#and i keep in going back and looking at what he says and engaging with him and I'm disgusting wish i juiuyf5sgcchjjj

[dae-chwiita]

A Little Too Late, A Little Too Drunk

Pairing : San X reader

Summary : You keep ignoring San and his drunk self can't handle it.

TW : drunk San, jealousy, kind of corny ? idk fluff fluff fluff

_________________

The room buzzed with laughter, music, and the faint clink of glasses, noises that matched your troubled emotions. The party was in full swing, yet it felt as though you were outside looking in—especially when your gaze inevitably found its way to San.

There he was, all sharp lines and soft smiles, his laughter booming over the music as he chatted with the girl you’d seen with the group before. She was beautiful, confident, and far too comfortable with him for your liking. It wasn't the first time you saw her; always hanging out with the guys recently.

You turned away quickly, heart twisting. It wasn’t as though you had any claim over him—San didn’t know about the feelings that had grown for almost a year now, feelings that had steadily grown into an ache every time he smiled at someone prettier who wasn’t you.

It was easier to ignore him, to let the sting of jealousy numb you, rather than risk exposing your vulnerability. That burning jealousy made it impossible to even look his way, you couldn't let your overflowing feelings see the light of day. If he found out, your friendship would be gone ! How could San want someone like you, when he could have someone like her ?

“Hey, come on.” Wooyoung nudged your shoulder, pulling you back to the moment. “You’ve been in your head all night. Let’s grab a drink.”

“Sure,” you murmured, looking at your empty cup, hoping the distraction would help. But even as you followed Wooyoung toward the makeshift bar, your eyes betrayed you, darting once again to San.

He was still with her, but something was off. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and he kept glancing around, searching for… something.

---

San was restless.

He should’ve been enjoying himself—Yujin was funny, and she’d been a friend for years. But no matter how hard he tried to engage in the conversation, his mind kept drifting. Where were you?

You’d been distant all evening, barely sparing him a glance. Every attempt he made to catch your attention was met with a polite, detached smile or a quick excuse to leave.

It was driving him mad.

San’s grip tightened around his drink as Yujin’s laugh pulled him back to reality. She was saying something, her voice soft, but he didn’t register a word. All he could think about was the way you had been avoiding him.

He wanted to call out to you, but you were with Wooyoung again, laughing loudly at something he’d said. San’s chest tightened, an unfamiliar burn spreading through him.

His thoughts spiraled as Yujin leaned closer, resting a hand on his arm. “San,” she purred, her voice cutting through the haze, “you’re so distracted. Is it me, or is there something else on your mind?”

Before he could respond, you passed by, your laughter with Wooyoung ringing clear. San froze, his gaze snapping to you. Without thinking, he stepped forward.

“Hey, wait—”

Wooyoung turned, flashing him a grin. “What’s up, San?”

San barely glanced at him, his blurry eyes locked on you. “Can I talk to—”

“She’s busy,” Wooyoung cut in, his tone light but firm. He threw you a quick glance, silently asking if you wanted to stay.

You didn’t.

“I’ll catch you later,” you muttered, brushing past San without meeting his eyes.

“Wait.”

His hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist before you could escape. Your pulse leaped beneath his touch, but you still refused to look at him, quickly glancing at Yujin and her pouting, holding San's arm.

“What’s going on?” San asked, his voice a mixture of frustration and desperation. “Why are you avoiding me?”

The question hung heavy in the air, but before you could answer, Yujin’s voice rang out. “San! You aren't even listening to me...”

You stiffened, the sound slicing through whatever resolve you’d had left.

“Let go,” you said, your voice cold as you tugged your arm free. “Go back to her.”

You didn’t look back as you walked away, but Wooyoung did. He hesitated, torn between following you and staying behind to let San step in.

“Wooyoung, don’t—”

San’s voice cracked, and when Wooyoung turned back, he saw something raw in his friend’s expression.

“Let me go after her, please.”

---

You were outside before you realized it, the cool night air biting at your skin. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you tried to push down the wave of anger and hurt that threatened to overwhelm you. She was touching his arm again, holding it like it was her's. Like he was her's.

Why did it have to hurt this much?

“Wait!”

San’s voice shattered your thoughts, and you turned just in time to see him stumble toward you, his steps unsteady.

“Go back inside, San,” you said sharply.

“No.” His voice was firm despite the slur in his words. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

You scoffed, turning away. “You’re drunk. This isn’t the time.”

“I don’t care.”

Suddenly, he was in front of you, his hands gripping your shoulders as he forced you to face him. His eyes, glassy with alcohol, bore into yours.

“Why are you ignoring me?” he demanded. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything!” you snapped, the words spilling out before you could stop them. “That’s the problem, San. You didn’t do anything, and you don’t even see...”

“See what?”

You hesitated, the weight of your feelings pressing down on you, looking down.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said finally, trying to pull away. “Just let it go.”

“No.” His grip tightened, his voice breaking. “It matters to me. You matter to me.” He took a deep breathing, tilting his head. “Can you at least look at me...please.”

Your heart lurched as you looked up, but you forced yourself to stay firm. “You don’t get it, San. You’re always with her, laughing and smiling like she’s the only person in the world. And I—”

Your voice cracked, and you looked away.

“And you what?” he whispered, his tone softening.

“And I can’t stand it,” you admitted, the words barely audible.

For a moment, there was only silence. Then San let out a shaky laugh, his hands sliding down to your wrists.

“You’re jealous,” he said, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You think I care about Yujin like that?”

“Don’t you?”

“No!” The force of his answer startled you, and you looked up to find him staring at you with an intensity that stole your breath.

“It’s you,” he said hoarsely, his hands shaking while holding your wrists. “It’s always been you.”

Your mind reeled, the confession sinking in.

“But—”

“No buts,” he cut in, his voice trembling. “I’ve been losing my mind all night because you wouldn’t even look at me. You have no idea how much I—”

He broke off, his gaze flickering to your lips before meeting your eyes again. “I’m in love with you.”

The words hung between you, heavy and unshakable.

“‘You… what?’” you repeated, staring at him like he’d just sprouted a second head.

“I said,” San slurred, his voice louder now, “I’m in love with you. And I’ve been losing my mind all night because you’ve been ignoring me! It’s driving me CRAZY!”

You blinked at him, taken aback by the outburst. “San, you’re drunk—”

“Drunk, yes,” he interrupted, holding up a finger. “But I’m also telling the truth! Do you have any idea how many times I tried to talk to you tonight?!”

“San—”

“Seven!” he exclaimed, as he held up what looked like five fingers, his other hand still busy holding you. “Seven times! And every single time, you just… just walked away like I didn’t exist!”

Despite yourself, you snorted. “I didn’t walk away seven times.”

“Yes, you did!” He leaned closer, his expression equal parts pitiful and desperate. “And it hurt. It hurt.”

“Oh, come on—”

“No, I’m serious!” He pointed at his chest, his finger poking himself a little harder than intended. “Right here. It hurt right here. Every time you ignored me, I thought, ‘Wow. I must’ve done something terrible. Maybe I insulted her by accident?’ But no, you just hate me now for no reason!”

“I don’t hate you,” you muttered, fidgeting with your fingers.

“You sure?” His tone was suspicious, but there was an undeniable softness in his eyes as he stared at you. “Because it really felt like you hated me. Especially when you were laughing with Wooyoung. Do you like him more than me now? Is that what this is about? Is he funnier than me? More handsome? Does he have better hair?”

“San!” you interrupted, laughing despite yourself. “What are you even talking about?”

“I don’t know!” he admitted dramatically, throwing his hands in the air, finally letting go of your arm. “I’ve been spiraling all night, okay? I mean, you’re over there, looking gorgeous, and I’m stuck with Yujin... again.” He sighs dramatically. “Do you know how many times she’s tried to touch my arm tonight? Ten!”

“Ten times?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes!” he exclaimed, his tone heavy with indignation. “It’s like she thinks I’m some kind of… of armrest or something. And the whole time, all I wanted to do was talk to you. But nooooo, you’re busy ignoring me, laughing with Wooyoung, and looking way too good for my sanity!”

You bit back a smile, your irritation melting as you watched him rant. His cheeks were flushed, his words a little too loud, but there was a raw honesty in his drunken rambling that made your heart ache.

“San,” you said softly, cutting him off before he could spiral further.

“What?” he asked, his wide, pleading eyes meeting yours.

“I wasn’t ignoring you because I hate you. Or because of Wooyoung.”

“Then why?” His voice cracked slightly, and you could see the desperation in every inch of him.

You hesitated, but the way he was looking at you—with so much vulnerability—made it impossible to hold back.

“Because I was jealous, okay?” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Seeing you with her all night… it made me feel like I didn’t matter to you. Like I couldn’t compare.”

San stared at you for a moment, his mouth opening and closing as if he couldn’t quite process your words.

Then, with absolutely zero grace, he blurted out, “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Excuse me?” you said, your eyes narrowing.

“You’re jealous of Yujin?!” he exclaimed, looking genuinely baffled. “She’s not even my type!”

“Oh, really? And what is your type?” you asked, crossing your arms.

He blinked at you, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “You!”

Your mouth fell open, but before you could respond, he kept going, his words tumbling out in a drunken rush.

“You’re my type, okay? You’re the type. The only type. Like, if someone said, ‘Hey, San, describe your dream person!’ I’d just say your name and that would be it! So the fact that you think I care about Yujin when you’re literally right here is just… just—ugh! It’s stupid!”

You stared at him, stunned into silence.

“See?!” he said, throwing his hands up again. “Now you’re ignoring me again! I've even told you the L word and you keep ignoring me!”

“I’m not ignoring you!” you said, trying not to laugh, feeling your cheeks about to burst in flammes.

“You kind of are...” he muttered, pouting slightly.

“San.”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Before he could say another word, you grabbed his face and kissed him, cutting off whatever nonsense he was about to say next.

For a moment, he froze, his brain clearly struggling to catch up. Then he melted into the kiss, his shaking hands finding their way to your waist as he pulled you closer.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes were wide, and his lips were parted in surprise.

“Does that clear things up?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He nodded slowly, a goofy grin spreading across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I think it does.”

“Good.” You started to turn away, embarrassed by what you've just done, but he grabbed your hand, stopping you.

“Wait. Just to be clear, are you my girlfriend now? Or do I have to ask officially tomorrow when I’m sober?”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide your smile. “We’ll see how you handle your hangover first.”

“Deal,” he said, grinning like he’d just won the lottery.

[gladiiator]

like an act of god

warnings/tags: 18+, dark themes, DUBCON/NONCON, woc!reader, emperor!lucius, dark!lucius, possessive behavior, forced engagement, implied forced marriage, ignoring a lot of logistics for the sake of the plot so rip, these tags are not exhaustive

wc: 5.4k

summary: An emperor’s favor is no favor at all.

believe it or not this was a writing warm up 😗 next up is hopefully childhood friends to lovers but let’s see where the plot bunnies go 🙂‍↔️

please let me know your thoughts and happy reading!!!

This is the fourth time in a mere week the emperor has called you to his chambers.

The guard looks vaguely uncomfortable as he stands outside your room. The flickering flames cast shadows underneath his helmet, making the sympathetic curl of his lip all the more severe.

Ink smudges the paper as you place down your pen. The letter to your brother will have to wait it seems.

“My lady.” The guard dips his head as he motions for you to step ahead of him.

The strained smile on your face wavers as soon as his eyes are on the back of your head. It is tough to keep your back straight as you make the short trek to the emperor’s room. Too short one can say but you keep those words tucked under the roof of your mouth.

You are a favorite of his, garnering his favor through virtue of your family or so they say. Your status allows you many liberties but these constant calls have crossed the line of propriety and rumors you may not recover from have begun to spread.

It is a fool’s wish to hope his eyes may stray but you cling to it despite his doglike loyalty.

The man of the hour sits with his back turned and a glass of wine balanced on his lips. His head twists when he hears your quiet footsteps enter his domain, softening when he catches a glimpse of you.

Your stomach twists.

You do not miss how the servants scurry out of sight and out earshot when he turns his formidable gaze towards them. You wish you could grab onto the frail wrist of the girl nearest to you. Your fingers flex as she hurriedly walks past you.

“It is late,” you say when the room is cleared.

“It is,” he agrees, a small smile on his handsome face. “Sit.”

Movements stiff, you take the seat across from him. He’s stretched out on his seat, robes rucking upwards to expose the strength hidden beneath his royal garb. Scars pucker the meat of his legs and there are faint white lines crisscrossing the skin as if depicting a linear story.

You swallow.

You have heard the tales and have determined what is far-fetched and what is truth.

And Lucius is made up almost entirely of truths.

The moment you cross your legs, he is upright and leaned over the minuscule table separating the two of you. Rather than reach for the half-full bottle of wine, he aims for the water, sharing a secretive smirk with you.

Your attempt at mirroring his playfulness is weak. A vague nausea begins to brew in your gut and you fear even water may be too heavy for you.

“Whispers will begin to spread.”

Lucius pauses. His features harden before he forcibly relaxes his face. “I do not see why that matters,” he says. His smile dims and the jug of water in his hand is quickly abandoned.

Sweat dampens your palms. You smooth them over your dress, wincing as the fabric catches on your peeled skin. A few months in Rome and you still have not adjusted to the weather.

“Lucius.”

His name is unnatural and stiff on your tongue. You long to revert back to his formal title but he refuses the honorific.

“It matters because you must marry wisely,” you say gently. “You know this. Let us not waste our breaths on the obvious.”

“Is it obvious?” he parrots back.

His voice takes on a cool tone. He’s not quite combative but you sense you must tread carefully lest his ice be thinner than it looks. But your brother was not made General because your bloodline bowed at the first sign of danger.

You tip your chin up. “It will not do for your senators to suspect you are looking inwards rather than outwards for your alliances.”

It is quiet for a moment before Lucius huffs out a laugh. He shifts his weight, balancing an elbow on his thigh to better cup his chin. Amusement lightens the blues of his eyes. “And if I am?”

You are not nearly as oblivious as your reputation suggests nor are you as great an actress as you believe yourself to be. You know when it admit defeat. There is only one way this conversation will go after all.

But this understanding does not mean you have to go quietly.

“Then I recommend Decima,” you say dryly.

He nods slowly, hiding his mouth behind his palm for a heartbeat before fixing you with a blandly curious look. “The daughter of the richest man in Rome,” he drawls. “Clever.”

He pops a grape into his mouth and chews it thoughtfully. “But not as clever as marrying the sister of my most loyal general.”

No one refuses the emperor. Try as he may to be benevolent and fair and kind, his status means there are certain words he has not been accustomed to since his rise to power.

“I suppose not,” you say finally.

Tilting your head, you fix the way your dress hangs over your legs. His eyes follow the ripple of the fabric but you pretend not to notice how he searches beyond what he can see.

“Is that why you have called me to your chambers so often? To flaunt your cleverness?” you ask, a touch sharply.

Lucius can’t help his grin. He ducks his head and it’s such a genuine display of the boyishness your brother feared his emperor lost, your stomach rolls at the sight.

“Do I not seem to enjoy your company?" he asks with faux surprise.

To your surprise, he slides down onto the ground and shuffles forward until his hands rest upon your knees. The cloth is so thin it feels as if his bare hands are against you. You suck in a breath at the warmth pooling underneath his palms.

“What are you—get up!” you hiss, casting a furtive glance behind you.

He blinks up at you innocently. “I am apologizing for misleading my betrothed. I have done a disservice if you think I call for you for the sake of a ploy.”

“And you will be doing me further disservice if you think I will believe this to mean anything.”

He moves his hands upwards until they lay upon your thighs. His fingers dimple your skin as he squeezes you. “I do not do things I do not mean,” he says firmly.

You lean down, placing your hands over his. “You want a family,” you say.

The words are shards in your mouth. It is not a simple matter of children. Lucius wants a home. The losses that haunt him have made his longing a physical thing. And your stubborn devotion lead you across an ocean you had no business crossing. What is a greater showing of love than that?

“I want you,” he corrects softly.

You almost wish he’d tell you he loves you. That would take rationality out of this equation.

But he wants you.

How do you reason with someone who knows exactly what they’re doing?

-

It was not meant to go this way.

The new ruler of Rome should have been of no personal concern of yours. He existed as a potential threat to your homeland, a story to fear, but not as a real person in your mind.

This remained true until a letter found its way to your family’s home.

It was written in your brother’s familiar scrawl and voice. He regaled to your family how he found himself across the world, omitting the worst of his ordeal, while promising his present safety.

With palpable regret, Kahlil declared himself unable to leave Rome, not while she remained under such uncertainty. The new emperor, Lucius Verus, had earned his loyalty having freed him from the clutches of the tyrannical twins and pushing him towards a path of glory.

And you knew at once what you must do.

You had to leave.

You had to feel his heartbeat underneath your hands and see that his blood was the same shade as yours. You refused to move on with your life as it was only knowing your brother existed. You would never be at peace without confirming that mortality ran through his veins.

The journey was brutal. It veered into the territory of being something you could not handle but you had no other choice than to handle it. Days stretched into weeks and weeks stretched into months but soon, you were touching down onto Roman soil.

The months at sea had been beneficial however as the language, while unfriendly to your ears, was familiar enough for you to navigate your way to the city. Hope permeated the air of the reborn city and whispers echoed the streets about a new age of peace.

Frankly, you didn’t care.

You asked around for your brother, eyebrows grazing your hairline as you learned of his newfound fame amongst the people. It took less than a week for you to scrounge around for a way to informally meet the beloved general.

It was rather anticlimactic.

There were a handful of places the general frequented with his men and none were easily accessible. Luckily, the innkeeper’s daughter took a liking to you and directed you to whose pockets were light. And so, you found yourself ducking underneath a curtain and into a plume of opioid smoke.

Your nose wrinkled at the acidic scent but paid it no mind as you searched the back room. Feigning confusion as some soldiers called to you, you darted around as each man you ran into did not resemble the one you knew.

On the cusp of marching back to the inn and declaring Caelia a liar, you found him. He was leaning over the balcony, melancholy stretching across his side profile.

His name left you as a breath, carried away by the slight breeze. But somehow, he heard you.

Kahlil lifted his head, a painful sort of resignation weighing down his shoulders, until he made eye contact with you.

In a matter of seconds, he stood before you. And he was okay.

He hugged you. His arms, muscled beyond your imagination, crushed you against his chest but it was a welcome pain, cracking your chest open and burrowing straight into the fragile meat of your heart.

“You shouldn’t have come,” he muttered against your hair. The admonishment is nonexistent, more a reflex to say rather than something from the heart. “But I am glad to see you.”

You pushed against him. He allowed you to pull back just enough so you could look up at him, vision blurred from your tears.

He was nothing like you remembered and you mourned this. Scars decorated his skin and callouses roughened his hands. But it was him.

His smile was still slightly awkward and the shape of his brows framed his eyes as perfectly as they always did. The kindness you feared was taken from him in his years of fighting remained in the crinkles of his eyes and the softness of his features.

“I missed you,” you said, voice catching in your throat. A fresh set of tears burned at your waterline. “I am so sorry we could not find you.”

His expression crumpled and Kahlil shook his head. “There is no one to blame but those who took me,” he said firmly.

You shut your eyes, swallowing down the sob that threatened to break free at his forgiveness.

He wiped the stray tears dripping from your face, laughing as if he did not look as foolish as you did. “You are still a crybaby.”

You laughed, more a hiccup than anything.

Kahlil was kept from saying more when someone uttered his name from behind.

“Highness,” Kahlil said, standing tall.

He wiped your remaining tears and his own before turning the both of you towards the voice.

A handsome man stood in front of you. His hair was dark and his beard thick. His arms were corded with muscle, similar to your brother’s, but there was a predator type of strength lurking underneath the surface in which Kahlil lacked.

The title registered in your mind as you stared and with an embarrassed look towards Kahlil, you dropped your head in deference.

The man quickly dismissed the formality and motioned for you to lift your head.

“I am Lucius,” he introduced. His gaze flicked to your brother in question.

You gave him your name, voice raw from your tears. He asked you to repeat it and you did so, watching as he rounded his mouth over the syllables.

