#and like at this point not only are you forcing everyone to tiptoe around your very delicate moods and watch their words and tone

[leatherbookmark]

characters who have been traumatized/hurt/etc and lash out because of it instead of internalizing it like a good little victim are very interesting and engaging as characters. but people who take every single thing you do as a personal attack? christ alive

[reignpage]

Vice President!Sukuna

Pétain: losing it all pt 1

Word count: 4.4k Contents: 18+ mdni, cursing, smut, reading this is not compulsory, part 2 will explain The Night, so please read the warnings before reading, I will seriously block minors and ageless blogs Warnings: noncon, cnc, dub-con, primal play, threat of violence and act of violence, unprotected sex, dacryphilia, exhibitionism, slight blood play After much deliberation, I've decided to add noncon in the warnings, again proceed with caution

“Is that the Vice President?” Someone whispers. 

Another girl whispers back, “No, he’s the President now.”

You ignore everyone and continue your way to the field, carrying two buckets of soil, ready to plant the seeds in your pocket. Being a member of the Green Thumb Society meant being at one with nature, giving back to the Earth so that we can maintain an equilibrium, ensuring that the future generations will have something to inherit. 

Or whatever. 

Truthfully, you haven’t been listening, simply itching to get your hands dirty so you can distract your mind. Not being the president means having lots of free time, but not having any friends means you don’t have anything to do in those times. At first, you were overjoyed because then you can focus on the mountain of work you have, however, once you sat yourself down to finish up all the readings and applications you had, you realised you didn’t actually have that much work to begin with. 

So now, you’re digging in the dirt, right at the edge of the forest at the back of the Lawn, pretending you can’t feel searing eyes on your back. The ground is hard, and you’re not even sure this is the right season to start planting anything, but what do you know?

Because it’s almost winter, the sky is darkening much faster than anyone would like, and you’re starting to feel more and more anxious as the clouds turn orange in the horizon. Coupled with the fact that you can feel a presence looming behind you, making the hairs on your arms stand, your fight or flight has been activated. 

“We need to talk.”

“No,” you say without missing a beat. 

A hand comes out and grabs the back of your sweater, hauling you up, shovel falling to the ground. You’re being spun around to face a frustratingly handsome face and he’s giving you a deadpan look, unimpressed by your stubbornness. Standing on your tiptoes, you have to cling onto his jacket to keep steady. 

“I wasn’t asking, prez,” he drawls. 

Scowling, you smack his chest once and then again when he didn’t even flinch. “That’s the problem; you never ask.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, arm dropping so you can stand on your own, but he doesn’t let go. Probably thinks you’ll run again. Though, you’re not sure why he thinks you would; you’re not drunk. And you certainly don’t want a repeat of last time, people still come up to you to recite your speech. 

“Let’s get outta here,” he pulls you with him. 

You dig your heels onto the ground, slapping his arm to let you go. There’s no way in hell you’re going anywhere with him, being alone with Sukuna doesn’t work out well for you, it only forces you deeper and deeper into a hole you don’t want to be in and have been trying to get out for years now. Plus, you’d hate to give him the satisfaction. 

“Stop being a pain in the ass,” he growls, dragging you with him regardless. Your futile attempts at escape are only irritating him more. “You’re gonna talk whether you like it or not.”

People are staring and you’re gritting your teeth, the embarrassment making your face heat up and you pull away harder.  “Sukuna, stop, people are gonna talk.”

He gives you a look that screams, who the fuck cares.

“No, stop it, I’m serious,” people are whispering and pointing. “Please, Sukuna.”

Halting suddenly, your face hits his back. His back hurts, Jesus. 

One glance at you makes him roll his eyes and then he’s dragging you the opposite direction, into the forest. It’s darkening and the thick lines of trees makes your heartbeat faster and, once again, you’re trying to wrangle yourself out of his grip. This is the kind of place young girls go to die. 

“Not there, either!”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses. 

Eventually, the Green Thumbers disappear from you and all you can see for miles are trees. And a pissed off pink-haired, varsity jacket wearing pain in the ass, tapping his foot on the mud. You simply cannot catch a fucking break. Because apparently you committed some atrocities in your past life and now you must be punished. Again, and again and again. 

“Talk me through what the fuck is happening. Why did you let that old fucker push you out of your position and why the fuck aren't you fighting to get it back?”

You lean against a tree, the bark scratching you even through your sweater. Guess this is happening. With a sigh, you explain, “There wasn’t anything I could have done, Sukuna. He said, I was giving the school a bad rep. That the trustees don’t think I’ve been a doing a good enough job, what with Cursed Womb still running amok, the gossip column spreading the students’, and the staff’s, dirty secrets across campus and even across the city. Not to mention all those times I’ve been late to meetings, files going missing, and presentations being inaccurate. Thank to you.”

Sukuna huffs, leaning against a tree too, hands stuffed into his pocket. At first glance, he doesn’t even look like he’s listening to a thing you’re saying, but you know him better than that, unfortunately. Because when he flexes his jaw, you know he’s annoyed. 

“Alright, my bad.”

Your eye twitches. “Your bad? Your bad? Are you fucking kidding me?”

He shrugs, “Yeah.”

You walk away. 

With no idea where to go, you’re just marching away, kicking away leaves and pushing branches away from your face. Muttering curses under your breath, you grow weary of the darkening of the night, you start to regret letting him drag you away at all. Why do you always get swept up in his bullshit?

When you almost trip over a log, you screech. The ground nears but just as you’re about to fall, you’re being yanked back into a hard chest. 

“Watch where you’re fucking going,” he growls. 

“Why are you such a fucking prick?” You scream. “You’re everywhere. Seriously! Fuck off! Why do you want to ruin my life? It isn’t enough that you forced me out of the position so you can have it for yourself, but now you want to make me miserable by not letting me do anything fun?”

Your hands are flying, half waving in the air and half smacking into him, hitting whatever you can reach and you’re stomping your feet. This is all ridiculous — he hated you, and then he has these stupid, ridiculous moments where he makes your heart clench, where he looks at you like you’re somebody, like you’re special, and it always left you reeling, unable to sleep at night. 

“Calm the fuck down!” He yells back. “You’re fucking crazy.”

“CRAZY! I’m acting crazy. Ohhhhh, you’re such a fucking dick. I hate you I hate you I hate you!”

He’s grabbing your wrists, trying to restrain you so you’d shut up, but you’re done being silenced. Done with his horrible attitude and personality and his stupid face. Everything went to shit because of him, he ruined your first year, and now he’s ruined your third year, but apparently that isn’t enough because he’s trying to ruin every day of the rest of your life. 

Sukuna’s trying to get a word in, but you’re rambling, screeching and hollering about anything and everything, somethings he’s willing to admit was his fault, but other things were just plain ridiculous. 

“I dropped my bagel this morning and it was because of you! I can’t prove it but I know you had something to do with it. Your stupid malevolent energy reached me from whatever depths of hell you crawled out of, and you ruined my breakfast! That cost me £7! £7, Sukuna!”

“Shut the fuck up for just a second, y/n.”

“A-and when I slipped in the shower, I’m sure your evil spirit pushed me— “

“How could that possibly— “

“And now I have a bruise!”

“Have been my fault?”

SMACK!

In the midst of complaining and rambling, your arm had flung over, and your hand slipped. Right onto his cheek.

You slapped Sukuna. 

And the clenching of his fists, his heavy breaths, tensing shoulders, and flexing of his jaw all scream you’ve fucked up. You’re inching away, hands coming in between you two, shielding yourself from him. The burning of your hand is urging you back and back, eyes firmly fixed on the raging bull in your china shop. 

Oh shit. 

In all the two years and a bit you’ve known Sukuna, have kept an eye out for him, you’ve never seen him look this angry. And though you once thought he’d never raise a hand against a woman, against you, you’re suddenly very very unsure. 

His red eyes raise to meet yours and the tick at the corner of his mouth makes your heart drop. He says one word. And you turn away, silent screams escaping you. 

“Run.”

Your legs pump, frigid air biting cheeks, stabbing every exposed inch of skin as you disappeared further and further into a forest, weaving around thick trees and hurdling over logs and rocks. You’re practically galloping, pushing your body to its limits as you twist and turn, shuddering breath misting in front of you as your heart skips a beat.

If he catches you, you’re dead.

“Fuck!” You cry out. Sprinting, you ignore the growing ache in your legs and the pain in your ankles; you’ve never run like this before. Although, to be fair, you’ve never been chased by a livid Ryomen. Not sure anyone has ever lived to tell the tale. 

Leaves crunch under your shoes as you pushed through, unsure of where to go, where is safe. He's stronger, bigger and faster than you. You both know it. There isn't anywhere you could go where he wouldn't find you. It's as if you've entered a labyrinth of shadows, your vision obscured by the thickening blanket of night and every snap of a twig all around you threaten to make tears spill.

"Oh, prez, where are you?" His voice has taken a mocking, singsong tone, and it's scariest thing you've ever heard. It sends shivers down your spine, a promise of the damage that he could do, that despite the saccharine sweet words, he is nothing but nice. You fight the urge to scream.

"Leave me alone!"

Foot catching on something, you tumbled forward, palms reaching out and scraping against the rough earth. The sharp sting barely registered through the adrenaline coursing through your veins but you know it'll leaves marks. You scrambled to your feet, dirt sticking to your clothes, a sob catching in your throat, your eyes darting around the endless sea of trees.

"You know I can't do that."

"Why?" You yell back.

When you whirl your head back, scanning the area for any sign of pink hair or a purple jacket, you find nothing but shadows shaped like trees, their silhouette sharp and bony. You’re panting, chest heaving as you try to gulp air desperately.The trees look like his allies, obscuring him from your view, harbouring a criminal.

His voice is a low breeze and you can't pinpoint where it's coming from when he laughs sardonically, "You already know why, prez."

He could be anywhere, and you’re pressing yourself against a tree, nails digging into the bark as you looked around frantically. It’s dark. The only source of light being the moon and when you fumble for your phone in your jean pocket, you can’t find it. You must have dropped it. 

“This isn’t fair!”

You’re sobbing, tearing out your hair. Seconds pass. Maybe even minutes and there aren't any signs of Sukuna, of anyone being here apart from you. He could have left already. You laugh hysterically.

“I did everything right! I worked hard, I never complained, never broke a rule. Why am I being punished?” You punch the tree and cry even harder when it hurt. Your fist throbs. “OW! Fuck! What did I do that was so fucking wrong?”

There were rumours once of a girl who had died in the woods, right at the very centre of the forest. She had a fight with her boyfriend about something or the other, and they fought here, all night. But when morning came, only one emerged. No one could verify this gossip, no news article, nothing concrete, but the students who passed through Eden spoke of it as if it was as true as the sun is blinding. You're trying to wrack your brain for any more information, your brain desperate to distract you from the mania creeping through veins.

She was a law student.

"I don't want to die," you cry. "I've barely lived. I still haven't gone skydiving, haven't driven on the motorway 'cause that shit's fucking scary. A-and I need to say 'I love you' to my mother, and well fuck my father. But I want to say goodbye to Mr. Teddy and Mrs. Kitty Cat. They'll be so fucking sad."

“Talking to yourself, prez?”

You scream.

Sukuna’s leaning against a tree a couple metre behind you. You hadn’t heard him. Not even a snap of a branch or the rustling of leaves. He has his jacket off and thrown over his shoulder, his shirt riding up as he brushes his hair back, a seething sneer on his face. 

When he makes a step forward, you stumble back, another scream lodged in your throat. “Stay back! I swear, don’t come near me.”

A sharp smile climbs up his face, a glint in his eyes, and his jacket is being dragged behind him as he stalks over to you, completely disregarding your warning, his long legs taking him closer. You have goosebumps on your arms and you’re so close to pissing yourself. 

“So you can use a little violence, but I can’t?” He cocks his head at you. “That’s not very fair, is it, my adorable little president?”

“I’m not yours!”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say because the next thing you know you’re being pinned to the forest floor. You fall with a thump, screech muted by a hand over your mouth. His hip is between your legs, thighs spread and stretching to accommodate his body which holds you down, unable to wiggle or crawl away. Your hands claw at the leaves and mud, dirt caking your nails, and you’re trying to ignore the smirk on his face. 

Tutting, he snapped, "This has been a long time coming, prezzy."

He looks murderous. Like a serial killer who’s just found the perfect next victim. And before you can complain, his mouth is crashing down on yours. It’s a clash of teeth, his tongue penetrating your mouth when you gasp, fighting yours as you push at his shoulders, bucking your hips to throw him off. 

When your clothed core grinds against his hard length, you moan. “Let me go!”

Sukuna nips your bottom lip, the taste of iron filling your mouth and you’re lightheaded. With a growl, he promises, “Never.”

Bare hands clutching your sweater, he rips it off you, the fabric snapping and disappearing over his shoulder. The cool air pricks your skin, pebbling your nipples and he’s covering your tits with his huge hands, groping and kneading like they’re his worst enemies. 

“No bra, prez?” He snarls into your ear before licking a strip up your neck. “You’re just walking temptation, aren’t you?”

His hips are grinding on yours, a punishing pace that sets your skin ablaze and you’re gasping with every roll of your nipples between his fingers and whimpering when he pinches and pulls. Like you’re being controlled by someone else, you grind back, legs crossing over his legs.

“Let me go!” You cry out again. “Stop it, Sukuna!”

He bites your neck, and you arch into him, eyes rolling to the back of your head. When you pull at his hair, he only huffs a laugh before he’s creeping a hand into your jeans, somehow having unbuttoned and unzipped it. His fingers press against your panties, and you hide your face into his neck, nipping him back. 

“You tell me to stop but you’re soaked,” he laughs. 

His hand weaves inside your panties, rubbing your clit at a merciless pace; hard and fast from the get-go, your eyes are shutting, and you cry out when he dips inside, soaking himself with your wetness. He curls them, prodding and pummelling that spot inside of you that has you digging your nails into his back, threatening to rip up his shirt. 

With a broken moan, you smack his back, “No more!”

“More? This not enough for you,” his voice is mocking. “Don’t wanna cum from my fingers, is that it, you frustratingly beautiful piece of work?”

Before you could argue back, could push him away, or kick your legs, he’s pulling your jeans halfway off, and then he’s spinning you around, face down and ass up. The cold air brushes against your sloppy pussy, clit swollen from having been rubbed and petted by his hostile hand, longer fingers stretching you out.

And then something equally hot and wet touches your slit. He's lapping up your wetness, fingers still curled inside of you as he rubs your walls whilst he sucks at your clit. You're moaning, fingers digging into the dirt as you try to crawl away, but his spare hand is holding you down, forcing you to arch more painfully so he can suck and lick to his heart's content. He scissors his long fingers, forcing you to stretch.

"Stop! Stop it!" You sob. He isn't listening, he's taking what he wants from you, extracting a strained orgasm that makes you tear up, pussy clenching around his fingers. "No! No, I don't want this!"

"I don't care," is all he says. Through the fog of pain and pleasure, you hear a ziiiip, and you’re panicking, hands clawing even more. You have to get out of here, have to escape. If anyone's emerging, it's you. It has to be you.

But when he lines his cock up, you realise your face isn’t buried in leaves and mud, but rather something soft. It’s his jacket. He slams inside you in one thrust. 

“FUCK!”

He’s thrusting inside, hard, and with a bruising grip on your hips, simultaneously keeping you still so he can drill his fat cock inside your clenching pussy and pulling you to meet his hips. The forest is quiet, apart from the choked moans and groans coming from you, and the sound of skin slapping against each other. 

“Been keeping this tight pussy from me?” He thrusts harder, cock head rubbing against that spot inside you and it steals your breath. “Fucking selfish!”

You’re trying to argue back but it all just comes out garbled, drool pooling under your chin. There’s nothing you can do but maul his hands, trying to pry them off you. He doesn’t let up, only thrusts harder, like he’s punishing you for all his frustrations. 

“I hate you!” You manage to push out. 

Sukuna leans forward, heavy body pinning you to the floor even more so he can nip your ear, licking away the blood and growling at the taste. “You may hate me, but this cunt doesn’t.”

And to prove his point, he shuts up, grinding inside of you so you can hear the squelching of your pussy and the way it’s squeezing him for more, desperate to milk him so it can be coated in his cum. You twist, hand pushing against his chest whilst you cry, tears streaming down your face from the sheer stretch. 

“Tell me what happened. Tell me what I did,” he orders.

You shake your head, groaning with every thrust, and when he rubs your clit with one hand, whilst the other gropes your bare tit, you can only cry out louder. “You ruined everything! Ngh! I had it all and you -ha- took it from me.”

Clinking of metal and rustling of paper catches your eye. He’s dropped money on the floor. Sukuna’s emptied his wallet in front of you, even his cards fall out, including a shiny black one. They all clink and clatter right by your head.

“Take it all as compensation for your fucking bagel, you damn brat.”

“I DON’T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THE BAGEL,” you screech.

His hips don’t stutter, not even for a second, insistent on plunging his cock again and again so your pussy will never forget the shape of it. You can feel him in your stomach, can feel every ridge, every vein, and you think you might just pass out from the stretch.

Years of pressure, of tension, of hatred, of bitterness and resentment build up inside of you, tearing you apart. You think about the tears, the nightmares, the loneliness in your first year. The numbness in your second and the anger, the pain, the pleasure in your third. 

“Keep crying, baby. Only —ha— makes me want to fuck you harder till you can’t cry anymore.”

It’s a tsunami approaching land, you can feel the painful orgasm creeping up, threatening to drown you. And when his left hand falls beside your head, steadying himself so he can angle his cock deeper, kissing your cervix with every thrust now, you see something that looks so familiar you missed it every time you saw it on his wrist. 

He’s wearing your hair tie. 

You cum all over him, drenching his abs with your wetness, and you’re tensing up, still being used as practically a sex doll, all limp and pliant for his pleasure. It’s the kind of pleasure you’ve never had before, the one you’ve chased with boys who didn’t know what they were doing, couldn’t tell your thigh from your clit, and have only ever left you unsatisfied and full of regret. 

“Fuck! S’kuna!” 

“That’s right, prez, cum all over my cock. Take what you want, baby.” He soothes your ass, watching the way it’s bouncing on his length to elongate your high, before he meets you in the middle. 

And with one last moan, you fall, your ass kept up high by his hands only. Then, he cums with a growl, right in your ear, the vibrations piercing your body and lighting your soul with a warmth you can’t bear to think about. 

“So fucking good,” he snarls. “Perfect. Fucking made just for me, yeah?”

He wasn't talking to you, was only groaning to himself, but you mutter agreements, everything you can to make him spurt out all of his hatred for you. And he does. You feel it spilling out.

When you both calm down, lying on the ground — you on his jacket and him on the floor — you feel something has changed between you. An acceptance of whatever the fuck is wrong with both of you. Of that strange, fucked up string connecting you both. You won’t fight it anymore. 

Can’t fight it anymore. 

You're a mess. Tears and drool drying on your face, your juice and his cum coating your inner thighs, dirt and blood caking your body. You've never felt more cleansed.

Feeling an urge to cry but having used up all your tears, you scoot over to him, lying on his chest and his arms wrap around you like it’s second nature, a hand rubbing your back whilst the other threads through your hair, pulling out leaves from the tangles. 

“I’m bored,” you admit, tracing abstract patters on his chest. His shirt is sticking to him, slightly damp from the exertion. You’re completely naked, jeans discarded somewhere. There should be a fear of being caught, of being seen in such a vulnerable position, but for some reason you don’t care. Maybe it’s because you know Sukuna wouldn’t let that happen. Or maybe he would, and you just don’t care anymore. 

He sighs. “I know.”

“I really liked being the president,” you mumble. 

“I know.”

“But the Dean ruined everything. No, Mahito did. No, you did.”

He sighs again. “I know. I’ll fix it.”

You raise your head, chin resting on your hand as you look up at him. “How are you gonna do that?”

Brushing errant hairs from your face, he promises, “EdenU relies heavily on funding from my family. I’ll force the Dean’s hand, make him reinstate you.”

Unable to resist the urge, you bite his chin, feeling an aggressive desire to make him hurt. He smacks your ass in retaliation.

“But what about you? Didn’t you want to be president? Isn’t that what this whole thing’s even about?” It’s odd to be so casual, so conversational after that mind-numbing sex and the fact that there’s so much to be said, to be discussed between you two, but that’s just how it is with you and him. You aren’t normal. And certainly, aren’t healthy. 

“Nah,” he scoffs, “been president for like a week and that shit was tiring. Dunno how you did it.”

You giggle. “It’s not for the weak, that’s for sure.”

Sukuna slaps your ass for his own pleasure, a grin growing on his face. matching yours. But then it drops as he looks over your face, like he’s just remembered what the whole thing’s been about. Your smile drops too.

“Do we have to?” You ask, but the grim look on his face is all the answer you need. 

He cradles your cheek in one hand, uncharacteristically soft, and then he pecks your lips, once, twice. “Tell me what I did to you. Tell me what I put you through.”

You try to pull away but he’s holding you tighter. Your lip trembles and with a hiccup, you hiss, “What does it matter? Will you even apologise?”

“Yes,” he insists. “I’ll do it. For you. I’ll do it now.”

Sitting up, you try to find your clothes, fumbling in the dark. You find your panties and jeans, miraculously, and put them on. Unfortunately, your sweater is ripped up, but he drapes his jacket on you, and you both know it’ll stay with you from now on, like he had always intended. 

“If I tell you, we’ll have to start over again.”

His mouth is teasing and tasting wherever it can reach, exploring your neck, brushing your cheek and your hair, as if he’s promising your body his sincerity when he says, “Whatever it takes, I’ll win you back. Even if it takes forever.”

You’re willing to test that out. 

So, leaning back on his chest, you recount the night you set out to lose one thing and ended up losing everything.

[violetbeauregut]

In Defense of Feedism

I was absolutely struck when I read  @fatliberation‘s beautiful, vulnerable post the other day. They always have brilliant ideas and they show unfailing grace and kindness to everyone, despite a ton of rude, ill-informed backlash (I would 100% recommend following them). 

I can’t stop thinking about the reactions to that post and how incredibly strange it is to have to tiptoe around feedism (to use an umbrella term) in a movement that is supposed to be centered around ending the oppression of fat people. 

I can understand why fat people who are not feedists would be weary or even repulsed by this kink. From the outside it may seem degrading and manipulative that the language and insults used against fat people are replicated in the bedroom. It is also harmful to be fetishized when you do not want to be fetishized, both in real life and online. 

