?” he asks, seemingly amused by your discomfort.

“I told you. I’m a fucking mess.”

“Far as I can tell? You’re fucking perfect, and I’ll fight anyone who says otherwise.” 

You’re not really sure why this pithy little compliment brings tears to your eyes, your lip quivering. Only a beat later does he notice, and he rushes over again.

“Hey, hey, no crying, baby, I’m sorry. What’s wrong? I was just joking.”

You swipe at your eyes with the heels of your hands, embarrassed. “You’re just..so sweet, and I actually fucking believe you, when you say this shit, ok?”

He blinks, but god bless, it only takes him a moment to assess, and act. He presses his soft lips to yours, then his forehead to your forehead, as though he can will you to accept his declarations through osmosis. “Believe it,” he tells you. “It’s true…well. Not the Elvis bit. We can do that next weekend if you want.”

You know he’s joking…but it still doesn’t fail to utterly melt your insides. This man who manhandled and harrassed you has turned out to be the biggest fucking softy, and you just might lose your shit.

You’ve already cried in front of him too many times, though, so you play it off and act like what he’s saying is no big deal. “Really? I think I’d rather have Michael Jackson instead.” 

You wonder if he misses being married. If he fucked his wife like he’d fucked you last night…you can’t fathom stepping out on him. But then you also know, that sometimes cops can also be married to their jobs. It could make for a difficult threesome. You imagine going without him, while he was working an intense case, would be absolute hell.

Tom snorts. “Whatever floats my lady’s boat,” he answers, flipping another pancake onto the stack. He ports them to the table with a flourish. “Come eat, sweet girl. You gotta work today?”

“Later. Unfortunately.”

He sticks his full lip out in a pout that should be illegal on a grown ass man. “Then eat quickly, because I’m not done with you yet.” he informs you with a wicked smirk that causes a brand new flood between your already sticky thighs. 

He turns, that broad, tapered back on full display, to finish plating breakfast, and you can’t not watch the tight muscle in his butt shift in the thin towel. You get this sudden strange urge to sink your teeth into him and latch on, and wonder if ancient cavewomen bit their partners to lay claims. Because that’s what Tom Ludlow works on—the part of your spongy brain that developed before speech and theory—the part that wants to bite and howl. 

Evolution is a bitch. 

Oh no, he can cook. And cook good. The pancakes he sets in front of you, drizzled with honey and topped with fresh blueberries, taste like a fluffy heaven in your mouth. Even the coffee is splendid, done up blonde and sugary just the way you prefer. “Tom, damn,” you compliment between mouthfuls. “You went out to get blueberries?” It’s selfish, but the thought of him leaving you alone even to run out and grab something for you makes your insides twist uncomfortably. 

“Oh, no, I borrowed some from your neighbor.” 

Of course at that moment you have an entire mouthful of coffee that you almost spray on his bare, beautiful chest. “What?!” 

He adopts a bemused smile. “Very nice lady.”

“Please tell me you had more than just a towel on?” 

“Less, actually.” 

He bursts into laughter and the astonished look on your face. 

“I’m gonna kick your ass, Ludlow.” 

“She asked me something really interesting.” He wipes a little honey off your top lip and sucks it into his mouth, making you dumb enough to forget you’re annoyed. “She asked me if I’m the nightmare?” 

“I have no idea what she’s talking about.”

“You are a terrible little liar, you know that? I can see your tell from a mile away.” 

“Oh, what is it?” You smirk, shove a bite of pancake into your mouth. 

“You’re lucky I’m hungry,” he threatens, playful and promising, sending a thrill through your chest. 

You grab a glob of honey on your finger and kitten lick it off, almost bold enough to make direct eye contact with him for more than five seconds while you’re doing it. “Or what?” 

He pops up from his seat, and your first instinct is run. Run away. You make it two steps before he has you grabbed around the waist and is dragging you back to his place at the table. 

Your squeals of nervous laughter crescendo into a moan when he pulls you down onto his big cock. It surprises you as much as it did last night, how well he fills and stretches you. Not a piece of your fluttery hole unpunished by his silky, maddening pressure. You immediately grind, eager for that pressure to shift and rub and build you, but he stills you with a mitt on your waist. 

Then his big hands bunch in the ruffled fabric of your sundress, which somehow you never managed to remove amidst both of your eagerness to get to other parts of you instead. Slowly he draws it up over your head, tossing it away somewhere across the room. Before you can even begin to think about feeling self conscious he makes a low sound of appreciation behind you, running his hands down your curves. 

“So fucking beautiful. I just wanna stay inside this pretty little pussy all day,” he tells you, smoothing his wet tongue across your shoulder. You arch into him, and he nips your skin for the retaliation. “Feel her throb while I tell you what I wanna do to her. Jesus, you’re soaked.” 

You try to squeeze your thighs together for precious friction on your clit, but he tugs them back open, chuckling at the pathetic attempt. “You wanna fuck yourself, baby?”

“Yes. Fu-uhck.” 

“Want me to pet that pretty clit while you ride me?” He kisses up your neck, into your hairline, tugs your ear between his teeth and you see white fire. 

“Yes, Tom. Yes. Please.” 

“Then eat your breakfast.” 

It’s impossible to focus on the delicious food anymore. The chunks of stuff getting forked into your mouth are no match for the small taste of him. It isn’t long before he’s done with silverware and hand feeding you, making you lick and suck his sticky fingers clean. 

“Atta girl. Keeping me all warm and cozy.” His mouth traces circles on your upper back that make you twitch and gasp while his heavy pointer and index finger rest on your tongue, sweet and salty-pleasure and pain-the desire to move trumping all of it. 

When his fingers trail up your side and land on your nipple, rolling and pinching, you clench your thighs shut again. He grunts at you, although you think it was meant to be a sound of disapproval before you clenched deliberately on his cock. 

“You want to cum?” 

“Yessss.” 

“Then open your legs back up.” 

You obey with a groan of frustration, widening your hips so that the tantalizing pressure is off your throbbing clit. That means all you can focus on is having him inside you, and that would be great if he would just fucking thrust. 

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He grabs your hips to hold you in place. “You’re busy.” 

“Could be important,” you say. 

“More important than this?” He grinds up, into your cervix, into all the sensitive soaked walls of your cunt, and the answer to his question is no. Absolutely not. There is nothing more important than him or his cock. 

“Tom,” you hiss. 

He sighs. “Alright. I’ll get it. Get dressed.” 

How empty you feel, when you slide off of his cock as you stand on trembling legs. He halts your progress by gripping your hips, pressing his mouth to the curve of your buttocks. You forget about the door, and everything else, turning in his arms so that he can bury his face in your cleavage. “These beautiful–” He kisses one breast cupped in his hand, “Naughty,” a kiss for the other, just beside your nipple, the tease, “titties are in so much trouble.” He sucks on your perked nipple with a pop, making you cry out. 

Knock knock knock.

“Someone’s fucking determined,” he grumbles against your skin. 

Reluctantly you manage to pull away from him, and you remember this state of the art technology in your door called a peephole. Naked as a jaybird, you peer through the tiny lens–and gasp at the sight on the other side.

This clearly interests Tom, his head canting at an angle in question. You shake your head, just knowing a perfect storm is brewing. “It’s no one. Ignore it,” you say quietly, hoping they don’t hear you on the other side, praying they have the sense to go away. You try to distract Tom again with kisses and by trying to pull him towards the bedroom, but dammit this man is solid as a fucking tree when he doesn’t want to move.

“Who is it?” he asks with a lifted brow.

Knock knock. “Y/n? I know you’re home.”

Goddammit.

What can only be described as a wicked grin spreads over Tom’s handsome features. “Oh. Let’s say hello, shall we?” 

[alsktudy]

— kimchi fried rice

» husband!soonyoung x wife!reader

» fluff ☁️, nonidol!au, office worker soonyoung, soonyoung hates his job, reader and soonyoung are trying for a baby!! HUSBANDHOSHI. HUSBANDHOSH. HOSHI AS UR HUSBAND

» warnings: talk about having children and financial issues

» w.c: 0.6k

» a/n: hoshi, can i I CAN be your wife. also my econs brain kinda switched on for this and omg husband hoshi husband hoshi HUSBAND. HOSHI. also im so glad alot of you enjoyed strawberries and whines, i was really nervous posting it :) interactions are appreciated 🤍

i love my job is what soonyoung would say if he was lying.

why he chose marketing as a career path... well, he doesn’t know himself. all he knows is that there’s two more minutes until he can go home, shower, eat, lie down and most importantly, see you, his wonderful wife.

usually, he’s not at the office this late, but his boss asked him if he could take a few extra hours for the team for a little pay rise for about a month.

at first he said no, i mean, why would he accept? he hated his job enough, extra hours added to the already long day of sitting behind a desk was torture, but then you reminded him about your future children.

before he was approached about the extra hours, you and soonyoung decided talk about children and stumbled upon the issue about finance.

its not like you were struggling to meet the rent or struggling to buy the groceries - you two pulled through quite well considering the current rate of inflation. but you both agreed that the money that you both currently had wasn’t enough to raise another human being. plus, soonyoung mentioned how he wanted to spoil his kids with cute little onesies (tiger ones) and baby shoes, but, he couldn’t spoil your kids responsibly if there was barely any money to spend.

so he reluctantly agreed and decided to work for 3 extra hours, for you and your future little ones.

—

another reason why he hated his job is that it was so far away from home. on his normal hours, when he got back from work you’d be awake doing whatever random things you decided to do. but ever since he took those extra hours, he often goes back home to a dimly lit apartment, seeing you asleep on the bed, gripping your phone while it plays a youtube video.

he doesn’t wake you up, and he never does. all he does is carefully slip your phone out of your hands, places it on your bedside table, has the quickest shower of his life, heats up whatever leftovers are in the fridge and quietly eats alone.

that's why he didn’t expect so see you running towards the door with your arms wide open when he tried enter as slowly and quietly as he could.

you yell his name excitedly and wrap your arms around him, nuzzling your head onto his chest. his eyes widen as he is still yet to process that his wife is hugging him, when she’s usually asleep. i mean, not that he’s complaining.

he is quick to engulf his wife who he missed into his arms and tightens his grip around you until he smells something familiar. you look up to see his rather confused face turn into a wide-eyed smile.

“is that… kimchi?” he says smiling looking down at you, as if he couldn’t smile more.

you nod your head quickly and correct him by adding the, “fried rice.” then you’re suddenly picked up off the ground and spun around by your sweaty and sticky husband.

he places you down before you begin to comment on his stench. “please shower before we eat though, you smell absolutely horrendous. you literally sit at a desk for hours… how can you even get this smelly?”

he shrugs in reply as he sneaks in a quick taste of the fresh kimchi fried rice that you made. as he scoops the rice into his mouth, he hears you yell at him, “soonyoung, shower now!”

‘she’ll be a great mother’ he smiles cheekily at the thought as you chase him around the kitchen island, spoon hanging out of his mouth.

[angeliqueiguess]

“Focus!” (j.jh)

015. contract? warnings: swearing, kind of short (srry in advance, studying gives me writers block)

Friday was dragging on, and for Y/n, every second felt like torture. She walked through the hallways of the building with Ten, venting her frustrations. ''Seriously, I run into him everywhere'' said Y/n, tossing him a knowing look.

''You’ve gotta stop giving it so much importance. How many times have I told you that? You still haven’t learned, have you?''

''Yeah, yeah, I know...'' Y/n groaned. ''But every time he walks past me, he huffs like I'm bothering him just by existing. And, I swear, it makes me wanna spin his head like in The Exorcist.'' She said it so deadpan that Ten burst out laughing.

''Sorry! It’s just... you said it with such a straight face, I couldn’t help it.''