“My sister,” Kahlil interjected. “The one who thinks no consequence too severe to keep her from making reckless decisions.”

At this, he pinched your ear lobe.

“You talked about me?” you asked, blinking up at him. So many years had passed. It was a wonder he remembered any stories of you to tell.

“Yes,” Lucius said, drawing your attention back to him. He stared at you, an unreadable look in his too blue eyes. “Quite favorably too.”

He took in the circles staining your under eyes and how you clutched at your brother as if he were an apparition brought to life. Your hand ached with how tightly you held the fabric of Kahlil’s clothes between your fingers but you could not make yourself relax. You worried you would wake and find yourself back on the boat and under the throes of that fever once more if you let go.

“You traveled far.”

The observation managed to sound impressive off of Lucius’ tongue as if he found you admirable. It made you squirm.

Memories of the journey flashed through your mind, bringing forth echoes of the anxiety you suffered for months on end. But you shrugged as if it was easy. Because in a way, it was.

Kahlil was at the end of the journey. There was no easier path to take.

“And I would have gone further had it been necessary,” you said. “Luckily, it was not. I might have thrown up my stomach if I was stuck on that ship any longer.”

Kahlil made a face. “The waves are a punishment,” he said sympathetically.

“You must be tired,” Lucius said. He had not taken his eyes off of you. “Come.”

And that was how it began.

You had a few uninterrupted weeks with your brother before he departed in search of allies for Rome. Kahlil promised you a home wherever he was and Lucius was all too happy to uphold such a promise.

Your quarters were moved to be closer to Lucius’ in Kahlil’s absence. It did not take long before you replaced time spent with him with Lucius.

In the instances you were alone with him, you forgot he was the emperor. His smile was infectious and he had a clever wit about him that kept you on your toes. The stories sprung from his lips kept you enthralled and you found yourself prolonging these moments with him.

Charisma was a necessity for leaders and Lucius had it in abundance.

Slowly, he began encroaching into your space. A hand on your lower back, a brush his fingers against your waist, lingering hugs that involved him burying his face in the hollows of your throat.

He was too close too often.

People began to take notice and sly comments were whispered under breath.

Once the rumors circulated close enough for you to hear, you began to pull back. You ignored the informal requests to see him and found reasons to decline the formal requests to his chambers.

Lucius did not take well to your sudden reticence and the rumors worsened as his demand for you grew.

If you knew being friendly with Lucius would lead to this, you would have made your room a jail in Kahlil’s absence instead.

-

Lucius becomes bold in the days after your engagement is announced.

He pens a letter to your brother of the news. You sign it without reading it. Lucius purses his lips but sends the letter without much complaint.

You write your own letter, minimally mentioning the engagement, and praying Kahlil reads in between the lines and slows his journey back. As your father resided an ocean away, your brother will have to make do and you fear his loyalty for Lucius will override his love for you.

Congratulations are heartfelt and plentiful from the people and ring insincere from the upper echelon. But the pushback is minimal and so, Lucius gleefully goes forward with the wedding planning.

It will be a grand affair, one you know he does not care for in the slightest. If it not for the fact that it would be the greatest showing of ownership, you believe Lucius would have dragged you in front of seven witnesses to declare the union.

The first time he presses a kiss against your temple in front of the most gossipy of his senate, you nearly buck your head back into his nose. His hand rests against your side and he murmurs something against your skin, sealing whatever it is he has said with a gentle kiss.

The sound of your blood rushing is all that fills your ears so you do not know if Lucius requested something of you. It does not matter.

He has made his point.

His affection worsens after that.

The engagement permits him to seek you out as he wishes. His men roll their eyes lightheartedly when he stops what he’s saying to call you over during training. He is quick to leave meetings or lunches if he senses they have turned into leisure rather than productive discussion to make his way back to your quarters now that you rebuff his.

No matter where you are, he finds you.

In the rare moments you are left to your own devices, you find yourself with no friends nor hobbies to keep you occupied.

You notice men do not raise their heads when they see you. Any conversation you try to hold with one ends with excuses as to why they suddenly find themselves too busy to speak to you.

A guard follows you around the clock. You manage to wrangle his name out of him—Scipio—but it is for nothing as a fortnight later, you do not see him again. From then, you have a new guard every day.

The women, few and far between in the palace, are sweet. But it is clear whatever comes out of your mouth goes directly to Lucius’ ear. So you busy yourself with fictional hopes of your future and dabble in petty gossip when you find yourself in their presence.

It is suffocating.

“There you are.”

The corner of the garden you’ve taken a liking to darkens as Lucius blocks the sunlight seeping in through a window.

He’s angelic under the golden cast of the sun. A man more than worthy of his position.

“Ah, Highness,” you greet, offering him a nod.

There is a pinch between his brows.

“We are to be married,” he reminds you, crouching down. He runs a gentle hand through the flowers you are observing. “You are my equal.”

“But we are not husband and wife quite yet, Highness.”

His hand leaves the flowers to cup your cheek. He turns you to face him, thumb brushing against the softness of your lips. Unconsciously, you swipe your tongue over the trail of warmth left behind. A slightly salty taste permeates your mouth.

“You are my equal,” he repeats. “And I expect you to treat me as such.”

The skin around his eyes is dark. Exhaustion makes him look pallid. Your avoidance is the last thing he wishes to deal with, this you are sure, and it tugs at your heart to see him so tired.

“You should go to bed,” you say.

“Will you join me?” he asks.

You jerk back. His hands falls off your cheek.

Lucius laughs at the stunned look on your face. He moves closer into your space, looking down at you.

“You are annoying,” you say hotly. “And I am busy. Obviously.”

He hums. “With thinking of ways to delay our wedding, yes?”

“Please. I have better uses of my time.”

Besides, he has made it nigh impossible to find a loophole. An emperor’s word is law and he has used his to shackle you to him.

��So you do not conspire to find a way to break our engagement?” he surmises mildly.

A fissure of fear opens within you. Hadrian had promised you discretion but clearly, a bit of luck is needed to escape the ever watchful eye of Lucius. But you have not been informed of any ports closures and so, you choose to hold your cards tightly to your chest.

You twist a petal between your fingers. “How can I conspire when all I know are these walls,” you motion towards said walls, “And the people you install in my circle.”

He watches you for a too long moment, scrutinizing the unnatural stillness of your expression. “The sense you hope your brother will impart on me will not change anything,” he says eventually.

It takes considerable effort for you to not show any sort of relief at his warning. The more pleading your letters became, the more Lucius clung to your side so you had eased up in the past few weeks. It does not come as a surprise he is actively reading whatever it is you write.

“Is he a confidant in name only, then?” you retort.

“He loves me,” Lucius says instead. He’s softened, bearing the weight of a man who knows it takes only a word for blood to be spilled in his name and for it to be spilled gladly. “But he loves you more.”

Pursing his lips, he fingers a stem. He doesn’t flinch when a thorn splits his skin. A droplet of blood runs from his finger and drips into the soil.

“But he loves Rome more?” you guess, peeking at him from under your lashes.

He watches the blood continue to spill into the soil. Just when you think he won’t answer you, to give weight to the truth you fear more than anything, he says, “Kahlil thinks I am a good man.”

And that is a sentencing all on its own, you suppose.

-

The bath water practically scalds your skin as you sink into the tub.

It is refreshing in a way. The slight sting keeps your thoughts from straying.

Kahlil’s recent letter leaves you with no choice but to hasten your escape. Any ship will do for you need to leave before the week’s end if Kahlil’s timeline is to be trusted.

You allow yourself a few more minutes in the bath, a few more minutes to act as if you are as any other, before you drain the tub and dry off.

You exit the bathroom, towel tucked loosely around yourself. Smoothing the left over oil onto your lips, you pause when you notice a shape out of the corner of your eye.

Lucius lays atop your sheets.

A strangled scream leaves your throat and you’re throwing a candle at him before you recognize it is him in your bed and not some stranger come to make true of your worst nightmares. Though, this is not a much better sight.

He catches the candle with one hand and deposits it on the floor, eyes wide in bemusement.

You hitch the towel higher, fisted fabric at your throat as you take him in. He’s stretched out lazily, hair wet and skin shiny with cream. The sheet covers his lower half and you force your eyes to rip away from the dark trail of hair on his lower abdomen. For all intents and purposes, he looks ready for bed.

“I brought you a gift,” he says, sitting up. He gestures to the box on top of your vanity. “Come here. Let’s look at it together.”

While said lightly, this is clearly an order.

You stand, shifting your weight. You are hyper aware of how naked you are underneath this flimsy towel. “I need to change, Highness.”

Annoyance flickers across his face. “Come here.”

Shuffling to your vanity, you heft the box as best you can with one arm and make your way to Lucius. The second you are within arm’s reach, he shoots out his hand and wraps it around you. He drags you forward and forces you to sit nestled between his thighs.

His cock is a heavy weight at the base of your spine.

You immediately straighten up and try to scoot forward but he doesn’t allow for this. He settles the box on your legs and brackets you with his arms.

“Open it,” he murmurs against your ear, resting his chin atop your shoulder.

Your fingers shake as you pry open the lid. All you can focus on is how the room feels as if it ends and begins with Lucius.

When you get the box open, you don’t know what you are looking at. And then Lucius pushes a finger against the object until a set of familiar brown eyes stare back at you, unfeeling and condemning all at once.

You shove the box away from you, turning into Lucius before you can see Hadrian’s head roll onto the floor.

He allows the change in position, letting your weight guide him back down to the bed before he hooks an arm around you and reverses your position. The towel slips and he follows the line of your throat and downwards.

He brings his hand down to push away the towel pooling at your hips. Instinctively, you grab at his wrist, tears beginning to line your eyes.

Lucius stills.

“Did you think I would let you leave?” he wonders.

He sounds genuinely confused and somehow, that little slip of sincerity allows a frigid wave of fear to crash over you. Rationally, you know your skin to still be warm to the touch but you shiver, ice replacing the blood flowing in you.

“I thought you would find me more work than I am worth,” you say quietly. Your heart strains against your rib cage.

The corner of his mouth twitches. “Did you now?”

He easily breaks free of your hold and you can do nothing as he makes quick work of your towel. Lucius slowly runs his thumb along the inside of your thigh, leaving a trail of warmth.

“Lucius.” His name is torn from your throat, a plea wrapped up in a warning. “*Don’t*. We are not married yet.”

He laughs, dropping his head down until his forehead lies flat against your collarbone. His breath is hot against you, sending the chill inwards.

"But we will be,” Lucius promises easily. “And I will wait no longer.”

He’s kissing you before you can make an attempt at delaying what is seemingly the inevitable.

His lips are hard against yours, impatiently slipping his tongue into your mouth and finding purchase against your teeth. Lucius is uncharacteristically sloppy, betraying the desperation he’s kept so carefully hidden.

You put your hands against his chest and curl them into fists when pushing only results in him tightening his hold on you.

Recalling what the other women said about their first time, you push down your fear until it settles underneath the acceptance you forcibly yank over yourself like a veneer.

His fingers caress your soft, bare skin as he trails his hands up your thigh. The coarseness of his chest hair against your overly sensitive skin sends static skittering across your nerves.

You stifle a whine when he pulls away from you just enough to let you pant against his mouth. Your stomach gives a sickening lurch when there’s pressure between your bodies, a dull ache at the apex of your thighs.

He slips his finger into you inch by inch and tears wet your cheeks when he adds a second one. Experimentally, he stretches you out until you’re left with no choice but to let your legs fall open, inviting him in.

The longer he presses into you, the more you feel yourself relax, noting your loosening muscles as if happening from an outsider’s perspective. Wetness drips down his wrist, pooling in the crease of his elbow and he grins, eyes pointedly going down. You refuse to follow him.

“Not as shy as you like to come off, hm?” he murmurs, circling his thumb over you and drawing out a high pitched moan.

You bite your lip immediately, a harsh breath ricocheting in your chest. You try to stamp down the pleasure beginning to curl into a coil in your belly. It tightens when he digs his teeth into your fluttering pulse.

It is when you are on the brink of *something* that he eases up, slipping his fingers out and bringing them to his mouth. You almost clamp down on his hand when he pulls out but resist the urge by the skin of your teeth.

You shift, drawing your legs closer in the hopes of chasing that mounting high he’s taken from you. A dizzying sort of heat has set your blood aflame, akin to a fever.

You must be sick, you decide. It must be a sickness that has not yet been discovered that plagues you and leaves you feeling empty where Lucius does not touch you.

He cants his hips up, lining himself up. Your eyes widen when you feel him prod your entrance. The sheer size of him terrifies you because it won’t matter if he doesn’t fit as you hysterically believe he won’t.

He’ll find a way.

“Lucius, wait,” you hiccup, swallowing down the anxiety thrumming alongside your arousal.

He grinds himself between your thighs, slicking himself with you. He doesn’t bother acknowledging your mindless babble and instead, licks away a wayward tear on your cheek.

Lucius sinks in an inch, your name a wrecked sound. He sounds different from what you’re used to, strained and roughened around the edges.

“Please kiss me,” you beg, curling a hand around the base of his neck. His curls are wet, the space between them almost humid from the heat emanating from him.

His hips stutter and he braces himself against the mattress.

“Kiss you?” Lucius repeats hoarsely, peering down at you with his pupils blown wide with a haunting desire.

You nod weakly, urging his face closer. The stretch of him burns and while not entirely unpleasant, it makes your heart quicken and your belly flutter.

He sinks in deeper and catches your gasp in his mouth. You part your lips instantly as he bears down on you, pushing deeper and deeper until he’s seated inside you. Numbly, you wonder if you’ll ever be whole again, if Lucius has carved out a space in you only he can fill.

Lucius lets you adjust to him, running a soothing hand underneath your chest. He traces circles around your nipple and it’s a searing heat that takes the edge off.

He kisses you gently. It’s almost too sweet to bear but you respond in earnest, angling your hips upwards to give the okay. The discomfort has loosened into something you handle and the knot noosed around your heart untangles to leave a bloodied heap in its wake.

He thrusts into you as if to test your resolve. You whimper as pleasure seeps into your core. You break away from his greedy mouth and soothe yourself with pressing kisses against his strong jaw. You nip at the bone as you catch your literal and metaphorical breath. It’s hard to tell if it’s the lack of air or Lucius himself making you lightheaded.

The thread of restraint he’s meticulously maintained snaps at the strung out noise. Lucius fucks you hard and deep, perhaps a little deeper than intended if the guttural noise that leaves him is any indication.

The pleasure in your belly ratchets up and a strangled moan is gutted from you when his cock brushes against some part of you that sends sparks right up your spine.

Immediately, he’s thrusting into that spot over and over again and doesn’t stop until he stiffens with a groan.

He spills into you, cock twitching as you milk him for what he’s worth.

Your name is on the tip of his tongue and branded across his heart.

Lucius chants it, peppering kisses all over your face as he collapses carefully on top of you. Fatigue wears at you and you close your eyes, hating yourself for finding comfort in how he immediately presses a kiss against your swollen eyelids.

“I love you,” Lucius whispers.

It is the worst thing you have ever heard.

this fic is finished. there will never be a part 2. thanks!

[lecl3rcw]

Keeping Up With The Leclercs |

a/n: this is the more detailed version of the chapters!! y/n has no face claim, the pictures I use are just for reference.

———————————————————————————

It was an unusually rainy day in Monte Carlo as the Leclerc twins sat at their mother’s house. y/n was on live with her fans building a lego set while arthur was playing the piano in the back.

“y/n what’s the lip oil you use, it’s so pretty, aw thankyou! I use the Dior lip oil in the shade poppy coral!” She smiles showcasing the product before putting it away.

“oh by the way, I’m back home in Monaco for a bit so that’s my brother playing the piano, he’s very good at it” she says as she continues to build a Lego sit, well atleast until her brother arthur comes into the screen.

“c'est tellement moche” that’s so ugly he says chuckling as her jaw drops. “tu es du genre à parler” you’re one to talk

Soon, Arthur had started helping her as the soft rain pattered against the window of their maman’s cozy house. “y/n who’s your favorite sibling, hmm…” she goes into deep thinking as arthur looks at her expectantly, “Lorenzo” she simply says as arthur scoffs “Not your twin brother?” “…definitely not” she chuckles as they engage in their usual sibling banter.

“I guess someone’s upset a certain someone is out of their league” Arthur nudges her, she gave him a warning look, “aw what’s the matter? You upset that Jo-” before he could finish she puts a hand on his mouth “fermez-la!” Shut up!

arthur chuckles as he nodded “bien sûr chéri” sure cheri he says as they continue building it. It was a studio ghibli's "howls moving castle" and it was so cute. Once they were finished they showed it to the people watching the live, “it’s so cute!” She says admiring their work. It was late so they decided to end the live saying goodbyes to everyone who watched.

y/n.leclcerc posted a story

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charlesleclerc, charlottedipietro and 67,000 more…

Now, she was in the middle of packing up her suitcase as Arthur scrolled through his phone laying down on her bed. "So how long are you going to be in the US for?" Arthur casually asks, "hmm about a month, and then ill meet up with Charles and Alexandra in Venice for a bit" she says as she packed everything.

"Damn, booked a lot of jobs for once? I'm surprised anyone would cast your ugly face" he chuckles making her roll her eyes, "don't you have some relationship problems to worry about" she fires back making his face drop. "Thats not fair! you know Carla-" before he finishes, their mother Pascale comes in as well.

"Salut Maman" hello mama they say unanimously, as she smiled at them. "Tu pars déjà ?" you're leaving already? she asks y/n as she sighs, "oui mama" yes mama she says hugging her mom. Pascale wraps her arms around the girl tightly, "ton voyage a paru si court, reviens plus souvent à Monaco ma petite fille" your trip felt so short, come back to Monaco more often my little girl. y/n smiles, "I promise I will maman" she says as she packs the last of her things.

Pascale takes a seat next to Arthur on y/n's bad, "so what all do you have planned for the month?" Arthur asks. y/n sits down, "I'm actually not sure, Lucille sent me an entire list of my schedule, I'm actually so grateful for my manager" she chuckles as she pulls up her schedule on the phone. "How is Lucille by the way?" Arthur says his cheeks a bit red, she glares at him "You stay away from Lucille" she says as his face drops "What! why!" he says as Pascale looks at them in confusion, "why cherie?" she asks confused as well.

"A. you're a terrible boyfriend, B. you have to sort things out with Carla because I love her, and C. I'm not going to let you mess up a good thing going on for me" she says crossing her arms, Arthur groans "I am not!" he says to his twin who scoffs "Do you know the amount of friendships I have lost because of you and Charles?" she says. "Fine fine ill stay away from Lucille quelle galère" what a drag he says rolling his eyes. "Maman tell him to stay away from Lucille" she says, "ok ok je pense qu'il comprend" ok ok i think he gets it she says in her usual soft voice. Once things settle down, Arthur and Pascale exit the room so that she could get some rest before her very long and tiring flight.

The next morning as she's brushing her teeth she gets a call from Lucille, "Goodmorning y/n! I just sent you a screenshot of the boarding pass!" Lucille chirps, "Thankyou so much Lucille, ill see you when I land" she says as she hangs up. She quickly gets her hand bag ready making sure she has her essential such as her passport, and some self care products.

Arthur and Pascale drive her to the airport, she hugs both of them tightly, "I'll miss you guys" she says pulling away, "yeah yeah I guess I will too" Arthur says playfully rolling his eyes to which she punches his shoulder. "oh ma petite fille, envoie-moi un message quand tu atterris" oh my little girl, text me when you land as she pulls y/n into another tight hug to which she reciprocates. "oui maman" yes mama she says before finally going into the line. "she waves to them with a quick I love you and before she knows it, she's on the plane.

y/n.leclerc's story

charlesleclerc replied > safe travels cherie!

alexandrasaintmelux replied > see you soon ange!

she smiles as she responds to their messages, she shuts her phone off after a while. Her head resting on the airplane window as she extends her legs since she was in first class. her work in the US hadn't even started yet and she was already feeling so stressed. she had 38 modeling shoots, two runways, and about 7 public events, one of them including seeing one of her biggest crushes in just a month. she decides to just shut her eyes and let it go to the back of her head.

y/n.leclerc

monaco 24' you will be missed <3 @ alexandrasaintmleux, @ arthurleclerc, @ chanel

liked by lorenzotl, charlesleclerc, and 1,200,0000 others.....

alexandrasaintmleux mon petit amour💌 my little love

^ y/n.leclerc mon ange 💞 my angel

lorenzotl vous me manquez les gars ☹️ miss you guys

^ y/n.leclerc tu me manques davantage😔💞 miss you more

chanel that's our ambassador!🫡

^ y/n.leclerc my fav brand💌

lec1ercs sososo pretty

lilymean1 your white dress is so pretty! where's it from!

