#and two other tags I follow to try and sidestep this

[temsiik]

The only problem with the Edward/Winry ship is that "Edwin" is also just a name, so the tag here brings up a lot of other content as well.

[ittybittyfanblog]

Only You, Darling (Only You, Babe)

Summary: There were orders for your abduction. You were made to be the bait by a rival gang to get to the elusive head of Onychinus. Sylus doesn’t take it too well. Word Count: 4.8k Tags: mc x sylus, fem!reader x sylus (use of she/her pronouns), depictions of violence (it gets a little graphic), reader gets abducted and injured, strong language, protective!sylus, he’s a little unhinged here, self-indulgent! A/N: I can’t believe this game pulled me out of a three-year creative rut LMAO. I’ve been doing fanarts, now I’m writing again?? The power these pixelated men hold over me, man.  Anyway, enjoy!  This version of Sylus is probably a little OOC idk idk ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

It was close to midnight, and you're being followed.

On your six, a stocky man in an unassuming dark suit has been tailing you since you left the dingy bodega a little over a mile away from your apartment for about, three? five minutes– no, maybe even longer.

Shit, you mouth silently. Sloppy. You should’ve noticed him sooner, and the two other lackeys now closing in from up ahead. They’re armed too, if the hands hidden inside their jackets were any indication.

As if things aren't looking bad enough, you’ve decided tonight would be the perfect night to go weaponless, deciding against bringing your handgun with you since it was supposed to just be a quick run to the store for supplies. Namely, the late-night cravings sort of supply.

You clutch the wrinkled paper bag containing your coveted jalapeño Cheetos tightly.

This is what greed does to you, a mocking voice echoes in your head. Since when did your inner voice of reason sound masculine and oh-so-familiar? 

Exhaling quietly, you try to calm the rising beat of your heart and appear to be clueless of your surroundings. Walk at a normal pace. Look unaware of the men with the intention to… What even was this? An ambush? Good, old, regular robbery? No, it doesn’t seem like they were in it for something that insignificant. They wouldn’t even bother to be this cautious if it were. 

But then, what were they here for? The dangers you were more familiar with are of the monstrous kind in the literal sense of the word; entities that you face on a daily basis as a Deepspace hunter. Not the regular threats posed by mankind – which in this particular situation, suddenly feels more foreboding.

While racking your brain for ideas on how to slip away from their sight without escalating the situation, you fail to notice a fourth person hidden behind the dumpster inside the narrow alleyway on your left until you feel the cold, hard edge of a pistol gun hit your temple.  

With a shout, your hand shoots up in an attempt to yank the gun away from the hand holding it but the sudden burst of pain from the impact has left you feeling dizzy and off-kilter. The moment you throw your fists up to block your face, heavy fists strike you directly in a flurry of hits, colliding with your forearm and your unguarded ribs.

You let out a pained grunt as you stagger backwards, trying your hardest to keep yourself from falling back on your ass and ward off the next incoming attack. 

A sinister laugh alerts you of the others, now surrounding you in a circle. Shit!

You hastily shift your legs into a crouching position, bracing yourself as you attempt to sidestep the one in front of you before making a run for it. You spring into action, but before you can even take another step, an arm shoots out and coils tightly around your neck like a noose. A cloth that reeks of something distinct is slapped over your mouth and nose, rendering you unable to do anything but struggle. 

“Now, now– the boss wants her in one piece, John,” The stocky man, who’s apparently larger and more jacked up-close, pipes up. John tightens the limb circling your throat, preventing you from breathing, before slightly loosening his grip. 

 “I’d advise you from struggling too much, sweetheart. But if you insist on making this harder for yourself,” the man talking suddenly grins, revealing rows of crooked, silver teeth. “He ain’t said nothin’ about a couple of bruises.” 

You give him your dirtiest glare, trying to pull away from the death grip the burly man called John had on you, but you feel your muscles slowly becoming heavier and your vision starting to blur. 

Ch-chloroform?

You make a muffled shout, a scurry that earns you a heavy hit on the stomach, one last futile move to free yourself, but the inevitable effect of the potent substance starts to overpower you. 

“After all, we need to make sure that the big bad boss of Onychinus actually comes for his bitch, don’t we?”