''Alright, enough'' she muttered, rolling her eyes ''I just don’t get why he’s wandering around the building all the time. The only thing he needs to do is show up for the photos and leave. That’s literally it.''

They kept walking until they reached their office. Y/n stopped and turned to Ten. ''Oh, and remember, Ash is coming in...'' she checked her watch. ''In about two hours. We need everything set up by then so we can go over the plan, mkay?''

''Yes, ma’am.'' Ten straightened up with an exaggerated salute, making her snicker. She reached for the doorknob, but the door wouldn’t budge.

''Ugh, this fucking lock! I swear it’s out to get me'' she grumbled, twisting and pulling the handle to no avail ''No... not again.''

After a bit of struggling, the door finally clicked open.

''Okay, seriously, I need to get this shit fixed...'' she muttered with a half-smile. But before she could say anything else, a familiar voice cut through the moment.

''Yeah, you should fix it. Don’t you think?'' Y/n froze on the spot. Standing right in front of her was Jaehyun, calm as ever. He looked at her briefly, then added, almost casually: ''And, by the way... in case you didn’t know, Im kinda sealing a deal with your brother, that's why im roaming aroung as you say.''

Without waiting for a response, Jaehyun turned and walked off, leaving Y/n and Ten standing there, too stunned to speak. After a beat, Ten turned to her ''Girl... we’re so fucked.''

Ten opened the door and found Y/n looking at him with eager anticipation. She hurried inside.

''Come on, spill the tea!'' Y/n said, grabbing Ten by the shoulders and lowering her voice since there were staff members wandering around.

''I overheard Ash and Jaehyun talking'' he paused, and Y/n raised an eyebrow ''Ash was laughing about something Jaehyun said, and it was loud enough that I thought everyone in the building would hear'' Ten continued, waving to a passing staff member.

''And then what?'' Y/n asked, clearly interested.

''Then Jaehyun hugged her, like, by the shoulders and whispered something in her ear, but I couldn’t catch it'' Ten said, mimicking the scene, which made Y/n frown. ''And that was it.''

''Seriously, Ten, if you were sent to rob a house, you’d probably knock on the door first'' Y/n joked, smacking her forehead in mock frustration.

''What do you want me to do? I can’t just creep around and spy on them!'' Ten protested, but before Y/n could respond, someone called out.

''Hey! Y/n, how have you been? Long time, no see!'' It was Ash, who rushed over and pulled Y/n into a tight hug. Y/n felt a bit awkward at Ash's enthusiastic greeting because she was really calm and collected, y/n hugged her back, stealing a glance at Ten, who looked just as baffled. Ash pulled away and grabbed Y/n’s hands. ''I’m so excited to work with you again!'' she exclaimed, and without waiting for a reply, turned and dashed off, leaving Y/n with a mix of confusion and amusement.

''What the fuck'' mouthed Y/n looking at Ten who had the same confused expression.

---

prev//next masterlist.

Angie's note: sorry in advance for this shitty chapter (my brain is fried from studying) hope you liked it and dw, i'll update again in a few hours <3 love u! don't forget to take care of yourselves and drink tons of water <3<3

Taglist: @apolloxxivmin @milanco @sibwol @neocupidd @minkyuncutie @miniature-tragedy @tenjyucat @aerivrs @chan-yeoldelling @cryingforjae @kukkurookkoo @kodasity @injunnie-lemon @thegracerammy @livingdoll-hara

[fanta2y]

Quiet Moments

omg guyss its another yuuji fic teehee i am very much obsessed with him at the moment, and his character is just super fun to write and dive into !! hopefully you guys think this is accurate! and if you guys couldn't tell this is DEFINITELY inspired by that one tiktok audio (ifykyk)

@archive-network ( hmm what could this possibly be ??? )

cw: none

word count: 1k

His arms were warm around you, his face nuzzling into your neck as you both laid in bed. A comfortable silence settled over you. You could feel his breath cascading down your neck, could almost hear his heartbeat as it beat against you. The simple reassurance that he was still alive was enough to bring an almost sad smile to your lips. 

After everything you both had been through these past couple of weeks, with the death of friends and mentors, the constant battles that made your hands never really stop shaking. It was these small moments of just breathing in each others company that helped soothe the aching in your bones. 

“You know I had a weird dream the other day.” Yuuji whispered into your shoulder. You giggled at him, humming a questioning tune to let him continue telling you about this weird dream of his. 

“We were condiments.” He said simply, his voice deadly serious. It made you choke on your own spit, sending you into a coughing fit while simultaneously laughing. He chuckled away beside you as you tried to regain your breath. 

“Yuuji, what the hell?” You turned in his hold to look at his face, his eyes gleaming with mischief and amusement at your reaction. You rolled your eyes at him, playfully pushing his shoulder. 

“No seriously!” He doubled down, his voice pitching up in almost a whining way as he tugged you even closer into his embrace. You didn’t think you two could get much closer, having practically every revealed piece of skin touching one another. 

In any other situation, you would be complaining about being too hot. You naturally ran a bit hotter than normal, so cuddling was something you reserved for very cold nights. But recently, you pushed through the heat that seemed to consume you just to feel his flesh on yours. 

“Well what condiments were we?” You asked, humoring him and his filterless thoughts. It was endearing hearing him think aloud when he was around you, letting himself just fully relax in your presence made your heart soar. 

“I dont….really remember.” He contemplated, his eyebrows furrowing as he attempted to think back into dream land. You watched with amusement dancing across your features. 

“Your definitely ketchup.” You replied suddenly, nodding your head, overdramatisizing the thoughtful look on your face as you gave him a fake once over. He was startled at your sudden confession, a smile tugging on his lips as he looks at you.

“Why ketchup?” He muses, returning to his spot between your neck and your shoulder. Leaving soft kisses in his wake. You shiver under his minstrations, causing him to smile against your skin. A giddy giggle leaving him as his eyes meet your again, loving adoration swirling within the honey brown. 

It makes your heart skip a beat, your brain short circuting and you struggle to find the words to answer his silly questions with your even sillier reasonings. 

“Ketchup goes with everything. But like everyone likes it best with fries, of course.” 

“I dont know I like it more with chicken.” 

“Yuuji- anyway…so like I’m the fries to your ketchup.” 

He pauses, the whole conversation feeling silly and a grateful the distraction from everything else swirling around in his mind. But he could read the confession deep within the metaphor and the silly analogy. 

It made his cheeks heat up and made him want to squeeze you even closer, pinch your cheeks under his fingers and babble about how cute his girlfriend was. 

And thats exactly what he did. 

You attempted to swat his hand away, already knowing what was coming just from the look in his eyes. But you, of course, were unsuccessful. Your cheeks now pinched, almost painfully, under his grip as he spoke to you like you were a small animal. 

Although you tried to seem like it was annoying, and that you didn’t like the attention he gave to you like this. Both of you knew it was just an act you put on to keep some semblance of your dignity in tact. 

After he frees your face from his fingers, you go back to being entangled into eachother. Legs intertwining, your head resting on his chest. Listening to his slow, calming heartbeat. It almost lulls you to sleep. 

“What condiment am I?” You ask him, peering up at him through your eyelashes. 

He paused for a second, thinking it over. His mind filtering through all of the condiments he knew in his head with an almost laughable amount of seriousness. 

“Mayonnaise.” He blurted after a long period of silence. You raised your eyebrows, a bit confused on the choice. 

“Why mayonnaise?” You questioned, your hands slowly moving up to entangle themselves in his pink locks. You gently tugged on the knots that formed over days of not having time to brush them out, little piece of rock and gravel still sticking onto certain pieces. 

His eyes fluttered shut at the calming feeling of your hands carding through his har, your gentle fingers sending soothing tingles down his spine. He hums, his thoughts effectively turning into mush the second your hands go anywhere close to his hair. You like to joke and call it his ‘off button’. But it really was the truth, the second your hands touched his hair he practically melted into you. His brain basically shutting down. 

“Well because…its like…” He swallowed, trying to fight through the exhausted fog that now crept into his minds. Your hands lulling him into a relaxed state where he could just fall straight to sleep in your arms. And hes sure he would have the best sleep of his life right here. With you to protect him from all the bad dreams.

“Mayo is a underrated condiment, and only certain people truly understand its greatness.” His voice was soft now, taking a gravely hint due to the sleepiness that crawled up his throat. His eyes still blissfully closed as you continued playing with his hair. 

You laughed softly at his explanation, shaking your head at him. A blush appearing on your cheeks at his sweet words. You felt his breaths even out as slept took him away, leaning down to kiss his forehead gently. Murmuring your goodnights to him as you laid back on the pillows behind you both. 

With a soft smile on your face you closed you eyes and dreamed of better days. It was moments like these that made everything worth it. 

authors note: omg thank you guys for all the love on the little sukuna drabble i posted i did not think yall were gonna eat it up they way yall did im blushingggg :)) but i hope you guys enjoy this and thank you so much for readingg !! as always, reblogs and comments are appreciated <3

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Smoker after the first seeing Lucky post-time skip:

He’s floored and the only reason he didn’t blow his cover as a yandere is cause he GENUINELY just stopped functioning. He just stood there in shock cause “it was NOT this bad before what the fuck happened??” And Lucky got away.

It genuinely takes the wind out of him. Before the timeskip, he was very much in denial about how down bad he was. He's just concerned that she's an innocent civilian being mixed up with pirates, that's definitely it! And, well, he'll also have to keep her under his care afterwards because of how dangerous the Straw Hats are. Now, though? It's impossible to deny how badly he wants her for himself and how little it really has to do with "saving" her.

I may as well talk about how the other pre-timeskip suitors handle the change.

Buggy's brain straight up short circuits. The increased affection fries his brain so hard that he fully forgets that they never actually got married, and he starts referring to Lucky as his wife. That must be why he suddenly feels so much stronger about her! They're in their honeymoon phase!

Kaku was already head over heels for her before, now it's borderline suffocating. He can't think about anything that isn't her and their future together. The once mostly innocent love letters he would send become notably more unhinged. He goes into great detail about how he envisions their lives together as a couple, what their home will look like when he can finally make it so they aren't being pursued, and of course he has to talk about what names he loves most for their future children and how he'd like to decorate the nursery.

Paulie wants to kick his own ass for how hard he's ogling Lucky post-timeskip. For once, he looks at a woman, feels a certain way about, and then asks if he's the problem. It's one thing to have the hots for someone but this feels ridiculous! The shame turns to an overprotective panic as it dawns on him that if he feels this way, others must, too. He's now all the more determined to hide her away from everyone else in the world.

Iceburg has lost all subtlety. The letters they were exchanging before had a sort of tongue-in-cheek playful banter going on, but now it's much more direct. No more 'it sure would be nice to have you here', now it's 'you are going to come back to Water 7 pack your bags already'. The occasional gifts he would send grow into a constant stream. He becomes much more encouraging of Paulie to go get her. Granted, getting her away from Paulie will be its own struggle, but he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

Law is taking it very much the same as Smoker, except he goes as far as to take out his own heart to examine it because what the fuck is happening to it right now? He already had a budding fondness, but now all he can think about is locking her in the Polar Tang and throwing away the key.

Kid feels like he got hit by a god damn cannon. At first, his desire to keep her around was based more on possessiveness than anything else, but after seeing her again post-timeskip, he has this instant realization of 'oh no, I LOVE her'. He won't vocalize this, but there is now a noticeable effort on his part to genuinely win her over rather than just keep her against her will.

[writing-whump]

The reveal

The long awaited reveal of the truth. Hector and Arnie find out about Isaiah from their father. Hector stress sick as hell.

"Are you entirely sure you don't want to come?"