^ y/n.leclerc Chanel! the 2023 summer drop :)

asmcloset I love her friendship with Alex

[pedroscurls]

training partners (pt. 12)

summary: without another word from jack, you and hugh continue your relationship without any issue or distraction. filming comes close to an end and there's one scene that hugh needs your assistance with. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader warnings: smut (18+, mdni), lots of oil (duh, someone's gotta lube hugh up for that end scene), dirty talk, teasing, sex in hugh's trailer, oral - f & m receiving, unprotected p in v, swallowing, missionary, hugh covers your mouth (to keep you quiet), implied age gap (hugh is 55, reader is in late 20s-early 30s), no use of y/n. word count: 3.6k a/n: ok, this is complete filth lol. i had to write something about this scene because when hugh said that there were people whose sole job was to lube him up??? well, let's just say my mind went places lol. hope y'all enjoy! (needed some good fluff / smut before we get back into the angst hehe) as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman. prev part.

Filming continues and you’re grateful that Jack hasn’t tried to reach out to you nor does he try to look for you either. Knowing that he got the hint that you no longer are giving him control of your life, it gives you relief. You feel like you can finally breathe again, can finally move forward with your life, with Hugh. 

Without worrying about Jack coming back, you’re able to get back to enjoying your day-to-day responsibilities of continuing to take photographs on set of the movie. Every day, you wake up feeling immensely grateful for Hugh, Ryan, and Shawn for giving you this opportunity. While you normally take photographs of couples who have recently gotten engaged and have occasionally worked a small wedding, being an on-set photographer and capturing behind the scenes content is so much more enjoyable. It gives you a glimpse of how movies are made, shows you the passion and dedication of each cast and crew member. 

But Hugh… you had always been a fan of his work and being able to see him in his element left you speechless every time. The way he’s able to switch into character so easily and become Logan Howlett - a character that you’ve always loved. 

Throughout filming, you’re just in awe of everyone on set and to be able to see the movie unfold right before your eyes is an experience that you’re sure will only happen once in a lifetime. 

And as the end of filming fast approaches, you embrace every second of every day you’re on set. You find that you fall more in love with Hugh, watching him interact with every single person and making sure that they feel seen and heard - he truly is perfect, and a really good man, and you have to wonder what you did to deserve him. 

Hugh hadn’t brought up Jack in months since the last argument you both had and you’re grateful. You never wanted Jack to ever be the reason to get in between you and Hugh. While you feel partially responsible, you have come to realize that it was bound to happen eventually. It was naive to think that Hugh wouldn’t have reacted the way he did. 

“So,” Hugh says, pulling you from your thoughts as you both remain lying in bed, limbs entangled after yet another intimate session of lovemaking. 

“Hm?” You ask, turning to look over at him as your fingertips run across his bare chest. 

“How are we going to go back to New York and not be with each other every night and morning?”

You arch a brow in his direction. You know what he’s implying and he’s just staring at you with a small smile. A hopeful smile. “I don’t know about you, but I’m glad to have my own space after–,” you tease, trying to keep a straight face. 

Hugh narrows his eyes and moves to hover above you, hands grabbing your wrists and pinning them above your heads. You’re both still naked and he makes sure to press his hips into you. You can feel him getting harder and harder by the second. 

“Wanna say that again, baby?” 

“How are you getting hard again?” You ask, lifting your hips to roll against his. 

“You make it easy,” he winks. “Now, don’t go and change the subject.” 

“Well, that’s really difficult when you’re literally distracting me!” 

Hugh smirks, his grip around your wrist tightening as he leans down to brush his lips against yours. “You ain’t gonna miss me?” He whispers, moving his hips as his tip brush against you. “Not gonna miss sleeping next to me and waking up next to me, baby?” 

“Hugh…” your eyes flutter and your legs wrap around his hips, locking your ankles at his lower back. “I will… I will miss you. I was just teasing and–”

Hugh grins and slides into you in one thrust, growling as your walls surround him. “That’s what I thought.” 

—

Later that week, you’re staring up at Hugh who’s grinning down at you. You’re in his trailer and he’s already in his Wolverine suit - albeit a little dirtier than when he first put it on and his arms now in full display. 

“You’re telling me that I will need to oil you up?” You ask, eyes wide. “For what? Why? Oh my god, I’m gonna– How will I do that?!” 

“Well, you put oil on your hands and–”

“Okay, ha ha.” You roll your eyes playfully, feeling his hands move to your hips. “Hugh…” 

“What? You want someone else to oil me up? That it? First you say you won’t miss me when we go back home, that you want your space, and now you don’t wanna touch me?” He teases with a smirk. “What’s next, baby?” 

“Oh stop, you’re being dramatic.” You laugh quietly, looking into his eyes. 

“So, you’ll oil me up?” He grins. 

“If I must,” you tease. “But you owe me.” 

“Oh, baby, just you wait.” He winks. 

“What does the scene even consist of where I have to put oil on you?” 

“You’ll see.” 

“Not even a hint?” 

Hugh shakes his head and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Nope. I will say, though,” he whispers, moving his lips along your jawline to your ear. “I’m gonna try my very best not to get excited when your hands are all over me.”  

“Oh my god, you’re going to be shirtless, aren’t you?” 

His lips grow into a wide grin as he gently nips along the side of your neck, hands gripping your hips. “Yeah, baby.” 

You look at him from top to bottom, biting down on your lower lip as your gaze darkens at the thought. You clear your throat and look back into his eyes, slowly shaking your head. “Yeah, you owe me because I don’t know how I’m going to oil you up without wanting to–”

“Oh, I know,” Hugh chuckles, interrupting you. “Good thing it’s the last scene to shoot before we call it a day.”

“So, what I’m hearing is that after that scene, you’re going to take me back to the hotel and…” you wiggle your brows together. “You know.”

Hugh smirks, hands slowly moving from your hips to wrap around your waist, dipping low to rest on your backside. “I don’t know,” he lies. “Why don’t you tell me what I’ll be doing when we get back to the hotel room?” 

“You’re gonna let me have my way with you,” you grin, nodding excitedly. 

“Oh, I’m gonna let you, will I?” 

“Yes.” you answer, matter-of-factly. 

“Love the confidence, baby,” Hugh grins as he leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Gotta get back on set. I’ll see you later.” 

“You’re such a tease.” 

“Am I?” 

“Yes, Hugh,” you answer, pulling back and looking up at him with a small pout on your lips.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he winks. “You know I will.”

“You better.”

“I promise,” Hugh says. “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” you smile. 

—

Throughout the rest of the day, you find yourself distracted with the thought of having to oil Hugh up for the last scene of the day. While you’re still in awe of the acting from both Ryan and Hugh, you can’t help but your eyes deviate to Hugh’s arms as he says his lines. 

And even as that scene approaches, Shawn is the first one to walk up to you, a teasing grin on his lips. “So, you’re okay with oiling Hugh up for this last scene?” 

“I think it’d be weird if I wasn’t,” you tease, biting the inside of your cheek in anticipation. 

“That’s true,” he chuckles. “Ryan’s been teasing him all day about it,” Shawn points out. 

“Oh, I don’t doubt it,” you smile. “How much oil will I have to put on him, by the way?” 

“Um,” Shawn grins. “Quite a lot and depending on how many takes we’ll need to get the right one…”

“Okay, so we might need more than one bottle.”

“Oh, we have plenty.” 

“And this scene…” you begin, playing with your camera strap. 

“It’s a good one,” Shawn finishes for you. 

“I mean, it wouldn’t be Wolverine if there wasn’t at least one shot of him without a shirt, right?” 

Shawn laughs quietly. “That’s right… Speaking of the devil,” he nods his head over your shoulder and you turn slightly to see Hugh without his shirt, simply dressed in only the yellow and blue pants with the matching boots and cowl. 

You clear your throat at the sight of him, his muscles clearly defined as you bite your lower lip. Your eyes linger on his chest and abdomen, moving along his strong arms and shoulders. Ryan’s voice breaks you out of your thoughts and you turn your gaze on the other man, who’s dressed in his entire Deadpool gear.

“You might want to pick up your jaw off the floor,” Ryan chuckles. 

“Oh, shut up,” you reply, gently smacking his chest. “I see this every day, it’s nothing new to me,” you lie.

Hugh places his hands on his hips, staring at you with a slight tilt to his head and a small smirk on his lips. He can see your eyes flitting back to him, can see the way you're gently gnawing at your lower lip and he knows exactly what kind of look you’re giving him. 

“I know,” Ryan sighs dramatically. “Lucky you.” 

“Got the oil for you,” Hugh says, handing it to you and breaking you out of your thoughts. You take it from him slowly, fingers brushing against his. 

“Right. So, we’re doing this now.” you say, gripping the bottle of oil tightly in your grasp. 

Shawn nods and then looks over at you. “Don’t put too much,” he advises. “Just enough to make his skin glisten, like he’s sweating.” 

“Right, right,” you nod, clearing your throat. “Not too much, but just enough.”

Ryan and Shawn quietly chuckle to themselves before giving the both of you some privacy. You look up at Hugh and bite your lower lip, eyes lingering on his lips as it moves down the side of his neck, to his chest and down his abdomen and back up. 

“You nervous, baby?” Hugh whispers. 

“N– No,” you stammer. “I just don’t want to mess up.”

“I don’t even think that’s possible,” he chuckles. “I’m ready for you, love.” 

You nod slowly and then open the bottle of oil, squeezing just enough onto your palm. You set the bottle aside and rub your hands together to evenly distribute the oil before you reach out to place your hands on his shoulders, slowly moving them up and down before you move to his chest. 

Hugh smirks, flexing his chest for you and he lets out a quiet chuckle when he hears you quietly gasp. “Love feeling your hands on me, baby,” he whispers. 

“Stop distracting me,” you tease, pouring just a bit more oil onto your hands before you reach out to spread it along his chest down to his abdomen, feeling each ridge and muscle of his abs. Your hands move dangerously closer to the waistband of his pants, feeling Hugh’s hand immediately dart out to rest on your hip. 

“Careful, baby.”

“Just making sure I got everything.” Slowly, you pull away and look at him, his upper half glistening with the oil you just applied. “I think– I think you’re ready to go.”

Hugh smiles and leans down to peck your lips lightly. “Thank you, baby.”

“I miss seeing your eyes,” you point out, motioning towards the cowl that’s placed atop of his head. “But I can’t lie… this is just as good a view.” 

Hugh opens his mouth to say something, but hears his name being called by Ryan and Shawn. “Duty calls.”

“Try and get this in one take so you can take me back to the hotel.”

Hugh smirks. “Impatient, aren’t you?” 

“Do you see yourself? I’d jump you right here if I could.” 

“Naughty girl,” he whispers lowly. 

“Hugh!” Ryan calls out. “Come on, buddy. I’m sure she will oil you up soon enough.” 

“Go,” you say quietly. 

Hugh nods and then turns on his heel to take his place on set. 

—

It takes more than one take to complete the scene. After about two and a half bottles of oil and intense sexual tension radiating off you and Hugh, Shawn finally calls cut. Hugh walks over to you and takes the towel from your hands to wipe off the immense amount of oil that’s dripping from him, but he can’t help but watch your eyes ogle him. It always made him feel so special and borderline shy when your eyes linger on him, especially with the way you’re staring at him now. 

“Just gotta head back to the trailer and change,” Hugh says. “Then we can go back to the hotel.”

Anticipation courses through your veins as you keep a tight hold on Hugh’s hand, fingers laced together as you walk alongside him. Once at his trailer, Hugh shuts the door and locks it behind him. 

Before you can even ask what he’s doing, Hugh turns to face you and removes the cowl to set it aside. His gaze darkens at the sight of you and in just a few strides in your direction, he’s wrapping his strong arms around your waist and lifting you off your feet. 

Your legs immediately wrap around his waist and your arms move around his shoulders. Letting out a quiet gasp, Hugh gently rests you on your back against the couch, kneeling on the floor between your legs.

“Hugh, what are you–”

“Been wanting you all day,” he says, his large hands moving to your jeans and undoing the button and zipper of it all too quickly. “Can’t wait anymore.”

“Baby–”

“Shh,” Hugh whispers, tugging your jeans down your legs and tossing the fabric over his shoulder. He looks up at you and then moves his hands to the waistband of your black lace panties, slowly tugging them down your legs as well. Once your lower half is completely exposed for him, Hugh holds your legs apart and growls at the sight of your slickened sex. He leans in and brushes the bridge of his nose against you, hands gripping your legs tightly. “Goddamn, baby. You’re already so wet for me.”

“It was because of all that oil,” you whimper, moving your hands to rest in his hair. “Please…”

“And here I thought you were gonna have your way with me,” he grins, pulling back just enough to brush the pad of his thumb against your bundle of nerves. Hugh looks up at you, watches you tilt your head back and your eyes fall shut at the lightest of touches.

“Oh, I will,” you groan. “But first, how about you do what you need to do and–”

“So demanding lately,” he grins, leaning in to lick a stripe along your soaking heat. A loud moan escapes your lips and Hugh smiles, pulling away. “Baby, you gotta stay quiet for me. There are still people on set and we can’t have them hearing you, hearing what I’m doing to you.”

“Fuck,” you whimper, nodding and moving your hands from his hair to cover your mouth instead. “I’ll try my best,” you mumble.

“Atta girl,” he praises and leans back in to lap at your juices, your wetness slowly beginning to trickle down his chest. Hugh grips your hips, holding you firmly against the couch as he moves his lips to your clit, flicking his tongue against it as he brings one hand between your legs. Without hesitation, he slides in two fingers as he sucks at your clit, beginning to pump his two digits in and out of your depths. 

The sounds of your wetness squelches with each thrust of his fingers and he stares up at you to see how hard you’re trying to stay quiet. He smirks against you and slowly adds a third finger, a loud whimper escaping your lips at the intrusion. 

Hugh turns his head and places soft kisses on the inside of your thigh as he leans back, continuing to move his fingers in and out of your depths as he leans over you. With his free hand, he gently removes your own from your mouth and leans in to brush his lips against yours. 

“Feel good, baby?” he whispers, keeping his fingers deep within your depths as he begins to curl them inside of you. “Oh yeah, I can feel you trembling…”

You stare up at him, biting your lower lip as you try to hold back your moans. “Hugh, baby…” 

“Doing so good for me, staying so quiet,” he grins, his fingers curling inwards as your walls begin to tremble and he knows you’re close. Knows that you’re about to reach a heightened pleasure that he leans in and presses his lips against yours in hopes to quiet your moans. 

You reach down and grip his wrist, fingertips digging into his skin as you arch your back. You moan against his lips, feeling his tongue slide past your own and the sensations are just too much, too overwhelming. Hugh pumps his fingers in and out of you to help you ride out your climax, slowly pulling away to hold up his fingers in your direction.

“Look how wet you are for me,” he grins. 

You look up at him, biting your lower lip as you watch him suck on his fingers, cleaning your slick free from his digits. “Hugh…”

“So fucking good,” he winks. 

You’re breathing heavily, but you reach down for his pants and tug on it, seeing the length of his manhood pressing against the yellow fabric. “Take these off.”

Hugh smirks. “Yes, ma’am.” He makes quick work to remove his boots and his pants, kicking them off to the side carelessly. He looks down at himself, his manhood at attention and he settles himself once more between your legs. He holds onto the base of his length and runs his tip across your sex, growling lowly. 

“Gonna fuck you now,” he groans. 

“Please,” you whimper. 

“Being such a good girl, baby,” Hugh smirks, slowly sliding into you in one thrust. He groans at your wetness, your warmth walls surrounding every inch of him. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, pulling his hips back before he slides back in. 

“Hugh, I don’t think…” you moan, moving your hands to his shoulders. “I can’t– I can’t stay quiet and–”

“Shh,” he whispers, moving his large hand over your mouth as he delivers a sharp thrust. “Yeah, you can, baby.” 

You let out a loud moan, muffled by his hand as you stare up at him. Hugh pulls out to his tip and slides back into you in one thrust, your legs moving to wrap around his waist. 

Hugh rests his forehead against yours, staring into your eyes as he keeps his hand over your mouth. Your moans and whimpers are muffled by his large hand and with each thrust, he can see the way your eyes flutter. Hugh’s thrusts continue at a rhythmic pace, your walls sliding along each inch and vein of his manhood. You’re so wet, so tight and warm and Hugh knows he can’t keep this up any longer. 

“Fuck, baby, I’m gonna–” Hugh’s hips begin to stutter, but you reach down and push him away from you, causing a loud groan to escape his lips. He’s quick to grasp his manhood to slide back into you, but you shake your head and sit up on the couch, urging him to stand up. “What?”

“I want you to come in my mouth,” you tell him, biting your lower lip. “That’s one way you can keep me quiet.”

Hugh growls and nods, standing up like you asked. He brings a hand down to your cheek, brushing his thumb across your soft skin and gently tucking a fallen strand behind your ear. “Well?” 

“Now, who’s impatient, hm?” you grin, reaching up to wrap your hand around his slick coated base as your lips move to his tip. Wrapping your lips around him, you begin to bob your head, hollowing your cheeks as your hand strokes the rest of him. You keep your eyes focused on him, watching as he tilts his head back and a hand moves to tangle his fingers into your hair. 

“Oh, baby,” he groans, the grip in your tightening as you continue to bob your head in time with your strokes. Hugh can feel the tightness build once again in the pit of his stomach. He looks down at you and groans at the sight, your eyes staring up at him with his cock in his mouth. 

God, if he could spend the rest of his days like this, Hugh would die a happy man. 

“I’m close, I’m gonna–” Hugh’s voice cuts off as you take him even deeper into your mouth and he can feel the tip of his length hit the back of your throat. He groans loudly and gently brushes your hand away from him as he takes a hold of his base. He strokes himself once, twice, three times before spurts of his come release into your mouth. 

You feel his warm spend fill your mouth, a mixture of salty and sweet taste. You swallow it eagerly, slowly bobbing your head as you feel him shudder against you, his hand in your release loosening its grip. When he pulls away, you smile up at him and gently place a soft and light kiss on his tip. 

“Did you really just–”

“Swallow?” you finish for him and nod. “Yup… Is that okay?” 

“Is that okay?” Hugh repeats. “Baby, you’re fucking perfect.”

---

taglist (if links don't work, i'm sorry!): @corvusmorte - @dragonqueen89 - @whimsiwitchy - @kellyxo1

@wolviehugh - @moonxknightx - @sullyselena - @angelofthorr - @spectorrrhgf

@needz1nk - @fandomxo00 - @godlypresley - @kythefangirl25 - @callsignyourmom

@sue8724 - @squishyfruitloop - @sylviavf - @emotrash1 - @dissentientss

@sir-thisisadndserver - @absolutepie - @millajay - @itsallyscorner - @haytchee

@wolverigrl - @its-in-the-woods - @d3ad2you - @definitely-not-chill - @khxna

@jules-and-gemss

[mymindisneverhere]

FAVORS

Part Six

warnings: 18+ MDNI!, sub!Terry, soft dom!black fem OC, explicit language, angst, lots of dialogue (forgive me if I missed any)

a/n: Don’t hate Khloé too much.

Masterlist: Favors 1-5

Khloé looked up at the large clock that hung above her sofa. Terry was running 20 minutes late which meant they’d be running late for her mother’s party. He knew how Khloé felt about being late to things, especially family gatherings. Although this was only his first time being late, she’d make sure he wasn’t late again.

“I’m sorry, Summer needed help with her car. It took longer than expected.” He said walking into her home. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.” 