But these are the only points I’ve heard against feedism that I consider to be a legitimate argument in the discourse of fat liberation, as these are the only claims against feedism I’ve come across that are not based in fatphobia. If you are in favor of fat liberation, then you must see fatness as morally neutral. Therefore, the choice to gain weight is not inherently “good” or “bad,” it is instead a matter of autonomy– a right that should be granted to everyone, regardless of size. 

The major issue with feedism is the same issue that permeates all kink and, by extension, all sexuality: consent. There are feedists, particularly feeders, who fetishize all fat people, regardless of their wishes; feedists who try to force fat people to participate in kink with or without their knowledge or permission. This is abhorrent behavior; there are no excuses for it. But the problem here is a violation of consent and not the kink itself. The unethical practice of kink does not make the kink unethical. And while feedees are often disregarded in discussions of feedism and fat liberation (which I have already talked about in depth here), there are most assuredly fat feedees, like myself, who are fully consenting to fat fetish play. 

While I can only speak for myself, I know that I am not the only person who developed this kink because of weight-related trauma. When you grow up fat, when you are forced to go to Weight Watchers at seven years old, your brain comes to associate fat as taboo and taboo as sexy–but it goes beyond an attraction to something risky or frowned upon. 

I live my life as a fat woman; I am fat at the doctor’s office and fat in tiny airplane seats and I am especially fat as a feedee. No matter if I’m engaging with my kink or not, I am fat and I don’t get to stop being fat outside of my bedroom. Out of all of the scenarios where I am existing in my fat body, engaging in kink play is the only one where I am experiencing pleasure because of my body, not despite it. It’s arousing to be praised for the thing that once made you hate yourself. It’s arousing to engage with something you fear or that has harmed you in a safe, controlled context where you have all the power to make it stop. 

What anti-feedist fat liberationists need to understand is that feedism is, at its core, a resistance to fatphobia. When you see things that are typically fatphobic in feedist play– terms like “pig,” “cow,” “tubby,” etc. and comments about being “out of shape” or “ruined” by fat– it is not a replication of weight stigma, but a subversion of it. Feedism takes the harmful stereotypes of fatness and robs them of their power by putting them in a new context; a context where fatness is so desirable that feedists want more of it. By using the language and misconceptions of fatness to give and receive pleasure instead of to oppress, feedism not only creates a safe space to heal from fatphobic trauma, but it empowers fatness– it empowers fat people, which is supposed to be the goal of fat liberation.

[emstarkey]

𝗟𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗜𝗘’𝗦 𝗗𝗔𝗗 ⋆｡‧˚ʚ𝘉𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘥𝘢𝘥!𝘳𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘹 𝘧𝘦𝘮!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳ɞ˚‧｡⋆

౨ৎ rafe is your best friend's dad, you'd always been attracted to him even if his wife was clung to his side, or that you and his daughter were the same age. That wasn't going to stop you, though. ౨ৎ

ೃ𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚࿐ 

18+𝘮𝘥𝘯𝘪ꜜ

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。

“Hi, Mrs Cameron” you greeted his wife with a forced smile, your tone so sickenly sweet you wanted to gag. Making your way over to Lottie, not caring what Rafe's wife had to say. You plant yourself in the sunlounger next to Lottie, she sipped on her cocktail as her eyes, that she must've got from rafe. Followed around her little boy toy Conrad.

“Conrads here” you point out, Lottie hadn't mentioned it knowing how you didn't like her boyfriend, but to make matters worse he had bought a friend along with him. “Okay, yeah. But you can finally try talking to Steven” she teases, pushing your shoulder lightly. You screwed your face up. He wasn't ugly, it was just every 20 year old boy repulsed you, they just never had much to offer. “No thanks, id rather stay single” you retort, taking off your oversized top to relax in the matching slutty pink bikinis you and Lottie had both previously bought.

Rafe Cameron, the man he was. How could someone look so sexy whilst slaving over a barbecue? It was insane. Just the way he was so focused on cooking it all perfect was just so, 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘧𝘦𝘤𝘵. In the midst of your admiring your best friend's father, you felt your whole body sprayed with water. Jaw-dropping as you turn to face the culprits. Obviously, it was the two frat boys, laughing away as you stormed off. Barging through the Camerons patio door.

Now you were drenched, okay maybe it was just a bit of water but now your hair was all soaked and it just wasn't a good look, you tried so hard to look good today. Wanting to impress Rafe but now the idiots ruined it all. You made your way up the stairs to Lottie's room, luckily you could fix yourself up in here. As you sat at her dresser, using her hairbrush you heard the back door open, assuming it was just Lottie you went back to what you were doing.

Finally, you looked presentable again. You had overreacted but oh well, your hair was still wet but you had fixed your lash extensions and everything else you spent money on every month to feel more confident. You needed a towel, it was obvious by the wet prints you'd left all around Lottie's room. As your feet walked on the hardwood floor towards the bathroom you start hearing noises, like a grunting sound.

You tiptoe closer not wanting to alarm whoever was in there, as you continue to listen you couldn't only assume what they were doing to make them make noises like that, a pool of wetness filling your bikini bottoms, that's when you peer out the hallway window seeing everyone was in the yard apart from, rafe.

“Y/N, fuck” he moans out as Rafe's ring-clad hand fisted his thick dick, moving up and down as he kept his eyes closed just imagining his daughter's best friend on her knees in front of him, he knew it was wrong but he just couldn't stop. When he finishes he shoves himself back into his khaki shorts, his same hand he'd just been using on himself opening the door to find you stood there biting down on your plump lip.

𝙁𝙪𝙘𝙠.

[angelesca]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐱𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐳𝐡𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐮𝐨𝐟𝐮’𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 - 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐬! ʕ •̀ ω •́ ʔ

w.c. total: 6500+ (whew)

this was overdue oops... like who wants to read a halloween post in december?? ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴ but! im happy to finally get this out of the basement!!! YAY everyone is silly n' goofy ofc, reader is gender neutral

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

feixiao gang goes ghost hunting! w.c. ~1330

content: jiaoqiu is the designated scaredy cat(sorry jiaoqiu it had to be someone), feixiao being awesome as always, moze wants to go home, they are breaking into your house

“o’ wondrous general, you must lead the way and charge first!”

“hey! don’t push me!”

“c’mon, just go in already…”

“moze, heeeeeeelp meeee–aaAaaAaah!”

“...”

the dead of night stirs awake, no thanks to a lively bunch of bright-eyed no-namers, hoping to eternalise themselves in the tabloids (moze does not wish to be associated, he is just tagging along).

despite their spiritual powers, business for this ghost-hunting squad has been dreadful. ever since the formation of the ghostbusters hunters, they have accumulated a whopping number of one hungry dog, one angry landlord, and one confused grandma on their doorstep. that is to say, they have had no customers at all.

if they don’t hit the jackpot tonight, they will, as feixiao exaggeratedly puts it, die.

“okay!” feixiao huffs, keeping jiaoqiu at arm’s distance. jiaoqiu lifts an irritated eyebrow, dismissing the hand that feixiao shoved in his face. “first, we must equip some weapons.” with a click of her fingers, moze begrudgingly reveals himself from the shadows.

a strange bag announces itself with a loud thump when moze throws it down. jiaoqiu holds his head with his hands, mouth gaping open, “hey, be careful!” he rushes down to his knees and cradles the device like a newborn. “this is my portable hotpot cooker!”

feixiao waves her hand. “why do we need that to hunt ghosts? are you gonna eat them?”

jiaoqiu grins.

“feixiao, you are literally holding a gun in your hand.” moze grunts, picking up the only sensible item: a flashlight imbued with a light that reveals all. 

they were certainly prepared to tackle the dangers of their first ever ghost-hunting mission.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

feixiao punches a window with devastating force, shattering glass as easily as her swatting a bug. moze tips his hood down in shame as he watches the two foxians struggle inside the makeshift entrance.

they successfully infiltrate enemy territory. gulping, feixiao instructs, “moze. flashlight.”

plumes of darkness which obscured, dissipates its shadowy tendrils, tucking into even darker corners. the flashlight illuminates a safe beacon within the room, washing relief into jiaoqiu. “that’s more like it– um, what is that?”

“what is... ” —feixiao turns towards jiaoqiu’s direction. the two are frozen solid— “what… ”

in a corner, the contour of a steep shadow. it squeaks like a frightened mouse, belying its daunting aura. it flees out the door.

“the mission is already starting, huh?” feixiao cocks her gun ready, bloodthirsty. “let’s go, ghost hunters.”

the three nod in unison, finally agreeing for once. they follow the trail, quick on their feet to catch the prize. jiaoqiu points towards a slamming door. “there!” 

the gang rushes towards it with jiaoqiu taking the lead. with haste, he aggressively rips the door open.

an elephant sits on the toilet, shaking. jiaoqiu slowly closes the door. "i am so sorry."

“behind us,” moze indicates, pointing behind them. in the kitchen, a fridge light gleams white, confessing to a tall silhouette which stood hunched before it. 

the three tiptoes closer. the silhouette stops, ears perking. in their hands, a pile of… indistinguishable meat…

“z-zzz-z-zom-m-b-bie…!” jiaoqiu trembles. he steps back, but is unfortunately interrupted as his back collides with a soft obstacle. he turns around– “llll-ll-lion??!”

laying on the floor, a talking lion (impressive) scratches its nose with its paw, yawning. “if you guys are gonna break in, at least do a decent job of it.”

“what’s all this noise?” the intrusive voice, disguised innocently, reeks of a disturbing intention to kill—according to jiaoqiu’s narration. thunderous stomps strike upon the floorboards. there is no mistaking the behemoth in front of them: a mythical dragon towers over them. “who are you?” 

jiaoqiu yelps as if pricked by a million needles. he latches onto moze’s back. “we’re dead!”

…yet, when perilous flames of ye all-mighty scorch the weak of their will, a hero arises from the ashes to reignite a hearth that once blazed a hope so lustrous. 

she, who braves the inferno, shall relinquish herself as a mere plaything of fate to save her people.

and sever her humanity she shall; render her bones brittle if thou must. forswear the tangible vessel that shackles thy to a fragile mortality, to ascend as the hideous terror of gods.

“finally, a real challenge.” the hero forgoes her firearm, cracking her knuckles. she wields her bare fists in front of the apathetic dragon, a worthy challenger. an assertive grin spans her face. “an opponent strong enough to evaluate the effectiveness of my training!”

the hero is none other than feixiao, the esteemed leader of the ghost hunters!

“seriously?! you muscle-headed freak!! moze, capture her!”

with jiaoqiu riding moze’s back, and a deflated feixiao under his arm, the ghost hunter squad dashes off, abandoning their pride at the door.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

“crap.” you stare wide-eyed at the broken window. never in a million years did you think someone would have balls heavy enough to venture into xianzhou’s infamous haunted house. 

about to enter inside, the door bursts open before you could touch the handle. you jump out of the way of the intruders, who were two foxians now laying on the ground. following closely, a third man walks out the door, surprised to meet your eyes. “oh, are you the owner…?”

“yes…” you stare back, baffled. “did you guys break my window?”

he glances at the foxian pair and embarrassment flushes his cheeks. the purple man groans, rubbing his neck. “i deeply apologise,” he bows his head. “let me know how much you need for compensation(please don’t take us to court) and i'll pass it onto those two-”

“hey!” the pink foxian shoves himself into the conversation, wrapping an arm around the purple man’s shoulder. “we’re a three, right? us three will pay for it!” he wriggles his eyebrows.

“ah, reinforcements have arrived.” the white-haired foxian marches towards you, patting your shoulder. you raise a confused eyebrow. “be careful, this mission is seriously sss-grade difficulty.”

you watch the sweat pour down feixiao’s forehead. her legs wobble dramatically, as if the tremors of an earthquake have struck her. “are your knees okay?” you ask.

“don’t worry, these are the results of my workout.”

jiaoqiu sarcastically interjects, “is pissing your pants a workout now?”

the white-haired foxian clears her throat, ignoring the other. “let me introduce you to the gang: i’m feixiao, this is jiaoqiu, and moze. nice to meet you, fellow hunter.”

“they’re not a ghostbust– i mean, hunter; they’re the owner of this property,” moze explains, pointing a thumb at you.

you nod, arms crossed. “anyways, i kinda need you guys to pay for my window. it’s a lot of money, y’know.”

feixiao gauges you. eyebrows creasing, teal eyes piercing. she hopes that her intimidation will knock a few zeroes off the price. “how much?” 

“let’s see… not only a broken window, but trespassing is a crime too.” you tap your chin. “how 'bout a million?” unfortunately, her tactic is ineffective.

feixiao’s eyes pop open, her soul almost skipping to the afterlife. “one million?!” your attack deals a devastating blow; truly, this mission is of sss-grade difficulty. despite her strength, money is the one weakness that hero feixiao cannot defeat. her eyes frantically shake, shoving a disorganised jiaoqiu in front of her. “i’ll sell him off, he’s very useful! good at cooking!”

jiaoqiu’s eyes brighten at the mention of cooking. “hmm… i propose hotpot, a most nutritious and filling meal. i can boil some homemade broth, perhaps a mala and tomato base, and cook some mild, oily dishes to accompany the spiciness—no coriander. by the way, i’m not a chef or anything i swear i’m a healer.”

although they literally broke into your house, they seem to be an honest-to-good bunch. if anything, you are impressed they haven’t passed away from shock, considering the eerie residents that nest in your home.  besides, hotpot sounds pretty good. “okay, but you guys are paying for all the food! plus my window, of course.”

moze smiles at you. “thank you"

you smile back. a hotpot party, huh? hopefully, they don’t mind the extra spooky guests…

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

2. dragon's tail w.c. ~920

content: dh's tail being sensitive bc it's that time of the year

it must’ve been the 1987469th time you’ve knocked on dan heng’s door.

whatever possessed you to believe this time around would be different, is met with disappointing results as usual.

it is time to adopt another strategy.

you knock again. “dan heng?”

nothing.

“high elder mk2000?”

nothing.

“cold dragon you— woah!” something heavy cuffs onto your wrist through the slight gap of the door, pulling you into shadows.

dan heng’s room is unusually dim. in the dark space, the light of a lamp is the only comfortable shelter your eyes could return to. with its help, you find a faint silhouette on the bed—a tall lump under a blanket. that is when you notice it was dan heng’s tail that dragged you in.

you plop onto the bed. from under the blanket, dan heng peeks at you. “...! how did you get in?”

you hold up your wrist, revealing the culprit. his tail uncurls and tickles your nose.

“it has become restless these days. don’t worry, you can leave me alone for some time.”

“but your tail is all over me-mmphfff!” the end of dan heng’s tail brushes over your mouth, cutting your words short.

his tail flops around like a fish in your lap. “ignore it,” he says, as if it's the easiest thing in the world.

“i just got here though...” feeling mischievous, you poke his tail and it twitches. you are rattled by how sensitive it is.

dan heng scoots over, shuffling away timidly. you observe how he keeps pulling on the legs of his trousers.

shuffle shuffle.

... sliiiiiide.

when he turns his head to look at you, you manage to be even closer than before. a complete opposite of his intentions. "?!"

“it wasn’t me.” you gesture at his tail which is wrapped around your shoulder, like an old friend.

dan heng sighs. “i apologise. i do not mean to avoid you.”

“it’s fine,” you reassure, sitting criss-crossed on his bed. “take your time.”

your words manage to wring a smile out of dan heng’s blank face. he clears his throat. “however, do you really have to keep doing that?”

“doing what?”

he indicates towards your hand which is furiously stroking the soft underside of his tail. you are moments away from collapsing into it and plunging into a sweet dream. his tail seems to like it too, swaying side-to-side.

nevertheless, you stop. “sorry. it’s a force of habit.” 

yet, his tail directs your hand back, requesting that you continue. you look at dan heng who rubs his forehead. they say that a dragon’s tail also represents it’s heart...

you clasp your hands together. “if you don’t like it, i won’t do anything.” 

like a spoiled kid, the tail thrashes up and down. dan heng’s eyes shoot open, as startled as you are. oh boy.

the powerful appendage swirls forceful winds, conjuring a storm in a frenzied rage, a volatile disaster. you have to duck your head to avoid a deadly swing, and swat away a vigorous jab coming for your stomach. "ack!"

dan heng attempts to curb his wild tail, securing it with his hands. "down!"

that one word traps the tail under a spell. with its freedom torn, the end of the tail slithers back and forth, as if dejected.

“... can i still pet it?”

“no,” dan heng promptly shuts you down. your head lowers in disappointment. “don’t spoil it.”

“but it's turning red. should it be doing that?”

dan heng shoos you. “just leave for a bit. it will calm down eventually.”

“you’re sure?”

dan heng nods.

“i was talking to your tail.”

dan heng sighs. “please. just for a few minutes.”

you shrug your shoulders, getting off his bed. “if you say so—uh?”

you swear you were standing up a few seconds ago. how did the door turn into the ceiling?

you get up again, and it’s like deja vu when you blink. nice to meet you again, ceiling. how have you been since the last few seconds that passed? you have a clue on who the criminal is. 

“about me leaving,” you tug at the tail manacled around your waist. with how strong the grip is, you might be chained to dan heng's room for eternity. “you’re really sure?”

no response. dan heng’s back faces you, a wall that separates. despite being in the same space, he seems to exist in another plane.

you sit up. “dan heng?” 

another stifling silence passes. it is unnaturally uncomfortable, like shuffling into a recluse corner in an empty room. and when there’s nothing for your ears to hone in on, you can only examine with your eyes for hints. he’s tugging at his trousers again.

moving closer to inspect, hesitant, you brush his hair behind his ear. they are burning bright red. skin searing hot. “you’re burning up?”

dan heng rubs his arm. “it’s…” he starts, “could you stay for a bit longer?" 

in the months that you have gotten to know dan heng, this is a rare moment that shines golden. “you’re sure?”

“i’m sure this time.”

although he prefers to keep to himself, you appreciate when he does decide to rely on you. you quickly clamp your mouth shut to stop a smile from spreading.

his tail shudders, excited. gradually, it glides across your leg, searching, as if hunting for treasure. 

“... do you need help?” you tease.

“what?”

you point at dan heng’s tail. “i think it’s trying to get in my pants.”

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

3. taste of flesh w.c. ~750

content: blade is jus a zombie cat who doesn't wanna hurt you, also why is this kinda angsty

what’s with the ominous cardboard box in your house?

approaching it, you find a sleepy blade hiding in the isolated space, much too tiny for his size. he gazes up at you, reminding you more of a cat rather than a zombie. “...?”

“what are you doing here?” you ruffle his hair, petting him and scratching his chin. he leans into your touch, eyes shut, almost dozing off again in your hand. “let’s wake up now, hm?”

when your warm fingers leave him, the cold air that manifests reminds him of what he was trying to avoid. to your disappointment, blade hunches over again, burying himself into the box. whatever is concerning him must be pretty significant.

“what’s up?” you crouch down, frowning. “aren’t you hungry?”

“... no,” blade replies, his voice muffled. 

a stomach suddenly growls. 

as demonstrated, zombies aren't good liars, especially when it concerns their hunger. blade follows true to this formula. he loves meat, though you worry about the blood pouring from the almost-rawness he indulges in.

you piece the puzzle together. meat. blade loves meat… blade. blade is a zombie… zombie? zombies eat…

“do i need to kill someon–”

“no,” blade catches on. “it’s nothing…” he seems to be gnawing at something.

“nonsense,” you reject his disregard for himself, scowling. you pull at his wrist but immediately stop at the sight of indents on his arm. bite marks. “blade... don’t hurt yourself. if you need something, please tell me.”

blade wouldn’t say it, but you had a feeling. 

you bet your unwavering trust in him. “do you want to try mine? not sure if i’m tasty, but it’s something.” slowly, you trace along your neck, insisting.

blade shivers, starved eyes lingering. the manifestation of his hunger falters from your face to the slope of your neck. “no…” 

blade clenches his eyes shut.

it’s all wrong.

fragments of memories flicker.

the pedalling of an ouroboros machinates his body. the threads of life weave his limbs back together, strung his muscles fiber by fiber, and pale, rotted fabric for skin stitched like patchwork. sewed together to amass a destructive creation. poured the cursed golden liquor—the mara—and it branched like neurons into his departed body. 

the air freezes. a hollow shadow watches you. it is hard to read his eyes. you cannot trace it and it unnerves you. it’s as if you are meeting him for the first time again. 

from the grave he rose. an insatiable hunger in his blackened guts. a hoarse throat that itched. naive prey wandered over to him. then, their body fell. 

his hand crawls onto your back, digging his fingers. he leans his weight onto you and your bodies fall, tumbling to the floor.

the moon who awoke when the sun slept; the sea who yearned to walk the earth—he was unnatural. those hideous impulses he submerged deep within his depths, locked away in his body like a tomb. confined it with pure restraint, dashed the key away to seal his horrors. 

a thumb feathers over the pulse in your neck. 

but in this moment, the forbidden unlocks. 

hot breaths sterilise your skin. you shut your eyes.

… nothing comes.

blade’s lips are parted but his teeth do not move. you feel a light suction on your neck, an amateur's kiss, then, the light pelting of his wet tongue over the tender patch of skin. just like a cat. his hand rubs circles on your back. “...sorry.” 

“...sorry.” 

“sorry.”

“sorry.”

blade mumbles a million more apologies, each one wrapped and tied together with a peck, tending to an imaginary wound. 

“i’m fine,” you console, “see?” you hold your hands up, urging him to take a proper look at you.

he moves his head, scrutinising you. and blade wouldn’t say it, but his eyes tell it all. there’s an aching in your heart.

you look at the ceiling, glueing and crafting your phrases. you take a deep breath. “... nothing's wrong with you.”

you give a small smile. you have no idea if these are the words he wants to hear—you can't read minds. but it is enough for you if the words can reignite a flame.

the construction of your words were planned for, but it spills out anyways, loose and natural. “go chase the winds, perhaps eat another bowl of rice, or being proud about getting out of bed. you deserve to exist as you are, however you want to, so go do whatever your heart pleases.”

blade doesn’t respond; the silence is what his heart desires. so you let him rest his anxiousness to the soothing lullaby of your pulse, reassuring him that you are alive. 

with your encouragement, he becomes the moon and sea, as well as the sun and earth; blade exists. as natural as can be. 

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

4. triple threat w.c. 853

content: *taps mic* triple jing yuan *cheering*

“drat, i forgot to buy toilet paper for luocha.” you close the cabinet, sighing. 

“i know just the solution,” jing yuan’s voice chirps to answer your worries. he sits by the window, chin resting on his hand. his smile perks up, eyes melting from his lifted cheeks, when your eyebrows elevate to declare your interest. “i do this all the time.”