Arnie shook his head for what felt like the billionth time. "I'm sure. I told you, I'm sick."

Hector gave him a sceptical look. "Sure you are not just pretending to get out of the meeting with dad?"

Arnie sighed dramatically. "No. I have a fever, my nose feels all clogged up. I'm gonna take an easy day. You have fun."

Technically speaking, Arnie didn't feel any desire to meet their father. It was an annual internal Wolfson pack meeting, but this was the first time in 6 years their father would be attending.

Hector was admittedly excited. Arnie didn't know what about, a guy who didn't think of them for 6 years and ignored Arnie specially for another 6 years before didn't seem much worthy of attention.

There were two people to choose from to blame for the whole of their family falling apart. Arnie would choose their father where Hector would Isaiah.

It was 50:50. One of them was certainly right. Maybe both.

Hector glared at him, which would look a lot scarier if Arnie didn't know it was out out frustration. "You know 37.5 is barely a fever."

Arnie shrugged. "Excuse me, for not waiting for my brain to be half-fried before taking a break, like some people."

They both knew that wasn't what they were arguing about.

Hector sighed, then gave up. "Fine. Whatever. See you."

Arnie smirked, leaning against the wall. "You will tell me all about it anyway."

Hector rolled his eyes. "Don't count on it." But his tone was lighter, which Arnie counted as a win.

Once the door closed behind him, Arnie relaxed. He wasn't lying, he really wanted a day off. Taking some vitamins, he got into PJs and a comfy bathrobe so he wasn't cold and promptly passed out on the sofa with Friends rerun in the backround.

Arnie woke up when twilight was falling through the windows, which meant he had a good sleep, all the way from noon.

Was there a coughing sound or did he imagine it?

Arnie lifted himself up, rubbing the back of his head. His hair got all tangled, he would have to recomb it all over. He wasn't feeling worse, but neither quite okay per se, limbs heavy and his shirt all sweaty.

He blinked around, wondering what woke him up. When he couldn't find any source of the noise or light, he fell back onto the cushion. When was Hector coming back? Likely not before midnight if he didn't decide to spend the night.

The image of Hector bonding with their father after his long absence left a bitter taste in Arnie's mouth. In theory, Isaiah left them too, at about the same time.

But Isaiah always cared for him, cooked and sat with him when he was sick and taught him to play chess. He never made Arnie feel less special for not being a wolf.

Maybe Arnie was just petty. Just because father didn't care for him, didn't mean he wouldn't be nice to Hector, right?

In a way, Hector couldn't help being exicted. Role models were very important to wolves. Fathers, uncles or older brothers, it didn't matter as long as it was an older wolf who could show the proper behavior and control to pups.

Especially in puberty, when most pups struggled the most with their shadows. Wolves lived longer than humans and were nearly indestructible, if they survived their teen years.

There was that weird coughing noise again, bordering on a gag that had Arnie shooting up again. He felt a bit dizzy as he stumbled upright and out of the living room.

Did Hector come back and he didn't notice?

He found their second bathroom alight, although the door was shut. Without thinking, Arnie barged in.

Hector was on his knees in front of the toilet, both elbows planted on the toilet seat. His breathing was ragged, choked at the end.

He lifted his spikey blond head up at Arnie, turning his palm up. "Hi."

"What the hell happened to you?" The sleepiness left Arnie in a rush as he skidded to his knees next to Hector. "When did you come back? What's going on?"

Hector waved him off, but turned back against the toilet, burping loudly against the water. It was still clear though, so he haven't vomited yet. "I'm fine, I'm fine..."

"Hex, for real. Did you catch some kind of flu? Do you have a fever?" If so, he had it worse than Arnie? Or was Hector sick before but pushed himself?

Arnie slapped a hand to his older brother's sweaty forhead, but his skin was cool and clammy. "What's wrong with you?"

Hector gave a whole-bodied shudder that was so out of character it had Arnie scrambling up to shake off his thick woolen bathrobe and throw it over his shoulders. "Are you cold? Hey. Talk to me."

Hector spat into the toilet, squeezing his eyes shut as he rode out a wave of nausea, but nothing else happened. He swiped a hand over his mouth and leaned back against the wall, panting.

Arnie went with him as if glued, wrapping his hands around Hector's arm, trying to coax him into talking with the contact.

"I met father today," Hector said into the silence.

"That's the most important thing right now? I was asking-"

"Just shut up for a second." Hector put the side of his fist to his mouth, muffling a weak gag, before leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Arnie frowned, unsease pooling into his stomach.

"Rolled my shadow down."

An icy cold feeling crawled up Arnie's spine. That would explain why Hector was so distraught and shivering. Rolling down someone's shadow was always unpleasant and painful, but it was worse with big shadows. And it was worse for Hector, who had nobody roll it for him for years. He was too powerful, too invincible and too controlled to let the happen.

"Why?" Arnie stammered.

"Said that he was testing me. That I was too weak, because nobody trained me the right way. Not like Isaiah." Hector shivered again, huddling deeper into the bathrobe.

Arnie stayed silent, feeling like there was more coming.

After a beat of hesitation, Hector continued. "He said this is why he trained Isaiah with silver. In fighting. Beat him bloody. Rolled his shadow. That that was the best kind of training that would have made me powerful." Hector swallowed heavily.

"But he didn't?" Arnie wanted to make it sound like a statement, but it swang into a question at the end. He wanted to make sure nothing like that happened, cause surely he would have noticed if Hector went through something like that.

"He couldn't. Isaiah wouldn't allow it."

Arnie's eyes widened and he crooked his neck to look at Hector properly. Hector's eyes were open to slits, amber brown, almost yellow in the bathroom light.

"Can you imagine that? Rolling his shadow, not every day, but several times a day?" A distressed choked edge came into Hector's voice as he met Arnie's eyes. "To teach him how to call it back faster? Taught him how to stand silver injuries by cutting him with silver knives, to get him used to pain? So he would be unbeatable by simply ignoring-" Hector's voice broke, his breathing speaing up like he couldn't get enough air.

Arnie went deadly still at his side, realizing with some kind of horrified detachment father might just have confessed to them the pack's biggest secret.

The reason behind Isaiah's behavior during his executioner training and work. Why he would lock himself up in his room. Why he would disappear for days. Why his expression closed up, why he stopped talking.

Why Isaiah left.

"I didn't know. I swear I didn't," Hector said in the most broken voice Arnie ever heard from him, his own lungs constricting. "Why didn't he say anything? We could have- I could have-"

Arnie held his arm tighter, wrapped around Hector like a monkey. "You wouldn't have been able to do anything."

"No!" Hector's hands shot up into his hair, pulling at them desperately. "Probably not, I guess not, but I should have known! I could have- I could have helped him! He didn't have to be alone, he didn't have to keep it secret, he didn't have to take the blame-" This time Hector gagged, body heaving violently.

Arnie tugged at his arm to direct him over the toilet, Hector barely making it over it as he heaved and heaved, until a splash of sick hit the rim and then the water.

Arnie patted his back, feeling it arch with the heaves. "Breathe, Hex. Just breathe," he managed to whisper, throat all closed up, tears pressing into his eyes.

Hector retched, then made a horrible choking sound and coughed.

Arnie thumbed the middle of his back harder. Hector's breathing hitched, dislocating a loud burp that brought another wave of chunky brown vomit into the bowl.

Hector kept heaving over it for what felt like an eternity, groaning and burping. Arnie wasn't sure if he was crying or if his eyes watered from the strain.

He could understand what Hector was feeling very well, his own stomach in knots. But he had no time to panic himself with Hector struggling to breathe and expelling everything he had eaten that week violently into the toilet.

Arnie pressed his face between Hector's shoulder blades, out of comforting things to say. It felt like he could feel the earth turning, spinning with them, how it sped up and them raced into the opposite direction with the revelation.

Hector moaned loudly, shoulders slumping as he cushioned his head on his arms. He was folded over the toilet seat, still panting and sweaty.

Arnie reached behind him to flush the toilet, the air sticky and smelling of stomach acid. Then he resumed his position, face pressed against Hector's back. A steady diligent presence, joined with him in suffering.

Hector's throat bobbed and he shuddered again. Arnie wrapped his hands around his waist, slow to let Hector react if he wanted to shake him off.

Now that he knew what was wrong he understood why Hector seemed so subdued, so lost and cold and small without the presence of his shadow, the faithful intimidating force always radiating from him.

Hector didn't feel complete without it and Arnie hated it. He hated this is what one rolling did to Hector.

He hated the idea what so many did to Isaiah.

Hector groaned again, the sound somewhere between an angry growl and a pained sob.

Arnie rested his hands gently on Hector's stomach, feeling it suck inside and then blow up again with his harsh breathing. He could feel when it spasmmed under his palms, shooting pressure up his brother's ribcage that has Hector burying his head between his arms into the bowl with a loud productive heave.

Arnie gently stroked the upset heaving organ, feeling the gurgling and clenching under Hector's sweaty shirt.

Hector winced at the movement of Arnie's hands, then relaxed, slumping forward against his arms. His breathing was still fast, but it was slowing, becoming more regular.

Arnie turned his face to the side, so he could breathe better, but not letting go for a second.

"You know what's going to be really important right now?" Arnie whispered into the silence.

Hector turned his head too, looking up at the ceiling with one eye. "What?"

"Don't shut him out right now. You guys...we have to talk about this with him. If this is the reason...maybe we should call Isaiah right now-"

"Fuck, no," Hector protested, straightening up. It would have looked more intimidating if he didn't have bile hanging from the corner of his lips. "I'm not-...I can't-"

"Yes you can," Arnie interrupted sternly. "You have to. Or this is never going to get solved. He needs to know we know and that we are on his side."

Hector looked down, eyes shiny and watery. "I don't know how I'm supposed to look him in the eye." His voice trailed off to whisper. "I told him so many horrible things. I blamed him so many years...I was so wrong..." he blubbered, confirming Arnie's suspicions.

"Yes, it was a mistake. Doesn't mean you should keep making it," Arnie protested, untangling himself to get a good look at Hector.

"Okay," Hector quaked. "Okay. Just...not right now."

"Hex-"

"Please." Hector turned to rest his forehead against the meat of his wrist.

Arnie sighed, a sinking sensation in his chest at the sight. He couldn't make Hector do anything in this state.

But he was afraid this would only be more painful, if it dragged on.

[littlefreckles4]

Is your jock-strap brain fried?

Eddie Munson x short!ginger! Reader

Warnings: fluff, language (because she’s a feisty little bitch) blood, violence

I was finally out of first period. I skipped down the hall to Eddies locker, excited to see his pretty face, but was met with just the cold metal. Second period rolled around, and he was still nowhere to be found. It was strange. We had every class together besides first period. He’s always here. I pouted through all of second period, bored out of my mind without Eddie bugging me for a pencil, or hitting me in the back of the head with the little love notes he loved to give me.

Soon enough lunch time rolled around. I walked into the cafeteria, hopefully to see Eddie’s mop of curls standing on a table ranting about “forced conformity”, but was met with the hellfire table crowded around him.

“Baby, where were you all second period? I was mis-WHAT HAPPENED?” He turned to look me, eye purple and black, almost swollen completely shut. Blood leaked down his nose and into his mouth.

Eddie looks up as he hears my voice, a pained smile on his bruised face. He tries to stand but winces in pain, sinking back down onto the bench. He reaches for my hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against your knuckles. “Hey there...”

“Don’t ‘hey’ me Edward! Who the fuck did this?” Eddie's smile fades, replaced by a scowl. He looks away from me and grits his teeth. “It doesn't matter...” He murmurs, trying to hide the pain in his voice. He squeezes my hand instead, looking back at me with puppy dog eyes. “I missed you so much...”