Khloé exhaled, letting all of the breath out of lungs, attempting to keep control of her anger. 

“I know you will.” Khloé responded, not bothering to look up at him. “I’m ready to go, the car is downstairs.”

Khloé was really trying to suppress her jealousy but the more she heard Summers name, the more she became annoyed with her and she didn’t even know her. She could tell in the small amount of time she had known Terry, how selfless he was, especially for those he cared for most. But her constant need for all of his attention was getting the best of her. 

The ride to her parents house was dead silent. Terry couldn’t help but sense the attitude she had with him. Ever since the night she opened up about her personal dreams, she had become more talkative with him. Sharing her opinions and views on things that interests her most. 

But she was silent for the entire ride. Terry didn’t know what to think. Usually her attitudes would follow up a threat, that way he’d know what he was in for later in the evening. It would also be a sign that she didn’t plan on staying mad at him for too long. But she just sat quietly, staring out of the window until they arrived at her parents home. 

Terry parked the car and looked over at her as she grabbed her purse from the passenger floor. She searched through her small Chanel tote, looking for her signature lipstick to apply another layer before entering the house.

“You didn’t say anything the whole ride. Are you that mad at me for being late?” Terry asked, eyebrows raised. 

“No.”

“Then why were you so quiet the whole ride?” 

“I’m just thinking about how I want to deal with you later on that’s all. But I’m not upset with you.” She said, putting emphasis on you. “Let’s go.” Khloé sat back, waiting for Terry to get out and open her door. 

He made his way to her side and helped her out as he always did. She grabbed his hand and they held onto each other as they entered the large home, falling into the routine they’d practiced too many times. 

They stepped into the large foyer, immediately being greeted with the delicious smell of food and soft music playing. 

“There she is!” A woman exclaimed, holding out her arms as she approached Khloé and Terry. 

“Kandace!” Khloé yelled, letting go of Terry's hand and embracing her big sister. They rocked back and forth expressing how much they missed each other and couldn’t wait to catch up. 

“Wait a second, who is this?” Kandace asked, staring up at Terry with a raised brow. 

“Kandace, this is my boyfriend Terry. Terry, this is my big sister/second mom Kandace.” Khloé said, keeping her eyes on her sister as she approached Terry. 

“It’s nice to finally meet you Kandace.” Terry greeted, with a warm smile, holding his hand out. 

“I’m a hugger.” Kandace said, pulling him into a snug embrace. “It’s nice to meet you as well!”

She released Terry and turned to her sister. “Dad told me you brought someone to the family banquet but I didn’t think you actually had taste.” 

“Shut up Kandace!” Khloé playfully slapped her sister's arm, rolling her eyes. The interaction between the two sisters caused Terry to crack a smile.

The three of them engaged in conversation, totally forgetting who they were there celebrating. Kandace talked about the time she spent overseas living in Japan with her husband. Terry was genuinely intrigued, amazed at her love for the culture and the people. 

Khloé stared at her older sister, pure admiration in her eyes. Kandace was everything Khloé wished she could be. They both were bold in the way they presented themselves and fearless in demanding what they wanted but Kandace always made it her mission to live her life the way she saw fit. Something Khloé was obviously still having a hard time doing. 

Terry noticed this, the way Khloés eyes sparkled as she listened to her older sister tell stories about her time spent in the foreign country. He could tell they were close, the way they clung to each other, sharing inside jokes and exchanging compliments. 

“Well are you here to see Kandace, are you here to celebrate your mother?” Khloé heard the deep tone from behind her. Heels clicked the floor slowly as she turned to meet her mothers gaze. 

“Happy Birthday mom!” Khloé smiled, walking into her mothers arms. 

“Thank you dear.” Mrs. MacArthur smiled. Her smile slowly turned into shock as her eyes landed on Terry. “Terrance, it’s so good to see you again!” 

Mrs. MacArthur instantly released her daughter and practically ran over to Terry. It caught him by surprise when she hugged him, squeezing him tight. Not wanting to be rude, he hugged her back, a pair of puzzled eyes on Khloé as she stared blankly at them. 

“It’s good to see you as well ma’am.” 

“Princess!” Mr. MacArthur announced, walking over to his youngest daughter, placing a kiss on her forehead. 

“Hi daddy.” Khloé smiled, hugging her father. 

“Terrance, good to see you son.” Mr. MacArthur said, shaking his hand firmly. 

“It’s good seeing you as well sir.” 

“Well I hate to break up this reunion but dinner is ready. If everyone could make their way into the formal dining room that'd be great.” Mr. MacArthur said to the room full of family and friends. 

Terry couldn’t help but notice Khloé stuck in a daze as her eyes locked onto the floor where her mother was standing. He immediately made his way over to her, stepping around her mother. 

“What’s wrong?” Terry asked, looking down at her. 

Khloé quickly shook her head and cleared her throat. 

“Nothing, I was just thinking about the good food we’re about to eat.” She answered with a fake smile on her face. Terry stayed put for a few more seconds. He knew she was lying but he wasn’t one to push her beyond her limits so he nodded and held his hand out for her to take. 

The guests made their way into the formal dining room to see a long table covered in dishes from end to end. Mr. MacArthur sat at the head of the large table while his wife sat on the opposite end. Everyone took their seats and prepared their plates as small conversations filled the room. 

Khloé took a seat right next to her sister Kandace who sat next to their dad. Terry was right beside her. They fell back into their conversation from earlier never missing a beat. Mr. MacArthur joined in sharing his experiences from traveling abroad and the many cultures he learned about as well. 

*Clink Clink Clink* 

The sound of a silver spoon tapping against a champagne glass caused everyone’s head to snap in the direction of the sound. Mrs. MacArthur stood at the end of the table as she made sure she had everyone’s undivided attention. 

“I just want to thank everyone for coming to help me celebrate my 60th birthday. Although I don’t look my age.” She joked, receiving small chuckles from the guests at the table. “To be surrounded by friends and family and my husband who I love, this has really made my night. If only my pride and joy were here to help me celebrate.” 

She was referring to her son, also known as the “Golden Child”, Kameron. Khloés older brother, the one who could do no wrong in her mothers eyes even when all he did were the wrong things. Kameron was a free spirited person who came and went as the wind blew. 

Khloé expected him to show for their mothers birthday but then again if he had something more important to do that always came before family. Even if the important thing was laying up under his ex-stripper turned fiancé who he met on tour as a DJ. Khloé was here every second her mother needed her while her siblings were nowhere to be found unless they wanted to be found. Even still she went unnoticed. 

“Thank you all for coming and I hope you enjoy the amazing food Lucille has cooked for us. Let’s dig in!” With that everyone turned to their plates. Before anyone could return to their conversations Mrs. MacArthur decided to get Terry’s attention. 

“So Terrance, what exactly is it about my daughter that piqued your interests?” Mrs. MacArthur asked, placing her fork that held her Caesar Salad into her mouth. 

Everyone’s attention turned to Terry awaiting his response.  

“Well uh, it’s her passion, her fearlessness, her determination. She’s very proud to be herself, she doesn’t let anyone stop her from being all that she is.” He responded, looking over at Khloé. “I admire that about her.” 

Khloé smiled softly at him as she took a sip of her drink. Everyone nodded, pleased with his answer, silently whispering their compliments for him to each other. 

“She gets it from me.” Mrs. MacArthur started, “I’ve always expressed to her the importance of presence.  You have to let everyone in the room know that you’re there, if not they’ll look right over you.

“But I have to say I'm quite surprised to see you at another family gathering, I was sure she’d run you off with her inability to keep someone around.” Mrs. MacArthur spat, not bothering to meet her daughter's eyes. 

“Angela.” Mr. MacArthur gave his wife a look, warning her to stop while she was ahead. 

“I’m just being honest dear. She’s in her 30s with no husband, no children, no real home. I was beginning to think she’d be one of those women who owns animals to take the place for the lack of human interaction in her life.” She joked, laughing to herself. 

A few guests laughed at that last statement, all but Kandace and Terry. Khloé sat quietly but her anger didn’t go unnoticed. Her sister patted her leg, silently letting her know she was supporting her. Khloés jaw clenched as she felt herself beginning to tear up but she didn’t want to give her mother the satisfaction of knowing that after all of these years, the things she said still got to her. 

“I think she has plenty of time to experience those things. I mean we only get one time to live a life we truly love, I believe moving at your own pace is important. Rushing into things never really works out anyway, most things are worth waiting for.” Terry stated as respectfully as he could. 

Her mother looked over at him, a small smirk spreading across her face. She nodded, raising a shady brow as she finished her champagne. 

“Well said son.” Mr. MacArthur nodded. 

A smirk crept onto Khloés face as she noticed her mothers silence. There was rarely ever a time where she didn’t have a rebuttal for someone who didn’t agree with her. Khloé looked over at Terry as he dug into his plate nonchalantly. Her admiration for him was growing greater as the days went by. 

His ability to shut her mother down respectfully and gracefully had her wanting to pull him away from the table and into the powder room down the hall, fuck a punishment. 

“Keep him.” Kandace whispered into her ear causing Khloé to look at her. Kandace gave her a ‘bitch you better’ look while taking a sip of her wine. 

The family conversation continued with Khloé no longer being the topic of the table. The small group wined and dined as they shared personal stories, experiences and laughs amongst each other. 

Terry reached into his pocket to grab his cell phone that was vibrating. It was a message from Summer. Khloé couldn’t help but to look down at his phone. She only saw a glimpse of the name before looking away, hoping Terry didn’t see her looking. She stared down at her plate as her mind began to fill with thoughts… again.

‘She’s like family.’ 

‘I just wanted to return the favor.’ 

“Well that was delicious.” Mr. MacArthur stated loudly, snapping Khloé out of her mind. “Terrance, come. I want to show you my latest purchase, a 1967 Convertible Mustang. I’m sure you know a lot about cars, don't you son?” He smiled and nodded before getting up from the table. 

“Oh yes sir.” Terry answered. “It’s okay if I leave you here with your sister right?” He turned to her wanting to get the okay to step away from her. 

Khloé nodded, giving him an artificial smile. With that, Terry stepped away from the table and followed her father down a long hallway to their six door garage. Mrs. MacArthur sat silently as she had been watching the whole thing play out. 

“Gosh, that food was delicious.” Khloé said, opening the door to her old bedroom. It was still decorated from when she was a teenager. Mindless Behavior posters, Bratz dolls and her old Nintendo DS that still worked if she could find the charger to it. 

“Girl forget about that food, tell me about that snack you got downstairs! “Kandace said, following right behind her. “So spill it, where the hell did you meet a man like that?” Kandace took a seat on Khloés childhood bed.

Khloé paused for a while before answering her sister. She wanted to give her the same bullshit story she’d given everyone else about Terry but she couldn’t. Her sister was her rock and no matter how big of a lie she told, Kandace always saw through it. 

“Kandace, I’m a bit embarrassed but I don’t want to lie to you.” Khloé started, taking a seat at her small vanity covered in stickers. “He’s a worker.” 

Kandace’s eyebrows bent in confusion. “What do you mean by worker?” 

“He works at one of the warehouses in the rural area, just off the freeway. I was visiting a while ago, doing my usual “check ups” and I saw him.” Khloé was so ashamed. 

“Okay so what’s wrong with that? You fell in love with a regular guy, that’s better than those attention junkies you used to date.” 

Khloé braced herself for the harsh truth she was about to reveal. “He’s not really my boyfriend. I’m paying him to be here with me.” 

Kandace sat up straight and stared at her baby sister, her mouth slightly open. She stared at her sister for a while, completely confused as to what she was doing and why. 

“Why are you paying him?” 

“Because I can’t keep a man to save my life.” Khloé leaned against the vanity with her head in her hands. “The last thing I wanted to hear from mom and dad was how I was gonna end up all alone and miserable. I just wanted them to lay off of me for once.” 

“Khloé.” Kandace spoke softly, inching closer to her sister. “Why do you let what they say get to you so easily? Who cares what they think about your love life?” 

“I do.” Khloé shot back, meeting her sister's eyes. “Look how long they’ve been together, all of the things they’ve accomplished together.” 

“They are not the couple you wanna model your relationship after.” Kandace mumbled. 

“Knock Knock!” A high pitched voice sang out, interrupting their conversation. The strong smell of cheap perfume took over the room as Khloé realized exactly who had entered her bedroom. 

“Nia, where have you been? How are you?” Kandace smiled, getting up to hug her. They embraced each other, pulling away to look each other up and down, taking note of their outfits. 

“I’ve just been in the wind as usual. I’m doing good girl but how are you? You’ve been traveling the world so much we barely get to see you anymore.” Nia stated. 

Khloé rolled her eyes as she tried to get herself together. Aside from her mother being one person she didn’t wanna let see her sweat, Nia was second on that list. She cleared her throat as she turned around to face her cousin. 

“Khloé girl, I saw that man of yours downstairs.” Nia stated, with a raised brow. “You’ve got him trained, he barely said two words to me.” 

“Well he wasn’t sure if he was speaking to Nia or ‘Imani’.” Khloé spat bluntly. 

Nia paused before letting out an obnoxious laugh, grabbing her stomach as if what Khloé had said was the joke of the day. 

“Oh girl you need to lighten up, I was just playing a little joke on him that’s all.” Nia rolled her eyes. “I mean he’s gonna be family eventually, he’ll get used to my humor.” 

Kandace looked back and forth between the two women as she could obviously sense her sister's irritation. Nia was exactly who Khloé said she was, a sneaky bitch. However Kandace, being almost 10 years older than the two girls, never witnessed any of Nia’s conniving ways. But Kandace also wasn’t that damn stupid. 

“You introduced yourself to him as Imani?” Kandace questioned. “Nobody calls you that.” She chuckled at the thought of it. 

“Well maybe I want to start being addressed as Imani, is that a problem for y’all?” Nia shot back in defense before turning her attention to the window. 

Kandace looked over at Khloé who was burning a hole into the back of Nia’s head. 

“Doesn’t matter anyways, he won’t be here long.” Nia mumbled to herself. 

“What was that?” Khloé asked, leaning her body forward so that she could hear Nia a bit clearer. 

“I’m going downstairs to get some food.” Nia headed toward the bedroom door. “It was really good seeing you Kandy girl and you too… Khlo.” 

Nia exited the room and Khloé immediately shot up from her seat. She paced around the room as she tried calming herself down, looking at her sister with wide eyes. 

“I told you that bitch was trifling but nobody wants to listen to Khloé, the spoiled brat who thinks everybody’s out to get her.” Khloé said, walking back and forth. 

“She was usually a sweetheart around everyone else, I thought you were just jealous of the attention she got.” That last part earned her a dirty look from Khloé. “My bad, you were right I guess.” Kandace admitted, throwing her hands up in defeat. 

“Fuck her though, the real problem I’m having is this Summer girl.” 

“I’m listening.” 

Khloé vented to her sister, telling her all about how she found out about Summer. She told her who Summer was to Terry and how even though she knew nothing was going on between the two of them, she still wanted her out of the picture. 

“You’re sounding a bit insecure Khloé.” Kandace had to admit it. 

“I know but I don’t care. I want him all to myself!” 

Kandace leaned back in shock at the words she just heard from her sister. “Wait, you actually like this guy and if that’s the case, why do you need to pay him?” Kandace whispered, keeping in mind that anyone could enter the room at any moment. 

“At first it was just supposed to be sex, nothing serious.” Kandace already knew about her sister's sexual desires, this revelation was nothing new to her. “But then after a few glasses of wine we started talking and I told him things I hadn’t shared with anyone but you.” Khloé walked over to sit next to her sister on the full size bed. 

“He was so interested to hear what I had to say, he was so patient with me. I talked his ear off for hours, he never interrupted me one time. I just feel so comfortable with him. Even my sexual appetite doesn’t bother him.” Khloé kept her voice low and looked over at her sister. “I just don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone like him again. I don’t know if this will last for a long time but I want it for right now, while it feels good.” 

“Well do you think maybe it’s because he’s getting paid to do those things?” Kandace had to keep her sister grounding in reality. 

“He kept asking to hear more though. Every time I apologized for rambling too much, he’d remind me that I didn’t have to.” Khloé stated. “The deal was to attend things with me and sex whenever and however I choose.” 

“But he’s been doing way more than that.” Kandace added, finished her thought for her. 

Khloé nodded. “And with Summer always grabbing his attention, I’m afraid that once this is all over, it’ll be over permanently.” 

Kandace sighed loudly. “So this Summer girl is your only problem?”

“Yes.” 

“Then get rid of her.” The infamous deep voice spoke from the doorway. 

Khloé and Kandace looked up to see Mrs. MacArthur standing there, her fingers interlocked resting at her waist. She stood there with a sharp brow raised high. Khloé was silently praying her mother hadn’t heard their entire conversation. From the look of her face, it didn’t seem as if she had. 

“If this woman is causing a riff in your relationship with Terrance, get rid of her.” Mrs. MacArthur stepped into the room, slowly making her way to the chair that sat in the far corner. “It’s the same woman who called his phone earlier right?” 

Khloé stared at her mom, wondering how in the hell she knew that. Always under her constant observation but never actually being acknowledged in totality. 

“You want her gone, do it yourself.”

“She’s a good friend to him, I can’t just ruin their friendship.” Khloé responded. 

“Then you will lose him to someone less deserving.” Mrs. MacArthur uttered those words. Those same words that haunted her every time she was next to Terry. 

“That’s ridiculous.” Kandace scoffed. 

“Do you love him?” Her mother asked, ignoring Kandace’s remark. 

“No but I do like him a lot.” 

“And do you think you’ll ever get the chance to love him if this friend is always in the picture?” 

Khloé sat silently. She didn’t know what to do. She was completely aware of her own inner turmoil and didn’t want it to control her behavior. But would she ever get the chance to love him if she didn’t have his undivided attention? Would he actually even consider being serious with her? 

“I don’t know.” Khloé answered herself and her mother. 

“Get. Rid. Of. Her.” 

“I know you’re not about to sit here and listen to this bullshit advice Khloé.” Kandace finally spoke up, bothered by the things she was hearing. 

“And what do you suggest Kandace?” Mrs. MacArthur asked playfully, not taking her seriously in the slightest. “Should she hop on a plane and go overseas to find love?” 

“You know what-“ 

“Can y’all not do this right now?” Khloé yelled. 

The room fell silent as the three women exchanged looks. Mrs. MacArthur sat unbothered as she eyed Kandace. Kandace stared back at her, not hiding the disdain for her whatsoever. She repeated herself once again hoping Khloé would get the picture and remove all distractions from Terry’s life. 

“Get rid of her.” 

“I’m sure you could teach a masterclass on getting rid of women can’t you?” Kandace spat, never breaking their stare down. 

Mrs. MacArthur cleared her throat and stood from the chair, smoothing her dress down. 

“You’ll thank me later dear.” Those were the last words she offered her daughter before leaving the room to return to her guests downstairs. 

Khloé looked over at Kandace with a look of frustration. 

“Why do y’all hate each other so much?” Khloé asked. 

“I don’t want her ways to take hold of you.” Kandace shot back. “You cannot make the same decisions she makes, take the type of advice she’s giving and expect a happy ending Khloé.” 

Kandace stood from the bed and exited the room, leaving Khloé there with her thoughts. They were racing a mile a minute. Fear, doubt and the possibility of being lonely forever was consuming her, making her head spend in more ways than one. 

It was like the devil was on one shoulder and an angel on the other. One side being her mother, the other being her sister. It felt as if she was being tugged in both directions, she just wanted to stop thinking so much. 

“Your sister said you were up here, is everything okay?” She snapped her head in Terry’s direction. “Your mind has been elsewhere all day, what’s going on?” Terry stepped into the room, stopping a few feet away from her. 

Khloé stared at him as the thoughts slowly began to drift away. He tilted his head slightly, trying hard to read the expression on her face. She just blankly stared at him, not saying anything. Finally given an opportunity to take her mind off of this mess she was creating for herself, she stood and walked past Terry, pushing the bedroom door closed and locking it. 

“Fuck me.” Khloé stated before snatching off her top and walking him backwards until he fell against the bed. 

“In your parents house?” Terry looked up at her, a shocked expression on his face. 