Rendered completely useless, the men start to make quick work to restrain your arms and legs in a hogtie before carrying you down the street, to a shaded corner where a large, gray van is parked.

The barn doors open, and you’re tossed in carelessly to the back, landing painfully on the cold, hard floor. An involuntary whimper escapes your lips, feeling like one big bruise; splotches of red and blue start to form like a violent watercolor on your skin. 

The engine revs. Before completely losing consciousness, you think you hear a faint caw.

The car drives off the beaten path, into the night, leaving not a trace of evidence of what transpired mere minutes ago aside from a discarded brown paper bag and a deflated bag of chips. 

-

-

-

From a distance, flying towards the hazy skyline, a mechanical bird crows a bad omen. 

_____

In the dead of the night, the head of Onychinus sits as a spectator; a towering presence at the head of a table inside a private room, obscured in plain sight, in an unremarkable establishment far east of Linkon City. 

Unassuming as it may be, the room’s occupants are men of great renown, both in influence and notoriety. The CEO of a chain business in Azure Square, a regional manager of a well-known bank in Linkon, the head of a weapons trade representing a faction in the N109 zone… All held significant power, all held ulterior motives.

A meeting of minds; the type held only in the secrecy of the night, gone in the break of dawn. 

Sylus has half the mind to listen in on the droning exchange of fake pleasantries and plastic smiles as the men deal trades in nature that of weapons and favors. A number of hungry, beady eyes cast him furtive glances, fearful yet devout. Some cautious in the hope of earning his approval. 

“–the package will be en route to the agreed-upon address by the end of the week,” a stout man in spectacles finishes off, clearing his throat. Beads of sweat start to form at the back of his neck as red eyes bore into his, assessing. Deliberating. “O-or if Richard’s able to give me the go-ahead in advance, I’ll make sure it arrives by Friday,” a gulp–then, “sir.” 

All in reverence. 

He hums, his switchblade dancing idly in his hand, deliberately stretching the tension that hangs heavy in the air. He delights in this power to unsettle, savoring the authority that his mere presence commands—a demand for absolute deference. 

“Make it half that time, will you, Raymond?” Sylus responds amicably, not as a question. The man, Raymond, sputters. 

“That won’t be pos–” Sylus tilts his head, eyes shifting into something more dangerous. “Please, I’ll try to cut the time shorter but there won’t be any assurances.” 

The pale-haired man sighs in acquiescence. “I guess that will have to do.” Raymond lets out an exhale of relief, but catches his breath as Sylus continues, “Any later than Wednesday, and I’ll come to claim it personally.” 

Raymond, more nerves than man, starts to blabber something in response–but stops when something black suddenly appears in a blaze of dark energy, near the shoulder of the intimidating man he’s trying to appeal to. 

Sylus raises a hand, and a large crow lands on his pointer finger. 

He caws, once. Twice. And shows a projection. 

The inhospitably cold room suddenly went glacial. 

All conversation halts to a stop as an overwhelmingly suffocating aura starts to emanate from the man–no, the being at the head of the table, making all that are in the vicinity freeze in fear. 

The devil posing as the leader of Onychinus abruptly stands up, and Raymond thinks, Oh I’m going to die here.

Without a word, the man disappears in a Stygian haze.

_

Five minutes later, only after they felt like death was no longer looming over their heads, did anyone dare to move a muscle.

_____

Your head hurts, and your mouth tastes of rust. 

Having been awake for longer than your captors were aware of – two (?) of which bickering near a barred slate of metal that you assume is the door after taking a quick peek from beneath the mess of hair concealing your face – you try to get your bearings together without arousing the suspicion of your present audience. 

“–bet it’s gonna take a while ‘fore that guy arrives. You think she’s enough to get him to show his face?” 

“Damned if I know. In any case, we got a pretty, li’l plaything on our hands,” a snort. “Make her worth the effort.” 