“what do you mean?”

he clicks his fingers, and you’ve seen this before. in an instant, another jing yuan spawns, clipping through your floor like a video game. 

you frown. that seems painful. “is he okay?” you walk over to recently birthed jing yuan who wears an irritated expression, a stark contrast to original jing yuan. the hand you offer to him is taken up and you root jing yuan no.2 out of the floor.

however, the hand you offer is swatted away just as quickly. you raise an eyebrow at jing yuan no.2 who rolls his eyes. 

your eye twitches. “why is he so mean?” the difference between them is like day and night.

“careful, dear,” original jing yuan wraps his arm around your shoulder. “hmm, i’m not as well rested as i thought. my energy must be low.”

“meaning?”

“to preserve my energy, every new clone seems to inhabit less of my power and is further from the original me. although, their thoughts and memories should remain intact.”

“oh.” you hum, eyeing the other jing yuan. “well. welcome to my haunted house, evil jing yuan.”

evil jing yuan crosses his arms, glaring at you. “what an insulting entrance, to be assisted by…” he looks you up and down. “a human,” he sneers.

“hey, what’s your problem?” you retort.

before you could shed any blood, jing yuan steps in. “there is no need to direct your anger at anyone else but me,” jing yuan replies to his evil counterpart, “i apologise for my mishandling.”

evil jing yuan spits out the foul taste in his mouth, “reducing the aura of my sheer power by delegating me to redundant errands. you are foolish, jing yuan.” 

“but aren’t you also jing yuan?” you point out.

he rolls his eyes. “ugh.” 

you shrug your shoulders, sighing. “what now?”

jing yuan rubs his chin. “what if i did this?” he clicks his fingers.

you are unimpressed when one more jing yuan climbs through your window–why is everyone attracted to your window these days? the newest jing yuan wears an overenthusiastic smile. 

“didn’t you say you have to conserve your energy?” you side-eye jing yuan. 

jing yuan whistles innocently. he really would do anything to avoid being productive. within the time this all happened, you are sure someone could’ve dropped into the shop down the street and got some toilet paper.

“yikes,” evil jing yuan’s lips pucker, tasting the sourness of the newbie’s presence. 

the happy jing yuan beams, jogging over, “evil jing yuan!(that’s just his name now, you realise) how i’ve missed yooouuu- a-aah!” evil jing yuan pinches happy jing yuan’s cheek.

“do not touch me, vermin.” evil jing yuan spews caustic acid.

“boo, no fun.”

although happy jing yuan adopted jing yuan’s friendliness, you immediately notice the wide discrepancy. 

“you’re really energetic.” you identify the exaggerated flaw—it’s like playing spot the difference. this jing yuan had enough vigor to last a whole day, when original jing yuan would be sleeping through 60% of it. 

happy jing yuan eyebrow perks at your voice. a glint of recognition shines in his eyes. “oh? wait, i know you.”

“you do?”

“of course! you're jing yuan's favouri–yeowch!” evil jing yuan stomps on happy jing yuan’s foot.

“huh?” you turn to jing yuan, searching for answers. he turns his head to the side, hand covering his mouth. his ears are flushing red. it is a rare sight to see such innocence undermine the confident lion. you can’t help but feel flustered as well.

“ugh, embarrassing.” evil jing yuan’s face contorts, nauseated. “why would you reveal that?” he rolls his eyes again. he must be well-acquainted with the back of his head from how often he rolls those eyes.

happy jing yuan only laughs, scratching his head. “haha. i forgot we are all the same person, haha. sorry, my fellow jing yuans.”

that confession basically spoke for three jing yuans. this information, you didn’t know what to do with it other than wanting to shrivel as you feel their gazes suddenly burn holes into you.

happy jing yuan winks at you, taking your hand in his. “but i'm your favourite, right~?”

“wha-?”

evil jing yuan clears his throat. “as if. clearly, i outshine everyone—even an eyeless shrimp knows that.” he smirks, linking your other arm with his. “come, we shall rule the universe together! hahaha!”

jing yuan hugs you from behind, partaking in the senseless tug of war. “you said one was enough last time,” his voice blew in your ear, “you’re being greedy.”

“please guys, one at a time,” you joke, “i’m literally sandwiched here.” you might have to wrestle your way out.

with no toilet paper, luocha sat in the bathroom for a long time.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

5. the office w.c. ~1168

READ MEEE!!! GUYS there's a part (you will DEFINITELY know which) that is stripped from one of my old wattpad stories, no editing just pure cringe written from ages ago. i died re-reading it and it will kill you too but the idea was funny

“hey, hey,” qingque playfully pokes your arm, rousing you from the clutches of sleep. “wake up, sleepyhead.”

you catch your head before it slips off. “say what now?”

countless feet shuffle in the office, stomping an ominous anthem—a thing of nightmares. your spine shoots up immediately, positioning you in a battle-ready stance prepped for war. fixing your uniform, your armour shines radiantly as you equip your weapon of choice in your hand: a forged doctor’s note in case you are accused of slacking off.

“everyone, i have news,” fu xuan, your supervisor, the master diviner of xianzhou’s divination commission–a very short person–announces, “starting today, a new matrix manager will join us. please offer him your warmest welcomes.”

you rub your disbelieving eyes, wondering if you were still dreaming. “wait a minute.” 

the new manager corrects his slanting head.

you inhale a sharp breath. “i forgot to lock the door.” 

“hm?” qingque taps on her phone, eyes glued to a game of celestial jade.

“if master fu xuan asks for my whereabouts, tell her i’m in the toilet!”

“where are you–”

the gears in your legs propel you forward, fueled by your adrenaline. slamming the head office door open, you meet the familiar sight, playing pretend in formal divination attire with a silver pair of thin-rimmed glasses sitting on his nose. most prominently, his hair is jet-black instead of golden. overall, a 10/10 disguise. his hands comb through papers with the mastery as he remains deaf to your outburst.

“luocha?”

the flipping of pages responds to you. 

you march forward, rasping your knuckles on the desk. knock, knock.

this earns you a stinging glare. “i do not appreciate you making a scene.” luocha(?) finally acknowledges your existence. “you should be at your desk working.”

you place your hands on your hips. “and you, should be at home.”

his eyes wander over to the door, waiting. when nothing more happens, he beckons you with a finger, signalling you to close the distance.

you lift an eyebrow. you tread over, standing in front of him. “here?”

that is when you notice that it wasn't numbers and charts he was reading. in his hands were endless pages upon pages of… pictures of his coffin? that probably explains why the photocopier in the office broke this morning. 

luocha grips his heart. “i have infiltrated the enemy’s base today to reclaim what was rightfully mine. oh, how the days were peaceful until tragedy struck.”

“what did you do this time…” you sigh. “are you saying that the divination commission, for whatever reason, has your coffin?”

luocha nods.

you scratch your cheek. the only fear you have is fu xuan snagging you in her talons if she catches you, but you can’t leave luocha alone lest you want to testify to a rampaging elephant. moreover, you were always curious about what lies in the coffin. corpses? treasure? an earphone you lost years ago?  maybe this will serve as a good opportunity to finally ask. you come to a decision. “i’ll help. but you’ll go straight home after this.”

“okay!” luocha smiles enthusiastically. you almost fall over from how quick he pulls your hand.

after the agreement, you find yourselves wandering a corridor in search of luocha’s beloved coffin. surprisingly, it didn’t take much time before you both located the "x" on the map. almost like you were mere pawns roaming a chessboard according to a calculated plan. that begs the question: who is the mastermind stringing you along?

entering an empty meeting room, a coffin stands at attention, a lone soldier in the battlefield of fallen papers, pens as spears, and a whiteboard which has endured countless cleavings of ink on its body. 

you pat the coffin. “that was easier than i thought.”

“indeed.” luocha grazes his finger along the intricate carvings.

out of the blue, you hear familiar footsteps. your body grows stiff. “someone’s outside…!”

“here.” he shoves you into the coffin and follows suit, secluding you in his arms. you gasp when his leg nudges in between your thighs.

the tiny space doesn’t allow you much freedom apart from staring at luocha’s face and being acutely aware of everything that was happening downstairs. you try not to think about it. try not to think at all.

unbeknownst to you, luocha monitors your everything: how you cast hesitant glances, mumbling hot breath that kisses his cheek. while you are trying to distract yourself, he is entirely focused.

luocha breaks the silence. “... it’s hot in here.” 

“???”

the unknown figure is approaching. your heart is playing to the beat of each sinister step.

“shhh, quiet,” luocha says something reasonable this time.

you hold your breath. the rough grumblings of a voice vibrate through the coffin and you can recognise that voice in your sleep. “not here.” fu xuan is hunting for your blood, claws sharp. 

her heels turn and click when she is left unsatisfied. the coast is clear and the tension you held in alleviates. you glance at luocha, expecting him to be equally embarrassed. 

but you are met with a knowing smirk. something about this feels suspiciously like a book trope.

you clear your throat. “we’re safe now.”

luocha nods. opening the coffin, you both try to untangle your intertwined limbs.

“could you move your right leg?” you ask.

“i’m trying.”

“okay, i’ll just hold onto your arm for a bit…”

“that’s my arse.”

“oops, sorry—!”

you trip on something but luocha safely catches your arm in the nick of time. looking down, you realise that there are a bunch of books spilled on the floor. 

you look at luocha who gives a hesitant smile.

in the monotonous pile of words and pages, one clearly stood out. one that you swore to oblivion. you feel your soul claw its way out of the suffocating entrapment of your body, your mouth hung open, not the forbidden collection…

‘secret affairs in the office: uh oh, i’m in love with my boss!’

… shit. 

no wonder this situation felt familiar. 

——

“Shhh, quiet.”

… I shouldn’t be doing this with my boss.

We're so close that I think we exchange breaths with each other, tangled in this small space of ours. I cringe as he leans into my ear, his black hair falling. “It’s hot in here,” he breathes. The hairs on my neck stand erect. 

I face my fears when I glare back at him. He'll be exploring every nook and cranny of my body with the way he stares back, hungrily, on the prowl for my bare skin. His rough hands tug at my shirt.

I smirk. “What are you waiting for then? Undress me.”

——

you wish you didn’t remember that.

“did you like it? i heard the office trope is very popular with humans.”

you lightly thwack luocha’s head with the book, cheeks hot. “what on earth were you thinking?”

“oh, we haven’t done the next part—”

“we are not doing that!” you quickly shut him down. “we’re going home!” and you’ll make sure to burn every single book.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

6. what if w.c. 320

after another day of work, you could not wait to get home soon. you open the door. entering. turning on the lights. 

flick.

sighing, you throw your bag off your shoulders, stretching your arms. you want to catch up on sleep, but the stress of tomorrow’s agenda ravages your mind. you hum as you think of what to do next, filling the bars of silence with your melody. dinner, probably. 

you head into the kitchen and open the fridge. songlotus cake, puffergoat milk, berrypheasant skewers... why is there so much rice? it's like someone is telling you to eat another bowl or two.

let’s try reading a book. grabbing a cushion and a random book off the shelf, you sit by the coffee table on the floor. you flick through the contents: dragons, zombies, lions, changelings. these old tales, how boring. does anyone actually believe in these superstitions? you yawn. 

when you lean back, you accidentally press on the tv remote. the screen is brought to life. "oh..." you turn it off. after all, no one is watching tv. glancing at the clock, you realise it’s already close to bedtime. you should run a bath and get ready to sleep.

making your way over, you almost trip over something. huh? yet, there's nothing on the floor. you shrug your shoulders. you head to your bedroom to find your change of clothes. however, the task is difficult when your room is a complete mess. where did you put your pajamas again? 

as if on command, in the corner of your eye, a drawer slide opens. “...what?”

walking over, you find your pajamas in the drawer. you scan the corners of your room.

... it must be the wind. what else could it... be?

after your bath, you lay on your bed, comfortably settled. you stare at the ceiling, slowly counting the seconds until your eyes close.

the house is quiet as usual. peaceful. 

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

7. hotpot party! w.c. ~1165

“hot!” you fan the congee in your mouth, eyes tearing. dan heng sighs, handing you a napkin. “hot... hotpot… hotpot…?” slowly, the burning congee helps you recover an important memory: “it’s hotpot night!”

“hotpot?” jing yuan turns away from the tv.

“...hot…pot…” blade wakes up.

“h-o-t-p-o-t.” luocha robotically dances.

the bell rings, and you are relieved that it wasn’t the smashing of a window when you greet the ghost-hunters. 

“hey!” feixiao gleams, flashing a smile. in her hands are bags of ingredients, you assume, noticing the spring onions sticking out. “we’re here for hotpot!”

“i’ll just borrow your kitchen to heat it up,” jiaoqiu quips. 

moze nods at you as you let them enter. but you are too late to warn them when you hear the unison of feixiao and jiaoqiu’s screaming, “g-g-ggg-gg-ggghosts!!!”

“hey, that's rude,” jing yuan says, “after you trespassed into our house too.”

“wait… general?” feixiao points at jing yuan. “weren't you one of the arbiter generals? you’re real? you’re like, one of my biggest idols!”

“uuuhhhh…nooo…” jing yuan averts his eyes, hiding behind luocha. “quick luocha, do something.”

luocha stops chewing on the hair of an agitated blade, concentrating. channelling the strength of his spiritual ancestors to reach new levels of enlightenment, he poofs into a chair (why). blade reaches for his sword.

dan heng weaves through the chaos, finding you at the front door. he leans against the wall, arms crossed. “you didn’t invite more people than this, did you? it’s already so noisy.”

“uuuhhhh... nooo…” you guiltily look away from his interrogating eyes which accuse you. just then, the bell rings again and you open it excitedly. “huohuo! you made it!”

“it’s good to see you again.” huohuo smiles, eyes softening from the rise of her cheeks. by her side are qingque and…

“master fu xuan?!” your heart soars to your throat, astonished by the great, but still short, presence of the master diviner.

“ahaha, sorry,” qingque rubs the back of her head. “the master diviner insisted on coming to check that i wasn’t slacking off.”

fu xuan nods. “qingque said you are hosting a productive meeting on how to strategize for the chartings of ship routes via the jade abacus, and its convergence into predicting future prospects. i have high expectations for your discussions.”

you and qingque stare at each other.

“hmph, what a waste of time,” tail grunts. “mingling with a bunch of peasants, i should get paid for gracing you all with my presence.”

“good to see you too, tail,” you reply. the group head inside.

"hey, hey?!!" you hear more of jiaoqiu’s shouting, "the house will burn down!"

“that’s actually a ghost this time,” jing yuan notes.

suddenly, a wave of heat blasts everyone. “the term ghost," tail roars with the rage of a thousand suns, "cannot be compared to the heliobus race!” 

thunder strikes. you gasp. 

jing yuan walks to the door, eager. “that must be my friend.” the door opens but no one is there. he gestures towards something in the sky, behind the house. you walk outside, dan heng following shortly. 

it is lightning(-wielding thunder-clapping spirit-squashing) lord. they wave at you, magnificent and bright. 

“how will lightning lord eat hotpot with us?” dan heng inquires, genuinely confused. 

jing yuan waves his hand, dismissing dan heng’s worries. “it’s fine. they're just here for vibes.”

when did old jing yuan learn slang? “oh, okay. if they don’t mind.” you wave with two arms at the giant. 

out of the blue, a cold breath trickles down your neck. “hello…”

you are startled, realising someone blue was behind you all this time. her sluggish, bent posture and slow manner of speaking—it reminds you of someone.

“uurk… who invited grandma over??” jing yuan slips behind you.

behind the lethargic “grandma”, another blue person pops out. “good evening, general. and friends.” he greets politely.

you wave your hand. “oh, another friend of jing yuan?”

jing yuan frowns. “how do you not know who he is? he’s our kid.”

“what do you mean ‘our kid’...” you glare at jing yuan, lifting an eyebrow. recounting the numerous stories, you close your eyes in contemplation. “if i remember correctly, you must be yanqing?”

the kid nods, confirming. “thanks for inviting us over.”

you attend to the other blue person. “and this is…”

“jingliu… you made it…” blade is at the front door. he trudges over, wiping the sleep away from his eyes. “why don’t you…come in…”

“thank you… i… love hotpot…” her head bobbles, trailing inside. “thank you… thanks… thank…” 

yanqing assists jingliu. “let’s get you inside, grandma.”

you ask, “was that your zombie friend, blade?”

“yes… cool friend…” blade glares at jing yuan. 

“what? she tried to kill me once!” jing yuan exclaims.

another roaring claps in the distance. it captures your attention.

what in tarnation… 

“my people!” luocha dashes out the door, waving all too happily at the concerning amount of elephants rushing your way, about to bulldoze your house down. where are the elephants even coming from in xianzhou luofu??

you shake luocha’s shoulders as he chants ‘elephants, elephants, elephants!’. “why did you summon a stampede of elephants?! can they even eat hotpot??” 

“haha, no idea,” luocha scratches his neck. blade flicks him on the head. luocha dramatically doubles over, holding a hand out at the elephants and under his silent command, they immediately halt. “they’re well-behaved, they mean no harm.”

“uh, i guess this is okay.” you wave at the elephants, their trunks waving back. “how about you dan heng, did you invite anyone over?”

dan heng observes the sky, silent for a moment. 

you notice his melancholic expression as he points towards a bright streak slicing across the night like a shooting star “they’re busy travelling the universe.” he smiles. “so they can’t make it today.”

“oh?” these must be the dreams he spoke of. so it was real after all. you wave at the sky, hoping that his friends receive your greeting. “another time, then. we’ll have so many hotpots nights from now on, they are sure to come over for at least one of them.”

his eyes glimmer, the end of his tail wagging.

feixiao calls from inside the house, “hotpot is ready!” 

“that’s our cue,” you declare, herding a dragon, zombie, lion, and a changeling all back inside. of course, it is met with difficulty as they try not to tear at each other for bumping shoulders, or when jing yuan craftily pinches some butts and blade pulls out a rifle(thanks for the gift feixiao). 

before you join the festivities, you notice a crystal flake falling on your sleeve. frosty winds bite at your body, and you witness how your breath fumes into clouds. looking up at the darkening sky, you admire the white confetti announcing winter’s entrance. 

then, you study the scene in your haunted house. it’s hell, and it’s chaotic as usual. you laugh. and like magic, you are warm again. 

you close the door. 

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(¬ ´ཀ` )¬⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆(┛〃°Д°)┛⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊⋆⁺₊

some art i scribbled ٩(･ิᴗ･ิ๑)۶

what i imagined for office luocha ( ･ิ ͜ʖ ･ิ) (my apology to luocha fans)

a/n: i wanted to finish writing this way sooner but life amirite guys(ﾉД`) a lot did change from what i originally planned, but! i'm biting the bullet and finally posting this so that i can move onto something new! that one part in luocha's story... save me from the cringe... and no i will not be posting the rest of my wattpad story, that is torture ill be posting an update later abt my next work(hopefully)!!! stay tuned~ thanks for reading! ☆⌒ヽ(*'､^*)

[novasintheroom]

066. Irritate

♡ Pairing - Vash x Reader

♡ Word count - 1.4k

♡ Warnings - Vash being annoying, he pinches your butt once

♡ Description: Vash is in a mood today, and you have to take the brunt of it.

Now part of the 150 Bullets drabble series on AO3

Vash is in a mood today.

The others don’t see it. How could they? They’ve only known him for four months.

You, however, have almost seventy years of knowing him.

And you’re on your toes.

It starts in the morning when everyone is still waking up. The light of dawn is gray, casting silver sands across the horizon. Meryl and Millie are packing up their sleeping bags, while Wolfwood putters around with Vash, loading up the heavier equipment. Quiet chatter or grumbles is all anyone can muster.

You’re kicking sand over the ashes of last night’s fire when Vash comes up behind and wraps his arms around you, resting on your chest. “Hey,” he says. His voice has the croakiness of sleep still in it. He moves your hair to the side of your neck to press a chaste kiss at its base.

You warm at the affection and turn in his hold. You want a real kiss. Lips puckering, you whisper, “Hey,” and go on your tiptoes.

Instead of meeting lips, however, you feel Vash’s mouth close over your nose and blow. The air forces your voice to honk out in surprise, and Vash pulls away with a laugh. You give him a glare. He dances away before you can hit him.

That was innocent enough; he’s done that before. What really tips you off to his mood is when you’re walking through town later in the day.

It starts with one bullet casing in your pocket. Easy enough, you throw it away and continue with your group. But an hour later, you find another bullet casing in that same pocket. You look at it oddly, but again, chalk it up to nothing. Then another appears. And another. At one point, you pull your pockets out and five different bullet casings clink to the ground. The townspeople give you looks for littering their space with your junk. Embarrassed, you look to Vash for moral support. He looks away. You see the smile he’s trying to hide, though, and suddenly, you know it was him.

Little punk.

It escalates. When you go to hold his hand, he takes it and shakes it – every time – like you’re meeting for the first time. “Hello, miss, nice to meet you,” and “woah now, I don’t know you like that” are his go-to responses. He pinches your butt subtly when you’re in the middle of talking to someone, letting out a high squeak that makes the other person pause and look at you strangely. Vash also feigns a strange look, asking “Are you okay?” You can only give him another glare, the heat of the suns having nothing to the heat of your face. A hundred other little annoyances build up throughout the day, and by the end of it, you’re tired of his antics and avoid him like the plague.

The camp is set up in relative quiet. Millie’s talking about her family, with Meryl and Wolfwood halfway listening while getting dinner and a fire going. You’re trying to help, gathering sleeping bags and lean-to tents from the back of the car, when Vash comes up behind you and says, “Lemme take those.”

Your wary look has him acting innocent. “What?’

You slam the trunk closed and whirl on him, sleeping bags in hand. “Don’t ‘what’ me, what are you planning now?”

“I’m not planning anything – “

“Ha! Liar.” You hold the sleeping bags close like a shield. “Go away. Shoo. Go help Nico with the fire or something.”

He blinks. “But I want to help you!”

“Oh I bet you do.” Nose turning up, you march to the camp and start handing out everything.

Meryl gives you a strange look as she takes her bag. “Everything okay?”

You look at her, then roll your eyes. “Vash is Vash,” you simply say.

She nods like she understands. Millie frowns to the side. “Are you and Mister Vash fighting, Miss ______?”

A strange feeling settles in your stomach. The last thing you want is for them to think you’re actually fighting. “Nah,” you say, giving her a reassuring smile, “he’s just playing. He gets like this every once in a while.”