“Yes it does matter!” I could hear Jason at the jocks table snickering. “Oh I’m gonna fucking kill him.” I turned on my heels and headed for Jason’s table. Eddie tries to stand again, this time managing to struggle to his feet. “No... no, don't.” He pleads, hobbling after me as quickly as he can without stumbling. While the rest of the hellfire club watches with a mix of shock, concern and admiration. He reaches out for me desperately but falls short. “Baby... please don't...” He calls weakly before collapsing back onto the bench.

I don’t listen. I walk straight up to Jason, “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I yelled at him. Jason sneers at me, his friends chuckling in the background. He leans back in his chair, not intimidated. “What's wrong with me? You're the one with the weird obsession with that freak,” He spits out, nodding towards Eddie. His friends burst into laughter at the insult.

“Weird obsession? He’s my boyfriend you fucking jackass! Do you really wanna have this conversation with me right now Jason?” Eddie's eyes widen and he shakes his head, pleading with me silently. He tries to stand up again but falls back down onto the bench, a grimace of pain on his face. “Don't... please. Just let it go. “He murmurs, struggling to catch his breath. “It's not worth it...” “Shut up Edward,” I said as I slowly lifted my arms to put my air up in a makeshift pony tail. “Ansewer me Jason! Or is your jock strap brain too fried?”

Jason's face flushes bright red at the insult, obviously livid now. He stands up abruptly, knocking his chair over. His friends look around awkwardly, unsure of what to do. He takes a step closer to me, towering over me with an intimidating height. “You little bitch! You better watch what you say to me.” “Is that really the best insult you could dish? That’s fucking lame.”

Jason's hands clench into fists at his sides. He's breathing heavily, clearly trying to control his anger. He takes another step closer to me, his face inches from mine. “You're playing with fire, sweetheart,” He growls, his voice low and menacing. “You don't want to mess with me or my friends.” He nods to his crew and they slowly start to get up, surrounding me on all sides. “I don’t give two fucks who the fuck you and your friends are. PLEASE TAKE A FUCKING SWING. I fucking dare you.”

Jason's eyes narrow into slits, his jaw clenching so hard it looks like his teeth might crack. He takes another step, bringing his face even closer to mine. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the coiled energy as he prepares to strike. “You want it, huh?”He sneers, spittle flying from his lips. “Alright then...” Before Jason could raise a fist, mine went flying into his nose, sending him back against the table.

Eddie gasps at the sudden violence, eyes widening in shock. He watches as Jason reels back, blood spurting from his broken nose. The rest of the jocks stumble back, surprised by the swift retaliation. “Holy shit...” “The fuck were you saying Carver?” Jason wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve, smearing blood across the fabric. He's clearly stunned, but still standing. He glares at me, his voice strained and thick with anger. “You're fucking dead.” His words are filled with venom, but there's a noticeable quiver behind them.

“Oh so getting your shit rocked by the boarder-lined midget wasn’t enough for you? Okay the tough guy, come at me. You should know by now, with my hair, and being as short as I am I’m way closer to hell than you are and my relationship with Satan is a whole lot better. He’s pretty much my bitch.” The other jocks laugh at my taunt, but Jason's expression remains deadly serious. His eyes flash with fury as he takes a step forward, ignoring the blood dripping down his face. “Shut up, you little bitch.” He snarls, lunging at me with a vicious punch.

“Make. Me.” Jason's fist connects with my jaw with a sickening crack, sending me flying backwards. I hit the wall hard, pain exploding through my head as I slide down to the floor. Through blurry vision, I see Jason advance on, his face contorted in rage. “That's one, you little slut.” He spits at my feet. “Two more and I'll make you eat that mouthy attitude.”

The anger in me started to blur my vision. I rared back my fist, punching him square in the nose again, sending Jason to the floor. The jocks around me gasp as I punch Jason again, watching in shock as he falls to the ground next to me. Blood pours from his nose, staining the floor a dark red. For a moment, the room is silent, then the jocks start to murmur among themselves.

I bent down and harshly grabbed the color of Jason’s bloodied jersey, “If you or your stupid fuck buddies EVER touch Eddie again….I swear to fucking god I’ll send your nose into your fucking brain.” Jason's eyes widen in surprise as I grab his jersey, pulling him closer to me. My voice is low and dangerous, my eyes burning with anger. The other jocks take a step back, watching the scene unfold with wide eyes.

“LISTEN UP!” I screamed out to the whole cafeteria. “I BETTER NOT HEAR OR SEE OF ANYONE TOUCHING EDDIE, OR CALLING HIM A FREAK, OR BEING HATEFUL. IS THAT FUCKING CLEAR?” I look back at Jason, “You’re fucking pathetic. Just got your ass beat by a fucking leprechaun.”

Jason's face turns a deep shade of red as I scream at the cafeteria. The jocks around me shift uneasily, not meeting my gaze. Jason's eyes glisten with unshed tears, his lip quivering with anger and shame. “Get the fuck outta my fucking face Carver,” I seethe. Jason scrambles to his feet, not daring to meet my eyes. He stumbles away from me, his head hung low in defeat. The other jocks quickly disperse, not wanting to be on my bad side. The cafeteria falls silent, the only sound the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead.

I look over at Eddie, his face in pure shock. “Eds, you okay?” He looked at me for a moment before throwing his arms around me. His face dug into the top of my head. “Y-You didn’t have to do that.” I reached up on my toes and pulled his face up. “What? Was the, ‘my sexy short ginger girlfriend’ beating the shit out of Jason Carver the equivalent of porn to you?” Eddie laughed and shook his head. He bent down, way down, and pressed a tender kiss to my lips. “Mhm, I almost busted in my pants watching that. Seriously, baby you didn’t have to do that.” “I know, but I don’t like seeing you like this. Plus, the whole schools terrified of the short emo ginger girl now. I’ve declared that Satan is in fact my bitch.”

He laughed again. He kissed my lips again, hands cradling my face. His thumb ran over the faint bruise starting to form from Jason’s weak ass punch. “Ain’t no one messing you with you baby.”

[chickenparm]

Reformatting (Scara/f!Reader) pt. 3/end

this was written for @onesaltygoddess. thanks for coming to me with this dope idea! :^) this fic is based off the recent fan animations that you can watch here and some cyberpunk 2077 mixed in to flesh it out.

---

AO3 Link Prev Part

Scaramouche/f!Reader - Cyberpunk AU 2,753 Words - NSFW (Reader is a synthetic/android, begging, dacryphilia, overstimulation, edging, P in V)

---

Scaramouche is, admittedly, an awful teacher. 

He’s short with you, grows irritated when you ask questions that seem obvious to him. But he’s been doing this for much longer - he was made to do this - so you’d hoped he would’ve given you a little more grace about it all. But he doesn’t give up on you completely. 

Maybe storms out once in a while, but always leaves the door to his server room unlocked when it’s time for you to meet up for more training. Hand-to-hand combat isn’t his forte, and as he explains the discipline of quickhacking on the fly, you start to think that perhaps the challenge you issued was a carefully orchestrated maneuver on his part. 

“Keep your own ICE up this time, or I’m going to get in and just shut you down.” Scaramouche warns from where he lounges on the threadbare sofa, his hat tilted low as he flicks through the screens. The ability to multitask comes to him almost like second-nature, and you have no doubt he wouldn’t need to bat an eyelash to slip past your defenses. 

Defenses he put in place, he told you the first day you arrived. Scaramouche was insufferably smug about it, like he’s telling you only because he wants you to know that you owe him something or other. But he never asks for a single thing. 

The only thing he does ask comes in the form of a little message to your phone in the mornings before you meet up with him - a little emoji for a bag of chips, or a slice of pizza, or some fries. He wants you to bring him breakfast. Easy enough, and you usually cop out and just bring something you nuked in the microwave, or something packaged from the convenience store. Today, his hand rummages in a bag of jerky tucked to his side. 

Closing your eyes, you let out a little breath and waste no time in pushing forward, deftly connecting with his systems while attempting to not ring alarm bells in his mind. There’s no pushback, and you like to think you were successful. As you link up with him, at the back of your tongue you can taste what he’s eating, you can feel the couch beneath you, smell something in the air that makes your heartbeat a little faster. 

And that reaction doesn’t come from you, but from him. You try to pry into that more, your curiosity taking hold as you recognize the scent as your perfume, and you only have a split-second to dwell on it before you’re forcefully shoved out of his mind and your brain zaps in his retaliation. 

“Mind your own business,” Scaramouche hisses, knocking his hat from his head to sit upright and glare at you. The jerky is tossed onto the coffee table, but you barely notice as your palm presses to your forehead and you try to regain your bearings. Scaramouche sits a little higher, looks at you with unrestrained anger, “Poke around like that again and I’ll bury a virus in your head that makes you bark like a dog.”

“Try me,” you bite back, sitting up in your chair despite the ache behind your eyes. Scaramouche leans forward, one fist clenched around the cushion of the couch while the other reaches out to grab you. Yet he stops short, and you don’t feel the shattering sensation of him busting your security system wide open. 

Instead, his hand falls to his lap and his other unclenches from the fabric, instead pinching at the bridge of his nose. “Just do what I tell you, alright? Why is everything such a struggle with you, huh?”

“You’re one to talk.” But you don’t elaborate. You don’t really need to. Scaramouche slumps back against the couch and turns his head to the side, almost looking petulant as he does so. Carefully, you shift from sitting on a lone chair to sitting next to him on the couch, nudging his hat out of the way. “Wanna keep going with this?”

“Not really.”

But he doesn’t stop you as you close your eyes and push into his mind again. Very carefully, you avoid anything that would pique your curiosity. Another zap like that would leave you bedridden with a migraine for at least a full day. And you wouldn’t get to see him tomorrow. It’s odd that you feel so bothered by that. 

---

“Have you ever danced before?”

The question comes from you between quick breaths, your body slightly winded from the sparring session with the man in front of you. Scaramouche brushes the back of his arm across his forehead, mussing his bangs against the wet skin, and looks at you so strangely that you wonder if you’ve grown an extra appendage. 

Then, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, he answers while pointing his water bottle at you, “No. That’s not what I was made for.”

“What were you made for?”

“Exactly what I do. Hacking, information gathering, security for our base here,” Scaramouche shrugs a shoulder, uncharacteristically avoiding your gaze as he takes a sip from his bottle. Then, he passes it to you, and you accept it without much thought. 

After your own drink, your voice is less scratchy, “And you don’t do anything else? Ei said we were free, so why constrain yourself to that?”

“That’s all I need.”

“How sad.” You remark, and his eyes dart to you, wide and surprised at the nonchalant way you remarked something like that. It might seem offensive, you realize, so you elaborate, “But what about what you want? If there’s something I realized from how things have changed for me, it’s that wants and needs are two different things. Wants can make you happy, and you don’t seem like you are.”

“I don’t need to be happy. I’m fine, thanks.”

The water bottle rolls across the floor as you cap it and toss it away, one of your hands reaching out toward him with your palm up, fingers beckoning with a little wiggle, “Just one dance. Maybe you’ll like it.”

“I don’t like to dance.”

“You’ve never tried, remember? How would you know?”

Scaramouche scowls, reaching out to swat your hand away, but it’s half-hearted, “I said no. I don’t even know how.”

And you light up further, because he really is just digging his own grave, here. Undeterred, you offer your hand again and chirp, “That’s fine, one of my dancing protocols was equipped with a module for teaching. I’ve never gotten to use it before, so we’ll both get something we want.”

“I don’t want to dance-”

“But you want to smell my perfume?”