Where were you? From what it looks like, you’ve been transported into a nondescript underground bunker of sorts, dank with a hint of mildew and rot in the air; a rumbling air vent on your left masking any noise that escaped your mouth when you woke up. The area is poorly lit, save for the flickering bulb hanging precariously above your head as your main source of light – good for casting shadows to hide your bruised face, bad for the pounding headache you’re pretty sure is a concussion. And with your back seemingly close to a wall, you arrive at the conclusion that there are no other entryways, no way to leave, but the guarded door in front of you. 

In short, you have no idea where you are. 

Fuck–this is bad, you swear to yourself internally, trying to control the rising panic swelling up your chest. You never thought your nightcap would lead to this mess. Nobody knows about your current predicament, and it’ll take more than a day before your absence raises any alarms, so right now, you’re on your own. 

Think, think! What can you do?

What can you do? You have nothing on you, nothing you can use as a makeshift weapon to defend yourself with, and your hands are tightly bound behind your back by a thick, heavily twined rope with no give. The situation is slowly turning bleaker by the second, and it isn’t even your fault that you’re here in the first place! You were made a pawn, a mere bait in this messed-up dick-measuring contest between a crazy, sadistic, self-proclaimed head honcho and Onychinus’s own crazy, sadistic–

Wait a minute. Sylus. 

You send a strong prayer to anyone above that’s listening, and an angry telepathic shout for good measure to the one who’s unaware of his involvement – but nonetheless the source of your ruined night – in this attempt at kidnapping a perfectly law-abiding citizen of Linkon.

Sylus, as much as I hate your unfortunate tendency to stalk me through means that, honestly? Eludes the hell out of me, I really, REALLY hope that you’ve been keeping tabs toni–

“Hey, boss! I think this one’s awake!”

Fuck. No use pretending anymore. 

You hear heavy footsteps from outside the room before the corroded metal door swings open to reveal a large man, easily standing above six feet, sporting a neatly trimmed beard and an unsettling smile. His arms are covered in tattoos– overlapping, almost undecipherable. A gnarly scar runs from the side of his mouth to just above his brow bone; his right eye a cloudy gray, most likely a morbid souvenir from the sustained injury.

His functional eye zeroes in on your pitiful form, and his smile widens into a hostile grin. 

“Well, well. It seems like our esteemed guest is finally ready to join in the fun,” His voice sounds like gravel, with a mocking intonation. “I hope my men weren't too rough with you on the way here.” 

You let out a breath through your teeth, blinking a few times to try and rid the blurring in your vision. You have to bide your time– “Why am I here? What do you want from me?” 

The man cocks his head to the side, smile still in place. “I assume you already know. But I’ll indulge you your little questions, why not?”

He crosses the space separating the two of you with just a few, languid steps before he’s in front of you. He leans forward, brushing the messy locks of hair – dried with blood – away from your face in a deceptively calm manner. “The devil needs to pay his dues, but it’s been rather difficult to get a hold of him, you see,” he sighs in exaggerated disappointment. ”I intend to collect, so I waited patiently for the right moment, for an opening. For an opportunity. 

And here, the opportunity presents herself.” 

You sneer, moving your head back to let your hair fall from his creepy hold. “I’ve no clue what you’re talking about, mister, but I’m pretty sure you’ve got the wrong idea.”

He barks out a laugh before gripping your chin tightly between his fingers. “You’ve got a smart mouth on you. Maybe we can find a better use for it.” 

You feel it before you hear it. 

“Perhaps not.” 

Something vicious saturates the air, something intense and terrifying and wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and some sort of primordial response deep within your brain is telling you to get away from it.

But then, the paralyzing fear melts away to something akin to hope when you realize the source of this new disturbance.

Relief washes over you when familiar ink-and-red tendrils materialize behind the man in front of you. The dark wisps dissipate like smoke as soon as it comes and in place, your savior – sporting an expression that could only be described as downright murderous – stands before you, all six feet of unadulterated rage.

Several things happened so fast, it was almost simultaneous.

A cacophony of shouts came loudest from the two men who had been on guard duty but screams also echoed from outside the room. You saw flashes of red, twin laughter, and blood spurting from the necks of the now headless guards, and then a symphony of bullets and a lot of things breaking rang across the room. 

Suddenly– 

Deafening silence. As if something has put an abrupt stop to the noise. 