Light of understanding comes to her eyes. “Oh! My ma and pa do that! They’re always playing, poking fun at each other.” She shifts her legs to cross them. “Ma gets so annoyed at Pa, but they still love each other at the end of the day.”

“Yeah, that’s what we do.” You laugh, some of the tension of the day dropping off. Looking across the fire, you spot Vash setting up his own space for sleep tonight. You smile at him, and, when he notices, he smiles back.

Later, you’ve taken up a spot on top of the car. A small booksits on your chest as you read, curled up in a blanket, and stars glimmer overhead. Everything is cooling down, and with it, your temper.

The car shakes suddenly. You peak over your book and see Vash at the back end, climbing up the ladder. His eyes light on you, and your hackles rise. “What’cha doin’?”

You give him a look. “Reading…”

His smile is innocent to the unwary eye. You watch him carefully as climbs the rest of the way up. He shirks off his shoes and socks and coat and crawls under the blanket with you. He does not stop moving, flipping this way and that, bumping your elbows and squishing you further on top of the truck, bullying you into the side bar. You let out displeased grunts but try not to react.

When he finally settles, he’s got you pinned, rolled onto his side with an elbow supporting his head. “Hey,” he greets, and you see the mischief in his eyes.

The smile you give is tense. You only hum at him and pretend to go back to reading.

Slowly, he nestles down next to you. The blanket gets pulled up to his chin. He doesn’t give you any more room, but at least he isn’t doing anything. Your hackles settle after a few minutes, and you continue to read.

His legs shift. Then shift more. And more. His hand creeps out and takes a handful of your shirt. You shoot him a warning look. He blinks back. Then, in one swift motion, he lifts your shirt halfway and digs his feet into your side.

“Vash!” You shriek, and the others look over with wide eyes, “Your feet are freezing!” You squirm and kick to no avail; his blocks-of-ice-for-feet stay rooted to your ribs.

Vash laughs, smooshing his toes into your skin, ignoring the slaps you give his ankles. “Aw, c’mon, mayfly! It’s not that bad!” He hums and closes his eyes with a pleased look. “Nice and warm…”

You snarl and sit up, shoving his feet off you. “You’re such a boy! You irritate me! All day! Annoying little sh–”

 “That’s so mean…why would you say that…” He gives a kicked-puppy look, bottom lip wibbling.

You don’t fall for it. Grabbing his cheeks with one hand, you lean down and press your nose to his. “If you do not keep your filthy little ice nubs to yourself, I’ll throw you in the fire. That’ll warm you up.”

His eyes have a certain sparkle in them. Unrepentant, he gives you a quick peck on your lips. Ooo, he’s in such a mood. Your mouth twitches. He knows just what buttons to push to get a reaction out of you.

In the background, you hear the giggling of Millie, the long-suffering sigh of Meryl. Your cheeks heat, embarrassed. With your own feet, you push Vash away. He lets out an ‘oof’ as you push his stomach in, and he scrabbles against the luggage and roof of the car to stop this assault. “Why,” you say, “are you like this?!”

Still, he smiles. “Because I love you.” And with a great heave, he rolls over your feet and tackles you in a big hug, pinning your arms to the side to keep you from resisting. The air rushes out of your lungs in a wheeze. “My mayfly~” he sings, smooching your cheek.

“Get a room,” Wolfwood calls out.

“Isn’t it nice to see two people so in love, Meryl?” Millie sighs across the fire. “I wish I could find someone to be so comfortable around!”

When you have enough air, you reach around and bite Vash on the cheek. Hard.

Meryl smiles sympathetically amid Vash’s howl of pain. “I dunno if ‘comfortable’ is the right word for this situation, Millie.”

[yesimwriting]

yes i want more felix and oliver !!

a/n i love when people enable me :)

this could be read as taking place at some point after match burns (though this isn't part 2!) but can also easily be read on its own

---

The world has been dulled by a drowsiness so thick and full it's disorientating. You're so tired, so trapped in the state between falling and asleep that it's hard to think. Despite this, he somehow manages to be a bright spot, so warm and safe any and all thoughts of dangers lurking in the shadows are slowly vanishing.

You don't remember Felix getting here. You're not sure when he entered your room through your shared bathroom or when he laid down next to you or when he started tracing soothing patterns against your shoulder. All you know is that there was a nightmare that latched onto the ghosts estates this grandiose and ancient seem to attract and then there was Felix.

By morning, when you'll no longer need Felix to serve the purpose of daylight, you'll be embarrassed. Even now, you're still half-aware of the fact that there's a lot about this that you should find mortifying. Felix knowing to come in and wake you means you must have been showing signs of distress while asleep. Having a nightmare during your first night at Saltburn is a little pathetic, but it's something you can live with. However, needing Felix to stay with you until you fall asleep is a juvenile kind of pathetic that you don't think you could get through.

"Thanks for..." Your voice feels small and far away, but you don't think you can manage anything more concrete. "Waking me up."

Felix's fingertips continue the pattern they've been outlining against your skin without hesitation. "It's nothing," he whispers, "You were tossing and turning so much." Yeah, you'll definitely be embarrassed tomorrow. "Feel better now?"

You manage a nod. "Yeah..." Your eyes fall shut, you have to force yourself to open them again. "Better." Maybe if you sat up or--or moved away, you'd be able to focus. You shift, but you're too tired and, honestly, comfortable for it to be productive. "So, if you...if you want to go back...that'd be okay."

The lack of desire to get the words out paired with the need to remain polite, to make sure that he doesn't think you don't appreciate the gesture makes the words feel awkward. Felix's hand moves down to your arm. He angles his head forward, so close you can feel his breaths against your cheek. "Do you want me to?"

His words are soft, voice low and slightly gravelly. You're reminded of Felix in a world that feels so far from the one you're currently in, seeing him at parties, around the girls he'd pick from time to time.

There would always be a flurry of them around him, but you could always tell which one he was actually entertaining because of the way he'd become attentive. His ability to make someone seem like the only person in the world has always been fascinating. It's a talent that's more than romantic, too. It's part of the reason everyone always wants to be around him.

"No." The confession is faint as it accidentally tumbles past your lips.

The honesty of it knots something in your stomach. It's more than fear or the inability to fall asleep. You want Felix to stay. That's it. There's no reason or justification for it, you just...you want Felix.

But there are social boundaries, and things that you can't do with friends. Intentionally sleeping in the same bed, especially as close together and touchy as the two of you are being, is definitely one of those things.

There has to be a way to explain it without tiptoeing into territory that you're incapable of handling. Especially when it comes to Felix, who you spent an entire semester trying not to fall in love with. You survived by the skin of your teeth just to be invited to spend the summer with his family. You feel like an idiot for thinking you'd be able to get through this.

"Okay." He says it like it's that easy, like that's the only thing worth considering. "Then I'll stay." You're not sure if he can sense your uncertainty, but he's quick to tack on a justification, "Need you well rested." The vague feel of embarrassment attempts to nip at you again. "I know it can be hard to get used to it here."

It's a phrase that would seem like a blanket statement of instinctual politeness from anyone else, but from Felix it feels real, his understanding almost tangible. It's enough to make you fully ease.

"It's still nice, though." An understatement you would've never let slip past you if your eyelids weren't growing heavier by the second. Nice is such a bland term, it almost feels like an insult, especially when considering the fact that you're not just talking about his home. "I'm glad you invited me."

His touch has now moved to concentrate on your forearm. "I'm glad you came." A beat of silence stretches between you, your eyes finally falling shut. Felix's fingertips brush against the inside of your wrist. If you were any more awake, the carefulness of the touch would have gotten to you. "It is still nice."

----

The lack of light bleeding into the hall from beneath the door that leads to Felix's room makes the air entering Oliver's lungs feel stale.

It's late enough that the darkness could mean nothing. Felix's extra curriculars of choice have him in the habit of keeping strange hours. It's more common than not for him to up until the wee hours of the nights, even if there's nothing for him to do. However, from time to time the long nights will catch up to him and he'll fall asleep early.

Oliver can almost convince himself that that's all this is, can practically picture Felix fast asleep above the covers and only half undressed. He would be able to believe it if it wasn't for the soft glow illuminating the space beneath the door that leads to your room.

A familiar tightness forces his ribs to contract. Oliver swallows, stepping towards the door to Felix's room. He knows you to be a late night reader from time to time...

His hand is now grasping the door handle. There's nothing inherently strange about what Oliver's doing. Felix did say to come find him if Oliver had trouble sleeping. He pulls the door open slowly, taking his time to make sure that the creek of the old hinge's stays as quiet as possible.

Oliver peers into the room. The darkness isn't easy to see in, but eventually he makes out slightly tousled sheets on an empty bed and the door to the bathroom cracked open.

Of course it'd take so little time for you to completely pull Felix into your orbit. An entire semester of Felix doting on you and you managed to commit to keeping him at arm's length. One night in his family's home and you're suddenly no longer cautious. Maybe you're not as noble as you try to seem.

He's approaching the door to the bathroom, unsure if seeing it would be as unbearable as imagining it. Felix's hands on you, your body pressed against his.

"Hello?" Felix's voice carries over from the other side of the bathroom, slightly confused but casual. "Oliver?"

Oliver swallows, blood running cold despite the fact that all that he's been caught doing is justifiable. He forces himself to walk forward, to open the door to the bathroom fully. "Yeah."

Oliver crosses over, opening the door to your bedroom with an uncomfortable lump in his throat.

What he sees isn't--Felix is sitting up, the bedside lamp closest to him turned on, an open book held in one hand and your sleeping form holding onto the other. It's not the coming together, the snapping of tension and desire he had been imaging. In many ways, its something worse.

"Couldn't sleep?"

Swallowing down the influx of emotion that Oliver isn't capable of dealing with, he nods blankly. "Yeah. Still adjusting."

"It's normal," Felix replies easily, "She couldn't sleep either."

Felix's solution for you not being able to sleep was to crawl into bed with you. It shouldn't matter, he's seen the two of you get away with displays of affection more nauseating than this on campus. Lingering kisses against each other's cheeks and foreheads and jaws during a night out, holding onto each other at the few parties you agree to attend, Felix tucking you into bed after you drink. But this is--this is a touchiness not hidden under the guise of alcohol.

Oliver nods again. "Oh."

"Fell asleep quickly, though." Felix's thumb brushes up your arm. "Jet lag paired with Farleigh sneaking her one too many glasses of wine." Another empty tilt of Oliver's chin. "Y'can come here, if you want."

The offer comes out so casually, Oliver starts to wonder if he missed something. "What?"

Felix sighs, a hint of some lighthearted humor in the sound. "It doesn't need to be a thing, it's just sleep."

It can't possibly be that casual to him, can it? Especially with the level of care in the way Felix is touching you. And even if it is just a matter of sleep, this is still your room. "What about--"

"She won't mind," Felix dismisses easily. "She likes you." It's one thing to be friendly with someone, another for them to crawl into your bed after you've fallen asleep. "She'll get it."

Oliver's still not sure, his confusion affecting his ability to figure out which reaction will be what Felix wants most. He deliberates for a moment before stepping forward, approaching the other side of the bed.

Now that the overwhelmingness of the domesticity is starting to wear off, you do seem different in your sleep. More vulnerable. It isn't an unappealing way to see you.

He pulls the sheets back carefully, you stir regardless. You shift away from Felix's touch, moving onto your side. Of course you'd wake up just in time to take this from him, too.

You wipe at your eyes tiredly before squinting them open. It takes a moment for you to place yourself, but once you do, the slight confusion behind your eyes is nearly drowned out by an oddly warm confusion. "Oliver."

You bend an arm in an attempt to prop your head up. It takes you a second, but you eventually manage. Farleigh must have encouraged to have a little more than just a few extra glasses of wine at dinner.

"Y'okay?" Your tone is more kind than confused as you stare up at him with sleep still in your eyes.

The answer should be easy. Oliver should be working at accepting Felix's suggestion. The words are there, balancing on the tip of his tongue, but instead of getting them out, he's too focused on you.

It's a curious attention. Half asleep, hair tousled, makeup washed off, and the oversized shirt you're sleeping in sliding down your shoulder. All of these things should make you seem smaller, less eye drawing. Instead, being dressed down just adds a softness to your aesthetic appeal.

Maybe what makes you so appealing to Felix isn't as hard to grasp as Oliver originally thought. The thought twists in him strangely, jabbing at a part of him and encouraging another.

"Ollie couldn't sleep either." Felix gently squeezes your forearm. "I was asking him if he wanted to stay in here tonight, but he didn't want to overstep."

You blink, stiffening slightly for the first time since you woke up. The implications of Felix's statement take a second to fully sink in, but once it does, Oliver can see the hesitation coloring your features. "Oh."

Felix traces a pattern up your arm. You turn your head to look at Oliver again. "You've seen me before a 9:00 AM lecture after a night out and at every stage of finals week grief, I'm not sure there are any boundaries left."

You sit up, pushing yourself close to the center of the bed in a wordless invitation. Oliver swallows before letting himself sit down at the edge of the bed. He takes his time moving beneath the sheets. Your scent clings to the fabric.

The bed's not small, but with the three of you, it is a bit of a squeeze. It's reminiscent of being a little kid crawling into bed with a parent after a bad dream.

"You are pretty harsh during exams." Felix's voice is light, bordering on teasing.

Your mouth falls open in a mock gasp. You twist your arm, trying to push Felix off. He grins, easily resisting your halfhearted attempts to get him off of you. "I am not that bad." You're still pretending to want Felix to let go when you look back at Oliver. "Am I?"

To be honest, during finals you're constantly preoccupied. Even when you're meant to be spending time with friends, it's clear that your mind's stuck on assignments and exams. You're also prone to irritability. The only actual argument Oliver's ever had with you was mainly caused by the stress of an essay you were trying to finish. You apologized almost immediately after, but it's still the most angry he's ever seen you be.

The truth doesn't feel relevant. "You're perfectly lovely all times a'year."

You grin, Felix lets out a sound that's equal parts laugh as it is groan. "Don't tell her that. It'll go to her head."

You gently push at his shoulder, Felix exaggerates a pout.

Like all the praise you receive on a daily basis hasn't already gotten to you. You may not have a family name that carries weight, but you do have the way that people see you, a regular dorm hall darling with the grades and social circle to match.

You don't bask in the praise or let it change your outward appearance, but it has to inflate your ego. You've never implied that you come from a family that struggles financially, but you're not like Felix either. Holding your own with his kind must give you an inflated sense of self.

But this is another truth that serves no purpose. Not with Felix's teasing yet content smile and the attentive way you're watching him.

Oliver extends an arm, placing a hand on your knee. You sit up a little more, uncertainty briefly making it easier for you to be awake. It's not that you're never touchy with Oliver, it's that he's rarely the one to start it. "Oh, she's too much of a sweetheart."

It's honest enough. You are too nice to let anything openly go to your head. The words get you to finally relax at the contact. You must have decided that Oliver's just in a friendly mood. "Thank you." You then turn your head to look at Oliver, "See? Some people think I'm nice."

Felix rolls his eyes, letting his hand fall off your arm for the first time since Oliver's arrival. It's a small shift, but some subconscious part of you seems to notice, eyes instinctually searching for his hand.

"Since when are you on her side?" The comment, delivered with a tone that isn't quite teasing enough to cover the tinge of annoyance that still manages to bleed into the words, only confirms Oliver's theory.

Felix is used to being at the center. Everyone's eyes are always on him, everyone's affections are constantly available. He isn't one to be jealous in a committed way, Oliver's heard about enough of Felix's open flings to know he isn't like that. But he's territorial about those he feels attached to. If Felix Catton deems you worthy of his care, you make sure to make it clear to anyone else that that's all that matters.

The brief flash of defensiveness makes Oliver feel like he's standing a little straighter, a little stronger. "There are no sides."

"Yeah." You shift, leg moving off of Felix's as you try to sit up a little more. Felix's brow furrows.

It hits Oliver, then, that even though you want Felix's approval, you might not need it the way everyone else does. That must be part of the reason Felix is so drawn to you. Or maybe you're just that sure in yourself, in your place in his life that you're willing to push from time to time if the setting feels light enough.

But you're not happy with tension between the two of you, not even the kind that's barely implied. Oliver doesn't think he's ever seen the two of you argue, or look anything outside of completely content in each other's presence.

"We're just joking," you mumble, angling your neck awkwardly to look at Felix.

"Yeah, so am I."

Your gaze shifts over to Oliver, something knowing behind your eyes that he can't quite return. "Mhm."

Felix lets out an exaggerated breath before relaxing his spine and laying down. "Fuck off," he mumbles, the passive aggressiveness forced into the syllables not enough to hide his genuine fondness.

You look over at Oliver, "Can you believe him?"

A combination of being emboldened by the safety of your approval and the urge to feel as indispensable as you are makes Oliver want to joke back. "He seems moody, must be tired."

You laugh again, this time your body leaning towards Oliver until your head lands on his shoulder.

"Fuck off," Felix says again, "Both of you." His annoyance is still undercut by something warm.

Your head is still on Oliver's shoulder, the weight of it impossible to ignore but not exactly uncomfortable. You've stilled significantly, a fact that makes Oliver wonder if you've fallen asleep like that.

Then, you break the silence, "We're kidding."

"I've heard that before," Felix counters flatly. He stretches an arm, reaching for your fingers. "Liked you better asleep."

Felix squeezes your hand, keeping you awake enough to respond. "I'm sure the quiet was nice."

He sits up slightly, "You snore a little."

You're so offended, you lift your head off of Oliver's shoulder. "I. Do. Not."

Oliver waits a beat before adding, "Well."

You turn to look at Oliver, your offense clear. "How would you know?"

"Remember after that one party? You were so out of it, you needed help getting into your room and passed out before I could go." The memory is relatively recent, an end of semester party that you used to celebrate the end of your finals induced hibernation.

You pout. "You two are mean."

Felix runs his thumb across your knuckles. "Extremely." You part your lips like you have something else to say, but you're cut off by a yawn. "We should go to bed."

You tilt your chin up slightly, a potential protest that fizzles out almost immediately. "Yeah." You're tired, there's not even the good humored kind of fight left. "It's late."

You sink into the mattress, eyes shutting immediately. Oliver watches for a second, still unsure in a way he isn't used to. There's something about this kind of softness that isn't easy to place himself in.

Felix leans over, setting his book down on the nightstand. "Are you both settled?"

You nod, eyes still closed. Oliver's a little slower to react, "Yeah."

Felix switches off the bedside lamp. Darkness enshrouds the room. The bed groans slightly as Felix adjusts himself. Oliver follows, moving so that he can lay down fully.

He's closer to you than he's ever been. Your warmth radiates beneath the sheets in a way that's strangely soothing. Oliver isn't sure how he felt so awake just minutes ago. His eyelids are growing heavy. The last thing Oliver registers before falling asleep is Felix's hand on his shoulder, a too brief yet somehow still lingering squeeze that serves as a silent good night.

[superblysubpar]

hi loml

can i get king!steve with the prompt “touch me. anywhere.”

*characters are over 18

A splash of water over your ankles, a holler of ‘turn it up’, the music thumping through the speakers inside the home straining to be heard by the entire town at this point. Warm beer on your lips as your eyes pretend not to roam over the Harrington backyard, searching for the only reason you show up to these sorts of things. 

He leans against the side of the garage, a cigarette hanging between his lips, unlit, rolling his eyes and fiddling with the lighter in his hand. Tommy’s in the middle of telling a story that’s probably false. Wild hands gesturing, a too loud voice and beer splashing from his can onto Carol’s arm as she shrieks. 

No matter how many times you’ve done this with each other, the sting from his eyes never quite meeting yours, the way he’s able to walk right past you all night, it never quite fades. It’s like a bad burn on your skin that never heals, always making you a tad too vulnerable for your liking. 

Which is why your giggle is a little louder and forced tonight, your dress hem a little shorter than normal. Why your hand rests on the chest of the idiot basketball player in front of you, shoving teasingly at his joke that you don’t even remember the punchline to. This time was going to be different. 

The boy in front of you leans forward, and you turn your head, his lips meeting your jaw, then your neck and your eyes meet smoldering ones by the garage. Suddenly the summer night is not the reason you’re feeling too hot, the alcohol not the reason your stomach flips. His arms cross, the muscles in his forearm flex as his jaw clenches. His foot presses to the cigarette he took one single drag of and he pushes off of the wall, slipping through the sliding doors inside. With the excuse of needing another drink leaving your lips, you untangle yourself from the handsy basketball boy, heading inside for a different one. 

It’s easy to pretend that you’re looking for the bathroom, for an unoccupied room. Everyone inside is either too drunk, too stoned, too passed out, or too busy with their lips locked on someone else to notice you tiptoe up the stairs. You find him in his bedroom, swiping at his lips and crushing a can, tossing it into the trash from across the room. 

The door clicks closed behind you as you whisper, “Wow, impressive on and off the court.”

“Don’t you have a throat to go stick a tongue down?”

You look over your shoulder, a hand pressed to your chest and eyes widening in faux innocence, “Me?”

He sits on the edge of the bed, rolling his eyes. The sight of his denim covered thighs spreading wider has your barely covered ones pressing closer together. 

“Don’t be cute.”

A smile tugs at your lips, a timid step forward with the sway of your hips to accompany the batting of your lashes. “You think I’m cute, Steve?”

“Sweetheart, don’t start this shit here.” His words hold no real threat, not when his eyes roam over your body all greedy, not when his palm rests on your hip as you come to a stop between his legs. 

Your fingers ghost over his lips, thumb holding his jaw as you lean forward and whisper in his ear, “Where should I start it then? You know, for future reference. Outside in front of all your friends? How about at the game? In front of your lock-”

The hand on your hip grips you harder, his other tugging on your chin and turning your face so he can look you in the eyes. The fingers so close to your neck has you extending it a little for him, wondering if he’ll wrap his hand around it like last time. But no, he just holds your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip and tugging a little meanly, but the result is still the same. Thighs slipping together in a search for some sort of friction, your breath catching in your chest just a little. 

He notices. 

He always notices.

Honey and moss eyes that glint with something that’s a little sharp - but never cruel - glance down at the movement and then back at your lips as he leans forward, voice just as quiet. “You’re being pretty fucking smart for someone who was just begging me to touch her, anywhere, in my car only a few hours ago.”

It only takes your lips parting under his thumb a little more when he smooths over it again, the hint of tobacco mixing with beer on his lips hitting your senses, and the buzz of his fingers pushing the hem of your short little dress higher for your hands to fall from his jaw, for the pretend confidence to falter. It’s how it always goes. 