Scaramouche’s mouth falls open in preparation to dispute this, but nothing comes out. A few emotions flit across his face. Disbelief, anger, frustration, then forced annoyance. “Why would I want to subject myself to that? If I wanted to smell garbage, I’d go to the landfill-”

Scaramouche cuts off when you only laugh at him and step forward, taking his hand and pointedly resting it at a respectable position on your waist. “Okay, one hand here. The other can rest on the other side, or my hand, or the back of my neck if it’s meant to be more intimate. Now, we’ll keep the steps simple for now, and once you’re confident leading, maybe we can add a little bit of pizzazz…”

You trail off in your explanation as his free hand shifts. Not to your waist, or your hand, but the nape of your neck where his fingers curl tentatively around. Your eyes dart to his, and he stubbornly looks into your own as if daring you to say another word. Desperately, you want to, but you keep your mouth shut and start showing him the steps. Whether he’s any good at it doesn’t really register in your mind as you hum a simple tune to guide the two of you along through the movements. 

His fingers shift against your waist, just a simple fidget, but it’s enough to shift the hem of your shirt for his pinky to graze against the skin there. If he can feel the goosebumps that raise, he doesn’t belittle you for it, for once. Maybe he has some of his own, but you’re too afraid to look away from his eyes for fear that whatever this is will shatter. 

Behind him, the sliding doors to the courtyard are open to let the breeze inside. That tree you’re so fond of whispers with the movement, masking the sound of your feet and his as they move across the floor at a languid pace. It’s just getting to be late afternoon, the light turning warmer as it eclipses everything, including the two of you. 

Scaramouche is normally cold, untouchable, distant. But here he is, in your space, touching you, bathed in a warm sunset that has your stomach twisting with something you’re only vaguely familiar with. Your chest clenches uncomfortably, the same sort of feeling you’d gotten when picking through his mind during training not so long ago. 

You’re only grateful he’s not in your mind now. Is he feeling the same? You can’t help but wonder.

---

“What? No! All you’re going to do is slow me down.”

The lights of his room are dark, the servers dimmed so that only whatever comes through the window is what you’re allowed to use to see his face. You stand over him as he sits on that couch again, his eyes avoiding yours as you try to reason with him. It’s warm in here, from the electronics and your own blood rushing in frustration. 

“I need experience somewhere! This is routine, you said it yourself, so it’s perfect. How am I supposed to carry my weight if you won’t let me?”

Scaramouche’s cheek shifts, his teeth digging into the soft flesh inside, and your own jaw ticks with a similar movement. Raiden often made jokes about how stubborn the two of you are, how you manage to get anything done at all between taking cheap shots at one another. This feels like the cheapest of all, and you try to rebut with, “I’ve already talked to Ei and she gave me the go-ahead. I’m coming with on this one whether you like it or not.”

Violet eyes dart to you, wide enough that you can see the full ring of his iris. “You went behind my back? Should’ve known, since you love sneaking and poking around in places you don’t belong.”

“It’s the only way to get anything done with you! God, it’s like trying to work with a brick wall. Stubborn ass.”

The door shuts behind you as you spin and leave, but you catch his own sniped shot just before it cuts him off. “Blind idiot!”

And you can only laugh. You see better now than you ever have; and it’s mostly his fault. Maybe he should’ve left you ruined rather than piece you back together only to try and do it himself all over again. Too late for him to renege on that now, though, not with the backlash he’d get from both Ei and Raiden.

The planned date for the trip down underground isn’t meant for another week yet, and you expected to have some more time until then to train with him. Yet the next day when you return, his room is firmly locked and you can’t pick it with what he’s taught you. That… hurts. You try again, and you know he knows you tried, but it doesn’t budge. He couldn’t be more clear if he tried. 

Against your first instinct, you don’t mention it to Ei. There’s no point; even if she talks to him about it, convinces him to talk to you, it’s not like it will change anything. He doesn’t want you on this mission, and you’d be lucky if he even wants you around after all this is over. The thought of it makes your stomach twist, more so than the sensation of the aircraft rising aloft with quick acceleration. 

Buckled into one of the seats, your eyes dart across the ship to the man sitting in the furthest seat from you, his hat pulled low and screens activated to keep you from getting a glimpse of his expression. But you can feel him glancing at you, feel the annoyance rolling off him in palpable waves, thicker than the air gets with humidity as the ship slips beneath the surface of the world. 

Everything grows dark for a long moment, the only light coming from the steering panel of the ship and Scaramouche’s hat in the far corner. Neither of them reach far enough to touch you, and you sit still in the blackness, taking steady breaths and calming your nerves as best you can. It’s just a surveillance mission, meant for reconnaissance. 

It’ll be fine. You hope. 

The ship lights up again in increments as you flit over the outskirts of the city, old districts no longer in use by the public lit just enough for air traffic to avoid hitting the derelict buildings. Ei flies in a way that suggests she’s made this trip a thousand times before, like she could do it completely blind and not skim a single building. 

Things grow even brighter, lit by neon and LED, flashing in a rainbow of colors that make your head hurt if you stare at them a little too long. So you turn your gaze to the floor, try not to pay too much attention to Scaramouche out of the corner of your eye, avoid thinking about how warm his hands had been when you convinced him to dance with you. 

How was that only a week ago? Now look at you, fists clenched around the strap of your seatbelt as you try and fail not to pine. Scaramouche doesn’t look at you anymore, not that you can feel, and somehow that feels even worse. 

“We’re getting close. Scaramouche?”

“Sensors will be down, go ahead and drop me when you get there.”

This was something you could do. Scaramouche had shown you some time ago how most government security works, the ways to get around them and trick the systems into not realizing you’re there at all. But he doesn’t assign that duty to you, doesn’t even suggest you do anything at all even as the ship begins to lower to the rooftop and he unbuckles from his seat. 

At the door, you reach for his wrist, stopping him from walking down the ramp. Despite knowing she’ll hear you anyway, you keep your voice low in some sort of attempt to hide his reborn derision from Ei. “It’s more dangerous if you don’t tell me what we need to do. I will slow you down if I’m just following you around.”

“Good, stay on the ship then-”

“Scaramouche, stop.” You squeeze his wrist just before he yanks it from your hand and descends to the rooftop. You share a look with Ei, hers of confusion, yours of apology, before you follow after him and whisper-shout, “Help me help you! Or am I just supposed to figure it out?”

A long sigh leaves him and he whirls, the screens of his hat shifting so none of them are in his face, letting you face the full brunt of his annoyance. “Helping me would mean staying on that ship and staying out of danger. You’re right, you are just slowing me down.”

“Whatever, I’ll figure it out, then.” You brush past him, your shoulder bumping harshly against his own as you feel out the local network and try to find the cleanest signal. At the very least, you can cover him while he searches for what you came for - and all the while you try to ignore that gnawing feeling of hurt in your chest. 

Scaramouche leaves you alone, goes in a different direction. You can still feel him nearby, the link established during one of your first training sessions meaning that there’s some way of keeping track of him. It’s a small comfort that he hadn’t severed that, at least. 

With a huff of breath into the warm air around you, your body tucks into the space between a few condenser units to keep yourself out of sight. No one should be up here, but it’s better to be safe. For now, your self-designated job is to subtly scramble the security systems and intercept whoever might try to counteract what he’s doing as he sifts through all those files. 

You recognize the structure, the layout of the firewall, how to slip beyond it to maneuver it from the inside. Scaramouche follows after you, using his link to your system as an entrypoint to theirs. You almost don’t realize it, he doesn’t leave a trace. Like shifting through the underbrush, not a single leaf is left out of place. 

It’s as if he’s not even there at all. 

Thanks to his teachings, it’s far less stressful than you expected it to be. With sensitive information like this, you expect there to be someone trying to block either of you, but you don’t even sense another user in the system beyond yourselves. It’s eerie, unsettling, and feels very wrong. 

Pulling out your phone, you tap a message to him, knowing it will pop up on one of his screens. You express your concerns, asking if he’s noticed anything odd. He doesn’t answer, but he does read it, and you take that as an answer in itself. Fine, you’ll ignore your instincts.

Once more you close your eyes, letting out another slow breath. Thanks to your misdirection, the system hasn’t noticed anything awry, and Scaramouche is still safe. He warned you not to get complacent, but if he doesn’t think there’s anything to worry about, then you’re more willing to relax a little and just observe. 

And that’s when you realize that the one being observed is you. 

There isn’t another user because the user is the entire system, and only when your functions start to lock down do you realize that the system you’ve been messing with serves as a brain for something deep in the building below. Something with enough awareness to metaphorically wrap its fingers around you until you’re nearly strangled. 

At first you panic, you try to contact Scaramouche through the link, but even your processes are unusable as you’re scrutinized and prodded at. Your ICE is good, but it won’t hold out under someone as skilled at this. With a trembling body, you fight against it all to drag yourself into the open, your palms and knees aching from the gravel digging into them. 

Take a breath, dig your nails into the ground, focusfocusfocus. 

Scaramouche told you once that the surest way to completely get someone out of your system is to shut it down. If there’s nothing for them to get to, then they have to retreat. With shaking fingers you reach for your phone, dirty fingers typing out something that you hope says shutting down. You don’t have time to spell check it before you send it off, the glass cracking as it drops to the gravel and your body follows suit. 

Ei or Raiden or Scaramouche will be able to bring you back to consciousness; you just have to trust Scaramouche will come for you, rather than leave you here. Your optics go out first, then your higher functions, and only when your mind slows to a base operating level before complete shutdown, one last thought trickles in.

You’re not sure you can take another abandonment.

---

It happens as quickly as blinking. One moment you’re under, next your eyes are open but obscured. Your head hurts as too much information passes through it, mixed with your diagnostics. Without any extra mental faculties, you don’t dwell on how you got to this, and instead you focus on just coming back to life. 

The humming around you is a familiar frequency - the ship. Ei’s ship, secured behind a cloaking device and ten layers of security protocols. Safe. You’re safe.

The ache in your body is from your hands and knees, from your muscles where they’d tensed up from that foreign invader attacking you from the inside. It’s only you in your head, now. You, and the faint path that leads you to the person incredibly close by. Safe. You’re safe.

Your vision is obscured because you’re tucked against someone’s chest, their arms around you as the ship holds at a steady speed. So, you’re not in Inazuma, but you’ve already left the facility. Good. Safe. You’re safe.

Safety is in the form of a familiar space, and a familiar person that holds you close and speaks in low tones that your ears are ringing a bit too much to overhear. But when you stir a little, turning your face to press further against the fabric of his clothing, you clearly hear, “E-10?”

It’s the first time he’s called you anything beyond a stupid nickname or a, “hey, you”. You nod in acknowledgment, and his chest deflates with a heaving sigh of relief. Neither of you say anything at first, not for your lack of trying. At the very least he could tell you that he told you so, but he doesn’t do that at all. 

In fact, only when the darkness falls and you’re well out of the city does he turn his head until his mouth is close to your ear, intending only for you to hear, “I’m sorry. I lo-... I’m sorry.”

You want to deny this, to state that this is your fault for getting complacent, for insisting when you obviously weren’t ready. Yet his hand comes around the back of your head to pull you closer, and he continues, “I didn’t know what we were getting into. I was cocky and put you in danger because I-... No. I shouldn’t have left you.”

But he didn’t, because you’re right here in his arms, in his lap, legs slung over one side as he holds you securely. And you try your best to just tell him this, your voice hoarse. Had you been screaming? What truly happened to you?

“You have every right to be angry.” Scaramouche murmurs, breath hot against your ear as his arms wind tighter, nearly squeezing you with his desperation that’s sourced from somewhere unknown. 