Amidst all the chaos, the scarred man in front of you had no time to make a move before savage whips of crackling energy engulfed him, leaving only his head free from the smothering darkness. 

His expression betrays something wild and manic as he tries twisting around to look at the figure behind him. “You–”

Sylus pays no mind to the breathing, dead fool – lower than dirt on his feet, with the nerve to harm what is most precious to him – as he keeps his gaze solely on you; his eyes darting up and down as if taking inventory of all the bruises and scrapes you sustained from the abduction. 

You meet his eyes. “You came.” 

An indecipherable look passes his face, gone as quickly as it came. “A little too late. I apologize.” 

You weakly huff out a chuckle, wanting to shake your head but decide against it lest it aggravates your concussion. A prickling sensation, then the rope around your wrists falls off with a quiet thud. 

“Luke. Kieran.” 

“Everything’s all accounted for, boss,” Kieran announces, suddenly appearing beside your right, along with Luke who’s on your left. Both look no worse for wear.

 The latter gives you a sympathetic look. “Oh, man. They got you good, little crow.” 

“Caught me off-guard, s’all,” you insist half-heartedly. 

A sigh. “Transport her directly back to base. Attend to her critical injuries once you arrive, and keep her awake. I’ll handle the rest once I get back,” Sylus instructs the twins in a tone that brooks no argument.

They nod in sync and start making a move to carry you out, but you protest.

“Wait, you’re staying behind?” For some reason, the thought of being separated from him, even for a short amount of time, makes you feel ill. Well, worse than your current state at least. 

Sanguine eyes soften when he hears the tremble in your voice. The offending man in front of you, reduced into something less threatening than a cowering dog in comparison to your rescuer, is forcibly pushed aside to make room for Sylus as he steps closer. 

He crouches low so that you’re looking down on him instead of up. One large hand covers both of yours, mindfully avoiding the fresh rope burns on your wrists, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the unmarred part of your skin. 

“This will be quick, sweetie. I’ll be back by your side before you know it,” he exhales, closing his eyes for a moment. “I swear to you.”

You swallow, but nodded reluctantly. “Come home soon.” 

“I will.”

With that, you let yourself be carried out of the claustrophobic space you were confined to, into a larger room littered with unmoving bodies that you're frankly too tired to care about at the moment, up three (rickety) flights of stairs where you exit into what looks like the inside of an empty shipping container, before finally, finally getting out. 

A gust of salty wind hits you and you ask, “Are we near the docks?” 

“Yeah,” Kieran answers, carefully putting you down on the backseat of Sylus’ car. “Mephisto trailed after the van they stuffed you in before reporting back to the boss. We followed soon after.” 

Luke frowns as he inserts the key in the ignition. “We weren’t aware that they had eyes on you for a while now. An oversight on our part, won’t happen again,” he assures you. “Gotta give them props for that, at least.” 

Kieran, now getting in the passenger side of the vehicle, shoots him a look. 

“Anyway, we’re glad we got to you before they did anything… worse,” Kieran continues, then winces in a show of mock sympathy. “Can’t say the same to that fucker back inside. Haven’t felt Sylus’ bloodlust this strong in a long while.” 

You try to focus on their words, but you feel yourself nodding off as the remaining adrenaline slowly leaves your body. You know you should feel more worried about what the two were insinuating, but your mouth still tastes like you swallowed a bunch of coins and you just want a soft bed to sleep in for an entire day. Or three. 

“Oi, no sleeping. Doctor’s orders,” A snapping finger in front of your face forces you awake. 

You blink your tired eyes open in an attempt to stay lucid, the pulsing pain in your head becoming more prominent as soon as the threat of danger has passed. 

“This is gonna be a long night,” you sigh, wishing that Sylus will keep his word and be quick about… whatever he’s planning to do with your abductor. 

–––––

There hasn’t been much left of the man who proclaims to be the new head of an arms syndicate Sylus had dealt with in the past. He recalls the history of his relationship with the cartel being less than cordial, but nothing that would warrant his ire. Except for tonight.

He usually doesn’t leave a trace when doling out punishments; no, not anymore. Not in recent years. He prefers to be efficient about his killings, dissipating any evidence in thin air after reducing them into fine paste, rather than make a big show out of it. Quick and precise.