So you shouldn’t be surprised at how your panties grow more damp when he kisses your bottom lip before he juts his out in a fake pout. “Poor baby,” his fingers have climbed higher, his smirk only growing more smug when his fingers brush over the wet lace, “She’s just a greedy lil thing, huh?”

Your whimper is embarrassing, and so is the press of your thighs around his hand. Your fingers curl into the sleeves of his shirt as he pulls away, a silent plea for him to stay.  

Steve leans his arms on the bed behind himself, propping up. He pushes his knee between your legs, nodding towards his thigh. His eyebrows raise, and you want to smack the smug look off of his face when he speaks again, his voice low, tinged with his own greed and want for you that he’d deny. 

“You want it? Take it.”

It’s not a surprise to either of you when you straddle his thigh, his fingers on your bare hips bruising as you rock back and forth. He’s still fully clothed, marking you up with pretty little bites across your sweating skin that you’ll never get to return the favor for. The party only gets louder beneath the two of you, the sky only grows darker, and your ache for it all to go differently for once never dulling.  

There’s always next time. 

[hungermakesmonsters]

Catch Me If You Can

Chapter Eleven

Plot summary : When your friend interviews for a position at Anvil, you have a chance encounter with Billy Russo. He takes you for coffee and, by the time you’re done, Billy decides he’s anything but done with you.

Pairing : Billy Russo x Reader

Story Rating : R 

Chapter Rating : R for smut

Warnings : [This is a fic for 18+ only, minors DNI] This chapter contains mentions of panic attacks. There's also the usual smutty behaviour. Please check the warnings on each chapter if you choose to follow this story. 

Word Count : ~3.5k

A/N : This is set a few hours after the last chapter. Thanks to everyone still reading this, I'm honestly overwhelmed by how many of you are following this week after week.

CHAPTER ONE | CHAPTER TWO | CHAPTER THREE | CHAPTER FOUR | CHAPTER FIVE | CHAPTER SIX | CHAPTER SEVEN | CHAPTER EIGHT | CHAPTER NINE | CHAPTER TEN

Chapter Eleven

The gentle buzz of your phone on the nightstand was enough to wake you, and you quickly reached for it before it could disturb Billy. He was still sleeping soundly beside you. At some point, he’d rolled away from you and, now, his hand resting in the space between your bodies, like he was reaching for you in his sleep.

You moved slowly, slipping out from beneath the covers, grabbing his shirt off the floor and pulling it on. You’d gone to sleep wearing pyjamas, but you’d given up on them after the second time Billy had pulled them off you; just like the first night you’d spent in his bed, he seemed to be struggling to keep his hands off you. And, now, your pyjamas were nowhere to be found - he’d thrown them across the room hours ago and there was no way you’d find them without turning the light on.

(Besides, you quite liked the feel of his shirt on you; the soft material and the way it smelled of Billy.)

Grabbing your phone, you tiptoed out of the bedroom and headed for the kitchen, scrolling through your messages as you went. A chill ran down your spine and you pulled the shirt tighter around your body, but it wasn’t the temperature causing your discomfort, it was the messages waiting on your phone.

Call me. Now.

Stop ignoring me.

I’m not going away, we need to talk.

You quickly decided it was too late to deal with it. Sam could wait until tomorrow - or the day after. You put your phone down on the kitchen counter and started to search the cupboards for a glass - and, honestly, because you wanted to snoop. You wanted to know what a man like Billy Russo kept in his kitchen. And, as it turned out, not a lot; he had the basics, the things that a kitchen couldn’t do without, but none of it looked used, and there wasn’t much in the way of food to be found. 

Billy could afford to eat out whenever he wanted, you supposed, but it still felt like a shame to have such a nice kitchen and not use it.

Eventually you found a glass and filled it with cold water but, instead of going straight back to bed, you found yourself drawn back to the large floor-to-ceiling windows and the view of the city beyond. How often had Billy stood where you were, you wondered, looking out at the lights. It felt strangely lonely and you wondered if that was how Billy felt in this big apartment all on his own.

(No, he probably had a different woman in this apartment every single night and that was not something you wanted to think about.)

Twenty minutes passed before you finally returned to the bedroom, wanting nothing more than to slip back into bed and curl up next to Billy.

The bedroom was still dark, save from the faint glow from the city outside, but you could easily make out Billy’s figure, sitting on the edge of the bed, hunched over, his head between his hands. Your lips parted, about to say something when you heard it; a forced breath, followed by another then another, forming an awkward and disjointed pattern that sounded almost painful. For a second you froze.

“Billy?” You spoke softly, quietly, not wanting to startle him.

When he looked up, you saw wide, dark eyes, like he was surprised to see you. He didn’t say anything, but judging from what you could make out of his face and the way he was breathing, you weren’t sure he could say much even if he’d wanted to.

“Are you alright?” You dared to take a step towards him. It was a stupid question, but you had to say something.

“Fine.” The word sounded forced, awkward.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing.”

Creeping closer, you didn’t stop until you were standing in front of him. Reaching for his cheek, you urged him to look at you, and your heart broke for him. Whatever this was, whatever had caused it, he was upset. But, before you could ask, his arm wound around your waist, pulling you closer so he could bury his face against your body.

You held him. You held him tight. One hand ran up and down his back, while the other tangled in his hair. You didn’t speak, didn’t dare ask him to even try, you just listened to his awkward, laboured breathing as it slowly started to even itself out.

Five minutes passed before his grip on you started to loosen and, when he finally lifted his head again, you offered a soft smile, loosening your own hold on him.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” he answered, almost sounding back to his usual self.

“It didn’t look like nothing...”

“I said it’s fine, can you just drop it?” The sudden sharpness in his voice took you by surprise, your arms quickly dropping back to your sides. 

“I was just -”

Billy let out a frustrated sigh and got to his feet, causing you to step back a couple of paces to give him space. He didn’t say anything before stalking out of the room, leaving you all alone.

While you understood that it wasn’t you, that his outburst hadn’t been aimed at you, it still hurt and, as you stood there, you thought about getting your things and leaving. As always, your first instinct was to run away. But that wasn’t fair, not to Billy and not to you either. Whatever this was, whatever had triggered it, it wasn’t something you could force Billy to talk about. And, honestly, you didn’t like the thought of leaving him on his own when he was clearly upset.

For five minutes, you sat on the bed and waited for him to come back, when he didn’t, you decided to go look. He wasn’t hard to track down, he was standing where you’d been only thirty minutes before, in front of the sink, braced against the counter and having a drink. At any other time, you might have taken a moment to admire his naked form, but this didn’t seem like the time.

“Do you want me to go?” You decided to ask, as calmly and as simply as you could, letting Billy decide what he needed from you.

“No,” he didn’t even turn to look at you, but his answer was enough.

“Okay.”

You waited a moment more before moving back towards the windows, not wanting to go back to bed without him. You’d wait it out; either he’d go back to bed or the pair of you would spend the rest of the night like this instead of sleeping. It was the only way you could think to show him that you were there, that whatever this was, you weren’t going to walk away over it. He’d stuck by you after seeing your scars, you’d do the same for him.

More time passed before you heard him move, the sound of bare feet on the wooden floor, getting closer and closer. You didn’t turn, you just followed his reflection in the glass as he moved towards you, standing behind you so he could wrap his arm around you. He let out a heavy sigh, sounding relieved as you stepped back, pressing yourself against him.

He didn’t say anything, neither did you; you were just happy that he was holding you. His head bowed, his face against your neck, just breathing you in as he held you tight. And, again, you wondered how many others had seen this side of him, who else had seen the softer side of Billy Russo. One day you might have the courage to ask, but not tonight.

Eventually, his hands started to move, slipping up your thighs and beneath his shirt. It felt different from every other time he’d touched you, like he was looking for something; comfort, something that made sense to him. And, as you were quickly starting to understand, for Billy, that meant physical touch, that meant sex. Maybe it wasn’t the healthiest way to deal with his issues (especially if anything Krista had told you was true) but you couldn’t force him to talk and the thought of him upset or in any sort of pain made you want to help.

You decided to try and be a distraction for him, to take his mind off whatever was bothering him. Finding one of his hands, you took it in your own and held tight as you slipped away from him. You didn’t go far, just a few paces until you were beside the sofa. You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze before leaning down against the arm of the sofa, propping yourself up on your elbows, letting his shirt ride up as you did; offering yourself to him, submitting to him.

His breath caught, and that said more to you that words ever could, but he didn’t move straight away, he was too busy taking in the sight of you. When he did step closer, his hands found your ass, fingers squeezing before sinking down between your thighs. You let out a soft gasp as his fingers ran through your folds, trailing up and down, not to tease but to ensure that you were ready for him.

When his fingers gripped your hips, you took a slow breath and held it, letting it burn in your lungs while you waited for the inevitable. 

There was a moment of stillness before his cock filled you, pitching inside you with such a force that you spilled forwards, crying out his name. The suddenness brought with it a delicious ache and a feeling fullness that you’d never found with anyone but Billy.  Your back arched as he drew back before filling you again. He fucked you hard and fast, each thrust of his cock causing you to shake, pushing you forward until your body was slumped over the arm of the sofa and all thoughts of propping yourself up were long forgotten.

A deep and possessive noise escaped him as he took what he needed from you, and you happily let him. There was a sense of realness about the moment, something honest, and you loved it, you were starting to love seeing this side of him.

Lifting a leg, placing your knee on the arm of the sofa, you opened yourself for him, letting Billy take more and more. Deeper, harder, faster; there was no slowing the feelings that started to coil inside you.

Burying your face in the cushions, you tried to muffle all the wanton sounds that were spilling from you, but there was nothing that could contain the cry of pleasure that tore from you when the crown of his cock hit that special spot. Your insides thrummed with need every time his cock filled you and you dreaded the emptiness every time he pulled back, so much so that you found yourself clenching around him, desperate to keep him.

You broke suddenly, shockwaves coursing through your body, convulsing around him. But Billy wasn’t done. Without warning, he pulled out, flipping you onto your back before filling you again. Your body twisted and squirmed, over-sensitive from your orgasm, but Billy held you in place, his grip strong enough to leave bruises on your hips. The shirt fell open, exposing your breasts as he fucked you; a sight that had his dark gaze transfixed on you, watching how your body shook and writhed beneath him.

Your nails bit into the expensive leather of the sofa, desperately trying to find something to hold onto, letting out moans that sounded closer and closer  to screams as he continued.

“Billy -” you moaned, long and loud, finally breaking the (relative) silence between you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked, breathless and through gritted teeth.

“Yes! Fuck - Billy, just like that -” you answered, knowing exactly what it would do to him, “- don’t stop. Please, don’t stop...”

Billy didn’t disappoint, pounding into you, drawing every desperate and needy sound that he could from you until you had to resort to biting a cushion just to keep yourself from screaming.

“This little pussy is all mine,” your back arched at his words, pressing yourself against him, your body saying everything you refused to admit, “you’re gonna be able to feel me inside you for the rest of the week.”

“Please -” you practically sobbed into the cushion, so completely overwhelmed by him.

He lifted your legs, pulling your knees up to his waist, changing the angle again. Without thinking you reached between your legs, fingers finding your swollen clit.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he practically growled when he noticed what you were doing.

“Billy -” you moan, your slick walls fluttering around him, “come for me, come with me...”

“You want me to come inside you, sweetheart? Want me to fill your pussy again?” He panted, fingers pressing into your hips so fiercely you knew that they would leave bruises.

“I - I  need you to -” a moan tearing from your lips.

His thrusts turned quick and shallow, chasing his orgasm while your fingers and his cock pushed you towards another. You moaned his name one more time, soaked walls clenching tight around him as you tried to hold on just as little while longer. But it was impossible. You saw stars as you came again, harder than before, and harder still when Billy started to spill hot inside you.

He continued with short, deep thrusts as he came undone, his dark eyes fixed on your as your fingers continued to rub your clit. Both of you tried to drag the moment out as long as possible, but it nothing could stop the inevitable.

You moaned softly as he finally started to slow and as the pulse of his cock ebbed to nothing, you hand finally dropping to your side. Billy braced himself against the back of the sofa, not pulling away, remaining inside you. It seemed to be a thing with Billy, not wanting to pull away from you straight away, and you were coming to enjoy these little moments of stillness with him.

Exhausted, you closed your eyes, just listening to the sound of his breathing as it finally started to slow again. It was like there was nothing in the world but you and Billy, and it felt so perfect. Until your phone buzzed. 

“Who’s texting you in the middle of the night?” He asked, glancing towards your phone. You couldn’t help but tense.

“Tammy,” you forced a sigh, awkwardly pulling away from him and getting to your feet. 

Whether or not he believed your lie was quickly rendered irrelevant as you stood; your legs were shaking so badly that you had to reach for him to keep yourself from falling. Billy was quick to move, wrapping an arm around you and holding tight.

“You alright? Was I too rough, sweetheart?” While there was concern in his voice, just one look at him told you he was fighting back a smile, obviously impressed with himself.

“I’m fine, Billy,” you laughed, “my legs just feel like jello.”

“D’you need me to grab your phone?”

“No, I’ll deal with Tammy in the morning. She knows I’m spending the night here,” you leaned against him, not wanting him to go after the phone, “can we just go back to bed?” 

“Obviously I didn’t fuck you hard enough if you’re already trying to get me into bed again,” Billy smirked, clearly impressed with his dumb little joke.

“Oh ha-fucking-ha,” your eyes rolled as you tried to force down a giggle, “I meant to sleep. We’ve both got to work tomorrow.”

“I could take the day off and spend it in bed with you, if you want?”

You weren’t sure if he was joking, but; “maybe when I’m as rich as you I’ll be able to take a day off.”

For a few seconds he looked like he was about to say something, but you were glad he didn’t; whatever this thing between you was, it was far too early for serious conversations surrounding work and money.

Without warning, and with a slight squeal from you, Billy swept you off your feet and into his arms, and you quickly wrapped yourself around him, holding on tight. 

“You never told me what you were doing up,” he didn’t phrase it as a question, but it was clear he wanted an explanation.

“I needed a glass of water.” You weren’t ready to tell him the truth yet - you weren’t even sure where you’d start. Sam was a complicated topic that you wanted to put off for as long as you could.

“I thought you’d gone,” he muttered in little more than a sighed whisper. There was relief in his tone and, for a second, you were certain you’d misheard because it seemed like such a silly thing for him to say. But, then, everything started to make sense. He hadn’t been upset when you found him in the bedroom, he’d been panicking. He’d had a panic attack because he thought you’d left him in the night again.

As he started to carry you back to the bedroom, you didn’t say anything. You didn’t want to say anything. It just felt too private, too personal, and you were certain that Billy didn’t want to talk about it. You just held him tight, letting him know that you were there, that you weren’t going anywhere. You held tight until he put you down, but you only let him out of your grasp for as long as it took to slip out of his shirt and for him to climb into bed beside you.

“What?” He asked softly with a hint of a chuckle, obviously not sure what had inspired your clinginess as you pressed yourself closer.

“Cold,” you answered, snuggling close and resting your hand on his chest, right above his pounding heart.

Billy was quiet for a moment before; “d’you want to stay over tomorrow night?”

“Again?” You yawned, eyes falling shut.

“Yeah, why not?”

“I don’t know, I just - I don’t want you getting bored of me?”

He let out a soft laugh, wrapping his arms around you and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Sweetheart, I don’t think I could ever get bored of you.”

You didn’t respond save for letting out a gentle hum, happy and content but too tired to carry on the conversation. The events of the night had left you exhausted and, once you were back in the warmth of his bed and his arms, fighting sleep became impossible. Billy held you until you drifted off and neither of you stirred again until the morning.

He woke you with breakfast in bed - delivered, not cooked - and sat with you, making small talk while you both enjoyed pancakes and syrup. It was surreal just how domestic it all felt, like he was trying to show you how life could be if you chose him. (But you knew that wasn’t really your choice to make, it was Billy’s; he was the one that didn’t want a relationship, the one who didn’t want love.)

“I can’t believe you ordered pancakes,” you joked once your plate was empty and your stomach was full.

“Why not?” He laughed as he handed you a mug of coffee.

“Because you have that huge kitchen?”

“Sweetheart, if I cooked for you, you’d never want to come back.”

“That bad?” He nodded and you just grinned. “Well, pancakes happen to be my speciality, so -”

“So, you’re saying I’m gonna have to start stocking my kitchen with pancake supplies?” And, just like that, he was grinning too, and you wanted nothing more than for the moment to last forever.

Unfortunately, time was not on your side.

You showered together and it took at least twice as long as it reasonably should have because Billy didn’t seem entirely capable of keeping his hands to himself but, like everything else that morning, it was soft and gentle, it was tender rather than sexual. He seemed to just want to touch you and keep you close.

Then, reluctantly (and after several attempts at convincing you to take the day off) he drove you home so you could grab your bike and start your day.

When you heard from Billy again, it was to tell you that something had come up at Anvil and he couldn’t see you that night after all. You didn’t ask for details, but it sounded serious and Billy sounded stressed. One night became another, then another, until it seemed like you’d have to wait until the weekend to see him again.

But a little bit of time apart suited you just fine. As much as you enjoyed being around Billy, it was a lot. He was a lot, but in the most amazing of ways. You just needed some time to get your head around things, instead of diving in head first just because you felt like a smitten teenager. But that didn’t stop you from being glued to your phone, waiting eagerly for texts and calls from him, staying up late into the night talking about anything and nothing with him.

Some nights you’d stay up texting until you were practically falling asleep holding your phone. You didn’t want to sleep knowing that he was still working but, most nights, you just couldn’t help it. And Billy always seemed to know that when your messages stopped, that meant you’d fallen asleep, but you’d wake up to messages that told you he was awake long after you;

Sleep tight, sweetheart. 

I can’t wait to fall asleep with you in my arms again.

And, your personal favourite;

I never knew I could miss someone so much.

Chapter Twelve

END NOTES : You can probably tell that I'm starting to set up a little bit of intrigue here and I hope it all pays off in the long run. I didn't manage to get where I wanted to in the story to time things right for Christmas so I might try to put out the next couple of chapters a little bit quicker (maybe two next weekend), but we'll see.

Any, thanks so much for reading!!

If you want adding/removing from the tag list let me know (if it's not working for some reason... I honestly have no idea how to fix that but I hope it is working??)

TAG LIST

@lincerad @sweetserendipity65 @rafaelakelley @slayerofthevampire @rensolodriver @lovelydoveval @doloreschanal @damagelove @danzer8705 @unlikelystarlightcowboy @schlotzshewrote @bisexualbith @uncontainedsmiles

[kelcemenow]

Touchdown - Chapter 1.

Pairing Travis Kelce x Reader

Words 1676

Warnings This is a slow burn. I always like to set the scene in the first chapter.

CHAPTER 1.

“Where are my car keys?”  

“Why would I know where your car keys are?”  

You let out a slow exhale of breath before furiously checking the coats that were hanging up in the porch, for the third time, “Didn’t you use my car last night to pick up the pizzas?”  

Jess took a quick sip of her coffee before shouting through into the lounge, “Yes, and I handed them back to you.”  

You made your way towards the sound of Jess’ voice, “Right. And I put them down on the…” You paused as your eyes fell on the keys that were positioned exactly where you had left them the night before.  

“Well, would you look at that.” Jess smiled and raised her eyebrows, a smug expression that she often threw in your direction. “Honestly, you are the most unorganised person I know.”  

“Not everyone has their underwear in colour order, because it’s weird.” You grabbed a cushion from the sofa and playfully hit Jess on the back of the head before returning to packing your handbag ready to leave for work, throwing the car keys into the bag.  

“Alright, alright, maybe I am too organised, but do I lose my car keys every morning?”  

You stopped to look at her, your eyes wide with a forced innocence, “Not…every morning.”  

She cleared her throat and nodded gently, the self-satisfied look still plastered on her face, “Whatever. Anyway, why are you getting so stressed about this? You didn’t want this job in the first place.”  

“I’m not stressed…I just don’t want to completely bugger this up. It’s the closest job to being a broadcaster, it’s at an actual television studio and a show that is actually on TV.” You held your hands out to emphasise your point. “And it’s a ‘foot in the door’ situation. I work for ITV doing this gig for a year or so and then I can do what I want to do.”  

“Yeah…but sport.? You hate sports.”  

“I don’t hate sports. I just don’t see the point. I’ll learn.” You said, shrugging your shoulders lazily.  

“And it’s American sports.” Jess wrinkled her nose, “I don’t know how you’re going to do it.”  

Reaching up onto your tiptoes, you grabbed your coat from the hook and picked up your bag with the other hand before making your way out of the house, “Really supportive, Jess.”  

“Kill it!” She shouted as you closed the door.  

______________________________________________________________

“And this is where the presenters hang out before or after the show…and this…” You were being shown around the studio by Hannah, a young blonde girl who worked in your department. The studio was huge, and you were trying desperately to remember the identical corridors and seemingly hundreds of doors in an attempt to stop yourself from getting lost. Hannah must have noticed your eyes that were frantically darting around.

“Honestly, you’ll probably only use about 40% of the entire building.” She placed a hand on your shoulder and lowered her voice, “I’ve been here 3 and a half years and I got lost just yesterday.”  

A small chuckle escaped your lips and you ran a hand through your hair.  

Hannah paused for a second, “I tell you what, why don’t we grab a coffee?” 

You nodded with a smile as you followed her through some heavy double doors into the studio cafeteria. It was a vast room with food servers and drinks machines lining one wall and countless tables and chairs. Some were filled with people talking loudly, some had individuals typing furiously on their laptops. Hannah brought two paper cups filled to the top with coffee over to a small table that was next to the window. Outside, it was a bright and warm day. There was a small group of people sat under a tree reading and talking. Businessmen and woman were coming and going from the building speaking on their phones or checking pieces of paperwork.   

It was a busy atmosphere, but it didn’t seem to worry you. You thrived on being busy. You performed better under pressure during your studies at university and the small journalist jobs you had after you had graduated. But this was the big leagues. This was national television. And it was sports.  

“So, do you watch The NFL Show?” Hannah smiled as she sat down.  

You took a short breath and looked down. “Can I be honest?”  

Hannah pressed her lips together and frowned.  

“I’ve never watched an American football game in my life.” Leaning back slightly in your chair, you nervously waited for her reaction. 

Hannah kept her face still for a moment before bursting into laugher, “Oh Y/N, it’s like looking into a mirror. I hadn’t either before I started working here!”  

You let out a sigh of relief and picked up your coffee, “Really?”  