The one-sided conversation stops as the ship starts to decelerate and descend. Ei says something, undecipherable between the static and your own thoughts. All you can make out is Scaramouche’s affirmation, and the feeling of being lifted and being carried off the ship in swaying movements that all but usher you off into sleep. 

And when your eyes open for a second time, you’re alone in your room, the sun gone from the sky. Where is Scaramouche? The question rattles around in your brain as you examine every corner of the room from your vantage point on the familiar bed. You need to find him, need to give and receive explanations or you’ll never be able to rest again.

You feel… better? Still fatigued, but you can at least get yourself to your feet and are able to get your bearings before taking some hesitant steps. Everything is still in working order, it seems, and you’re a little more confident as you cross the floor and leave without a second thought. There’s only one place you need to be right now, and it’s only a short walk to the door you expect to be locked. 

Scaramouche said that you had the right to be angry, and you plan on taking advantage of that offer as you slam your fist on the button and it opens without protest. Not locked. 

At the sudden sound of your entrance, Scaramouche sits up in bed, looking at you with wide eyes before they melt into something like relief. He already knows you’re okay, so you’re not sure what he’s so worked up about, but you’re about to give him a reason. 

Crossing the small room in a few steps, you press one knee into the bed and ball your fist in the front of his shirt angrily. “Why’d I wake up alone?”

“Because you were sleeping…?” Scaramouche trails off, eyes darting from your fist to your face, incredulity painted clearly. “Was I supposed to sit and weep at your bedside?”

“That’s what I expected after what happened. Weren’t you just a little worried?”

“A little?” He laughs, like your frustration at his hot-and-cold nature is something funny. “Do you know how it felt for our link to snap? I thought you were dead. All I had was a message in gibberish and a headache of my own after fighting that thing off.”

Your mouth snaps shut, you look at him searchingly, trying to decipher the truth behind all of this. Something inside you knows, and you encourage that part to speak up, but it just… doesn’t. Your own confusion clouds everything, and your hand slips from the front of his shirt to fall in your lap as you slump to sit on the bed. 

Hoping he has some kind of answer, you open your mouth to ask, and are silenced by exactly what you’d been hoping for. 

So similar to how he’d laid his hand at the back of your neck during that little dance, he uses that same grip to pull you in and kiss you. The focal point adjusts, everything comes into startling clarity, and you grip at his shirt again to kiss him back with unexpected ferocity. Scaramouche meets you blow for blow, testing to see how far you’ll go before you back down and he can take over. 

The thought of that annoys you more than you expected. After all this, how he’s treated you, you’re not quite willing to let him have this one over you. 

With both hands, you push him down onto the bed, quicker than he can attempt to stop you. At least, not without conviction, but he doesn’t try either way. His head tilts up, mouth pulling away with a sharp gasp as you straddle his hips and tower over him in one of the few ways you ever have.

“It’s still there, isn’t it? The connection.” You tilt your head, looking down with disarming curiosity, even as your fingers hook around the band of his pants, nails scratching against stark hip bones. “You never severed it, even when you were mad. Why?”

“Why do you think?” Scaramouche counters, and you snap the band of his shorts in response, earning a little hiss from behind his teeth. Through his hair in his eyes, he looks up at you almost challengingly. “If I had, you would’ve come running.”

“Like you did?” You taunt back, palms pressing to his shoulders again, your full weight resting on his hips. Despite the antagonism - or perhaps because of it - Scaramouche stirs beneath you in a way that you’d been hoping for. Selfishly, you hoped that you weren’t misreading all of this, that his feelings aligned with yours at least on this base level. 

Scaramouche says nothing to your barb, instead gripping at the sheets below as his eyes flutter closed and his teeth grit together. That won’t do, and you make your dissatisfaction known by rocking your hips forward, dragging along him in a friction that doesn’t just sate your own hunger. Through his teeth, a strangled whine leaks out and it’s almost as sweet as the songs you can make on your own. 

Better, but not quite. He’ll fight you the whole way, you know, so you release him. And he doesn’t move, only looking at you through half-lidded eyes and flushed cheeks, anticipation on the tip of his tongue as it darts out to wet his lips. 

Thumbs hooked into the band of your pants, you push them down in one move with your underwear, uncaring for modesty. There’s no use in it when he’s sprawled out the way he is, hard and just as desperate as you are. The least he could do is undress himself for you, but he’s almost too willing to go along with it all and stay where you put him. 

It’s annoying, and a little empowering. 

Tugging him free, just enough for his length to spring out and smear the beaded arousal against your knuckles, you straddle him once more. Something burns in his eyes as he looks up at you, so different from the annoyance from so often before. It’s something hungry and yearning now, colored with that same desperation that had been in his voice during your brief lucidity on the ship. 

There are screens everywhere in his room, all powered off and threatening to show your reflection that is certainly a mirror of his own in its desire. You keep your eyes on his, your hands on his chest, pushing down as you sink onto him and try desperately not to marvel at how he seems to fit perfectly. Perhaps he wasn’t only made for the purposes he claimed; maybe he was also made for you. 

The thought makes your mind run wild, and what you intended to be slow and drawn out devolves quickly into a greedy back-and-forth, your hips rocking as his expression starts to crumble, his eyes turning to the ceiling only for you to grab his chin and bring him back to you. Your thumb prods at his lip, slipping in to press against grit teeth that stifle the noises he makes as you fuck yourself on him. 

“None of that, don’t you dare.” You warn, thumbnail pressing into the seam between his top and bottom teeth, worming your way in until he can’t hold you off any longer. The pad of your thumb slides along his tongue as if to coax the broken moan that tears from the back of his throat, the bottom of his chest. 

Your thumb pushes a little further, just far enough that he jerks in response beneath you, the movement causing him to buck upward and drive deeper. His own actions treat you to more of those sweet sounds, and you hook your thumb instead against his cheek, feeling the roughness where he so often chews on it in annoyance. 

Each movement of your hips is accompanied by a wet sound, not entirely of your own making but also the man beneath you whose nails scrape against the bed in a bid to ground himself. Before he can clamp his teeth together again, you all but purr, “No point in being quiet, it’s just us. Just me and you.”

Just you, and him, and the building sensation of burning in your gut as you ride him ruthlessly, taking more than you’re giving, angling just right to reach your own pleasure. He’ll get his eventually, but something about the way he wears desperation makes you want to see it a little longer. As you pull your fingers from his mouth and lean back, truly taking him all the way to where you need it most, you’re feeling a little vindictive. 

Your hands brace behind you on his knees as you arch, your thighs closing around him and knees digging into his bottom ribs. If it hurts, all he does is appreciate it and throb within you, desperate to feel what you’re feeling as you cum with a drawn-out moan that trembles at the edges. 

But his appreciation only lasts for so long, and as you fall still and catch your breath, his hips roll upward expectantly, like he’s trying to remind you of something you’d forgotten. Of course you haven’t, but you stay still as he pushes up into you again, and again, trying and failing to make it feel as good as it had when you were doing it. 

“C’mon… please…” Scaramouche forces out, both words punctuated by a futile thrust up into your heat as you idly watch him struggle. It must feel good; he’s still hard. One of his hands reaches out to grasp your thigh, fingertips digging in hard enough that it hurts you. “I was so close-”

“Keep going, then. If you want me so badly.”

Your words don’t hold as much weight when you’re weak from your own release, but not as weak as he is when beneath you. His voice is just as thin, pleading, “I need it. I need you, please.”

You can oblige, since he asked so nicely. Pushing forward once more, you brace on his chest and lift your hips, quietly lamenting the feeling of him being pulled from you. The remedy comes quickly with you pushing yourself down hard enough that he cries out wordlessly in a short burst of ecstasy. 

Leaning forward more, giving yourself some room to work, you abandon the back-and-forth from before to instead nearly bounce on his cock, the bed protesting with the sudden rough movements, just as you hiss at his nails digging into your thigh. Maybe he’ll leave marks, maybe you won’t be so upset about that. 

“Please… please, please, don’t stop,” Scaramouche’s other hand strikes out against the wall next to the bed, the side of his fist slamming into the metal once before his palm slaps it and drags down. Anything to relieve himself, anything at all. Even shameless begging, “I-I’m going to… ngh! Shit-!”

The thought of denying him again doesn’t cross your mind, not while the very corners of his eyes dot with desperate tears, his chest expanding and contracting with each shuddering moan. Scaramouche’s peak is visceral, each wave hitting him with a throbbing of his cock inside you. You bend down close to his face, fingers smoothing away at the just-shed tears before they can slip into his hair from down his temples. 

Are they from just this, you wonder? Or the leftovers of his own panic after your botched mission? It’s hard to say, but you wipe them away just the same and kiss at his lips that are chapped from his shameless moaning. 

The link between you feels stretched taut, both sides seeming to pull on it to ensure its existence. Scaramouche’s hands curl around your shoulder blades, pulling you closer than any digitized connection could. 

“Are we okay?”

Scaramouche hums in quiet acknowledgment, an agreement without words. You’ll owe him an apology at some point later, or maybe this all could suffice, but for now you listen to the quiet hum of the servers at the other end of the room, the steady thrum of his heart against your ear, his breathing getting slower. 

You’ve never seen him sleep before; he murmurs something incoherent that you spend far too long trying to figure out. And when you do come up with three words, three syllables, you’re not sure you’ve heard him right. 

Pillow talk for the morning, you think.

[locution-youngster-enjoyer]

Weird AU I just thought up of:

Wordgirl x Roblox Doors.

Ok, so it’s not exactly a doors AU, it’s just heavily inspired by doors.

You play as Two Brains, a doctor who was given his strange name due to a bad lab accident, fusing his brain with a mouses. A close friend of yours, a young but unusual girl named Becky, suddenly went missing, and was last reported being seen at an abandoned location. Two Brains, while concerned, wasn’t particularly interested in personally going to try and find Becky, until he got a letter inviting him to the location Becky was last seen in.

Curious, and desperate, Two Brains goes to the location, which turns out to be a mansion. When walking in, he’s greeted on a secret intercom by a mysterious man who calls himself ‘Mr Big.’

“I know what you’re really hear for, Doctor. However, I’d like to welcome you to my little freak show! While I think you’d fit right in, I must advise my friends aren’t *nearly* as friendly when it comes to new faces. I’d get used to this place, you’ll be here for a while.”

So boom, he’s stuck in what seems to be a looping mansion, struggling to find Becky. The last bit of his conscience that is still Steven acts sort of like guiding light, and will make comments as hints. The other villains are all entities. Here’s some ideas I have so far:

Amazing Rope Guy (aka “Snake?”)

He’s one of those entities that can’t actually kill and hardly cause any harm (think Timothy from doors). If you open a closet, there’s a chance you get hit in the face with a piece of rope

Little backstory quote: “Oh him? He’s just trying to fit in. He’s scared”

Chuck + Brent (aka “The ‘Catch-up’ Brothers”)

Basically this AU’s equivalent of Rush. Riding around the halls of the mansion in a sandwich themed car, they’ll run you down if you aren’t quick enough to get out of the way. If you are able to catch a glimpse of them before you’re run over, you’ll notice they look like two people being fused together.

Backstory quote: “Have you ever had a favorite food? Once there were two brothers who both shared a love of sandwiches, but couldn’t decide on how to create the best sandwich. One brother had the talent of engineering, and tried to fuse his and his brothers favorite sandwich. Guess what happens when you stand too damn close to a untested machine? Now they ride around the halls to try and get rid of their permanent adrenaline rush, plus it’s hard to walk around when your existence is a constant three legged race… you know, I think I’ll just stick with fries as my favorite food.”

Eileen (aka “The Tantrum”)

The equivalent of dupe. Whenever you see a door that has a door number that looks like it was drawn on with a black crayon and you try to open it, you’ll get pushed back by either a green hand, foot, or a giant eyeball. If you have an item on you, not only will you take damage, your item will also get stolen.