“Yes!” 

The public library was silent, only the sounds of soft keyboards and papers being turned filled the room. Khloé searched around the open floor, desperately looking from aisle to aisle. 

The guests sat faces buried into their laptops and library books. Khloé continued walking up slowly, her black blazer hanging off of her shoulders as she held onto her bag tightly. 

“Hello ma’am, are you looking for something in particular?” The familiar voice spoke from behind her and she slowly turned around to come face to face with her. 

“Summer right?” Khloé asked, a smile spreading across her face. 

“Yeah… wait you’re Terry’s boss.” Summer stated, pointing a knowing finger at her. “Is he okay?” 

“He’s just fine. I actually came to speak with you if that’s okay.” Khloé whispered. 

“Sure, I’m just about to take a break, we can step right outside.” Summer offered, leading the way to the large double doors that sat at the front of the building. 

They both took a seat on the large bench that sat a few feet away from the entrance. Khloé sat one leg crossed over the other as Summer stared at her. 

“So Summer, I’m sure you aren’t aware of this but Terry’s been having a lot on his plate lately.” Khloé lied.

Summer sat quietly unaware of what Khloé was referring to. 

“With him having to take on this new job, losing all of his savings, he came to me looking for help and so I helped him. But one thing led to another and we ended up spending a lot of time together.” 

“Wait, y’all are seeing each other?” Summer asked, frowning at the revelation. 

“Yes.” 

Summer looked down at her feet and then back up at Khloé. 

“It was supposed to be a secret of ours, no one knows. However, it’s just so hard to sit back and watch him stress due to your constant need for his assistance.” Khloé went on. “He’s not going to tell you this because he’s just a sweetheart and he tries to help as much as he can but I’d really appreciate it if you did me a favor and maybe step back from him for a while. I’m sure he’d appreciate it as well.” Khloé placed a soft hand on Summers' forearm. 

“Why would he have you come and tell me that?” Summer tilted her head slightly. “No disrespect to you um…” She trailed off 

“Khloé.” 

“Khloe.” Summer finished the statement. “Terry and I have seen a lot and been through a lot together. He could’ve just come to me himself and again no disrespect to you but I’ve never heard of you. He hasn’t told me anything about you.” Summer added. “So why should I do you a favor?” 

Khloé smiled softly before delivering the blow. “Who do you think sent you that check in the mail?” 

Summer's face dropped. Khloé smiled to herself, the conversation was going just as she planned. 

“He told me about your situation with your daughter.” Khloé admitted with a remorseful look. “I know that’s tough for you but it’s also taking a toll on him. I know you’re a good friend, he tells me this all the time so I'm sure you’ll understand that he just needs some space from you right now.” 

“He told you about my daughter?” Summer questioned, hurt from hearing that her good friend had revealed a very personal thing to a stranger. Summer was under the impression that Khloé knew about her addictions and her struggle with gaining custody. 

But Khloé was insinuating that he had told her more on purpose. The truth was she didn’t know much about Summer or her daughter, only that they needed help and Terry wanted to help them. But the look on Summers face told Khloé everything she was saying was sinking in exactly how she intended it to. 

“Look Summer, I care about him a lot and I’m sure you do too so the less stress on him the better, yeah?” 

Summer sat silently taking in all of what she had just heard. She stared down at the ground, not bothering to look up at Khloé. It was hard for her to hear that essentially she had been a burden to Terry. He had never made her feel this way but to hear this information coming from Khloé was devastating to her. 

“Yeah I guess so.” She responded, voice low. 

“I’m glad you understand.” Khloé smiled. “It’s just for a little while, until he’s able to clear his mind.” 

Khloé stood and placed her sunglasses on her face. Summer remained seated on the bench, her gaze stuck on the ground. 

“I wish the best for you and your daughter Summer.” Those were the last words Khloé said before strutting away to her car. 

A small wave of guilt washed over her body before quickly dissolving. It wasn’t like she was telling Summer to stop talking to him all together. She just needed more time to secure a real relationship with Terry. Summer would understand this in the future. 

Khloé took her phone out of her purse and dialed the number she had learned by heart within just a few days of having it. 

“Hey you, I was thinking I could do pasta tonight.” She smiled. “A friend of my mothers gifted me a bottle of white wine, I think it’ll pair well for the evening, what do you think?” 

“I think it sounds good.” Terry responded. “I take it you’re not mad at me anymore.” 

“Not at all Mr. Richmond.” 

to be continued… 

[back2bluesidex]

Slide - The Trial - MYG

Pairing: Producer!Yoongi X Lyricist!Reader 

Theme: Angst, smut, unplanned pregnancy. Fwb to ?

Word count: 1.1k+

Summary: 

"Caught in a daze, I persuade her with my own complications"

Alternatively, 

You have some questions and Yoongi has no answer.

Listened to Slide by Chase Atlantics

Warnings: Angst, reader's turning point. Yoongi's suffering has began.

Minors do not interact!!

Series Masterlist | Masterlist | Patreon (for early access)

Taglist requests are closed for now

A/N: another Yoongi's pov. before we dive into reader's post miscarriage angst. also, I have tagged everyone who asked to be tagged after I closed the request for the first time but I have only tagged the blogs which have age mentioned in their bios.

Read the next chapter

“I want a daughter first and then… ummm… probably a son too. We will name her Yunri. Yoongi plus Gyuri, Yunri.” Gyuri had told him once, latching onto his arm as if it meant everything to her. 

Yoongi knew he should have felt warmth bubbling in his chest, he knew he should have felt giddy but what he felt was dread running through the entire course of his body. 

Getting married, having kids are two of the things he never planned for in life - not even when he fell in love with Gyuri, not even when he got engaged to her somewhat against his own will. 

But now he feels weird, he feels something really really uncomfortable in his chest as he stares at your weak frail form weeping while sitting at the couch. 

His own limbs feel like jelly as he realizes again that you were pregnant and the baby was his. 

A baby - his and yours. 

Why doesn’t it feel so dreadful anymore? 

Yoongi puts the entire weight of his body on his arms and pushes himself off of the ground. His toes carry his body towards you. 

But he is afraid - what if you push him away now? What if you break when he touches you? 

What if you scatter and disappear in fine dust as soon as he gets close to you? 

What if… what if… all of this is a dream? 

You don’t look at him when he silently sits beside you. It hurts him but he knows better than putting the blame on you. 

If anyone is to be blamed, then it’s him for sure. 

Yoongi opens his mouth to say something - anything. But he only gapes like a fish out of water because his thoughts don’t form a coherent sentence. 

Your face is covered with your small palms, Yoongi wants to reach out, clutch those and apologize to you until you forgive him for all the damages he has done. 

But he can’t. 

Again he is afraid to break you even more. 

“Why.. why didn’t you tell me?” Yoongi doesn’t recognize his own voice when it leaves his throat. There is much more pain than he has heard himself speak with in a while - certainly for the first time after Gyuri left. 

You sniff, then rub tears off your eyes and stare blankly at the ceiling.

The scene is awfully similar to your and his first night together. He still recalls losing himself in those dark eyes of yours little by little and then finally diving into your abyss.  

“There are tons of reasons why. But even if I did, would it change anything?” your voice is completely opposite of his - steady, firm, doesn’t bear a single hint of all the tears he has been watching you shade. 

You are truly just another version of him. 

“That doesn’t answer my question, Y/N. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” Yoongi scoots a little closer to your body. 

You sigh, a deep, resigned sigh that says you are exhausted - both mentally and physically. 

“If I told you, wouldn’t you think that this is an excuse? For keeping you all to myself? For not letting you go back to the only woman you have ever loved? Wouldn’t you, Yoongi?” You finally look at him, eyes red with continuous crying. 

Yoongi can’t stare into your eyes now. He is ashamed because you are right. He would have thought you are just like other women out there - trying to latch onto him for god knows what. 

He licks his lips instead, prepares to say something but you cut him off again. 

“Also you said … you don’t want to have kids.” your voice trembles now. 

Again you are right - Yoongi definitely doesn’t want kids. But then why losing your and his baby tugs painfully at his heartstrings? 

Why? 

“But I am responsible for your pregnancy, I- I should have been there for you.” Yoongi tries to reach out for your hand but you move away, standing on your weak feet. 

“There’s no point of regretting now. The baby is gone.” you inhale a long breath and then continue, “but I really want to know what you are doing here? At this hour? Right after rejecting me?” 

Yoongi stands up too, somewhat hyper, “I didn’t reject you. I was- I was just shocked. You ran away before- before I got to utter a single word, Y/N. I wanted to go after you but-” 

“But then the right person came to claim you and you ended up lost in her lips, am I right?” you don’t scream but anger is evident in your voice anyway. 

Yoongi recalls the doctor asking him not to stress you out any more. 

“It was a trial, Y/N. Me and Gyuri getting back together was a trial. I knew it wasn’t a good idea but when she begged me- I- I couldn’t say no. I knew I was hurting you too and I thought getting back with her would set you free. But I- I was wrong. I wasn’t free myself. I kept thinking of you.” Yoongi stops, gulps the lump in his throat and proceeds to continue, “I know I sound selfish but I got attached to you during our time together. And it is not meaningless to me as you happen to believe. You are more meaningful than most of the people in my life… including Gyuri. I… I broke things off with her, this time forever. And I came to tell you that… that I want to try being with you. If you’d let me.” 

You scoff, “and why so? Why do you want to try being with me?” 

Your question renders Yoongi speechless. He doesn’t know the answer to your question. 

“Tell me, Yoongi, why do you want to try? What is it that you feel for me?” you press more. Your new found determination of cornering him shocks him, but he knows he is the one to blame. 

And now that he wonders the answers, he can’t find any firm sentence to offer you. 

He still doesn’t know what he feels for you. 

“I- I don’t know. I don’t know what I feel for you.” 

You laugh, dry but dripping with amusement and anger, “then I would ask you to leave. You may only come back with the thought of getting together with me when you are sure about my place in your life.” 

You slowly walk away from him, taking careful steps towards your bedroom. 

Yoongi stands there as he feels the void in his chest getting bigger and bigger. A tear escapes his eyes but he still doesn’t know what he is crying for - you? The unborn baby? Or himself? 

His real trial, probably, begins here. 

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[szqnxi]

Your number 1 fan (Part 3)

Katsuki Bakugo x reader

<<previous

It's Wednesday, and here you are, currently getting dolled up in the makeup room for your upcoming interview with the renowned Tv personality, Uwabami.

Your makeup artist withdraws the make-up brush from your face, offering you a warm smile, gesturing for you to look at your reflection in the mirror in front of you.

"Do you like it?" she inquired, gently moving your hair away from your face, allowing you to admire your reflection in the mirror.

"I do! You definitely need do this look for my upcoming tour" you exclaimed, utterly captivated by your reflection in the mirror. The make up artistry - the perfect eyebrows, the blush - perfect.

You swear you have never felt the prettiest in your entire life.

Right on time, your manager entered the room, looking visibly exhausted, with prominent dark bags under his eyes visible even from a mile away. He looked like he hadn't gotten a decent sleep in days.

"You look like shit"

"I'm aware" Shawn dismissibly replied, making his way towards the empty chair next to yours, collapsing into it with a heavy sigh before proceeding to open his tablet, resuming his work.

You picked up the untouched takeaway coffee on the vanity, and offered it to him. "Here. I think you need this more than me" you said.

He simply nodded and took a sip of the coffee. Time passed by, and before long, one of the production crew members called out to you, signaling that the interview was about to begin.

You patiently waited backstage, engaging in lighthearted conversations with a member of the production crew, passing time until the show started.

As the lights dimmed and the director shouted "action", Uwabami introduced herself, leading into the scripted lines, and as the cue was given, you confidently strode onto the set, ready to take your place on camera.

Talking with Uwabami has been nothing but pleasant. There was a natural, effortless chemistry between you both, as though you were just old friends catching up. There was no pressure or forced interactions, unlike other TV interviews you had experienced. It felt natural and comfortable.

You couldn't help but recall a particularly unpleasant interview where a famous TV host had the audacity to ask you an incredibly insensitive question, forcing you to put on a strained smile and sit there silently, as if he hadn't asked you the most offending question in your life.

"So, for my final question" your thoughts snapped back to reality, focusing on the host in front of you, who's wearing a grin on her face.

"When you were composing the song "Juno", did you perhaps have someone or anyone in mind while writing it?" she asked.

"Ooh, I like that one" you chuckled "I did" you grinned, mirroring hers "though I'll keep his identity a secret" you added with a cheeky giggle.

"What about a clue?"

"Hmm...let me see... Let's just say he's a pro hero"

"Ooh, but there are lots of pro heroes out there!" she laughed, turning towards the camera as though addressing the audience "How about we let them all guess?" She winked at the camera before continuing with the closing lines, bidding farewell to both the viewers and you, signaling the end of the set.

You stayed for a little while, engaging in a lighthearted conversation with Uwabami and other production staff, including the director, before retreating backstage to your make up room. There, both of Kim and Shawn were ready to leave, all packed up and set to go.

"So, who's driving? I don't see Mr. Smith anywhere" you questioned as the three of you reached the parking lot, noticing his absence. It was unusual for him not to accompany your makeup artist in the backstage while waiting for you to finish your shoot, especially as they typically engaged in their casual chatter while drinking take out coffee together.

"I'll be driving. Mr. Smith's daughter was in an accident, so I dismissed him for the day and gave him a whole week's paid leave" Shawn stated as he held open the car door for you.

You looked at him with a raised eyebrow before getting in.

"What?" He asked, looking at you as you make yourself comfortable at the front passenger seat.

"Because I'm currently in a car with a sleep-deprived driver... I just want to get home in one piece" you teased , causing him to groan in surrender before starting the car.

During the ride, you talked about your forthcoming tour with your manager, while Kim informed you that she will be sleeping for the time being.

Thanks to him, all the necessary arrangements had been made, leaving only the security to be handled. While the venue had already provided security, the HPSC requirement was for at least one or two pro heroes to serve as additional guards for enhanced safety.

"I'm just waiting for them to call back and confirm. And don't worry, I specifically asked for him" he said, his gaze fixed on the road.

Shawn's phone rang. He swiftly pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to you, implying that you should answer the call as he was driving. You looked at the screen and it was as if the situation had called for it, the caller ID displayed the hero agency.

"Hello, this is Y/n speaking. My manager passed me the phone since he cannot answer the call at the moment. I presume this is the Hero Agency hired for the upcoming tour, correct?" you asked, awaiting a response from the other end of the line.

Speaking of the devil

You were only met with a long silence from the other line.

"Hello?" you repeated, only to be met with another silence followed by a brief hitch in the callers breathing before they suddenly ended the call.

What the hell?

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Note: Guess who answered the phone 🤭

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[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet + ch 45

a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... all chapters

WARNINGS FOR THIS FIC: NSFW, SEXUAL CONTENT, VIOLENCE, YANDERE SH!T. Plz take care. I luv u all. 😘

45. halcyon daze

With Christmas on the horizon you take a break from your Persephone-inspired series to work on a present for John. There’s not a thing in the world you could buy him that he couldn’t buy for himself; but you have two hands, some talent and creativity: things that can’t yet be bought on Amazon. You’d noticed that he’s been working on an old set of Russian Fairytales. 

It still never fails to destroy your heart, that John favors mending the binding of children’s stories, as though he can recapture and sew back together some aspect of his own broken youth. 

Some of the illustrations in this edition are faded, one is even half destroyed, the paper torn. The writing is in cyrillic, you haven’t learned to read it yet, but with some [you hope] casually peppered questions, you manage to glean enough information to look up what they’re supposed to be. You make some replacements for him, and in the case of the Knight of Night in the story of Vasilisa the Beautiful, the warrior in black might bear more than a passing resemblance to your own dark assassin.  

When he opens this gift the wonder in his eyes is priceless to you. “I didn’t make you anything,” he apologizes guiltily, and while you are sitting amidst the piles of your freshly bestowed loot, which you still can’t help but feel guilty about. He bought you a stylish new motorcycle jacket, a fresh set of artist series gouache tubes and paper, an antique gold art nouveau lavalier necklace in the form of a flowing narcissus flower with glowing enameled accents and a dangling pearl –you are filled with so much love you fear your heart might burst.

You crawl across the floor, into his lap. He barely has time to set the drawings aside before your mouth is on his, and you are toppling him back almost into the Christmas tree with your ardor. By the time you are finished with him, you’re pretty sure he knows how happy he makes you, but just in case you tell him for good measure. “I love you more than I know how to say.” 

***

As winter drags on you look to John’s in-house gym to get exercise, even though you despise running on the treadmill. You feel like a hamster, jogging your ass off to nowhere. You try to keep up with your yoga practice, though you rarely get to finish a session. Somehow, John always manages to time walking in on you when you have your ass in the air. “Have mercy, I’m only a man,” he teases you, like this is an excuse for toppling you over and pinning you down with his body and his mouth on yours. 

It’s hard to get too mad about it, considering. 

You suppose you do still get a stretch and a workout, not to mention a belly laugh, in the end. 

Continuing your training stays interesting, although he wasn’t lying before when he said he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off of you. More often than not when you spar, you end up fucking on the floor. He’s never more beautiful than when his dark eyes glitter with anticipation of the hunt; you’ve learned a lot, but you know you stand zero chance against him. 

Maybe it’s not fair, when he loses patience and uses his experience and his size to put you down on the ground, sweeping your legs or twisting your arm behind you while he pulls down your leggings, baring your ass to the room. But he finds you soaking wet every time he claims his prize, guiding himself inside you, your growls quickly turning to moans for the way he fills you up and takes you down. “I fucking love it when you fight me,” he admits breathlessly, thrusting until you both cum loudly, your face pressed into the rubber floor.

It’s a game you love to lose.   

***

Winter starts to thaw, and you have cabin fever, ready to go outside. John is engrossed in a binding project: you finished your illustrations, and now he seems just as engaged in his side of the collaboration as you were yours. You find him smiling at a rendition of Dog as Cerberus with three heads when you pop into his workshop. “Want to go for a hike?”

He looks around at the mess he’s made on his worktable. “I’m not at a good stopping point,” he admits, and you understand that perfectly well. “You can go, just don’t be gone too long, alright?”

He could have pushed you over with a feather, you are so surprised to receive this clearance for a solo trek. 

You kiss him on the cheek in thanks. “I’ll be back soon,” you promise, still hardly able to believe your luck. 

“Y/n?” he calls as you’re at the door. “Take Dog?”

“I’m going too far for him.” Long walks hurt his paws.

“Then take your pistol.” You nod before disappearing up the stairs. Once upon a time, the thought of going around casually armed would have seemed like pure insanity to you. Now it’s simply a fact of life. You don’t have an official license for concealed carry, but after your intensive training at the Continental you feel perfectly confident that you won’t shoot anyone–unless you mean to. You live in John’s world now: survive first, worry about getting caught later…and pay off the appropriate officials if you have to.

That’s just the thug life, you suppose. 

The air outside is crisp and fresh, leaves and pine needles perfuming the woods in a way that intoxicates you more than any man-made scent. You take off down the trail at a brisk pace, feeling like you have wings on your feet. Knowing you could walk for miles and miles in this mood, you set a timer on your phone so you don’t forget yourself. Scaring John after he’s given you this confidence will not bode well for the future. Once upon a time such a leash would have chafed, but now you understand so much better what his fears are rooted in. You’ve peered into the darkness behind the curtain; there’s no going back. 

It’s the middle of the day in the middle of the week and you haven’t seen a soul, and on such a fine day as this, it is easy to forget that there’s a bustling, seething world of human strife out there. Or so you imagine, as you are sitting on the outcrop of your favorite overlook, your feet dangling out over oblivion. Yet, when you think you hear voices coming up the trail a sudden instinct kicks in to hide, to avoid being seen. Without really even thinking about it you tip yourself off the ledge, grabbing a branch of an ancient tree growing out of the rocks to break your fall, and dropping down to conceal yourself flat upon a narrow ledge.