“Babe, we work in research, social media stuff. So, I don’t really think it’s vitally necessary to be a fan of the sport. We are the fact checkers, the worker bees. We make sure the Facebook posts are good, the stats are spot on and the presenters are telling the truth. But I’ve watched a few games with my husband and it’s not bad!”  

“Oh, I’m so glad! I was so worried it would be a problem.”  

“I mean, don’t go broadcasting that around the building, but no, it’s not a problem.” She smiled. “Where have you worked before here then?”  

“Well, I graduated 4 years ago, I got a first in media and journalism. Then I worked for my local newspaper back in my hometown and various temporary jobs but I realised that I need to move to London if I really wanted to work in journalism or broadcasting.”  

Hannah nodded gently, “Makes sense. Well, that sounds great. I can tell you're going to do just fine here!” She glanced at the clock above you head, “Shall we make a move? I could show you the studio for a bit?”  

“Sounds good to me!”

______________________________________________________________

“But wait, why have they stopped again?”  

“Jess, I don’t know.”  

Jess reached forward and grabbed another slice of pepperoni pizza, “This is going to take hours if he carries on doing that.” 

“What?” 

“Him! That referee man just keeps stopping everything, he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”  

“Jess, we don’t know what we’re talking about.” You laughed through a mouthful of pizza.  

“They are quite fit, aren’t they?”  

You leaned over her leg to pick up your phone, “I’m there to work, I’m not there to look at the players.”  

“Yeah, but sometimes they come to do interviews and that sort of thing, right?”  

You shrugged your shoulders as you checked your emails.  

“Oh, and if you end up having to go over to America for the Super Ball thingy…”  

“…Super Bowl.” You corrected her. 

“…Bowl? Well, that doesn’t make sense either. It should be Super Ball, because they play with a ball? Right?”  

You snorted a laugh, your eyes still scanning the screen on your phone, your thumb swiping lazily.

“Super Ball, Super Bowl, whatever it is, promise you’ll take me? I could do with a holiday!”  

“Jess, I doubt I would be the one to go! And anyway, it’ll be a miracle that I last that long in the job. I think I’m in over my head.” You took another bite of your pizza and pulled the blanket over to your chest.  

“Y/N, you said it yourself, you’re there for research. Just do what you need to do for a while and then you can be a big-time journalist.”  

You smiled at Jess as she put the last of her pizza in her mouth and turned back to the TV. Even hearing your own words being repeated back to you didn't seem to calm your worries or concerns. You closed your eyes and rested your head back on the sofa, letting the sounds of the TV buzz in your ears.

______________________________________________________________

Staring at a computer screen full of numbers for roughly 9 hours a day isn’t exactly how you expected to begin your journalism career in London. Your day was spent checking game scores, going back to previous seasons, and comparing player performances along with individual stats. Scrolling through social media and posting, commenting, liking; it became boring. Ordinarily, you enjoyed mindlessly wandering around Facebook, but you wanted something more, a challenge, something less mundane.  

Your momentary daydream was interrupted with the sound of your office phone ringing.  

“Hello?”  

“Is this Y/N?” A stern, male voice asked.  

“Erm, yeah.”

“Great. I need you to do something for me.”  

“O-okay.” You stuttered whilst you reached for a pen to jot down the details.  

“We need you to contact Kelce for a response.”

Blood rushed to your face. Who is Kelce? A response for what? Your eyes widened whilst you waited in silence for the mystery voice to speak again.  

“Kelce? Travis Kelce? Tight end for the Chiefs? The fastest player to reach 10,000 yards?”  

You cleared your throat, “Yeah, yeah of course. I’m…I’m on it-“  

The call ended abruptly. You nervously returned the phone to the holder and searched around your desk area for some sort of clue for to what to do next. Just then, you noticed Hannah weaving her way through the desks. Lifting your chin above the half wall, you tried to catch her eye. She smiled and waved, before heading towards you.  

“Hey girl, what’s up?”  

You lowered your voice, “How do I get in touch with a player?”  

“A player?” Her eyes lit up.  

“Yeah, for a statement or whatever.”  

“Ooh, fun job!” Hannah leaned over your desk to grab a laminated sheet of paper that was taped up on the wall. She pointed to a number, “Give Terry a ring, he can probably put you in touch with whoever you need.”  

“Trevor, something Kelce?”  

“Travis Kelce? He’s cool, he’ll give you a statement over the phone, no problem.” She stood up, “Anything else?”  

“No, no that’s all. Thank you so much!”  

Hannah winked, “Anytime, good luck!”  

______________________________________________________________

Thank you for reading! I have lots of chapters coming up for this series so if you want to be included in my taglist just give me a shout!

[ikemenlibrary]

Night and Light (Ikemen Prince)

Pairing: (mentions of) Licht Klein x MC (Emma) Summary: Nokto only wishes the best for his big brother on their birthday Word count: 1.3k A note from the author: Dusted the cobwebs off of an old fic I started over a year ago, just for a chance to share my love for the Klein boys on their special day. They really do just deserve the best.

Night and Light.

Nokto and Licht.

Two twins who lost their way at a young age. The push and pull between them impenetrable, no matter how hard the other tries.

And believe Nokto, he tried. 

There used to be no use getting through to Licht. Nokto’d make a dumb joke at a meeting between the two factions and look to his other half, hoping to see a hint of a smile on his face. He was always met with an even gaze and downturned lips. If he tried to bribe Licht to have a brotherly chat with him with a plate full of sweets, Licht would accuse Nokto of having an agenda and walk away after grabbing a custard pie. Nokto did have an agenda, of course. But, he really just wanted to get through to his brother. When Nokto was around Licht for too long, he just wanted to grab his older brother by his shoulders and scream that He was hurting too. They should bask in the pain together, and help carry each other's pain. Nokto also knew that doing so was no good; forcing Licht to listen to anything he’s ever had to say only resulted in the black cloud of doom over Licht’s head to darken even more, the thunderstorm brewing more intimidating than any enemy Nokto has ever seen Licht off to face on the battlefield. 

But with Emma, Licht was different. She embraced his darkness, she didn’t try to get him to snap out of it, instead offering to show him everyone who would miss him, if he chose to leave them. Show him the things he was missing, such as love and kindness and sunlight - all things Nokto knew his big brother deserved more than anything. It wasn’t as if Nokto hadn’t tried to offer Licht those things; Emma was just… special. She went about things in her own way.

Nokto adored his sister in law. She was everything both of the Klein boys needed and more. She showed them both patience while they both worked to rebuild their bond, clutching tightly at Licht’s clammy gloved hands and offering Nokto encouraging smiles when Licht wasn’t responding. Thanks to Emma, the relationship had slowly started to regrow between the twins.  It wasn’t without problems though, since Licht knew Nokto loved Emma in his own way, there was tension there when Nokto would mention her unprovoked if they were alone. Licht would get pouty, and it was adorable, and Nokto would laugh carefree like he and Licht used to do when they were children and tease Licht about the fact that he was too easy to rile up. Licht would usually march off at that point, to find Emma and bury his pouty face into her chest, which only made Nokto’s heart swell with even more love for the both of them.

If the light in Licht's eyes went out on that day when they were kids, Emma flipped on the switch, once again bringing brightness to his blood-red eyes.

Nokto was currently being led down the hallway by Emma, Licht at his side. She was pulling them along, blindfolds secured tightly around their eyes as she told them how she planned something special for the both of them. 

“It’s your birthday so you can’t tell me no.” She pouted, tying the blindfold around Nokto’s eyes. It was the late afternoon, Licht was also in the room, and Nokto could hear him shift his weight from one foot to the other.

“I think it’s the other way around, Ems.” Nokto noted, his signature lazy smile falling onto his lips. “It’s my birthday so you can’t tell me no.” And just to get a rise out of Licht, he added: “We’re already off to a pretty good start though. Never knew you were into blindfolding. Pretty kinky if you ask–” Licht smacked the back of Nokto’s head, earning a soft tut from Emma as she pulled herself on her tiptoes to press a kiss to her sweetheart's cheek. “No one asked you, Nokto.”

“Behave boys,” Emma giggled, pulling Nokto up off the side of his bed with one hand, enveloping Licht’s with the other as she pulled them out of the room and down into the formal dining hall.

Light filtered back into Nokto’s blinded vision as Emma’s gentle hands untied the makeshift blindfold. Sitting at the table along Yves, Jin, Luke, and Leon were all of the sweets and pastries either of the twins could imagine. Nokto glanced at Licht, and he looked torn between fleeing, and wanting to sit himself down and indulge in the confectionaries his beloved obviously put her heart and soul into making that night after Licht went to bed.

“So this is where you went last night,” Licht murmured into Emma’s  ear, his arm wrapping around her waist as he led her over to sit at the table. Nokto’s brother was the perfect example of a gentleman, pulling out Emma’s chair and tucking her napkin onto her lap as she blushed. Nokto thought it was adorable that no matter how long they were together, they still made each other blush like it was their first date. 

It made Nokto wish to have something like that someday. 

“Well, happy birthday Licht and Nokto.” Leon mused after Nokto had taken his place at the table as well. “It’s been a while since we had a birthday party here for one of us, but Emma insisted.”

“Yeah, aren’t you two a little old for this?” Yves, haughty as ever remarked, and Emma snickered at his expression. 

“You’re never too old to have a lady dote on you, in fact, the older you get, the better it usually becomes.” Nokto noted, nudging Emma with his elbow as Licht shot daggers at his brother and moved to pull her chair further away from Nokto. 

“Does that mean you have evening plans tonight, Nokto? Because if you don’t, I was thinking we hit up that one tavern in town. You know, that one where I met that lady?” Jin put his hands in front of him, miming squishing, which made Leon and Nokto laugh. Luke was sitting quietly, pouring a little bit of tea into a cup full of honey. 

“Sure, I’ll take you up on that. All my drinks are going on your tab though. Maybe you can find me a nice lady to bring back tonight.” Nokto bit into a dariole - Licht’s favorite - and the flavor exploded on his tongue. “These are really good.” “Thanks Nokto. I made them special for today since I know they’re Licht’s favorite.” Emma remarked, placing her hand over Licht’s bare one that was laying on the table. Idle chat from there ensued, everyone careful not to breach the topic of conversation of previous birthday, instead focusing on the present.

Finally, Licht wiped his face with his napkin, a satisfied look adorning his lips as he stood up. “Thank you all for coming to join me and Nokto for some tea today. It was nice. And... thank you for the birthday wishes.” A small smile crept up on his lips and Nokto had to stop himself from clutching at his heart and exclaiming how cute his little big brother looked at that moment. “And Nokto?” Nokto’s eyes met his mirror, and he felt a similar smile crawl onto his lips. “Happy birthday.”

“Happy birthday, Licht.” He raised his hand in a lazy wave and with their final goodbyes, Licht and Emma were gone. And as Nokto looked out the window of the dining hall, he realized that Licht really took the light with him when he left; the sun had set, and Nokto only hoped that the moon would glow bright enough tonight that there’d be enough light outside for Licht and Emma to make it wherever they planned on going. That thought was enough for him to shove back his chair, and meet Jin’s expectant gaze with his own as he nodded his head and followed their eldest brother out the door.

[skazoo]

hit me with your killshot.

↳ jeong yunho x f!reader

you trusted each other but now your words mean nothing and your actions speak the truth.

length. 1.6k

genre. angst until it's not..., fluff, secret au bc i can't spoil

warnings/tags. war language, weapons, non-explicit violence, betrayal, mention of death.

networks. @kflixnet k-labels

notes. oh, how i love writing this au it brings me sm joy you don't understand. hope you like it!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

navigation

all is fair in love and war.

your mother used to say it all the time when you and wooyoung were kids and fought constantly over the most stupid things. she always said it with an amused smile on her lips, like she knew something you were not yet privy to, and when you were younger the notion of being kept in the dark by the person you trusted the most angered you. scared you.

you couldn’t understand what those words really meant. what did love and war —irreconcilable antitheses, mortal enemies— have to do with each other? and why did it seem like everyone around you, your older brother included, had accepted the sad juxtaposition as truth? 

years passed, you and wooyoung got used to one another, fought less, and the enigmatic phrase seldom left your mother’s mouth to the point that it started to fade away under the new memories of your teenage years.

just when it was about to get buried by your twenties, something happened that you hadn’t thought possible. something you’d skeptically deemed ‘not for you’. he happened. yunho happened.

and your mother’s words finally made sense.

all is fair in love and war because the rules of normal civility do not apply during war-making, and when one is desperately in love; because love and war have universally accepted limits but if one were to break those unwritten rules someone would still find a way to justify, to forgive and forget.

but something in the old proverb felt incomplete.

love and war are not the only gods that rule over the earth and you wonder how did the people that came before you not realize the looming force of the third: business. 

what is fair in business? 

what about your business? where it costs little to play dirty and it pays off handsomely? in which love is a mere distraction and war is a means to an end?

and now you’re the lonely bearer of the weight of this third secret factor. now that you’re at war and you’re running from love, you think back about the times you didn’t understand and wish to be brought back there. clueless but free.

it feels stupid to think about all this while you’re tiptoeing around the upper floor of the dark arena —battlefield of the ruthless game you all play— but it’s really all you can do, high off adrenaline and anticipation, waiting for someone to distract the unfortunate victim you have chosen for this round just so you can fix the red laser beam on its unsuspecting back and shoot your shot, granting your team one more chance at victory, at survival.

you crouch down, rifle in front of you and you scan the ground sector through your scope.

from up here you can see what goes on in the maze below. every movement, every noise has you drawing a mental map of the players. 

you can see jongho’s head slowly but surely cornering a terrified choi san to the east wall of the arena, meaning that sooner than later you’ll have an advantage in numbers over the rival team. from the sound of his shotgun reloading almost faster than it shoots, seonghwa must be stalking down kim hongjoong —sworn enemy and skilled sniper— somewhere around the entrance gates. that leaves wooyoung staring at you from the ground, weapon in hand and eyebrows raised in a telling frown. one that shows you he’s ready to play his part in your minutely crafted plan. 

the high wall of the maze is the only thing separating him and your target of choice. kang yeosang leans idly against the hard barrier that cages all of you in like he doesn’t know he’s being hunted for survival, as if he doesn’t realize your brother has been waiting for months to see him fail at your team’s hands.

he starts humming something under his breath too and it’s then that you realize that something– someone extremely dangerous is missing from your mind-map.

when jongho hit one of his teammates in the stomach, your personal and complicated enemy fled the north section before you could follow his movements and with the quick plan of taking out yeosang in full motion you forgot to look for him.

your head snaps to either side of the narrow platform you’re standing on. the thought of his dark eyes watching you this whole time sends chills down your back and makes a heavy weight drop to your stomach.

how did you end up like this? 

before the arena, before you started to play this sick game for a chance at a happier life, everything was just as perfect as it could have been.

jeong yunho. same age and lifelong friend of your annoying brother. tall, built, and handsome, one of the most beautiful smiles you’ve ever seen and a laugh you still can’t get out of your head. 

your mother was so happy when wooyoung grumpily let the fact that you were stealing his friend away from his group activities slip during a visit home from the city.

and oh, were you happy. 

navigating the hardest periods of your young life, in a hostile environment with the sweetest words whispered into your ear every night before you went to sleep.

then the ragtag group of friends you found yourself spending most of your time with, made the cursed discovery. every and each one of you got sucked in before you could realize what it meant.

it stood at the core of the city, a dark monster of metal and neon, big enough just for the bloodshed it hosted. the arena with no physical public, just big screens that displayed what went on in hell.

it started as curiosity and now you face this nightmare every week, hoping to win the glory that you all adamantly desire for different reasons. wooyoung to finally end yeosang’s incredible luck. seonghwa to destroy hongjoon’s ego. jongho for fun. and you to escape the game of cat and mouse you play with the one you trusted with your life.

you shake from your trance and try to listen for any sign that the tall soldier is near. 

amongst the noise of the ground floor, you fail to capture the clang of his boots on the metal grate but yunho doesn’t care to hide from you anymore.

from the crouched position you still have, he looms over you with sad coldness, staring you down like he’s trying to understand where you come from.

then he speaks. voice low, gelid. you can feel the anger through it. “did you take mingi out?”

“yunho–”

“he tried to warn me about you, you know. did you?”

you shake your head slightly. your teammate won’t care if you tell on him. your bloodthirsty sniper wants people to know what he’s capable of. “jongho…”

“it was your plan though.”

it’s the truth but it still hurts. “yunho, listen–”

“it’s always your plans that put me in the worst positions.” he aims his gun at your chest, his hands trembling slightly from the strong grip he has on the weapon; knuckles white.

your voice breaks when you speak. “yunho, please i know you don’t want to do this. please.”

“are you really begging right now?” he scoffs. “mingi was your friend, Y/N! you were going to shoot yeosang in the back!” he nods the gun to the ground floor where wooyoung is still waiting for your move. “i’m done with letting you win, i’m sorry. i can’t watch you do this anymore.”

your rifle is your only source of comfort right now and you grip it with all your might. even now you can’t seem to point it at the man that stands before you. even now you can’t bear that you’re on different sides of the same battle.

“you have to understand…” it sounds like he’s trying to justify himself more than anything.

“understand what, yunho?” you spat. “you’re standing over me telling me to understand but i really can’t because you’re doing the same thing! you’re going to kill me and call it justice!”

he flinches.

“look at me in the eyes and tell me you never loved me. tell me that i meant nothing to you, that it was all a lie and then maybe i will understand you.”

“Y/N–”

“i love you.” your eyes cloud with heartbreak and a single tear makes its way down your cheek. 

everything is over. betrayed by your own lover. killed by love and war.

his finger moves to the trigger. time slows down. you close your eyes.

“i will always love you.” a whisper.

instead of the bang of the gun a loud siren that resonates throughout the entire arena.

“TIME’S OUT!” yeosang cheers followed by wooyoung’s groans.

mingi and san pop their heads from the exit door with small smiles on their lips. “it’s a draw but we all did great guys!”

the others find their way towards the exit, technical gear coming off while the lights of the arena switch back on.

“just– for next time maybe we should finally change teams so that those two up there don’t go full mr. and mrs. smith on us!” mingi’s loud voice reaches everyone.

“yes, please. it’s just laser tag you guys, no need to be that dramatic over it.” wooyoung’s clearly addressing you and everyone agrees with him with quiet grunts.

your boyfriend who still looms over you throws you an amused grin and offers you his hand to get up. when you’re back on your feet he dusts off your shirt and dries the cinematic tear off your cheek. big hands put your mussed hair behind your ears and cup your face.

“they think we’re too much.”

“they just can’t handle us, yuyu. let them cry.”

he chuckles loudly as you place a sweet kiss on his cheek.

“by the way, next week i’m finally taking you out.” you taunt.

“like, on a date or with a sniper?”

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

🕷️ A Melody of Spiders: Chapter Two

A Melody of Spiders: You always tiptoed around your surly, grumpy boss Miguel O’Hara. Certainly after you had inadvertently fallen in love with him and didn’t feel like having your heart crushed. Or your workplace environment made awkward. Too bad your latest mission comes with a chemical surprise.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material (Unprotected Sex is a No No), Honey Being Juvenile (hehe), Blood, Accidental Injury.

To Note: Miguel O’Hara x Spider!Reader.

Word Count: ~5.9k

Previous | Masterlist

You should have sensed the moment his muscles began shifting, but in your panic and concentration on the lab report, you weren’t paying attention and found yourself laying flat on your back in Miguel’s office with said man hovering over you. His claws were pressing into your shoulder and hip while he held you down. The points were digging through your suit into your skin and your body was telling you that he’d drawn blood, but you didn’t dare stray your eyes from his feral gaze.

“Miguel,” You calmly spoke, forcing your body to relax. “Miguel you need to—” You cut off the moment his face was suddenly in yours. It was like you were looking at an animal. One of your hands, which was pressed against his chest, pushed up to touch his cheek. “Come on Miguel, come back to me. I know you’re in there. Where’s my surly boss that hates everyone?”

Several tense seconds went by and you were beginning to wonder if you were going to have to fight your way out of this and dart Miguel’s ass with a tranquilizer to figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

“I don’t hate you,” Miguel grunted out, clarity returning to his eyes.

“Oh, great, reasonable you is back… mostly… what the fuck Miguel, you’ve got your claws in my suit.” You sniped at him. “Off and to the medical bay.”

“You shouldn’t have come here, changuita,” (Little Monkey) Miguel spit out, fighting the instinct to shred your suit to pieces. Your scent lingered everywhere, and left the massive spider nearly incapacitated.

“And you should be in medical!” You threw back, squirming against the large man. That only made Miguel’s predicament worse.

“Stop moving you are making it worse,” Miguel snarled, eyes flashing dangerously bright. You froze beneath him. “I can barely control myself as it is.”

You processed his words, wondering what you could possibly be doing to make this any worse. Then your brain finally decided to actually pay attention to what was going on with his body rather than just freak out. Elevated heart rate, blown pupils, uncontrolled muscle spasms, now that you thought of it, his reaction reminded you of a certain issue Earth-69 had almost a year ago.

“Shit, you don’t think…” Miguel’s eye twitched, right on the money as usual. But it was mortifying to have you see him in such a position. He watched the varying expressions flash across your face. “Okay, okay, we can deal with this, we can deal with this.”

“And how exactly do you propose we deal with this?” Miguel hissed, his muscles bulging. You winced as the tips of his claws dug further into your flesh. He really was strung up fighting against his urges. Sighing, you ran your thumb along the sharp line of his jaw.

“I take it medical is out of the question?” You softly questioned. Red eyes glowed dangerously and the hulking man let out a rumbling growl. You moving was entirely out of the question. Period. “Lyla, how long will it take for this to be metabolized?”

“Seven, eight hours at most.” Lyla informed you. Seven or eight hours? That wouldn’t be too unbearable and you could just hop, skip and swing your way out of Nueva York and not return for at least a month afterward! Staying far too busy with missions would also help you avoid Miguel.

“You better not rip my throat out for this,” You muttered to yourself before pulling Miguel’s head down and stretching up to kiss him. The large man pinning you down froze in place at your action, his addled mind finally focusing one one thing. You kissing him. With animalistic rumble in his chest, Miguel surged downwards and nearly smothered you with his lips, drawing a sharp gasp from your when a fang dragged across your lower lip. Almost immediately your situation went from you kissing Miguel, to Miguel kissing you.

For a brief moment, his claws dug a little further into your flesh and drew blood that rapidly soaked into your suit. Miguel could smell it and the metallic scent only made him want you more.