Quote: “Ever met a spoiled kid? How do you deal with one who’s oh so green with envy? Don’t throw a hissy fit if she steals your things, she thinks its a birthday present. The little ass isn’t allowed to draw on the doors, and refuses to except time out. Her getting herself stuck is the best alternative I guess.”

Invisibill (Aka “Hide’n’Seek”)

The equivalent of screech. Sometimes, you’ll hear the sound of someone trying to muffle themselves laugh. The way to find Invisibill is by looking at any floating object near you, because it’s Invisibill holding it. If you aren’t quick enough, Invisibill will throw whatever object he’s holding at you, and you’ll take damage.

“Have you ever played hide and seek before? Imagine becoming so good at it you barely need to hide. Just keep him entertained, he *really* doesn’t appreciate being ignored.”

Leslie (aka “The Hound”)

Leslie’s role is interesting. She’s still Mr Big’s assistant, but similar to how she is in the show, she’s actually pretty neutral. When it comes to appearance, she looks like what happens if you try to combine a human’s anatomy with either a dog, cat, or reptile. Functionally, she’s a combo of the Figure and either Guiding or Curious light.

Whenever you die, you have a small cutscene where you wake up in an elevator going back to the first floor. The first time you die to specific entity, Mr Big will give you their name and a mocking comment. He’ll also speak over the intercom about any non deadly entities you may encounter (like ARG). However, the second time you die to the energy, Leslie will talk over the intercom and tell you the little backstory quotes, which vaguely hints at what the entity does.

Quote: “I apologize. I’m still trying to do my job. I just have multiple.”

Ms Question (aka “Vertigo”)

Ms Question is the equivalent of Halt. The lights will shut off, and you’ll start to be followed by a blinding light that vaguely looks like a woman. If you don’t turn around and run away when she approaches, she’ll hit you with an amnesia beam, disorienting you so it’s easier for her to hit you again.

Quote: “What are the two things philosophers do? Question and discuss. Now imagine only getting half of that down, and making that your entire personality. To many questions can get overwhelming, so it’s better to just avoid them all together. Don’t blame her though, she’s just very curious about everything, including you.”

Seymour (aka “The Ad-vert”)

Seymour is the equivalent of eyes. In some rooms, there will be a tv, and there’s a chance that an ad will start playing on the tv. If you stare at the ad to long, it starts becoming distorted with Seymour looking less human, and your vision will fill up with the ad and you’ll take damage.

Quote: “Once upon a time there was an rather attractive man. He knew he was destined for tv stardom, but needed a way to consistently be seen by all. Poor guy bit off more than he could chew. Now no one can stand to look at him at all, and he rather be forgotten then hated. To bad he’s stuck with the job he’s got. It’d do you good to ignore him”

Nocan (I could not think of a nickname for this lol)

This guy isn’t really based on any doors entities, and can’t do any damage. There’s a chance that when you enter a room, everything in the room will suddenly reverse (ex: you’re walking on the ceiling now). Hypothetically, if this was a real game, the controls would reverse as well.

Quote: “I always tell him to not do that, it makes a mess!”

The Butcher (uhhhh, I couldn’t think of a nickname for him either. Might just keep calling him the Butcher lol)

Ok, I know I said Leslie was like the figure, but to be honest, both she and the Butcher are like a combo of Seek and the Figure. Design wise, the Butcher looks the same, except more unhinged looking, and with butcher knives for arms (if you want an example of what this looks like, it’s basically the Razor from Slay The Princess but with butcher knives instead)

Quote: “Have you ever had a job you loved? What if you had no choice but to love the job because it’s what you are? It’s physically what you are, and you can’t change it. He’s just doing his job, really, he’s a sweetheart”

The Coach (aka ‘the Dealer’)

The Coach and most of the villain schoolers act as the equivalent of Jerry, El Goblino, and Bob as a safe space to buy items. The Coach is mostly the same, except for a noticeable extra amount of eyes and arms, and is the one selling the items. Chilling with him is Big Left Hand Guy (who’s the same), Captain Tangent (who’s comically accidentally attracting anything metal to him with his hook that’s permanently stuck to his hand), Maria the energy monster (who’s in a jar), and Royal Dandy (stuck in painting form). There are three extra chairs, one of which Invisibill will be sitting in depending on when you encountered him last. The second one is bent and cracked, and has “Property of the Whammer” written on it. The third one has a printer on it.

The Whammer (aka ‘The Earthquake’)

There’s a chance that a sonic boom will travel down the halls, acting as a less deadly version of Rush. The sonic boom itself deals unavoidable damage, but it also knocks down any tables and cabinets around it, which can crush and kill you.

Quote: “Some people really just can’t control their volume. When their mad, when their excited, when they’re scared. I doubt he means real harm”

Lady Redundant Woman (aka “The Redundancy”)

Beatrice is the equivalent of Ambush. She and her clones absolutely zoom down the halls, and will jump you if your in their way.

Quote: “Imagine being your own best friend. You never act the same way twice, so they’ll always be slightly different. She’s just trying to have fun with her best friends, so it’s in your best interest that you get out the way. It ruins their game”

Tobey (aka “The Inventor”)

Tobey rarely appears, but his presence is everywhere. On every piece of machinery in the building (Seymour’s tvs, Beatrice’s printer, etc) there’s the label ‘McCallister’. When you do see him, which you’re not meant to, you see how he seems to have fused himself with a machine. If you stay with him for to long in the same room, he’ll act like Haste (from the Backdoors) and immediately run you down and kill you with the machinery attached to him. If you try hiding under a bed or in a closet, he acts like Hide and kicks you from the hiding place, because there are secret machines in the hiding spots.

Quote: “Smart kid. He’s very helpful. Give him his space, he’s trying to work…. You.. you know him, don’t you?”

Yeah, that’s all I’ve got so far. There is some lore, and I’ll take ideas for any other villain entities, so feel free to ask me about it >:]

[queenofbaws]

It’s not the weekend quite yet but I’ll be busy hosting myself a little birthday tea party of one and don’t want to forget this. Once again an Okkervil River prompt: the song black sheep boy for any fandom.

not-quite-six sentence weekend :P

The house had never felt emptier than it had when he'd first been released from the hospital, stitches tight and the smell of antiseptic high in his nose. It had been empty for a long time, really - if you sat and thought about it, that was - because Pop was always off working, and Mom was always out schmoozing, and the twins...

It had been empty for a long time. It just felt emptier now, somehow.

He'd sat and suffered through enough Lit classes for the irony to gag him; home was where the heart was, home was always waiting for you, there was nothing like coming home, home was anywhere you felt it, blah blah fucking blah. Josh didn't feel any of that as he unlaced his shoes and set his keys in the dish. If he felt anything at all, it was tired. And even that wasn't quite right.

By the time the sun had hidden away behind the neat row of houses across the street, he'd gotten rid of every photograph he could. That was dramatic. An exaggeration. He'd turned them around, though, or laid them flat on their faces, toppling them like dominoes until he was positive - absolutely sure - that there weren't any eyes on him. Not his parents', not his sisters', not their fri...not anyone's. He didn't want to be seen, wasn't even sure he deserved to be.

At some point, he'd fallen asleep on the couch. It was hard to say when, but harder to say how. There'd been a few days there where he'd been sure he'd never sleep again (not without the drugs they'd been pumping him full of back at the hospital, anyway, or maybe a good old fashioned mallet to the head). Lo and behold, fallen asleep he had, and as he rolled onto his back, blearily staring at the shadows shifting and sliding on the ceiling, flickering in time with the late-night show playing on the tv, he struggled to figure out what'd done it.

Had he been dreaming? Felt likely, all considering. Or maybe remembering was the better word, his brain not spinning stories out of whole cloth but instead piecing them together from everything that had happened lately: the mountain, the monsters, the mayhem, the mealy-mouthed ranger who'd told him, almost matter-of-factly, that only two of them had made it, that only two of them -

And then the knocking had come again, and the question answered itself.

He knew the sound of it at once. It was too clear, too familiar, and for that reason he was almost positive he was dreaming after all. There wasn't any way that could be who he thought it was. No way in hell. He sat up slowly, watching the front door with suspicion and detachment in equal measure, and when it came a third time, he took to his feet.

Once, he'd fancied himself a horror buff - the kind of guy who didn't flinch in the face of the goriest or most gruesome. Just then, he found he didn't have the strength to check the peephole. He opened the door before he could think himself out of it.

The silence that followed probably lasted a second. Maybe half that. Maybe even less. It felt like forever. It felt like how he imagined limbo, or purgatory, or whatever the hell you wanted to call it.

Despite all the effort he'd put into turning her pictures over, Ashley Brown stood on the welcome mat, looking at him. Watching him. Seeing him. Her boots rubbed anxious circles on the nap of the mat, her hands rubbed at her arms, and her bruises hurt him to look at.

Josh wasn't sure what he expected her to say. What could a person say at a time like this? Hi? Howya doing? Would she just fling herself at him, beat her fists against him until his eyes were as swollen as hers? Spit at him? On him? Remind him that this was all his fault? Every last second of it? Hold him accountable for every loss, every death, every -

"So," she said softly, her voice rasped, maybe from disuse or from crying or screaming so hard into her pillow at night that something simply tore. "Guess it's just you and me now, huh?"

When he swallowed, he swore he felt sandpaper lining his throat; the same sandpaper, he had to imagine, she felt in hers. "Guess so," he agreed after a beat, then stood there, same as he had been, feeling her eyes on him, wishing he didn't. "Guess so," he said again, no longer sure whether he was answering her or convincing himself, not entirely positive there was a difference. He took a step back - just the one - and held the door open an inch wider than before, a silent question with no good answers.

Ashley watched him, and he watched her, the wound in his shoulder pulsing a Morse code reminder that the parts of the brain responsible for love and for hate lived right beside one another, that both of them were capable of hurting, of being hurt.

Josh held the door. He waited.

He realized the house didn't feel quite so empty now.

[inciting-chaos-series]

The Night Shift: Chapter Four

If you'd like to be tagged when new chapters are posted let me know! -Ghostiewvlf ✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦

➢ Tag List: @valleys

➢Author: Ghostiewvlf & JTheGhost ➢ Rating: Mature ➢ Pairings: Corpse X reader | Corpse X y/n ➢ Themes: Slow Burn | Coworkers To Lovers | Angst | Holiday | Mutual Pining | Fluff | Smut? | Hurt/Comfort | Soulmates | Fake Relationships | Miscommunication | Forced Proximity | Found Family | ➢ Warnings: Crude Humor | Suicidal Jokes/Ideation | Drinking | Smoking |

➢Summary:

You work the night shift at a local dog kennel for boarding and daycare. You love the peace and quiet of the shift, but just when you get comfortable- a few break-ins happen around town, and upper management decides to place your quiet, brooding, shift lead on the schedule with you.

☽✧ Chapter Four: Fun & Games ✧☾

-Y/N POV-

After spending all day in labs and lectures you really were not on your A game for tonight's shift. You felt completely fried- mentally and physically. Walking across campus to and from your science and math courses and arriving on time when you had barely a five minute window between them had been exhausting, and the content in the classes left you wondering if you even had brain cells left. 

If you had any energy left you would try to remember to not set your schedule this way for your last semester- though the way your feet dragged as you entered the building and clocked in had you realizing it was no use. 

“Damn- long day?” Liz chuckled from behind the reception counter. 

“So long…” Your voice sounded defeated as it left your mouth. 

“Well, good news- most everyone was picked up from boarding today- we did have one drop off though…” Her voice wavered in uncertainty as you joined her behind the counter. 