“Dude, where’d she go?” you hear from above, your heart pounding in your chest, the blocky hardness of your little Beretta pressing into the small of your back as you lean against the stone face of the cliff a reassuring comfort. You realize then that John is not the only one with a residual paranoia from your misadventures. As you listen to the obviously harmless hikers above, you feel utterly ridiculous, and you wait for them to go so that you can make your way back in peace. 

Maybe it’s good to be alert, but at what point does one just have to get on with one’s life? If you live like a paranoid little rat scurrying around out of sight, then Dante has won in a different way. You think about this a lot, as you make your way home up the mountain. 

***

Perhaps it’s fitting, that with the renewal of spring all around you, John finishes the binding of your book. He calls you into the basement to inspect his workmanship, standing behind you as you behold the finished tome. The cover is embossed black leather with gold leaf. There is no title, just a design of an upturned skull grown through with blooming narcissus flowers. Slowly, you flip through the pages, enchanted with how he transformed your loose paintings into something so refined. 

“I love it,” you tell him, caressing a page bearing his likeness, the God of Death embracing his consort (that may bear a passing resemblance to you) in a Klimt-esque kiss. He nuzzles into your neck, kissing behind your ear. “But you didn’t sign it,” you complain, noting the lack of his usual This Book was Bound by John Wick plate. 

“I thought…we could do it together, as a wedding present?” he offers. You realize he means signing it with your joined name, and maybe it’s silly, but the thought makes your belly erupt into butterflies. You haven’t really talked about the wedding much. Though you wear the ring happily, he hasn’t really mentioned it at all, giving you space or otherwise occupied, you’re not entirely sure. 

“I would love that,” you agree, tilting your head for a kiss. His fingers dig into your hips as it deepens, a low moan called up from his throat. 

“Have you thought about what you might like?” he asks, kissing your neck again, his hands slipping under your shirt. 

“I don’t want anything fancy,” you admit breathlessly. “All I want is you.” You find the thought of bringing your dysfunctional family together in celebration only inspires anxiety. You have no lasting affiliations with any church–you do not feel the need to seek any god’s blessing of your union. You find you are just ready for it to be so. 

You feel him pause behind you, letting out a shuddering sigh. You wonder if he’s thinking about the journey you’ve taken, to get where you are today, together. You certainly are, looking at your book, and the allegory it tells of your tumultuous courtship. It wasn’t easy, and you can’t say anything so trite as you knew it would turn out–but you realize you did have the naivety to hope. For once…maybe your forgiving nature has finally paid off for you. You feel like you’ve been living in a halcyon daze, you are so happy. You hope it never changes, even if deep down you know it will. 

Change is the only certainty we’re ever afforded.

“Surely you want something nicer than a trip to the courthouse,” he pries, certain there’s something you’re not telling him. You do still feel embarrassed sometimes, about spending his money on things, even though he gives you free reign with unparallelled generosity. 

“I really don't want a big ceremony,” you assure him. “But…would you like it, if Winston married us?”

John huffs behind you, and you hear the smile in his voice. “I'm not sure that's something he does.”

You giggle at the thought, and you can tell John at least likes the idea of his father figure–one of his few remaining friends, being there. And, you like Winston too. “I bet he’d do it for you, John.”

“Hmm. We’ll think on that.”

It’s not a no.

“You know what I do want?” you pose, turning a page of your new book.This illustration is a rather explicit one, Death kneeling at her feet with his face buried in her pussy, her back bowed in sweet agony, the dark waters of the river Styx glittering behind them. He offered her the most exquisite pleasures, but withheld release unless she agreed to be his forever. Though deep in her heart she knew she loved him immeasurably, still she refused.

Neither John nor you are immune to the effect of perusing this pornographic work together; his long fingers dip into the waistband of your jeans, his fingertips just nearly caressing your mound.   

“Anything,” he tells you, nibbling at your ear. It takes you a moment to remember what you were talking about, your clit throbbing in answer to his seeking fingers and his other hand up your shirt. As a result your answer comes in breathy bursts. 

“I want…to go on an adventure with you. A long honeymoon,” you tell him, writhing against him as his hand finds your breast, toying with the taut peak of your nipple. You know he likes to travel as much as you do. Wouldn’t it be novel to go somewhere and not even need to assassinate someone in the interim?

You feel him chuckle behind you, more than hear it. “I might have guessed. Where do you want to go?” He asks you this while his fingers tease your curls, so close to touching you where you need him most. You are past shame, when your voice cracks. 

“Where can we go?” You assume most of Europe is off the table these days. 

“Hmm. You still have a yen for South America?” 

You nod, and he laughs again, though he catches your mouth in a tooth-counting kiss before you can answer–ie defend yourself from the usual allegations. At last his middle finger dips into your wet slit, and the sound of relief that escapes you is barely human.  

“Young lady…” he growls, nipping at your ear. “This is quite a dirty little book you’ve drawn. Do you know how many times I had to come find you while I was working on this?” You moan as he swipes up your juices, finally circling your clit as his other hand dips into your bra. You feel his erection straining against the curve of your bottom; you press yourself back against him, wanting what’s yours. Your answer is part laughter, part moan–for the umpteenth time, you feel like life is perfect with this man. 

“Probably as often as I had to come find you while drawing it,” you answer cheekily, arching back to hold his neck, opening yourself completely to him. Your knees threaten to buckle as he touches you, but soon you find yourself bent over his table, his corded forearms braced like columns on either side of you as he fucks you silly amidst the smell of old books, leather, and binding glue.  

It really doesn’t get any better than this.

***

When warmer weather comes you start to take out the bikes again. After a few outings you feel sufficiently refreshed, and more than ready to take your test. You make your appointment for next week, and you feel like a teenager again, full of nervous energy for the impending exam. John finds this amusing. “You can ride, sweetheart. And if you fail, you can just take it again.” 

But the perfectionist academic in you wants to ace it on the first go. When you express the desire to go for a practice ride while John is working on a new project he nods, not even looking up from his worktable. “Be careful.” 

“Take your pistol. I know,” you tease. This has become a broken record between you two–remembering a time when he wouldn’t have dreamed of letting you out of his sight, you do not mind. He narrows his eyes at you playfully, before letting you off with that slight smile that still squeezes your heart in your chest. 

You gear up in your kevlar jeans, boots and jacket, gloves and helmet. Concealed carry is ridiculously easy, with such bulk about you. You feel a bit like a commando, every time you put on the jacket with its armored panels. You fire up the Kawasaki and potter down the driveway. You like this bike, it’s been great to learn on, but John has been teasing you about an upgrade if you’re a good girl. 

Considering you feel where he’s been inside you every time you sit down, you’re pretty sure you’re meeting the requirements. You think about this with a smile as you hit a straightaway, and let the machine open up beneath you. 

It really is the closest you can get to flying on the ground. 

Exhilarated, maybe even feeling a little cocky, you make your loop of the mountain roads and then decide to make a quick stop down in town. You’ve worn out your three favorite paint brushes, the chisel tip, the angle shader, and the tiny 3/0 you favor for small details. Mr. Morton will get you squared away. 

You park in the lot behind the art store, and carry your helmet inside. You don’t dally long, even though the smell of oil paint and linseed oil inside the little store is a marvelous thing. You chat with Mr. Morton, pet the shop cat, and tuck your score into your inside pocket before walking back out to the parking lot. 

It’s totally cliché, but the rest goes by in a blur. 

A black SUV rolls up beside you, screeching on its brakes, a man jumping out of the backseat making a B line for you. Too late, you realize your rookie mistake. Your jacket is zipped up to your chin–you can’t draw your pistol under your arm in time. But you have your helmet in your hand, and without hesitation, you introduce it to his face as hard as you can. 

“At least offer a girl some candy first, asshole!”

The driver spills out next, cursing and trying to grab you, dodging your second swing with the helmet. You side-step him, but he manages to snag your jacket. Rather than pull against his hold you let him drag you to him, meeting his groin dead-on with your knee. As he crumples you hit him in the face with your armored elbow, and run for your bike while shoving your helmet onto your head. 

Maybe you should have run back to the shop, to the thoroughfare, to the safety of witnesses. But all you can think in that moment is that John might need you. You have a terrible feeling that something bad could be happening at home, and so you start your bike and tear off faster and more recklessly than you ever have before. The handlebars wobble in your haste but you manage to get a hold of the machine, concentrating on working the clutch and the gears to pick up speed as fast as you can. If you look back, you know you’ll crash. You run a stop sign, veering around a car by the skin of your teeth, leaving the sound of screeching wheels and honking horns behind you.  

Out of town, you drop a gear and take off like a rocket up the mountain, passing cars where you definitely shouldn’t. I’m coming, John. Maybe it’s ridiculous. How much help could you possibly be to John Wick? But you won’t rest until you set eyes on him again. 

Maybe you shouldn’t be surprised, when the G Wagon roars up next to you again. In your peripheral you see the passenger in the window, his extended arm, the blocky black shape of a gun. They veer at you, trying to run you off the road. You brake the bike, letting them whip past you, nearly going off the pavement themselves in the confusion. You decide to turn off onto a sideroad, a winding death-trap of a paved goat trail that you know like the back of your hand, though you’ve never ridden it before, only drove. You hope you’ll lose them in the snarl of tight curves. It will take longer to get home, but if worse comes to worse maybe you can abandon the bike and lose them in the trees. 

Home turf advantage, you tell yourself, not entirely convinced. These guys mean business–and you’re fairly sure the driver’s accent was Italian. 

You don’t really hear it past the roar of your engine and your heartbeat in your ears, when they come up behind you. You do hear the shot, and you flinch, ducking low to make yourself a smaller target. But he wasn’t aiming for you. 

He was aiming for your tire, and when it blows the bike goes wild–and you really get to experience flying.

It’s almost exhilarating, sailing through the air, until you hit the pavement hard, skidding across the unforgiving asphalt, rolling to take some of the momentum. You lay there on the tarmac, alive, but completely stunned. You tell yourself to get up–but your body doesn’t listen. You see the shadow of a man over you. It’s Helmet Man–his face is a mask of blood; it looks like you broke his nose, and he’s pissed about it.

He kicks you in the side before shoving a needle through your jeans, into the meat of your butt. On the verge of puking in your helmet, the world swims, then goes black.

------------

*author's note: Full credit to @discoscoob for suggesting that Winston should officiate, I love it, you're brilliant! 😘 And the yoga scene is totally @treedaddymcpuffpuff 's fault. I love our unhinged conversations boo 🤣 The Brain Rot would not be so strong or so FUN without you!❤❤❤❤❤❤❤ :)))))))))))))))))

**maybe i should also add that certain eXplicit panels in the BRZRKR Bloodlines comic inspired a great deal of this dumpster fire 🥵🤣🤣, y'all should definitely check it out, the artwork is great!

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all chapters

[auroras-zenith]

what doesn't kill you // prologue

you had your whole life planned out for you; start an agency with your best friend, scale the charts and make japan your bitch. but when a tragic accident leaves you incapacitated and out of a job, you find you just need to start fresh. you cut ties–and for two years, you've all but disappeared. until they need you again and come knocking at your door.

bakugo x retiredpro!reader

next

It didn't make sense, the way you and Bakugo worked.

See, for everyone else in his life, he seemed to gravitate towards people opposite his nature.

Take Kirishima, for example–the blonde's best friend and wingman since high school. It was obvious how they clicked. The red heads steady, calming tendencies serving as the anchor to Bakugo's ship, lost in the storm of his brash, reckless ways.

The same could be said about nearly every other person in his life.

All but one.

"Yeah? Try me." He hissed, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed. The telltale scent of burnt caramel had already begun to propagate through the street.

"Dynamight- stop! Don't engage with the villain! Detain without injur–"

"Shut the fuck up, Deku!" Bakugo spat, ripping his comm off and tossing it to the side. "This extra wants to go, so let's go!"

"Hell yeah!" You grinned cockily, appearing at his side.

Where the world served to calm Bakugo Katsuki, you were the opposite. You were the oil, and he the flame. It shouldn't have worked.

But it did.

The world could say what it pleased about the two of you. At the end of the day, it was undeniable that you were an effective pairing on the battlefield.

"Start an agency with me." He demanded that foggy high school day, staring at you with such intensity anyone else would've confused it for a glare.

"Why should I?"

"Who else could keep your dumbass in check?"

You hadn't spoken for a week after that. He had spent those seven days sulking around–temper even shorter than usual, Kirishima tailing him, apologizing on his behalf.

"Because I can't do it without you."

"Sorry?" You asked, looking up snootily. You had heard him–he wasn't exactly a quiet person after all–and he knew it. The small quirk upwards in the corner of your lips gave you away.

Still, he humored you, rolling his eyes. "I can't do it without you." He huffed, louder this time. "I can't start an agency without you by my side."

Two of Japan's up and coming heroes–and boy were they coming in hot. Dynamight and Cordelia. Two wildly talented people on the battlefield, fearsome as they were reckless.

"Congrats, L/n." Kirishima smiled proudly, raising a glass.

You smirked fondly, lifting your own to meet his.

He was here for Bakugo, but it was nice to see him nonetheless. It was odd; despite the individual bonds you both shared with Bakugo, the two of you had never built a close friendship of your own. You simply enjoyed your respective time with the blonde, each holding respect for the other's unique relationship with the hot head.

"Thanks, Kiri." You grinned, taking a sip from your glass.

"To the Dynadelia agency!" A voice shouted over the chatter, a glass seen lifted over the sea of people.

The crowd erupted into noises of approval–hundreds of drinks lifted into the air.

"That's for us." Hot breath tickled the back of your ear.

You scoffed playfully, grinning wildly as you turned to face the voice. "Really? Couldn't tell."

"I'm serious, N/n. That's us. We did it."

You softened. "Yeah. Yeah, Kat. We did."

There was no stopping the two of you after that. The Dynadelia agency quickly rose to the first ranked agency in Japan, fourth in the world, each of you easily securing spots number two and four on the Japanese hero charts.

You didn't spend all your time together. You were both far too chaotic for that. Instead, you often found yourself allied with Deku and Shoto, and he with Redriot.

But when the two of you met on the field, boy were you unstoppable. Each a raging storm, fueling the other as both charged head on into danger.

"And another victory for pro hero Dynamight and the Dynadelia agency. As we hurtle into a dangerous, villain filled world, we thank our heroes for all..."

You hummed as you brewed yourself a pot of coffee, the news playing in the background as it covered your partner's latest tussle with a villain.

The finished mug was warm between your hands as you moved to sit on the couch.

You took a deep breath, allowing yourself to appreciate the slow day. It was warm inside despite the rain that could be heard pelting the floor just outside the window.

There was something so soothing about your cozy apartment on days like these. The plants that hung from the ceilings, the skylights overhead, and the mantle where you had placed old photographs of your high school days.

It was so authentically you.

"Could Cordelia and Dynamight be more than just partners on the battlefield?"

You paused your thoughts to tune back into the news, giggling as you heard the speculation. It was nothing new. The whole civilian and media world assumed the two of you were together–and even amongst those who knew you well, your friends and family all joked about the same.

It was obvious to the world that the two of you liked the other; and had since high school.

Maybe one day you'd settle down together. Retire and raise a family. But for now, you were both far too deep into your careers for anything as serious as that–and you were quite happy being his best friend.

You felt a buzzing in your pocket and set down the cup of warm coffee in your hand. Speak of the devil. You grinned as you answered.

"I just got home. You missing me already?"

"Fuckin' Deku's getting his ass kicked. Shoto too. Get over here."

You could hear sirens blaring in the background as he breathed heavily into the mic. It wasn't every day that someone could take on Japan's top three heroes and live to tell the tale, let alone leave them scrambling for more support.

"Tell them I'm on my way. Are you with them?" You were already up, coffee long since forgotten as you grabbed your costume, comm and phone.

"Shitty hair and I are about to take over while they handle evac."

"Be there in five."

You barely heard his affirmative before he hung up, screaming orders. It wasn't unusual for calls like this to occur, but something felt different about this one. Worse, somehow.

You sprinted out the door, whispering a thank you to the heavens as you stepped into the heavy rain.

The ground lowered away almost immediately, quirk like second nature as the water around you propelled you level with the clouds.

"Cordelia," they called you; heart of the sea.

a/n: been on my mind for a while so why not hehe

taglist: none yet

permanent tags: none yet

[twenty-qs]

I find it SO interesting how Viktor and Ekko present different versions of an “underground utopia.” It represents their different philosophies of technology as well as their approach to environmentalism.

On the one hand, we have Viktor. He believes science will save us, specifically science that augments the human form. I think a lot about the hex claw as his vision of “improving lives”—because honestly, Heimerdinger was right. That thing is a blatant safety hazard. It is not ready for a mass rollout. Also, the only thing it would accomplish is making the exploitation of labor in the Undercity more efficient—it makes the individual more productive, and as Jayce puts it, enables the individual to work longer and harder, while doing nothing to actually improve the working conditions and rights of the laborer. Everybody knows what happened after the well-intentioned invention of the cotton gin, right? But Viktor was blind to this because he had spent so long separated from life in Zaun, because of his desperate ambition, and because he does genuinely believe that science is Good. Especially science that augments the human body’s capabilities.

This carries over to his Herald arc. “The goal of evolution is to supersede nature.” His idea of a utopia is a world where the pains and horrors of the human body are obsolete—where bio-engineered plants can flourish, where violence doesn’t exist simply because nobody thinks to engage in it. He’s the type who would look at a chemical spill and say, hey, we can engineer bacteria that can break the chemicals back down to something safe. It’s great, it’s a good thing. But it doesn’t address root causes, it just enables people to keep spilling those chemicals. It remains to be seen exactly what the price of his utopia was, but it’s notable that his version of “superseding” nature is fundamentally unsustainable. Once Viktor dies, once he takes his power and inspiration and knowledge away, the whole commune dies.

On the other hand, you have Ekko. He also builds a non-violent utopia in the middle of the Undercity with a culture centered around nature. But his idea of utopia is living with nature, stewarding it, taking only enough to live by and paying forward with the rest. His technology is simply part of the tree’s ecosystem. The hoverboard is explicitly inspired by the firelights. Bugs play a central role in the ecosystem by helping to pollinate plants across large distances. Ekko’s people use the technology to move around the tree to help take care of it, and to move across the Undercity and spread their ideology. He doesn’t interfere with or supersede nature. He sort of just—shepherds it. And when Ekko disappears, the Firelights are seen functioning perfectly well without him. That’s what sustainability means.

Ekko focuses on social inequities of the impact of technology. If he saw a chemical spill, he’d go to whoever spilled it and try to make them stop. Root causes.

Ideally they’d work together. After all, Ekko can’t help people who are too far gone on Shimmer. But I’ll be very interested to see if we get some Ekko and Viktor interactions in act 3.

[seongwars]

forget me not | epilogue

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 1.7K Warnings: one swear word 😊

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“What is that thing?”

Perched in your arms, Wooyoung squirmed to get a better look, his ears twitching as he narrowed his eyes at the Siamese cat that had just leapt gracefully onto the counter. Her blue eyes glinted with curiosity as she began sniffing around the emporium, pausing to bat at a jar of herbs.

“This,” Yunho said, setting down the cat carrier, “is Byeol.” His tone carried the weariness of someone who’d already had to explain this multiple times today. 

“San’s cat.”

You raised an eyebrow, fighting back a laugh. “I didn’t realize scouting also included cat-sitting duties. Is that part of the job description?” You leaned up on your toes and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

“There was a mishap with the moving company,” Yunho continued, leaning into your kiss. “So San asked if we could keep her for the weekend. Apparently, they left his batting gear back in Namhae, and now he’s in a panic.”

Wooyoung, squished in your arms, glowered at the unwelcome guest. His nose twitched as he sized up the intruder, ears angled back and tail flicking sharply against you. His glare landed on the Siamese cat now perched delicately on the shop counter, her wide blue eyes blinking curiously as she studied the hanging garden.

“Wooyoung, be nice,” you chided gently, scratching behind his ear to calm him.

The affronted familiar huffed, muttering under his breath. “I’m just saying, we have standards. Can’t have every stray waltzing in and making themselves at home.” He narrowed his eyes at Yunho as if all of this were somehow his fault.