As Miguel pressed you further into the floor, your hands desperately tried to find purchase on his slick, muscled body. A hard thing to do when he wore his spider suit. His claws gripped your suit tightly, and you could feel the sticky warmth of your blood seeping through the fabric. The scent of it only seemed to fuel Miguel's desire, and he began to grind his hips against yours with a feral intensity.

"Miguel," you panted, "you need to...slow down."

He growled in response, his eyes burning with lust as he stared down at you. "Do we? I recall you giving me permission, Cariño." Fuck. His lips trailed down your neck, his fangs grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

As Miguel's claws tore through your suit, you felt a mix of fear and arousal surge through you. His eyes were locked on yours, and you could see the animalistic desire burning within them. You braced yourself as he roughly pulled the tattered remains of your suit away, leaving you entirely naked beneath him.

Miguel's gaze roamed over your body, taking in every inch of your exposed skin. His fangs gleamed in the dim light of his office as he lowered his head to your breasts, his hot breath causing goosebumps to rise on your flesh. He ran his tongue over your nipple, and you arched your back, moaning at the sensation.

Miguel chuckled, the sound deep and throaty. "You taste so good, Cariño," he said before moving lower, his lips trailing a path down your abdomen. He paused for a moment, inhaling deeply, and you knew he was drinking in your scent. Then, with a growl, he continued his descent, his claws digging into the floor for purchase.

When Miguel's face finally reached your cunt, you felt his hot breath against your sensitive flesh, and your hips bucked involuntarily. He chuckled again, this time the sound was more like a hungry purr. "Eager, aren't we?" he said before doubling down on his efforts and rabidly eating you out.

His tongue lapped at your folds, his claws gently parting your labia to give him better access. You could hear him slurping and moaning as he feasted on your cunt, getting drunk on the taste of you. The sensation was overwhelming, and you felt your body tensing, ready to explode with pleasure.

You gasped and moaned, your hips bucking against his face as he devoured you. The hot, wet sensation of his tongue on your sensitive flesh sent shivers down your spine, and you could feel your orgasm building, inching closer with each passing second.

Miguel growled in approval, his grip on your hips tightening as he tried to hold you still. "Stay still," he commanded, his voice rough and hungry. "I don't want to have to bite you to make that happen, do I?"

A lightning bolt of pleasure erupted in your body at the threat, and the sheer animalistic nature of his words only served to heighten your arousal. You found yourself whimpering in response. This motherfucker absolutely would paralyze you if it meant he got what he wanted! You tried to hold back your squirming, but the sensation was too much, and you couldn't help but thrust your hips upwards, seeking more of his tongue on your throbbing cunt.

"No!" Miguel snarled, his fangs grazing your thigh as he tried to keep you still. "I said stay fucking still!"

His warning sent a thrill of fear and excitement through you, and you found yourself moaning even louder. The mixture of pleasure and pain was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but press your hips against his face, begging for more.

"Miguel, please," you begged, your body straining to writhe against him. Miguel growled in response, his claws digging into your hips as he wrestled you into submission. His tongue continued its relentless assault on your cunt, and you felt your orgasm cresting, threatening to break free.

“Dios mio, you taste so good," Miguel purred, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "I could do this all day."

As he spoke, you felt his fangs lightly graze your skin, warning you to stay still or risk being bitten. You'd die if he kept this up all day! The threat only served to excite you further, and you cried out as your orgasm finally crashed over you, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Miguel moaned in satisfaction as he felt you come apart in his grasp. He lapped up your juices, savoring the taste, before finally releasing his grip on your hips and pulling away. His eyes were locked on yours, and you could see the lust and possession burning within them.

With a low growl, Miguel's suit began to retract, revealing his now weeping and erect cock. Seeing how big he was made your heart race and your breath catch in your throat. You felt slightly afraid, yet a part of you was intrigued by the sheer size of him.

Miguel pinned you down with a fierce look in his eyes, his claws digging into the floor on either side of your head. "Suck me off," he commanded, his voice a deep rumble that made you shiver.

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes darting between his fangs and his massive cock. But the desire to please Miguel and the danger of the chemical burning away within his veins overrode your fear. Slowly, you reached out your trembling hand and wrapped it around his thick shaft.

Miguel let out a low groan as you began to stroke him, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight of him, feral and wanting, sent a thrill through you and you found yourself growing more confident in your movements.

"Ahh, that's it," Miguel moaned, his hips thrusting forward into your eager grip. "Don't stop, changuita. Make me come."

You listened to his command, pumping your hand faster and tighter, using your other hand to rub his swollen head. Miguel's breathing became labored, and his claws dug deeper into the floor as he struggled to maintain control.

"Fuck, I'm close," he growled, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Keep going, don't stop!"

Encouraged by his reactions, you continued to stroke him, using your thumb to swirl around the sensitive underside of his cock. Miguel let out a strangled howl, his entire body tensing as he came, spurting his hot seed over your hand and onto the floor beneath you.

As his orgasm subsided, Miguel relaxed his grip on the floor, his breathing slow and ragged. But of course, it was only a few seconds later that his cock swelled back up into an erection. He cursed and threw his hand behind your neck, dragging your lips to his for a rabid kiss.

As Miguel's lips pressed against yours, you couldn't help but moan in response to the intoxicating taste of his blood mixed with your own. His tongue, hot and demanding, explored every inch of your mouth, leaving you breathless and aching for more.

Miguel broke the kiss, his eyes locked onto yours as he panted heavily. The aphrodisiac coursing through his system made his cock throb with such intense need, and he could barely control the urge to fuck you right there on the spot.

"I need more or I am going to tear you to pieces," You flinched slightly as his growled words. He was more than capable of that. Your eyes dropped to his throbbing cock, still straining and erect. What about your mouth? You were hesitant at first, but the way Miguel looked at you with such intense desire made it hard to refuse him. Besides, you had come here to help him, and if this was what he needed, then you were more than willing to oblige. It wasn't like you hadn't dreamed of what it would be like to suck your boss off.

That wasn't a normal thought. Nothing was normal about this, you reminded yourself.

With shaking hands, you leaned forward and wrapped your lips around the head of his cock. The taste of him was salty and musky, and you couldn't help but moan as you took more of him into your mouth. Miguel let out a low growl, his claws digging deeper into the floor as he thrust his hips forward.

You braced yourself against the floor, using your hands to steady yourself as Miguel began to fuck your mouth. His cock slid in and out of your lips, the rough texture of his skin rubbing against your tongue. You could feel the veins throbbing beneath the surface, and the sheer size of him made your jaw ache.

Miguel's breathing became ragged, and his hips moved faster, his cock plunging deeper into your throat. You gagged slightly, but he didn't seem to notice, his eyes locked onto yours as he continued to thrust. His next orgasm takes you by surprise and you almost choke on the seed pouring down your throat.

"No es suficiente, no es suficiente," he growled, his hunger for more apparent in his voice and actions. You could faintly pick up on what he was saying, but the look in his eyes was unmistakable—a raw, desperate need that left you breathless. What did you have to do to ease his discomfort? You pull back with a cough and wipe your smeared mouth with the back of your hand.

"Miguel, please," you rasped. "English. What do you need?"

His eyes bore into yours, dark and feral, as he gripped your hips tighter. "Everything," he hissed, his breath hot against your neck. "I want everything."

You blurt out your thoughts without fully thinking, "take it then." He was moving before you could blink.

Miguel was nothing but raw need and unabashed desire as he flipped you over onto your stomach and yanked your hips back towards him. His cock, still rock hard, teased your entrance, and you couldn’t help but gasp in anticipation as he positioned himself to enter you.

With a primal growl, Miguel thrust his hips forward, plunging his thick cock deep inside you. You cried out in both pain and pleasure as he stretched you beyond your limits, his claws raking down your back in a shower of sparks. The burning sensation was almost too much to bear, but the heat of his passion and the intensity of his need were intoxicating, and you found yourself wanting more.

Miguel pulled out slowly, only to slam back into you with brutal force, over and over again. His hips pounded against your ass, and each thrust sent shockwaves through your body. You could feel the warmth of his seed leaking from your pussy, mixing with the sweat that dripped down your skin.

As Miguel fucked you, he couldn’t resist the temptation to ravage your breasts. His sharp claws dug into your sensitive flesh, leaving a trail of red marks in their wake. You cried out in pleasure, your body arching towards his as you reveled in the mix of pain and pleasure. Your nipples, already hard from the exertion, tightened further under his rough touch, and you could feel the blood rushing to the surface, making the marks even more pronounced.

With each thrust, Miguel’s cock hit that perfect spot inside you, sending a thrill of pleasure through your entire body. You could feel your own orgasm building, the tension in your core coiling tighter with each passing moment. As Miguel’s pace quickened, you gasp and whine, batting an orgasm that was ripping its way out of your cunt. Violently.

Suddenly, Miguel’s grip on your hips tightened, and his thrusts became even more erratic and desperate. With a final, forceful push, he drove himself as deep inside you as possible, his cock pulsing with the force of his release. His hot seed filled you, and the sensation sent you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense pleasure.

Your thighs tremble and twitch while your hands and fingers claw at the floor of his office. You feel completely and utterly spent, your body limp and boneless as Miguel's softening cock slips from your aching cunt. His claws retract, leaving your tender flesh bruised and marked, but you can't help the satisfied smile that spreads across your face.

Miguel's heavy breathing echoes in the room as he collapses onto the floor next to you, his body still twitching from the aftershocks of his intense orgasm. You settle on your stomach and allow the cold floor to cool your flaming body. Perhaps now he was finally sated? Maybe Lyla had been wrong about her calculations? Miguel's eyes meet yours, his eyes full of a mixture of satisfaction and hunger, his fangs still peaking out from his lips. .

"Do you… feel better?" you pant hopefully, your voice barely above a whisper.

Miguel nods, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "A little, Cariño," he says, his voice rough and gravelly. "But we're not done yet."

Your heart skipped a beat as you feel his fingers trailing up the back of your leg, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. He leans in close, his hot breath tickling your ear as he whispers, "I want more." A moan escaped you because were you not already spent? This was far more than you had ever experienced.

Miguel chuckles, his fingers circling your nipple and sending a jolt of desire through your body. "Don't fight," he murmurs. "Let me take care of you."

Weren't you supposed to be taking care of him?

You blink languidly for but a moment, wondering if your body could in fact, keep up with this stupid chemical, when his hands grip your aching body and you find yourself dragged on top of him. You are now perched on him, your cunt placed just perfectly over his cock which you can feel twitching and hardening. For fucks sake! Miguel's gaze was hungry, his fangs peeking out from his lips, and his claws still unsheathed.

"Ride me," Miguel commanded, his voice rough and gravelly. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your cunt positioned so perfectly that his thick cock prods at your entrance.

"You want me to what?" You questioned, your voice at a higher pitch than normal. No one had ever blatantly told you to ride them.

"Did I stutter?" He growled at you and you swallowed thickly, your fingers curling against his chest. His hands gripped your hips and he pulled you down onto his waiting cock, watching in satisfaction as your face contorted and your back arched. As he filled you once again, a moan escaped your lips as his girth stretched you wider than before.

Miguel groaned in pleasure, his hips bucking upwards to meet your downward motion. A yelp escaped your lips as his cock sank deep and you whimpered. Miguel's eyes focused on your fluttering ones, his gaze intense and hungry. "That's it, Cariño," he said, his voice a low growl. "Fuck me."

"Mi-Miguel," You sputter, fingers now making claw marks in the floor. "It's— it's too much."

Miguel's grip on your hips tightened, guiding you as you moved up and down on his cock. "You can take it," he encouraged, his voice filled with a mixture of desire and authority. "You were made for me."

Hesitantly, you began to rock your hips back and forth, your cunt sliding along his cock as you rode him with increasing intensity. The sensations were overwhelming, the feeling of him inside you so deep and intense that it almost bordered on pain. But the mixture of pleasure and pain was intoxicating, and you found yourself moving faster, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Miguel's grip on your hips tightened, and he pushed you down harder onto his cock, driving it even deeper inside you. You cried out in pleasure, your body straining to keep up with his relentless pace.

With each thrust, Miguel's cock hit that perfect spot inside you, sending a thrill of pleasure through your entire body. You could feel your own orgasm building, the tension in your core coiling tighter with each passing moment. As Miguel's pace quickened, you gasp and whine, battling an orgasm that was ripping its way out of your cunt.

Suddenly, Miguel's grip on your hips tightened, and his thrusts became even more erratic and desperate. With a final, forceful push, he drove himself as deep inside you as possible, his cock pulsing with the force of his release. His hot seed filled you, and the sensation sent you over the edge, your own orgasm crashing over you in waves of intense pleasure.

As you collapse against Miguel, your body boneless and sated, he runs his hands up and down your body while kissing your neck. His touch is gentle now, tender even, a stark contrast to the feral passion that had consumed him moments before. You can't help but sigh in contentment, your fingers curling into his chest as you enjoy the feeling of his lips on your skin. But this contenment doesn't last as nearly as long as you want it to.

With a primal growl, Miguel rises from the floor, his powerful arms easily lifting you with him. He strides across the room, his eyes never leaving yours, and clears his desk of papers and tablets in one swift motion. He placed you down, with your legs dangling off the end, and cages you with his arms.

As Miguel held you down on his desk, he towered over you with an animalistic hunger in his eyes. His massive, engorged cock throbbed against your inner thigh, and you could feel the heat emanating from it, a testament to his unbridled lust.

Jesus, how could he still be hard!?

Without warning, he gripped your hips and slammed his cock inside you, filling you with a force that made your entire body shudder and your back arch off his desk. Your eyes widened in shock, but before you could even process the sensation, he began to fuck you with a feral intensity that left you breathless.

His hips pounded into yours, each thrust driving his cock deeper and deeper, hitting that perfect spot inside you that sent sparks of pleasure coursing through your body. You cried out, your fingers digging into the flesh of his shoulders as he continued to pound into you relentlessly.

Miguel's hands roamed over your body, his touch rough and demanding as he kneaded your breasts and pinched your nipples roughly. The mixture of pain and pleasure was overwhelming, and you found yourself arching your back, your hips bucking against his as you sought more of his brutal touch.

"You like that, changuita?" He growled, his eyes locked onto yours as he continued to fuck you with a primal intensity. "You want me to fuck you harder?" Your mind screamed yes as your voice remains silent. You could only manage a breathless nod, your entire body consumed by the sensations coursing through it. Miguel rewarded your response with a feral grin, his pace increasing as he pounded into you with even more force.

Beneath him, you writhed and moaned, your body responding to his every touch and thrust. Then your claws came out and you began raking them against his shoulder and desk, leaving grooves behind. As Miguel continued to pound into you, his eyes locked onto yours, a primal hunger consuming him. Without warning, he leaned forward, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of your neck.

The pain was searing, but it was quickly replaced by a surge of pleasure as Miguel's venom coursed through your veins. Your body went rigid, paralyzed, as the pleasure intensified, becoming almost unbearable. You could feel your orgasm building, the tension in your walls coiling tighter with each passing moment. But now you couldn't move, couldn't claw at him, couldn't pull him closer.

Miguel continued to thrust into you with an unyielding intensity, his teeth still embedded in your neck as his venom coursed through your veins. The pressure inside you built, the singular focus on the pleasure between your legs consuming your entire being.

Your walls clenched around Miguel's cock, desperate for release, and he seemed to sense your approaching climax. He pulled his teeth from your neck, a line of blood trickling down your skin, and leaned forward to whisper in your ear.

"Cum for me, changuita," he growled, his voice rife with desire. "Let go and show me how much you enjoy my cock inside you."

How did he expect that to happen with you paralzed!?

You could feel the pressure mounting inside you, your walls clenching around Miguel's cock as the pleasure built to a fever pitch. The paralysis caused by his venom made it impossible for you to move, but the intensity of the sensations coursing through your body left you unable to focus on anything else.

As Miguel continued to fuck you with relentless ferocity, you felt your orgasm approaching, like a storm on the horizon. The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter, and you could feel your cunt throbbing around his thick cock.

Miguel seemed to sense your imminent climax, and he leaned forward to whisper in your ear, his voice low and hungry. "Cum for me, changuita," he growled, his words sending a shiver through your paralyzed body. "Let go and show me how much you enjoy my cock inside you."

His words were all it took to send you over the edge. With a muffled cry, your orgasm crashed over you, waves of pleasure so intense they bordered on pain. Your cunt clamped down on Miguel's cock, milking him for all he was worth as you rode out the storm of your release.

As your body shuddered through the aftermath of your orgasm, Miguel's own release came roaring up to meet him. With a guttural groan, he slammed his hips forward one last time, his cock throbbing inside you as he emptied himself into your warm, wet depths.

The haze of pleasure began to clear, you became aware of the tears dripping down your face. The mixture of pain and pleasure had been too much, the intensity of the experience overwhelming your senses. Not to mention you had just fucked your boss. You felt Miguel's lips on your cheek, gentle kisses that contrasted sharply with the roughness of his earlier touch.

"¿Estás bien?" He asked softly, his voice filled with concern. You manged to grunt out a sound that resembled a 'yes', but he isn't pleased with just a grunt. "Words, Cariño," He urged.

"I'm fine, Miguel, just paralyzed," You reassure him, your eyes moving his. Miguel lifted himself off you, his movements slow and careful, and you almost mourn his cock leaving your body. He then reached for a nearby towel to wipe the blood from your neck.

"I didn't mean to lose control," he says softly. "Your scent drives me crazy and that chemical pushed me over the edge."

You lie there, staring up at the ceiling as you try to process what had just happened. The room is filled with the scent of sex and violence, and your body still hums with the aftermath of your intense orgasm. Miguel's venom continued to course through your veins, leaving you paralyzed and vulnerable.

"Lyla said your heart rate was crashing," You whispered, your mind trying to understand why she had told you that. "I thought— I thought you were dying. That's why I came."

Miguel paused in wiping the blood from the places with claws had opened up, the wounds now healed. You can't figure out what is going on in his mind. You can see a decision form in his eyes and he leaned over and kissed your forehead. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

You managed a weak smile, your eyes locked on his. "It's okay, I heal fast," you replied to him. "I know you didn't mean it. And... pretty sure I sunk my claws into you as well."

Miguel chuckled softly, a warm, genuine laugh that made you feel even more at ease. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your neck as he whispered, "Te quiero, changuita."

As Miguel wraps you up in a warm blanket, your eyelids grow heavy with each passing moment. He gently scoops you up and places you on the couch, tucking the blanket around your body. Despite the intensity of the situation, you feel a sense of security in his presence.

"Rest here while the venom wears off," Miguel says softly, his hand resting on your forehead. His touch is surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to the feral passion that had consumed him earlier.

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. "That chemical is out of your system, right?" you ask, your eyes half-lidded. Miguel's suit reactivates, the familiar blue glow enveloping his body as he nods in confirmation.

"Yes, it's gone," he said. "I'm going to have a word with Lyla outside since she took the effort to cut communications in here. I would tell you to stay here because we need to talk, but I don't think that will be nessessary." You wished you could have given his smirking face a scowl as he departed his office.

You are disturbed from deep sleep when you heard the grumbles of rapid spanish. Eyes cracking open, it takes you a few moments to realize that you aren't in Miguel's office but his personal bedroom at the Spider Society for when he needs to crash. Which is a lot.

You sit up in bed, the blanket falling away from your naked body, revealing your pristine healed skin. You don't bother to cover yourself. Your eyes locked on him as he paced back and forth across the room, muttering in Spanish about the potential consequences of your tryst.

"You act like there isn’t Plan B here," you said, your voice firm and resolute. You hadn't expected to be in this situation, but you were determined to take control of it. Miguel's pacing ceased abruptly, and he turned to face you, his expression a mix of surprise and relief.

"You're right," he said, running a hand through his dark hair. "I just... I wasn't thinking straight. The thought of..." His voice trailed off, but you knew what he was trying to say. The thought of potentially impregnating you had sent him into a tailspin.

"It's okay," you said softly, patting the space on the bed beside you. "Come sit with me, and we'll figure this out together." Miguel hesitated for a moment before joining you on the bed, his body stiff and tense as he sat with his back straight, his eyes fixed on a point on the wall.

"Miguel," you said gently, placing a hand on his arm. "Look at me." He turned to face you, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of fear and uncertainty. "We'll be okay," you reassured him. "We'll find a solution, I promise."

Miguel nodded, the tension in his body easing slightly as he leaned in and rested his forehead against yours. "Gracias," he whispered. "For understanding."

"I'm not going anywhere," you said firmly. "And neither are you. We'll get through this together."

Miguel pulled back and smiled at you, a genuine smile that reached his eyes. "Given our luck," he said softly, his fingers tracing the curve of your cheek. "Somehow, we'll make it worse." You laugh at his words, because in reality, you will probably make things worse at some point.

"Probably," You agree before sobering up. "Miguel, what you said—" He stopped you from speaking further by placing his thumb on your lips.

"I've been torn for a while now," Miguel said, his voice raw with emotion. "I've always been focused on maintaining the canon, on keeping the timeline intact. But..." He paused, his eyes searching yours as if he's seeking reassurance. "But I can't deny my feelings any longer. I'm in love with you, but I couldn't act on it because I didn't want to jeopardize my responsibilities. I can't."

You feel a surge of affection for Miguel, knowing how much he's struggled with this dilemma. He was technically correct. "Miguel," you say softly, reaching out to take his hand in yours. "I understand. I know how important your duty is to you, and I admire your dedication to it. But..." You hesitate, unsure of how to express what you're feeling without sounding like you're pressuring him.

"But what?" Miguel asks, his eyes fixed on your face.

"But maybe there's a way to have both," you suggest tentatively. "I know it won't be easy, and we'll have to be discreet, but... I'm not exactly one who likes to mix pleasure with my work. I don't think it would be a problem."

Miguel nods, a grateful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You're right," he says, squeezing your hand. "Besides, I've had a taste of you and I can't get you out of my mind now that I know what it feels like for you to be mine."

"Now that we've got that out of the way, we have another topic to discuss." You told him, thinking back to your precious suit which was now in tatters and currently not usable. "My suit."

Confusion flashed across his face for a moment before he remembered. "Shit, I'm sorry about that," he said, running a hand through his hair sheepishly. "I wasn't in my right mind, and I... I just wanted to get to you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, well, you did a number on my suit," you said, crossing your arms over your chest. "It's completely ruined."

Miguel's expression turned guilty. "I know, and I'm sorry," he said with a heavy sigh. "I'll make it up to you, I promise. I'll make you an even better one."

"With what?" You scoffed, looking around the small room. "Your sewing machine?"

Miguel chuckled, shaking his head. "No, with my technology," he clarified. "I can improve it, make it even more advanced than before."