“Oh yeah? Who got dropped o-” 

“Just the coolest little dude ever…”

You turned to the comically deep voiced interrupter and watched as Logan walked in from the adjoining break room with a small black Shetland puppy cradled in his arms. 

“Oh my god!” You swooned over the dog and cautiously approached to pet him, earning a laugh from both Liz and your boss as the puppy struggled out of Logan’s hold and into yours. 

“Suppose that will make your night a bit better huh?” Liz laughed out as she gathered her things to leave. “Also… Ryder wasn't picked up from daycare today. I emailed his owners and they requested to leave him here tonight, they're aware of the charges but still need to be billed, I left it open on the computer for you guys.” 

“Is this the universe apologizing for my long day?” You laughed as the puppy licked incessantly at your face. 

“Guess so…” Liz smiled and shrugged as she headed out, wishing you an easy night. 

“So, if you had a rough day- I’m guessing you’ll want to finish up that invoice, since you’ve got some furry company…” Logan chuckled. “I suppose I can lend you my son and get started on dinners.” He rolled his eyes playfully. 

“Oh so he’s your son now? Have you let his owners know- should I send them a quick update email while I’m at it?” 

“Fuck off…” His laugh was much more sincere than you expected as he waved off your comment on his way to the back. You smiled to yourself and got settled at the computer to invoice Ryder’s owners and collect payment, keeping the small puppy in your lap as he absently chewed your hoodie strings. 

---

“Do you drink coffee or tea?” He broke the silence between you as the dogs started to settle down from playing outside. 

“Um, tea usually…” you laughed softly and gave him a questioning glance, “why do you ask?”

“I don’t know- thought I’d ask in case I stop and get us drinks again.” He shrugged as he grinned down at the puppy jumping at his ankles. He groaned dramatically as he sat on a rock and placed the small dog in his lap- chuckling as it immediately gnawed at his fingers. “Plus I don’t know much about you- and if we’re gonna work most nights together I should probably learn the basics.” 

“Fair point.” You smiled and sat beside an exhausted looking Ryder a few feet from him. “That coffee was really good, especially for how cold it was.” You chuckled. “I usually get iced chais, so that wouldn't have been as ideal. What about you?” 

“Well, glad I made that call then. Cause I get the same…” He chuckled. “I mean- usually I turn to- stronger drinks- but chai will suffice at work.”

“Yeah, we wouldn’t want any red wine stains on our clothes at work…” You teased as you pet the panting dog beside you.

“Of course not… totally unprofessional.” He laughed along and rolled his eyes. 

“Well, if we're getting to know each other- umm…” you paused as you thought of good questions (that were at least somewhat professionally appropriate) to ask of your boss. “What made you get into animal care?” 

“Hmm, well I’ve always wanted my own animal- but I’m not sure that my lifestyle or whatever would allow me to properly take care of one, or that I could handle it I guess… I started out just watching my friends' dogs or cats. Then I saw an opening here and figured it would be a nice place to work.” He shrugged and smiled before meeting your gaze. “What about you? I know you worked on the vet side for a while- and you were at an ER before this right?” 

“That's… super cute? Sorry just- picturing you- deep voice and intimidating nature… as a pet sitter, it's strange to think about.” You laughed at the thought. 

“I know… I don’t really look- or sound- the type huh?” He chuckled in agreement and you shook your head and smiled.

“But um- yeah I did. ER was really cool, I got to see a lot of interesting cases there… and working on the vet side here was nice since I still needed more experience for vet school, but both those jobs were really demanding, and I needed to cut back so I could focus more on finishing school- so this seemed perfect for me right now.” 

“I'm glad…” he smiled sweetly, “-you’re smart and deserve to take the time you need to get your school stuff sorted. Especially if you have such a good plan.” 

“I wouldn’t say it’s a good plan- I mean, who knows what I’ll really end up doing.” You scoffed softly. “I never really wanted to go to college or anything but my family pressured me into it, saying I could never make it as anything without it.” 

“Well that's just- not true…” He scoffed loudly.

“No?”

“Definitely not. I mean, I basically raised myself- I was never close with my family- so I don’t really understand that perspective, but school never worked for me. I ended up dropping out pretty early…” he shrugged and turned his attention back to the puppy, now falling asleep in his lap. “I mean, it’s difficult dropping out so young and being like ‘I'm gonna make something of myself someday, I’m gonna do something big-’ but it’s definitely doable.With or without schooling.” His voice softened slightly as he spoke. You couldn’t help but stare at him, almost in awe, at how much he revealed. 

“I’m sorry Logan. That sounds… awful- I’m sorry you went though that…” you paused, “-but thank you. I suppose you’re right, it is difficult for sure… making a name for yourself, or figuring out what to do in life. ” You weren't really sure how to respond to such a candid response. 

“Eh, that's how life goes right?” He chuckled awkwardly, carefully picking up the sleeping puppy as he rose to his feet. “Spose we should let these guys back in, everyone seems tuckered out.” 

“Yeah, suppose we should.” You carefully stood as well, hoping to not rile up the dogs again as you all made your way in for the night. 

-Logan’s POV-

He stayed quiet as the two of you cleaned around the building, silently admonishing himself for his loose lips earlier. He had no idea why he’d shared so much, why talking with you made it so easy to share what seemed like all the most negative things about him. Maybe he was compensating- getting it all out in the open about how he was toxic to befriend so you’d turn tail sooner rather than later. 

He couldn’t help the nagging feeling of relief though, having told you a bit about himself and getting such a kind response. You probably just felt awkward, or pitied him, after all. He shouldn’t make it a regular thing. 

Eventually when you both had finished cleaning, you settled in at the front desk again. He was grateful when you pulled out your notebook and binder from your bag, knowing you would need quiet to do your homework and he couldn’t run his mouth any longer. He did find it a bit funny when you asked if he minded, of course he didn’t care if you got some homework done, especially with the awkward tension in the air now. He put on some soft lofi for you and scrolled on his phone as you worked. Every few minutes or so he’d sneak a glance at your papers, instantly regretting it as he was greeted with complex molecules, chemistry equations, and the pervasive fact that you were far more intelligent than he ever considered himself.

You huffed loudly, breaking the silence as you pushed your papers away and leaned back in the chair. He turned to give you a questioning glance. 

“If you’re stuck on something- I hope you aren't going to ask me for help.” He chuckled. “Because if I lock eyes with your papers again my brain will melt.” 

“No, no…” He bit down on the inside of his cheek as you laughed. “I’m finished. It’s not all correct, but I’m done.” 

“Ah, well good… its aura is haunting the entire room.” He chuckled, cringing away as you put everything back in your bag. 

“Yeah, believe me I know.” You pursed your lips and leaned back again. “You can put on regular music again if you want… Unless you brought your laptop?” 

“Fuck, you remembered that I said that?” He groaned and hid his face in his hands. 

“Sure do, so when you bringin it?”

“Hmmm…” he paused, humming suspiciously. “I don’t know I feel like- if I had some dirt on you, I might be more motivated to remember to bring it…” He insinuated with poorly feigned innocence.

“Wow, blackmail- that's bold.” You giggled, he merely winked in response, a sly grin across his lips. “I guess I’ll have to think of some dirt on me then…” 

The rest of the night was fairly calm. He pulled up some games on the computer for you two to pass the time, and he continued to joke with you throughout the night until it was time to clock out. 

“See you Thursday I guess…” He dramatically huffed as he walked with you to your cars. 

“Are you pouting about the shifts you work alone now?” You laughed as you tossed your things into your car, he smiled and rolled his eyes. 

“Hey, my two to three shifts I have alone are boring now…” 

“Right, because you’re such a conversationalist…” 

“Fuck off…” he chuckled before pausing as he did the same, “drive safe, text me when you get home…” 

He again waited until you were safely out onto the road before pulling out and heading home himself. He took a longer route home this time, opting to stop and pick up some groceries on his way-  not because it would keep his mind off you or from overthinking everything he said, it was only because his fridge and pantry were barren. 

After arriving home and putting everything away, he couldn’t help but feel anxious as he saw you still hadn’t messaged him. He groaned and took a swig from a new bottle of wine he’d gotten and began typing. 

Logan 🐺:

Did you make it home ok?

You: 

Right, sorry… forgot lol yes I did

He chuckled and rolled his eyes.

You: 

Were you worried? lol

Logan 🐺:

Well yeah you didn’t text me 😤

Sorry I care if my friends get home safe… sheesh

You: 

Oh so were friends now? Lmao 

He laughed as he sent back a barrage of offended gifs and memes. He couldn’t really remember the last time he’d been so eager to continue a conversation. 

You: 

Don't be butthurt haha, I just only ever see you at work is all 

Logan 🐺:

Well you're so busy with school- otherwise we could hangout

You: 

Hey don't blame me- you make my work schedule, you know what days I’m off 🤷‍♀️

Logan 🐺:

Fine… fair point…

Sunday?

You: 

I’ll think about it…

He rolled his eyes and sent a few gifs of graves before tossing his phone aside and attempting to wipe the ridiculous smile off his face. He knew this was likely a mistake, but he didn’t really care right now, maybe it was time to make a new friend. 

➢ Links:

✦ Fics Masterlist ✦ The Night Shift Masterpost ✦ ✦ AO3 ✦ Wattpad ✦ Art ✦ ✦ Requests Masterpost & Guidelines ✦ Request Trope List ✦ 。:゜:.*∵✧∵ ☽ Submit A Request ☾∵✧∵*:.゜: 。

[liminalmemories21]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @irispurpurea.  Thank you!

Waiting to see exactly how much of what I have written I am going to have to not just rewrite, but rethink in light of the comment in the interview that Carlos is the baby of the family.  Still, honestly, having a hard time wrapping my head around it for a variety of complicated reasons some of which are about the internal logic of the show’s plot, and some of which are about narrative repetition.

TK doesn’t say anything as they walk to the car, and it weirdly makes him feel compelled to explain.  "I told Mom I didn't want to have kids. I guess she didn’t say anything to Dad."

TK slants him an uncomfortably perceptive look but doesn’t say anything. 

He swallows against a suddenly dry throat.  "I know I should talk to him about it, but it's not like that's a kind of conversation we've ever had before. I wouldn't even know where to start."

TK makes a thoughtful noise.  "You talk to your mom."

He shrugs.  "Mom is easier." 

He struggles for how to explain why, but TK just nods.  "Yeah.  Talking to Mom was always easier than talking to Dad, even when she was mad at me for trying to be just like him."

He rubs a thumb against TK's wrist in comfort, and TK turns to him half-smiling.  "You don’t actually have to tell him anything, you know.”  He turns to look at TK in surprise.  TK turns his hand so their fingers are linked.  “A decision to have children, that’s you and me.  Nobody else really gets a say in it, and you don’t owe anyone an explanation about it.”  TK’s lips quirk in amusement.  “And, babe, let’s be honest, it’s not like he’s gonna bring it up if you don’t.”

He stages a theatrical gasp, taking a step back to press a hand over his heart like the ladies at church when he was growing up.  “Tyler Kennedy Strand, are you suggesting that my father and I both avoid difficult conversations?”

TK snorts.  “Well, you had to learn it somewhere.”  He takes a step closer and says more soberly.  “I’m serious though, baby.  This isn’t a conversation you owe anyone except maybe me, and we’ve talked about this, so we’re good.”  Carlos eyes him closely, and TK rolls his eyes.  “We’re good.  Now do you want to stop and pick up something for dinner on the way home?  I didn’t actually get to eat much before everything happened, and I’m starving.”

Tagging anyone who wants to play, because my brain is fried today and I need all the snippets of fic I can get to restore me for tomorrow.