Meanwhile, Byeol tilted her head at Wooyoung’s outburst, letting out a soft, questioning meow before hopping down to investigate a nearby potted plant. Completely unaware of the tension, she padded over to Yunho, rubbing against his leg with a quiet purr.

Your boyfriend, oblivious to Wooyoung’s grumbling, crouched slightly and held out a hand. 

You bit back a smile, your heart warming at the sight. “She’s so sweet,” you cooed, crouching halfway as if drawn by some unspoken invitation to join the moment. Yunho had always been good with animals, his quiet patience making even the most skittish of creatures trust him. 

“Don’t even think about it.”

The affronted familiar wiggled in your arms, shooting you an incredulous look. “We do not fraternize with the enemy.”

“Enemy?” you echoed, laughing softly as you scratched under his chin. “She’s just a cat, Woo.”

“You say that now but wait until she steals your man,” Wooyoung retorted, his ears flattening as Byeol leaned further into Yunho’s hand, her purring growing louder. 

“Look at her. Cats are sneaky, manipulative, and they shed everywhere. Don’t let the purring fool you—it’s how they get you.”

Yunho chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder at Wooyoung. “Aren’t you also a cat?” he teased, earning an indignant snort from the familiar. 

You couldn’t hold back a laugh this time and reached out to give Wooyoung a soothing scratch behind his ear. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be my favorite.” 

Wooyoung huffed, leaning into your touch despite his irritation. “Remember, I came first,” he muttered, his sharp glare lingering on Byeol as she nuzzled contentedly into Yunho’s arms.

Yunho cradled the Siamese cat gently, her soft purr harmonizing with the magical thrum of the shop. Byeol pressed her cheek against his chest, her tail curling lazily as if she belonged there.

“She’s adorable,” you cooed, unable to resist smiling at the sight. Wooyoung’s tail flicked in protest, but Byeol remained unbothered, basking in the affection surrounding her.

“By the way,” Yunho began, “We should remember to keep the door shut. We don’t want her escaping now.”

Byeol lifted her head at the mention of the door, her large blue eyes blinking slowly as if she understood every word.

“Why do you think curiosity killed the cat?” Wooyoung added darkly, his ears twitching in irritation. “You turn around one day, and poof—they’re gone.” His tail flicked sharply, the motion like an exclamation point to his statement.

“Still,” Yunho said softly, shifting her in his arms, “better safe than sorry. San would have my head if anything happened to her.”

Outside, a faint breeze rustled against the emporium, stirring the stillness with a quiet whisper. Byeol’s ears twitched in response, her tail curling softly around Yunho’s arm as if drawn by an unseen presence.

⋆

With Yule Season around the corner, the shop was alive with activity. Travelers wandered through the aisles with wide-eyed wonder, clutching items that seemed to glow brighter as they made their selections.

You moved effortlessly among them, answering questions, calming curious minds, and ensuring the shop’s peculiar rhythm remained undisturbed, while Hongjoong manned the main counter, exchanging offerings for wishes.

Perched atop the counter, Wooyoung surveyed the activity below. His sleek black coat glistened in the warm light, his tail flicking lazily as if he were above the hustle of the Yule rush. Yet, despite the chaos, Wooyoung's sharp eyes lingered on Byeol, who had stirred from her cozy spot by a shelf of magical plants.

The little Siamese cat stretched gracefully, her sweet and innocent expression unchanged even as her nose twitched. A faint, unfamiliar scent had reached her, something light and otherworldly. She stood, her tail and took a tentative step toward the door.

The emporium door swung open with a rush of noise, a stream of last-minute patrons bustling in and out, their arms laden with enchanted gifts and festive charms. Amid the chaos, Byeol stood still at the entrance, her sapphire eyes focused, listening intently to something beyond the shop's noise. Without hesitation, she slipped through the gap, her elegant tail disappearing into the twilight.

“Oh no, you don’t!” Wooyoung hissed.

He sprang from the counter, landed soundlessly on the polished floor as he weaved through the crowded shop, ignoring the surprised glances from travelers and patrons. The wintry air met him as he pushed the door open with his shoulder, and the faint jingling of its enchanted bell marked his exit.

The air was alive with Yule magic. Snowflakes shimmered as they fell, and lanterns strung between buildings cast a golden glow. Shoppers bustled about, their laughter and chatter mingling with the distant strains of carolers’ songs, but Wooyoung’s focus was on Byeol. She was a few paces ahead, her movements delicate and purposeful as she followed an invisible path.

“What are you after?” Wooyoung muttered, his tail lashing as he followed her, his senses on high alert.

Then he saw it—a fleeting, delicate figure cloaked in silvered mist, barely visible against the shimmering snowfall. The fae lingered near the edge of the alley, its ethereal form flickering in and out of sight. 

Wooyoung’s fur bristled as he drew closer, the shimmer of the fae’s magic growing stronger with every step. Though it had never crossed the emporium’s threshold, its lingering energy was undeniable, leaving behind a subtle enchantment that had captivated Byeol.

At the mouth of the alley, Byeol paused, her small frame silhouetted against the shadows. A soft, melodic hum drifted through the air, and Byeol tilted her head, her serene expression untouched by fear. She remained sweet and curious, utterly unaware of the danger that lay beyond the call.

“Byeol, get away from that thing!” Wooyoung called out, his voice sharp and commanding as he stepped forward. He surged forward, the snow crunching beneath his paws, his black coat bristling with tension. The air around him rippled, thick with magic, and in a swirl of black smoke, he stood tall in his human form.

Before he could catch his breath, a dagger materialized in his hand, its blade pulsing with magical energy. He charged at the fae, whose silvery mist swirled lazily, its form flickering like smoke caught in a breeze—ethereal yet undeniably powerful.

“Byeol!” he called again, his voice harsher this time. “Come here, now.”

Byeol didn’t move. Her blue eyes were wide and unblinking, fixed on the fae as if entranced. The fae tilted its misty head, studying her with a playful curiosity, the shimmer of its magic growing brighter as it extended toward her. 

Wooyoung’s heart sank as he reached out, his hand desperate to grab her, but the fae’s mist shifted, curling around him like a serpent. Its voice, soft yet taunting, drifted through the air like a haunting melody. 

“How fierce you are,” it mused, the silvery tendrils tightening around him. “You couldn’t save her then…and now you fight so desperately to save this one.”

Wooyoung growled, his grip tightening on the dagger in his hand. 

“Get out of my head!” he snarled, his dark eyes blazing as he lunged forward, slashing at the mist in quick, precise arcs. But the blade passed through it as though it were nothing but smoke.

The fae laughed, its chuckle light and mocking. “So it’s true? The witch's familiar, doomed to remember every agonizing detail of his life and that of others,” it whispered, its words cutting deeper than any physical wound.

Suddenly, a wave of magic surged through the air, slamming into Wooyoung. He staggered, the world around him dissolving into a swirl of light and shadow. His vision blurred, and his legs buckled under the weight of unseen memories clawing their way to the surface.

Images flickered in Wooyoung’s mind—fragments of a life he had tried to bury. The memory shifted, the forest dissolving into a blur of sound and light. The princess’s hand slipped from his grasp. He reached out, calling her name, but the forest swallowed her whole.

A love he had failed to protect.

“No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. His knees buckled under the weight of the memory, the dagger slipping from his grasp and clattering to the ground.

Desperation surged through him as he struggled to rise. He forced himself to his feet, muscles straining against the invisible weight of the fae’s magic. 

All he could do was watch, helpless, as light engulfed the small Siamese cat. The glow intensified, swirling faster and faster until it reached a blinding climax.

When the light faded the figure standing in Byeol’s place was no longer a cat. 

A little girl stood there, her soft, flowing locks of silver hair cascading around her delicate face. Wide cerulean eyes blinked up at Wooyoung, filled with confusion yet unguarded, as they had always been. She wore a simple white dress that seemed to shimmer faintly, her bare feet resting lightly atop the snow, untouched by the cold.

Fuck. 

“Y/N’s going to kill me.”

<< chapter ix

a/n: I know it's not really an epilogue, but more like a teaser. stay tuned hehehehe

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny

@lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid

@jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie

@jonghosbrainrot @e3ellie @koyagifs @notevenheretbh1 @corgilover20

@almondtofu006 @foxinnie8 @sanriomilk @kang-ulzzang

[tin-wufborf]

Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics (Part 20)

Hello lovelies, and welcome back to Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics! It's been a while, and for that, I'm sorry. I've been (and still am) going through a bit of a depressive episode. November's typically a tough month for me for a couple of reasons, but it hit harder than usual this year. Still, I wanted to come back and bring you another installment of Tin's Favorite Sterek Fics, just in case anyone needs a little Sterek to get them by like I have.

Side note: I'm actually thinking of doing a some, like, "feature" posts where I rec a single fic at a time, regardless of whether or not I've already rec'd it through this series, and actually explain what I like about the fics. Give a little endorsement, if you will. As much as I love all of the fics I have recommended throughout this series, I definitely have some go-to staple fics that I re-read with far more frequency than others. I can think of at least 3 off of the top of my head right this second...

Idk. Would any of you be interested in that? I might do it no matter what, just to have something to engage my brain a bit, but I have also been nearly catatonic with brain fog and just a general exhaustion of life, so. We'll see.

Okay, enough of my yappin'!

As ever and always, thank you all so much for all of the love and support you've shown this series. It genuinely warms my heart when I get a notification for this series, and I appreciate you all so much. I hope you've all found some new favorites and/or got to dig back into an old favorite or two along the way. There won't be too many more parts, but I'm going to try to stretch this bitch out to 25 parts because it's a tasty number to my brain.

I hope you're all having a good day, if not a great one! Smoochies and squeezies, lovelies!

List and links to previous parts below the cut.

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DISCLAIMER: This is me warning you all that some of the fics I've included in this list may cover explicit, dark, and/or "taboo" subject matters. I cannot express enough how little I care what anyone thinks about any of that; all I want is for you to use caution when reading anything I've listed here and to please review and heed whatever tags the authors have provided in order to keep yourselves safe. Your experience from this point on is your own responsibility, not mine and not the authors'.

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Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20

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The Horror of Our Love by Melpomene (Aconitehart) (E | 1/1 | 4,941)

"I'm not wearing a muzzle," Derek snaps.

"Look, if you wear this then we're golden! There's no way you can bite through this, Deaton said so."

"Oh well, if Deaton says," Derek says snidely. It's a silly argument. Sure, Deaton is shady and enjoys bending the truth on occasion, but unless it's a complex assassination plan he wouldn't lie about this. Something that Stiles knows that Derek is aware of.

"There's really no reason for him to lie," Stiles points out. "What's your real problem with it?"

"It's demeaning," Derek says through gritted teeth.

"What? No! Lots of werewolves have to wear one of these," Stiles says, waving the muzzle around. The leather and clasps jingle.

Derek sneers at him. "Wolves who can't control themselves."

"Pot and kettle, buddy. Wait, wait," Stiles says hurriedly when Derek turns to leave, "let's just... let's try it, okay? Come on, have I steered us wrong before?"

-

In which Derek can't control himself while having sex with Stiles and needs to be muzzled.

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Burial Rituals by aurevell (G | 1/1 | 4,989)

The necromancer freezes halfway over the fence, stuttering to a halt the second Derek flashes his red eyes. It’s an awkward pose to hold: leg hiked up over the waist-high bars, hands gripping the rail for balance. The fence’s wrought-iron spears dig into his calf a bit as he settles, clearly caught off guard.

“Uh,” he says lamely, his face pale in the scant moonlight. “Shit.”

Derek guards an abandoned cemetery. Stiles is the necromancer trying to break in.

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Devoured by Hedwig221b (E | 1/1 | 5,298)

Breathless, Stiles shifted his gaze up and went red from the knowing smirk on the deific face. The man’s red eyes sparkled in the moonlight, glowing like two fires on the tips of the candles. One of his thick eyebrows was lifted in amusement.

He was the most beautiful being Stiles had ever seen. As was probably expected, considering he was the god of sexual desire.

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Satisfaction Brought It Back by Snare (E | 1/1 | 7,223)

Derek doesn't know how nobody else seems to notice the large, ever-present bulge in Stiles' jeans. He can't help but be curious about it, he just - he just wants.

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Lay Me Out by Melpomene (Aconitehart) (E | 2/2 | 8,967)

"This is weird," Stiles tells him. His hands are still on Derek's chest. "Is this weird? Are you even sentient enough to think things are weird?"

Derek's tail wags back and forth, brushing against his calves and stirring up the fallen leaves. And the licking? It doesn't stop. Derek keeps at it, licking Stiles' cheeks, his forehead, that sensitive spot behind his ears. Stiles tries to twist away, much braver now that he hasn't been mauled, but there's no escape.

"Okay," Stiles croaks out. He pushes at Derek's shoulders, his chest. "Let me up, big guy, come on."

When Derek doesn't move, Stiles arches up, trying to wriggle free, but then he feels something wet and sticky against his stomach where his shirt has ridden up. He cranes his neck down and sees Derek's dick. It's distinctly non-human; red, with a tapered tip. Clear fluid drips from it.

"Oh holy god," he says, horrified and fascinated. "Is that - oh fuck."

-

In which Derek has sex with Stiles while in the Alpha form

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to be with those I like by sheafrotherdon (E | 1/1 | 9,323)

It's Deaton who tells Derek that Stiles is back in town, a broken marriage behind him, his daughter in tow.

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How We Got Here by Areiton (E | 1/1 | 9,718)

Maybe if you fight the creatures of the night together like they did, if you bury enough friends and strangers and enemies, you don’t lose touch.

He thinks that’s why he and Derek are friends--because Derek understands his nightmares, understands the nights when he can’t talk, and the nights he can’t stand the dark.

OR: Against all odds and expectations, Stiles and Derek have become respectable adults ( WHY?) and friends.

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Lunches, Knitting and Definitely Not Dating by attackofthezee (noxlunate), noxlunate (T | 1/1 | 10,107)

“So, I uh, managed to get myself pregnant.”

“You what?!”

“Got myself pregnant. Y’know, up the duff, knocked up, a bun in the oven, in a family way, eating for two, with child. I could go on Dad, really, stop me before I exhaust the list of pregnancy euphemisms. There’s still caught an 18 year STD, my eggo is preggo, building a person-“

“Stiles.”

“Hosting a parasite, harboring a fugitive-“

(Just a weird mpreg fic with Derek and Stiles totally kinda dating without realizing it, and Stiles figuring out this whole having a baby thing.)

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(they say) this should feel something like fire by dallisons (E | 1/1 | 11,163)

Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.

"Turn it off." The pack looked up, stunned into silence by the first words they'd heard from him in weeks.

Stiles stood, trembling - his knees weak. He tried to run and collapsed, his bad leg failing him once again. Derek caught him. "Turn it off," he said, his voice unmistakably a growl.

The water continued leaking from the loose faucet, and all Stiles heard was Erica's blood against the concrete. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip. Drop. Drip.

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Whatever Our Souls Are Made Of by Lissadiane (NR | 1/1 | 14,953)

It's a cold, snowy night and Stiles is halfway through his shift at the campus coffee shop when a tall, dark and handsome stranger walks in, one who seems unaware that he's being haunted by a wolf.

In which Stiles Stilinski sees the ghosts of animals with unfinished business, and Derek Hale is unaware that his dearly departed sister left a few things unfinished.

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Untouchable by Hedwig221b (E | 1/1 | 17,128)

The day Stiles Stilinski entered the Berkeley campus was the day all the alphas went absolutely fucking nuts.

See, omegas were rare, even more than redheads. Got to be extremely fucking lucky to even see one in a lifetime. They were supposed to be these ethereal creatures of beauty and elegance, irresistible and blinding.

And Stiles Stilinski was exactly that.

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Camaro '68 by ZainClaw (E | 1/1 | 17,707)

Derek huffs, arching one eyebrow. "I'm not a fugitive." "You look like a fugitive," Stiles insists, practically beaming. "Maybe you should start wearing cardigans."

In which Stiles is a hitchhiker and Derek a runaway whose paths cross at a gas station in the California desert.

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Cross a Canyon (with a broken limb) by theroguesgambit (T | 1/1 | 18,010)

“You never graduated,” Stiles says, just to say it. To test it out in the open air. That's... huh.

--

Stiles spends his senior year battling troll-gremlins, taking on an unexpected tutoring job, and definitely not falling for a certain sourwolf (even though everyone else seems to think he is).

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Do You Wanna Date My Avatar? by Renmackree (T | 9/9 | 18,399)

Scott frowned, grabbing the game case and reading it out loud.

“Become the Hero you've always wanted to be. Battle monsters, witches, dragons, and all the mythical beasts of the World of Fantasy. Play as a Human, Elf, Dwarf and other special races included in the basic game. Stiles this so stupid. Who the hell would want to play as a Werewolf?” Scott threw the game back on the bed and leaned back in the chair.

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We Only Get Better by Ninna_7 (T | 8/8 | 22,741)

Stiles doesn't call him these days. Not since he left Beacon Hills that last time. Not since Stiles left the FBI internship programme in favour of studying Forensic Psychology at NYU. Stiles has texted him a few times in the past, but he never called. Not anymore. Back then, however, whenever Derek received a call from Stiles or called Stiles in return, it was purely for survival's sake. So Derek doesn't know what to expect from this call. If he's being honest, he's scared of it.

x

Or: It's been years since Stiles and Derek last spoke, but a phone call from the human reconnects them. They have the chemistry, the history and the shared trauma. With time and each other, maybe they can have more.

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part-time soulmate, full-time problem by Renmackree (E | 1/1 | 27,111)

Stiles had seen it all in his five years of supernatural shenanigans, but never in his life would he have guessed returning to Derek's old stomping grounds in New York, especially under the guise of Derek's magical Mate.

It was going to be an exciting summer.

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The Light in the Woods series by DiscontentedWinter (5 works | G-M | 36,507)

1. The Lights in the Woods (T | 8/8 | 12,293) To honour a treaty with the people of a strange land, Derek Hale, prince of the kingdom of Triskelion, has to marry Stiles. 2. The Gift of the Trees (T | 1/1 | 4,780) Stiles is everything that Derek ever wanted... almost. 3. Moonflower (G | 1/1 | 3,331) Stiles and Derek's son finds his magic. 4. The Path of the Wolf (G | 1/1 | 5,206) Faolán has to find his own path. 5. The Heart of the Wolf (M | 4/4 | 10,897) Etienne Argent is rescued by a strange young man in the woods.

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In Any Version of Reality by alisvolatpropiis (E | 7/7 | 39,853)

Standing next to not-Derek – whoa, holding not-Derek’s hand? – is someone who looks remarkably like Stiles. Is Stiles, a slightly-altered replica, just like this guy both is and isn't Derek.

It’s not like looking into a mirror – one, because looking into a mirror actually makes some kind of sense, and two, because not-Stiles looks older too, mid twenties maybe. And the tips of his short, spiky hair are dark purple, and he’s got a lip ring and he’s shirtless and covered in tattoos and what the holy hell?

“Time travel?" He's sufficiently freaked. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hears his dad laughing.

“Not exactly,” not-Derek says, and shit, even his voice sounds exactly the same, disconcertingly gentle. He gestures behind him, and Stiles looks over his shoulder, where behind him, scattered across the porch and in the front yard, are more…Dereks and more Stileses.

Fourteen total, including the two at the door, he notes distantly, eyes feeling like they’re about to pop out of his head from bulging so hard.

Seven other Dereks. Seven other Stileses.

Seven Derek and Stiles pairs.

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The Moon Gave Me Permission by Melpomene (Aconitehart) (E | 9/9 | 57,572)

“I probably shouldn’t tell you this,” Scott says, eyeing Stiles’ fries. “But Derek Hale is back in town. I saw him at the gas station the other day.”

This piques Stiles’ interest. Oh yes it does. Like any good true crime aficionado, Stiles has his favourite case. His pet cold case. His hometown murder. The thing he brings up when he’s tired of small talk and just wants to get real.

The Hale Family Fire and the suicide of Katherine Argent.

Stiles knows this case inside and out. He’s racked up thousands of karma points on reddit for his thoughtful analysis, his pictures of the crime scene, and of his reporting of local gossip. Beacon Hills is a small town, small enough that Stiles is the only one on the Unresolved Mysteries subreddit to have actually seen the burnt out shell in person.