Your interest was piqued, despite your annoyance at the destruction of your suit. "Really? How so?"

Miguel stood up and moved to a small workbench tucked in a corner of the room. He retrieved a small device and brought it back to you. "With this," he said, handing you a tablet. "I can easily draft up a new suit for you and have it made by the end of the day."

You took the tablet from him, examining it with curiosity. "So, what are we talking about here? Better web-shooters? More advanced sensors? Built-in air conditioning? Snack dispenser?"

Miguel grinned, clearly excited about the prospect of working on a suit for you. Yet another claim to your body. He can't help but give the naked skin he could see another look off appreciation. "All of that and more," he assured you before smirking. "I'll add Lyla, no extra charge."

Date Published: 5/25/24

Last Edit: 5/25/24

Previous | Masterlist

[undermine-the-instinct]

Title: Visitor

Now in first place is Witch!reader with a 26.1% vote! This is the Canon reader, and I guess you can say storyline, for the Prince!Al Haitham Series! Witchreader and their accursed prince~

Noble | Head advisor | Civilian | Royalty | Librarian | Witch (canon)

Wc: 1.3K Warnings: None

"Well well well, what a surprise. The Crown Prince, standing in my shop."

You stand behind the counter, staring down at the man behind it. He has a cloak on to obscure his features, but his eyes are too bright, and his cloak is too clean, boots too high quality.

You point your finger towards the door he just walked through.

"Get out. I am not going to be held accountable for whatever happens, or whatever problems you have. Get. Out."

"No. I need your services."

"I need to keep my head attached and this," you gesture towards the space in between you two. "Is putting that in grave danger." You huff, and put your hands to your hips.

"How did you even find this place?"

He shrugs, and removes the hood from his head. The low lamps almost brush his hair, and paint him a warm gold.

"I need your services."

"You need to get out."

"I can assure you that you will remain unharmed. By my word. " You snort.

"Mob mentality doesn't work like that when they're hellbent on ripping you to shreds." You're liable to jump over this counter and push him out yourself, if you're forced too. 

"This isn't a matter of want. I need your services. No one knows that I am here, and I only have a small window of time." 

Teal, yellow, a rusted red. His eyes are bold and intense, and he doesn't even shy or flinch away from yours, even as you feel the power swirl in them, unknown and feared by the commonplace. He seems desperate, and you are curious.

"Tell me what you 'need', and I'll see if I'll help you."

He steps closer till only the counter stands between you, and stares down at you with all his stoic-ness.

"I assume I am under a curse. I do not know when or how it was placed, but everyone seems to fall for me upon first sight."

"And that's a curse?"

"When you're in a position such as mine, yes. I need you to identify it, and possibly find a way to break it."

"Hm. And that's it?" You lean against your counter like a cat stretching. You're not going to be made to feel uncomfortable in your own shop.

"You don't want to curse someone? You don't want a potion for strength or invisibility? Or luck?"

"Everything is a matter of skill and circumstance," he raises a hand, blasé.

"Manipulate the circumstances to your favor, and the rest is history. I don't need any of those. I need you to identify what curse I am under."

"Well, alrighty, let's have a look then." Quick as a snake you grab a fistful of hair, and pull him down to your level, balancing on your tiptoes. His hair is soft in your hand, and he doesn't fight, leaving you to your whims. He does grit his teeth though, so you don't think he's complying to you simply out of goodwill.

There are no bumps on his skull, no scabs. From what you can see, his skin has no discoloration or bumps or rashes, his pores seem normal as well.

He smells like books and leaves and clean linen, the slightest musk and hint of leather. Nothing odd. You move one of the ear phones, and he tenses at this, but his eyes are only slightly pointed, nothing odd.

You tap his chin, hand under his jaw.

"Let me see your teeth." He looks at you oddly but complies. His teeth are straight and white, he still has his wisdom teeth. And his tongue is flat and pink. You touch his adams apple, which is normal. You can't tell anything. No odd moles or scars even.

"I don't see any sign of a curse. Not from what I can see."

"Nothing? Nothing odd or strange?"

"No. The only odd thing I can tell is your eyes, have they always been like this?" 

"Yes. This…phenomenon only started around a year ago."

"Hm. Maybe its something you ingested? Or a latent curse." You let him go, and he rises back up, straightening his hair with a frown. You can see his brain working a mile a minute.

"Latent. So there's a set of conditions that activated the curse." His eyes cut to you, and a ordinary person would jolt. You smile.

"So it's possibly there's another set of conditions to deactivate it." You shrug.

"Probaly. Most likely. Otherwise, I don't think you're cursed at all. Maybe it's just your charms. Many women have finally had their debut and entered the socialite. You're the Crown prince, you're just desirable."

"Not to this extent. People are frantic, obsessive. There's definitely something more at play here."

"I only did a brief basic check but I find nothing odd about you." You look him over.

"At least not from what I can see."

"But," you raise your hands, "that's your problem, and not mine. Thank you for visiting my shop, the door is right there. I'll send the check personally to you from the palace, thank you very much~"

"There must be something more you can do."

There is plenty you can do. You are from a long line of witches and the knowledge of generations is all within you. It is all an encyclopedia, they are your chapters and you are their sum, and you're not sure you want to aid a prince when it's likely you'd get your head sliced off because of it.

Moat likely he'd have you sequestered away wile you rot like and old hag from fables and legends, denied fame and recognition and most finer things, till you outlive your uselessness. You know how these royals treat beings like yours.

Prince Al Haitham takes out a pouch of coins and tosses it onto the counter. Gold coins pour out, a lot of coins.

"I am willing to pay you for your continued service."

"Continued service?" You question, eyes on the gold, eyebrow raised.

"Yes, for you to run more tests, and make whatever potions that I might need for whatever occasion might arise. I could even enroll you as a doctor, or guard."

"And have me shut away in some tower, no doubt."

"No. I'll need you on the scene for whatever issues ir complications arrive. You will be no guest." He reaches ynderneath hid cloak, and from within, produces a beautiful brooch, shaped like a parrots wing.

"This is a personal gift from a friend of mine. This is my proof and your ticket to my court." It is ridiculously beautiful, and obviously made in excruciating care. This is real.

Knowledge of ages past or not, money is money. Fame (or notoriety) is recognition. So if the pay matches your skillset…

"I might not find anything, ever. If you are cursed it's hidden exponentially well. You want to take that risk?" You look up from the pouch and brooch with a soft frown.

"And I here I thought you said that everything is a matter of skill and circumstance." The mirth returns to your voice though as you tease.

"Yes. Circumstance has led me to you and my skills help me to barter. And you and your skills will increase the luck and favorability of my circumstances. You are useful, and I am in need of you." He gestures to himself and the room, covered in your trinkets and potions and ingredients. His eyes land on the pouch pointedly.

"I will provide all you need and wish. Join my side, and reap the rewards of being mine."

You scoff a little, and rest your chin in your hands. Sweet words. They're working.

"...You say you're cursed but that sounds more like a love confession than some sort of proclamation. You're rather smooth, Your Highness."

"So is that a yes?"

"Well…we'd have to draw up a contract, put it in writing, y'know? That takes time. I have to make sure my shop isn't left abandoned, and make sure I have a stable pay–"

"That will be done. I'll draft a contract and we can overlook it next time." He draws up his hood again, and turns towards the doors, quick and sure. His time must nearly be out. Despite yourself, you call out to him. Your fingers trace the brooch.

"Why…why did you choose to come to my shop, or even offer me a contract? What made me so special?" You grin, like how of course could he think of anyone else but you, but you really want to know.

Prince Al Haitham stands there, in the low lamplight, looking both ominous and debonair. You're starting to think he's just ridiculously handsome and not really cursed.

He shrugs, a hand fiddling with the string to his earphones.

"You're the only one who didn't offer to read my palm or tell the future through my eyes when I arrived. Neither did you deign to tell me my love life through the stars."

"I wanted you the hell out of here."

"Exactly," he nods. "You are the only one with some common sense." With that, he leaves your shop, leaving you with the silence and weight of a new proposition.

Maybe you should read the stars to tell your future. You're in for a trip, now.

Taglist: @tigerpriestess @hypernovaxx @certaindreampost @tanspostsblog @escapeis

[artemistorm]

Stew Pot Plot pt 3

Alternate Prompt #9 Drugging -- Time, Everyone

TW -- nonconsensual drugging, unconsciousness

1009 words

******

Time gently lowered Warriors until he was sitting slouched in the ground and hurried to Epona.

“Up on your feet girl,” he urged. Epona grumbled and got up. Time threw the saddle blanket over her and picked up the saddle, surprised by its weight. When had it gotten so heavy? He heaved it onto her back and went to work on the buckles.

Time heard his name whispered and he turned around, blinking to try and force his eyes to focus and find the source of the call.

“Time…” Warriors said again, he lay down, his eyes barely open. Time knelt next to him, fighting the overwhelming urge to continue the motion and lay down.

“Warriors?” Time shook his shoulder, but Warriors eyes closed and he didn’t respond.

Time was alone.

He returned to Epona’s side. She watched him, dark eyes wide open and knowing something was awry. He put one foot in the stirrup and clutching the saddle horn, tried to haul himself up, but the world spun and he found himself laying on the ground with his ankle caught in the stirrup. He untangled his foot and his leg flopped to the ground as the drugs in his system stole the last of his strength. He tried desperately to force himself up again but he only succeeded in raising his head and shoulders off the ground by a few inches. He tried again, but he could barely move. Epona whinnied in alarm and nuzzled his hair with her lips.

“Old girl,” he raised his hand to pet her nose. “I need you to run. Run for help. I can’t make it… I need you to… run to the stable.” Epona whinnied again and shook her mane.

“Go!” Time said as loudly as he could manage. He slapped her leg and she grunted and jumped back a step in surprise.

“GO!” Time called and slapped her leg again. Epona neighed in distress and turned away. She cantered off saddled, unbridled, and riderless. Once she was out of sight, Time sighed and let his eyes close. He started to drift off, but the sound of footsteps pulled him out of oblivion.

“Are they all out?” A hushed and unfamiliar voice asked. Time cracked one of his eyes open just enough to see through his eyelashes. A pair of red-clad Yiga tiptoed between the sleeping heroes and the mess of their camp.

One of them kicked Sky’s leg but Sky didn’t flinch.

“Out cold,” the Yiga confirmed. “I told ya it would work. You owe me money.”

“Shut up. Let’s just grab the hero and get out of here before anyone sees.”

“Which one is it? They’re all blond.”

“That one’s not blond. His hair’s brown.” One of the Yiga pointed to Hyrule.

“Nah, it’s blond too. Trick of the light.”

“It is too brown! Light brown. Like the color of your underwear, hahaha!”

“You shut your mouth. My underwear is pristine. Unlike yours!”

“Hey!”

“Back to business. One o’ these unlucky bastards is the hero, we just gotta figure out which—ooh! Nice pocketbook! I’ll just take that off you, hehehe.” The Yiga bent down, collected Warriors’ wallet and pocketed it.

“How’re we supposed to do that? They all look like the hero!”

“What do you mean? Surely one of them is the hero! Do you not know what the hero looks like?”

“Why would I know? I’ve never seen him! Haven’t you seen him?”

“How could I have seen him? I’ve been on storeroom duty since I joined! This is my first mission!”

Time was incredulous. These two inept fools were the assassins after Wild and Flora? Sure they’d managed to drug all the heroes to sleep, but they seemed ill-prepared to carry out the rest of their task.

Strangely though, Time suddenly realized, he hadn’t passed out yet. Sure he was exhausted, weak, and groggy but he was awake and aware. Perhaps he hadn’t had enough of a dose…? Whatever the reason, he had to take advantage of it to stop the Yiga… but how? He knew he couldn’t take the Yiga in a fight in his current condition, but maybe one of his magical items or masks…? Time struggled to remember what equipment he had on his person and formulate a plan.

“Do you think Master Khoga would be mad if we brought all of them back?” One of the Yiga asked.

“Of course he would! We don’t have enough bananas to be feeding… 1, 2, 3… 8 more mouths!”

“Can’t you count? There’s nine of them here.”

“Yes I know, but once we figure out which one is the hero, he won’t be around long enough to eat any bananas.”

“You got a point. But what about the extras?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. They’ll probably push them down the bottomless pit.”

A spike of worry lanced through Time’s gut. Epona hadn’t returned with help yet—how long had it been since he sent her off? It was up to him to stop the capture and murder of the youth he held dear. He didn’t have his bag of items on him nor his armor or weapons and he didn’t think he could retrieve any of them from his pile of possessions without being stopped by the Yiga. So what could he do??

“I like the way you think sometimes. Alright then, we’ll take all of them, teleporting them out two by twos.”

“There’s an odd number of them… one of us is goin’ to have to make an extra trip and it ain’t gonna be me.”

Time surreptitiously moved his hand to his belt and felt around for—yes! His ocarina! But what to play? He could summon a storm or… no! He knew exactly which song to play.

“What if the extra is the hero? Wouldn’t you want to be the one to bring him in?”

“… you got me. I think… that one’s the hero. The shrimp in blue with the scruffy hair. Save him for last.” The Yiga pointed at Wind.

“Fine. Now let’s get cracking.”

(To be continued tomorrow...)

[ladykailitha]

Skate Circles Around Everyone

Steve knew he should be grateful that the unruly teenagers were out being Christmas carolers, leaving the adults to go ice skating. He knew that. But the problem was that he hadn’t ice skated since Clint Harrington decided ice skating was for girls and fairies when he was eight and got him into basketball instead.

Normally being an idiot on the ice wouldn’t be a problem. Nancy, Jonathan, and Robin wouldn’t care. And Steve hadn’t known Argyle long enough to care what he thought.

No, the problem came in the form of the most beautiful boy in Hawkins. Eddie Munson. A boy who was known to ice skate around pros, but only did it for fun.

For fun.

Fuck.

Steve was never going to live this down.

His only hope at this point is to sprain his ankle on his way to the rink and be forced to sit it out.

But the universe was out to get him and he made it to the rink without any mishaps. And late. Which meant that everyone else had gotten their skates on and where already out on the ice.

He got his skates and was trying to put them on, when Eddie slid to a stop in front of row of benches.

“There you are, Harrington,” Eddie said with a grin. “I thought you were going to bail on us.”

Steve looked up at him, sheepishly. “You wanted me to come, so I did.”

Eddie’s grin got bigger until he noticed Steve skates.

“Why are you wearing girls’ skates?”

Steve looked down at the white skates with a frown. “It’s what they gave me. I didn’t know what kind to get.”

Eddie frowned. “Take ‘em off.”

Steve hurried to do what he was told.

Eddie sat down beside him and put his blade guards back on. “I’ll be right back.”

Steve watched as Eddie chewed out the two attendants on duty. He couldn’t quite hear what was being said, but from the way Eddie was flailing his arms, it was quite the dressing down.

Eddie came back with the right kind of skates. He knelt in front of Steve and put the first one on. “Does that feel better?”

Steve nodded. “Yeah.”

“Just tell me if I pull too tight on the laces, okay?” Eddie murmured.

“Yeah, okay.” Steve’s brain had gone off line.

“How does that feel? Too tight? Too loose?” Eddie said after a moment.

Steve wiggled his toes. “No, it feels about where I would tie it.”

“Good.” And Eddie got to work doing the other skate. When he was done, he stood up and dusted off his knees. “Have you skated before?”

Steve shook his head. “Not in over a decade anyway. My dad didn’t like going and my mom stopped going to appease him. Apparently real men don’t ice skate.”

Eddie pressed his palms together and took a deep breath. “What the honest fuck?”

Steve laughed. “I tried bringing up hockey, but he dismissed the sport as Canadian trash, so...”

“Steve I say this with the deepest respect for you, but holy shit your father is a moron.”

“I know.”

Eddie grabbed Steve’s leg. “These are guards, you wear them everywhere that doesn’t have padding to protect it from the blades.” He pulled them off the skates. “But otherwise, you walk like your on tiptoe to the ice, okay?”

Steve nodded.

Eddie helped him to his feet and showed him what he meant. And Steve managed to make it to the ice without hurt himself.

“Good job,” Eddie said with a smile.

But the second Steve tried to step out on to the ice, his knees knocked together and he pinwheeled his arms.

Eddie reached out and grabbed Steve’s waist. “I’ve gotcha. Just relax.”

Steve stopped flailing and blushed at the warmth that came from Eddie’s palms pressing into his sides.

Eddie took his hands and instructed him on how to take the first few glides on the ice.

“You’re doing great,” he said when he had gotten Steve away from the side rail.

“Only because you’re holding on,” Steve whispered.

Eddie got really close. “Then I won’t let go.”

Steve was grateful that cold had already stained his cheeks red, otherwise Eddie might realize his feelings for him.

Eddie navigated them around the rink, skating backwards as effortlessly as most of the skaters were skating forward.

Once they got back around to the benches, having come full circle. Robin came skating up to them.

She nearly crashed into the side. “Whoa!”

Eddie let go of Steve for a moment to untangle her from the side and get her upright.

“Thanks!” she said brightly. “I can skate just fine, it’s the stopping I have a problem with.”

Eddie skated round her, stopping on a dime, every time he passed in front of her.

“Show off,” she said, swatting him the second time he did it.

He did a couple more times and then skated back over to Steve.

“What are you even doing hanging out with this loser when you could be skating circles around the asshole that’s hogging the middle of the rink?” Robin asked.

Eddie and Steve turned to see this blond guy in the middle of the rink doing jumps and spins, and clearly looking down at all the people who are only there for fun.

“Asshole,” Steve agreed.

“I’m having fun helping Steve learn how to skate though,” Eddie said, shoving his hair in his mouth.

Steve put his hand on Eddie’s waist and leaned in. “And I would love to watch you outskate this piece of shit so everyone else can have too. And then you come back and show me and Robin how to stop without killing ourselves.”

Eddie eyed the blond dude for a moment, before he turned to Robin. “You’re on.”

“Yes!” Robin said, giving Steve a high five.

Eddie took off his jacket and handed it to Steve. Underneath Eddie was wearing his Metallica t-shirt over a long-sleeved black shirt, chains dangling from his waist.

Steve gulped.

“Hey, Robin,” Eddie said, “got a rubber band or something so I can pull my hair back?”

She pulled one off her wrist and handed it to him. Eddie pulled his hair back in a pony tail so that it revealed the lightning tattoo under his ear.

He saluted them and then was off.

“That was the hottest thing I have ever seen,” Steve said, clutching Eddie’s coat in his hands.

Robin laughed. “Just wait, dingus. Just wait.”

Eddie made a couple of laps to get his feel for the rink. Each rink was different and depending on when the last time the zamboni had been by, the ice could be pitted.

He could feel that it was good ice and perfect was what he was about to do.

Blondie was eyeing Eddie critically. Which was exactly what he wanted.

The guy did a 360 spin, Eddie would do a 720. The guy would leap into the air a couple feet off the ground, Eddie would go twice as high and land better.

Everything this guy did, Eddie did better. And then Eddie looked him dead in the eye before doing a back flip on the ice, landing perfectly on both feet. All of his friends cheered. Jonathan, Nancy, and Argyle joined Steve and Robin by the side of the rink.

The guy’s jaw fell to the floor. “Who the hell are you?”

Eddie shrugged. “Just some guy having fun with his friends. Friends that you’ve been sneering at all day. So why don’t you run along home and find something better to do with your time.”

The guy hightailed it out of there muttering something about Eddie being Hamilton or Orser.

“Who’s Hamilton?” Argyle asked when Eddie skating back over to them.

“Hmm?” Eddie replied tilting his head.

“The asshole ran out of here talking about Hamilton or some other guy Ostler or Osner something like that?” Nancy clarified.

Eddie mouthed ‘oh’. “Right, Scott Hamilton and Brian Orser are Olympic figure skaters who are known for doing back flips.”

“Can you–” Steve croaked. He cleared his throat. “Can you do that again?”

“The back flip?” Eddie asked.

Steve nodded, not trusting his voice.

Eddie leaned in close. “Anything for you, big boy.”

He skated away from them and ran up to the backflip, executing it perfectly. They all cheered. Eddie came back up to them, grinning from ear to ear.

“How was that?” he asked, winking at Steve.

“Where did you learn to do that?” Robin asked.

“I saw it done by the two dudes that other guy mentioned and was determined to learn how to do it myself.” Eddie shrugged. “Scared the hell out my Uncle Wayne a couple of times when I first started, but now it’s kinda my signature thing.”

“It was amazing,” Steve breathed.

Suddenly there were a couple of girls that had also been skating came up to them.

“Oh my god,” the one said. “That was so cool what you did!”

“Can you teach us how to skate like that?” the other one cooed, wrapping her finger around her hair.

Eddie looked between them like a deer in the headlights. “Um, I’m with my friends right now. Maybe some other time.”

The first one tugged on his arm. “Come on, please?”

The second girl batted her eyelashes prettily. “At least show us how to skate backwards, because that was so amazing.”

“Hey,” Jonathan said moving forward. “He said later.”

The two girls gave him the stink eye and both Nancy and Argyle rolled their eyes.

“Just leave him alone,” Robin huffed.

The first girl sneered at her, eyeing her up and down. “Jealous, sweetie?”

Robin scoffed. “You’re not his type.”

The second girl snarled. “And you are, bitch?”

Steve and Jonathan pushed themselves between the second girl and Robin to prevent a fight from breaking out.

Eddie blushed. It was nice to see people stick up for him. But he knew how to end this whole fiasco without so much as another word.

He spun Steve around with his free arm and caught him when he wobbled a bit.

“Eddie?” Steve breathed.

All right so a word was uttered, but as it was his name, Eddie wasn’t going to quibble. He pulled Steve in closer and pressed a kiss on those perfect lips.

The two girls squawked indignantly and the one girl let go of Eddie’s arm. Which was fine with him, that meant he could put both arms around Steve.

The girls stormed off in a huff.

“Wow,” Steve murmured.

He turned to look over at their friends and they were all staring at them, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“Do you think they’re going to snitch on Eddie and Steve?” Robin asked timidly.

“Shit,” Jonathan said. “They might to get back at him.”

Eddie just shrugged. “This isn’t the only rink in the area, if we get kicked out of this one, I know where we can go to continue skating. But I really hope not, because otherwise both of my little shows would be for naught, and that would make me sad.”

Steve cleared his throat. “And we can’t have you sad, now can we?”

Eddie grinned and dived in for another kiss. “That’s the best way to keep me happy.”

Steve grinned. “Then I think we’re going to be very happy indeed.” And dived in for another kiss.

*Masterlist