He’ll tell anyone who listens what he finds fascinating about the case. Absolutely no shame. He’s read all of the articles, he’s pestered his father’s deputies for more information, and he’s read every cold case compilation book that so much as mentions it.

No one knows this case like Stiles does.

-

In which Derek Hale is a man with a dark past, and Stiles is completely obsessed with him.

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The Soul Knows What the Heart Wants by isthatbloodonhisshirt (wasterella) (M | 9/9 | 163,779)

“Holy—shit,” Stiles breathed, Bacon stopping in what he was doing, still staring at him intently, as if begging him to understand, for someone to finally understand. Stiles felt like he’d been electrocuted and he leapt out of his chair, kneeling in front of Bacon and grabbing at his furry face. “Holy shit! Oh my God, are you—wait, holy—you’re not fucking with me, right?!”

Bacon let out two quick barks, which Stiles chose to interpret as ‘no.’

“Oh my God, are you a real person in there?!” Stiles shouted in the wolf’s face, staring him right in the eye. He was still holding the wolf’s head with both hands, but Bacon dipped his muzzle in confirmation and Stiles officially lost his mind.

“Oh my God!” he shouted again, releasing Bacon to clutch at his own hair. “Oh my God! Dude, for real?! You’re—holy shit! Holy shit!” He didn’t know how to react to this news. He had no fucking idea how to react. This was a person?! But how?! How was this a person?! People didn’t just turn into wolves!

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************************************************************************

[fewblood]

Beware of the Shadow - König x Fem Reader - Part 1

Ah…

It took me some effort not to yawn in the middle of the meeting I'm currently a part of. The gathering consisted of us, the four new KorTac recruits, listening to one of our instructors as he elaborate on the details of tomorrow's shooting test. Despite my attempts to stay engaged, his delivery was incredibly… slow. Feeling the pull of drowsiness, I closed my eyes briefly, allowing my thoughts to wander to past weeks' events.

I served in the military before. So, when I was offered a spot in this special organization, I seized this as an opportunity to start anew. Moreover, the compensation was generous; mostly due to the extensive secrecy of the job. I had to sign dozens upon dozens confidentiality agreements, to the extent I can't even disclose my employer nor workplace to my own family. 

I was gradually grinding my place nonetheless. But, like anyone before me, I had to pass a series of range tests. Overall it was demanding, but I handled it. I had to. 

A small cough snapped my eyes back open, my gaze focusing directly toward the men standing before us. One of them loomed significantly taller than the other however, so much so that I found myself wondering how he managed to navigate around on a daily basis.

He went by the name of König—the one that keeps his face hidden. 

It was my first time seeing him in person, although I had certainly heard of his reputation. His eerie presence was enough to send shivers down your spine, and what he's keeping hidden beneath his hood is rumored to be even more chilling. His silent nature was also known to be a stark contrast with the brutality he apparently displayed on the battlefield.

In short, I quickly came to the conclusion that he was someone better not messed with.

His gaze suddenly got on me, certainly prompted by how I was staring at him instead of paying attention to the snail pace instructions in the background. I held my gaze steady for a moment before redirecting my attention back to the briefing, which ended shortly afterward anyway. 

As everyone filed out of the room, I rose from my seat and took a moment to stretch my sore self, thinking I was alone. It was only after I made my neck crack in a satisfying way that I noticed the tall man eyeing me from the other corner of the room. However, he swiftly looked away when caught staring.

"Soldier, come here." he commanded, his stern voice offering no hints of a promising  encounter.

I raised a questioning eyebrow but eventually made my way to the front of the room. I stood in front of him like I wasn't impressed, though truth be told—hell he was quite imposing. Height become an irrelevant metric in his presence; you would always feel smaller next to him.

He's at least 6'8—no… 6'9", perhaps? 

"Yes, sir?" I replied as I kept my hands hidden behind me, subtly fidgeting my concerns away. His colossal stature had me tilting my head up quite a bit and, even then, his eyes were challenging to catch a glimpse of. 

König, though he towered over me, had a small look of intrigue. He squinted his eyes, making them even more difficult to perceive.

"What's your weapon of choice, soldier?" he asked out of nowhere. 

Well, hello to you too, I thought. Politeness, apparently, wasn't his strong suit. But that should be expected, I suppose...

His blunt question also caught me off guard since I assumed he was going to scold me for being distracted during a meeting, like a teacher might. A daunting teacher, in that case. But perhaps he was just curious, given he wasn't a part of our training before? And, considering tomorrow's shooting test, it made some kind of sense of him to inquire.

 "Well, anything that is a ranged weapon, sir. But I'd say I'm the most useful with a sniper in hand." I responded.

König looked at me with a new hint in his eyes. Was it curiosity? Amusement? It was difficult to tell.

"A trained sniper, hm?" He scoffed under his mask.

Ah, disdain then. 

"And what about your prior experiences?" he asked as he assessed me head to toe. The combination of his scrutiny and the questioning made it feel like I was under investigation, as if we were anything but from the same organization. Perhaps it's because I'm female? It wouldn't be the first time someone doubted my abilities solely for this reason.

It wasn't very pleasant to have to justify myself, but, as I felt I still wasn't off the hook completely, I eventually cleared my throat and answered again.

"I tried to join the police at first, but I enlisted in the army instead and served for some years before being recruited here."

König listened to my brief resume with an emotionless expression, though I could sense a hint of curiosity when his voice filled the room again.

"And what prevented you from joining the police?"

I could only meet König's gaze with a blank stare. He honed in on the one aspect I hoped he wouldn't, intensifying the irritation I was feeling over the entire situation. I looked away in an attempt to temper my now rising frustration, but his voice snapped back at me.

"Speak! I don't have all day."

"Sorry but this isn't relevant." I sharply replied. 

He stared right into my eyes, and I stared back, as if we're having some sort of a staring contest. The tension between us lingered with neither of us willing to address it. Again, his gaze revealed no emotions, offering no clues about his thoughts. 

And he abruptly shifted the subject, again.

"Well then, newbie… What about close-quarters combat? Do you know how to handle yourself?"

I pondered once more about what all this was about, but I eventually relaxed my jaw. A small smirk appeared on my lips, laden with all the bad omens it could carry. 

"I've been doing judo for a while, but tell me—is this some kind of interview? I would have printed my resume if I knew." I snickered.

He hummed as he slowly retrieved a small tablet from one of his cargo pockets. He tapped on it with quick, precise movements while I found myself studying his hands, wondering how he managed to use the compact device with such big fingers. My attention snapped back up when his thick German accent arose from beneath his black veil again.

"Indeed, your file says you are proficient in marksmanship and unarmed combat."

My eyes widened at the sudden mention of my 'file'. If he has access to my infos, what is he getting at?! I could only twitch my tongue in frustration, causing König to cast another assessing look my way.

"I want you in the gym in half an hour for a sparring match." he declared, allowing a moment of silence to let his words sink in.

"Against me."

—The fuck?! 

"Wha—But why?! The physical tests have already been done!" I protested, sounding more alarmed than what I would have liked to. 

I struggled to hold back the urge to enter panic mode, but that's it, I'm going to die—he’s going to fucking crush me. 

I stared at him putting his tablet back with eyes wide open, scanning for any signs this was just a bad dream I was having. He then looked back at my dumbfounded face, seemingly delighted by the panic oozing from every pore.

"Let me tell you this: I don't like your attitude, nor your refusal to disclose your antecedents. I'll see you in a bit."

And he just left me there, my mouth agape as a cold sweat ran down my spine. All I could hear was his echoing footsteps in the corridor before he left the building.

Well, I'm screwed.

[moonstruckme]

8K OMG CONGRATS SO DESERVED YOU'RE SO TALENTED

for a gingerbread, i find i'm a bit of a grump during the holidays cause of family drama and having to deal with tempers and hosting and stress, and i imagine siri would kinda relate with that? so what would the holidays look like for siri and a reader who are not feeling very festive?

Thank you <33

i totally agree, he would absolutely get it

i think he'd follow your lead a little bit, figuring out whether you want to grin and bear it or escape, but if he senses you getting too wound up and/or down in the dumps he's making an excuse to get you both away from things

he volunteers for you both to go to the store, claims to have a headache so you can both go to bed early, whatever he needs to do to get you some time to yourselves

the times you can't get away, he's constantly making you feel his support by touching you, engaging in conversations so you don't have to, etc, etc, basically just being a buffer between you and the unpleasantness wherever he can

if anyone says anything really rude, though, watch out--he wants to keep the peace for your sake, but his anger is very impulsive, especially when it's on someone else's behalf

when alone, i think he'd start out by being all sweet and soft with you, back rubs and murmuring and trying to be encouraging about how it's only for a few more days or there'll be that dessert you like tomorrow, though, hm?

once he feels you've been sufficiently coddled he'll try and get you in a better mood by just being his light teasing self. I'm sure he'll have tons of jokes about your family (this of course depends on how many you're okay with him telling) and is very happy to entertain you for hours if it gets a smile on your face

after the holidays, you're both thoroughly burnt out, and you enjoy your own separate mini holiday of cuddles and relaxation :)

[thebigcjart]

And then here's Karkat! One of the Homestucks of all time.

Terris people generally don't have last names in canon, but I think that because Eridan's Caste (he's a full Feruchemist and technically fully Terris) is part of the High Class, that feature of nobility would pass down through family lines. Karkat's though is not from his parents (who abandoned him and were culled at some point soon after), but from a mythological Twinborn figure known as the Tuner (Kankri Vantas). He learns at some point that he is the most recent in a line of firstborns tracing directly back to the Tuner.

The Misting Caste in the Terris Class actually produces Twinborns, and through a mixture of eugenics and traditional culling, has been effectively eradicated. Karkat still feels very connected to being Terris, even though he can't really engage with the culture due to him being a mutant, he wears clothes evocative of the traditional Tinningdar with the overlapping V patterns.

His symbol represents the Duraluminminds of the Tuner, who nearly succeeded in leading a full revolution against the Condese by getting the Skaa and Terris classes to rise up (and also he even consumed Lerasium to boot). At some point in the plot of this AU, Karkat actually gets his hands on the Duraluminminds of the Tuner, and due to his Connection to him, is able to tap them despite the difference in Identity that would usually prohibit other Feruchemists from doing so.

His Duraluminminds, like the Tuner's, are bracers. They look similar to carapace in designe, and have a lot of engravings that he did himself that blend Terris and Lusus culture.

His typing quirk is CAPSLOCK WITH PERFECT SYNTAX. He often refers to a lot of anatomical features as a Lusus would. This, coincidentally, is just the normal Troll names for these in canon.

Because he was an orphan, he actually was raised by a Lusus (which is identical to the Kandra in canon), more specifically a 3rd Generation Lusus named KarDaan (Who Karkat modeled his first name after) with the Blessing of Presence and a Truebody in the shape of a crab-like centaur. KarDaan was given his Blessing by the Tuner himself.

His Allomancy isn't very useful on his own but is very handy when Sollux arranges everyone to try and steal Atium from the Condese and crash the economy. When he stores Connection, he gets especially grouchy because his Connection to his friends and people weakens considerably. His friends also get grouchy with him during this, but it all smooths out when he stops storing and when he taps again.

It's actually his Duralumin Feruchemy that keeps everyone together, mostly, because he can act as a link and a diplomat between those of his crew that are having issues.

Some silly quotes:

CG: IM GOING TO START STORING CONNECTION NOW CG: SO DONT GET YOUR BULGE IN A KNOT SUDDENLY. CG: ITS PART OF THE PROCESS TA: who even rustiing talk2 liike that TA: bulge iin a knot CG: ITS A COMMON SAYING! TA: youre full of 2lag TA: what even iis a bulge TA: are you assumiing my junk TA: rustiing perv CG: NO YOU ASHWIPE, CG: ITS THE CG: GODDAMN IT. CG: I LITERALLY RUSTING TOLD YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN CG: OUR CONNECTION IS WAVERING. TA: waveriing TA: what a rustiing nerd

CG: BUT WE'VE GOT TO HURRY AND GET STARTED ON THIS THING, OR IT COULD GET KIND OF AWKWARD. AG: Awkward? What do you mean? CG: I MEAN HE'S JUST STANDING HERE NOW. CG: WAITING FOR ME I GUESS. CG: BUT IT'S OK, I THINK HE'S PRETTY MUCH SETTLED DOWN. AG: Settled down? CG: WELL, HE STABBED ME ONCE. AG: Oh, only once! AG: Are you sure you should trust him? I don't know if I would, 8ut hey I'm not the leader. CG: NO, NO, IT'S COOL. CG: HE'S COOL, IT'S FINE I DON'T REALLY MIND THE STABBING, IT WAS ALL A MISUNDERSTANDING. CG: WELL OK I'M PRETTY SURE HE MEANT TO STAB ME. CG: BUT I KIND OF THINK THAT'S LIKE CG: THE WAY HE GREETS PEOPLE? AG: This empire is so stupid. CG: IN ANY CASE I THINK HE'S PROBABLY ALL STABBED OUT. AG: Whew!!!!!!!! AG: Oh, man. AG: Since you're 8leeding I should ask Terezi what color your 8lood is. CG: WHAT IN THE RUSTING WORLD DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? CG: I BLEED RED JUST LIKE ANYONE ELSE. AG: Sure........ Unless you're actually a Lusus who ate Karkat and is just wearing his body CG: OK CG: YOU MUST BE ABSOLUTELY OUT OF YOUR RUSTING THOUGHTSPONGE IF YOU THINK THAT IM SOMEHOW LESS RUSITNG HUMAN THAN YOU. AG: See???????? Thoughtsponge what does that even mean? AG: You mean my mind???????? My human 8rain???????? AG: I'm on the trail I know it CG: I WAS RAISED BY LUSII, ASHHUFFER. MAYBE ITS NOT SO MUCH OF A RUSTING STRETCH THAT I PICKED UP SOME SPEECH PATTERNS FROM THEM. CG: BUT *NOOOOOO* ITS SO MUCH MORE LIKELY THAT IM THE LESSER PERSON. AG: I mean, you aaaaaaaare part of a cull-on-sight Caste CG: OH CG: OHHHHH NO. CG: YOU DID *NOT* JUST RUSTING GO THERE. CG: THAT SPIKE IN YOUR SPONG-- *BRAIN* IS RUSTING OVER YOUR SENSE OF SOCIAL ETIQUETTE HARDCORE. CG: THAT SPIKE IS DOING THINGS TO YOUR SENSE OF SOCIAL ETIQUETTE THAT YOUR ETIQUETTE'S FUTURE CHILD WOULD NEVER UNSEE. CG: SOME HIGH AND MIGHTY NOBLE YOU ARE. CG: FALL TO RUIN. AG: We'll see. I'll just ask Terezi ::::) CG: SHE CAN'T SEE ME OR SMELL ME OR ANYTHING, I'M WAY OUT OF LUTHADEL SOMEWHERE ELSE IN THE DOMINANCE. AG: That's what a Lusus would WANT me to think. CG: RUST AND RUIN, VRISKA.

Homestuck Beta Trolls X Mistborn AU

Spoilers for Brandon Sanderson’s Mistborn series. This is what powers I think the beta trolls would have if they were born on Scadrial

Aradia Megido - Gold or Electrum Misting

Allomancy: ‘Augur’ (Gold: see own Past), ‘Oracle’ (Electrum: see own Future)

Hemalurgy: Cadmium (Placement Unknown: Gold or Electrum Allomancy

It is unknown what her original misting ability was, but the spike from Equius gave her the other one

Tavros Nitram - Cadmium Ferring

Feruchemy: Gasper (Cadmium: Breath), “Bloodmaker” (Gold: Health)

Hemalurgy: Gold (Between Ribs: Gold Feruchemy)

Cadmium compounder; Vriska makes fun of him for having a ‘useless ability’, but doesn’t see the potential that storing breath has. Equius provides him with healing powers to fix his legs through hemalurgy.

Sollux Captor - Born powerless

Allomancy: “Coinshot” (Steel: Push metal) “Lurcher” (Iron: Pull metal)

Hemalurgy: Steel X2 (Left and Right Orbit: Iron and Steel Allomancy)

These spikes were not given by Equius, but instead were applied in a “freak acciident” involving a “jaiilbroken beehiive”.

Karkat Vantas - Copper/Duralumin Twinborn (mutant)

Allomancy: Smoker (Copper: Hide Allomancy)

Feruchemy: Connector (Duralumin: Connection)

I’m not exactly sure why being a natural twin-born is bad in Scadrialternian society, but it is and Karkat’s gotta hide it. Also the castes follow a natural Misting-Ferring-Powerless-Misting-Ferring-Powerless pattern, and Karkat’s caste breaks that so it was completely eradicated through eugenics so im pretty sure he’s the only one.

Nepeta Leijon - Steel Ferring

Feruchemy: Steelrunner (Steel: Physical Speed)

Nothing special, just run-of-the-steel-mill feruchemy.

Kanaya Maryam - Chromium Misting

Allomancy: Leecher (Chromium: wipe allomantic reserves of target)

Her caste is supposed to be powerless, like Equius', but much like how she's a rainbow drinker in canon, she is somehow a misting in this AU. Snapped after Eridan shot her half to death with his “poison wwand strike” (toxic chromium bullets). He did not know that these bullets were Allomantically viable, and neither knew that she would be able to burn chromium. She uses this to sap Gamzee of his massive Zinc reserves, causing him to be distracted long enough for her to kill Eridan.

Terezi Pyrope - Tin misting - Tin Savant

Allomancy: Scout (Tin: Increases senses)

Terezi and Gamzee are the only Savants on the team, which forms the basis of their bond and later kismesitude on whatever this au’s equivalent of the meteor is. She snapped during a feud with Vriska, which left her blind, but she has been flaring tin for so many sweeps that she can basically assemble visual data through her other senses.

Vriska Serket - Cadmium Ferring

Feruchemy: Spinner (Cadmium: Fortune)

Hemalurgy: Left Eye (Cadmium: Destiny)

Forced Equius to use Hemalurgy on her to heal her during a feud with Terezi, but she was tapping Fortune so hard that Equius managed to select the wrong spike and gave her Destiny instead of some healing ability, which is apparently good luck according to the spiritual realm? It’s destiny to be relevant forever I guess so she can’t really die until the plot demands it. She also has Kelsier’s weird metal vision allowing her to peep into the spiritual realm just a little bit. She ended up having her arm fully amputated due to her spirit not being able to accept another spike. Equius in this au isn’t exactly a roboticist, so she won’t get a replacement arm until wayy later down the line.

Equius Zahhak - born powerless

Allomancy: Thug (Pewter: Strength)

Hemalurgy: Between ribs (Steel: Allomantic pewter)

Equius is a Hemalurgist, who was born without allomancy or feruchemy (much like the rest of his caste). He gave himself pewter to make future hemalurgy easier for him (pushing spikes into/through people is physically intensive). He has also given powers to Aradia, Tavros, and Vriska so far.

Gamzee Makara - Zinc Rioter - Zinc Savant

Allomancy: Rioter (Zinc: Riot)

As a Zinc savant, he is so used to being able to fuck with people’s emotions on a whim that he has no idea how to handle empathy without it. He has a very carefree attitude because if someone is saying/doing something he doesn’t like, he can just Allomantic them away. This also means that everyone around him naturally swell with anger and frustration, which leads to the events of the meteor. Rioters and soothers can also gain control of hemalurgic constructs, so I imagine he could take over any hemalurgy users in the party at a whim.

Eridan Ampora - Electrum “Ferring” (Full Feruchemist)

Feruchemy: Pinnacle (Electrum: Determination)

Eridan, like others in his caste, is a full feruchemist, but unlike his other caste members, he only believes that he has one ability.

Feferi Peixes - Mistborn

Allomancy: Mistborn

Feferi, like all others in her caste, is a Mistborn. The Condese is too, actually.

EDIT: Various bits of phrasing and removed the mature label (I have no idea why I wasn't able to before)

[oozeandgoo-art]

everyone is sooo in love with vakori on account of le is so cool and smart and deeply pragmatic and is also completely batshit insane