Except today… Someone had the arrogance, the absolute audacity to steal directly from the dragon’s nest.

The contents of which have always been kept in strict confidentiality. What is known, only chosen individuals bound to secrecy are privy to, and a lot of people would kill for. 

But unbeknownst to anyone else but its owner, only one thing in this hoard of secrets truly matters to the dragon. One solitary treasure alone he would burn planets for – and someone has tried to steal it.

Harm. the treasure. To get to him. 

It seems as if the new bloods needed a reminder of who, exactly, they’re stealing from. 

One who dwells deep within the underbelly of the cities both monster and men inhabit, that even the most heinous of sinners seeking solace in the dark, are afraid of. 

And what retribution tastes like to those who are foolish enough to bite more than what they can chew.

The poor soul unfortunate enough to be the first one to discover the carnage will witness that what was left of the man that had wronged the Onychinus kingpin is stuck on the walls, the floor, and the ceiling of a basement where the treasure was held captive. They will find that the man’s innards are deliberately hung in a haphazard fashion, in all corners of the room like bloody, sinewy tinsel. 

And the centerpiece of this bloodbath is none other than the man’s decapitated head, forcibly attached to the hanging light in the middle of the room. A bulb crudely drilled past his cranium, while blood dripped down the floor in slow, ominous rivulets. 

They will understand in dawning horror that the one responsible for this... gross butchery, has left the head swinging. That the man’s mouth will forever remain agape in an eternal scream to immortalize the exact moment he realizes the gravity of his sin.   

Yes, Sylus is more than glad to remind them. 

_____

You arrive a quarter past four AM. 

Barely taking a step past the foyer, the twins immediately whisk you inside to perform an ‘emergency patch-up.’ Luke’s words, not yours.

“We’re your personal CNA while waiting for the head nurse to take over,” he explains cheerfully, wrapping another layer of gauze around your wrist. You hiss when Kieran dabs a cotton ball on the gash on your temple, peroxide fizzing as it comes in contact with the dried-up blood. Muttering out a “sorry!” Kieran does quick work in cleaning the injury and covering the affected area.

In no time at all, all visible wounds are bandaged and disinfected. The worst of your head wound had to be stitched up, but other than that, nothing seems to require immediate medical attention. There’s nothing left for you to do but to bear the aches that came along with the bruises – especially on your tender midriff – and to pop a tylenol for your throbbing headache.

You offer them a sincere, “Thanks. No, really.” before they leave you in Sylus’ room, after multiple reminders to “not sleep before the attending nurse arrives for the final diagnosis.” 

(You think they might have enjoyed playing caretaker a little too much.) 

With a lot more effort than you care to admit, you painstakingly remove your bloodstained clothes until you're down to your underwear, before draping yourself in a large, red, silk robe. A hot shower sounds heavenly to your sore muscles, but the soft mattress is calling to you more so you head straight to bed. 

With nothing else to occupy yourself with, you prop your head on a mountain of pillows – to keep yourself relatively upright – and let out a sigh. 

Tonight had been a shitshow. All you wanted was something to snack on while you binge through the last season of the show you were watching back at your apartment; you never thought a late-night run to the store just a few blocks away would result in… this. If not for Sylus’ intervention, you’re sure you'd be leaving with a lot more than a couple of scrapes. If not worse.

You're lost in your own thoughts when short, successive raps on the door catch your attention. It swings open before you have the chance to pipe out a, “come in!”

Speak of the devil.

Sylus enters the room, not a hair out of place. You notice that he’s changed into a casual, brown sweater and a pair of dark-washed jeans. His eyes meet yours, tightly-controlled expression relaxing as he crosses the room towards the side of your bed, wasting no time. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Still pretty sore, but Luke and Kieran already handled the worst of my injuries,” you answer, making a move to sit up. Sylus tuts disapprovingly, gentle as he puts a hand on your chest to prevent you from moving any further. He sits gingerly on the edge of the mattress, careful not to jostle you. Once fully settled, he let out a deep sigh.

“You had me worried for a moment there, kitten.” He admits, a slightly rough edge to his voice as emotion seeps into it. He regards you intently, like he’s trying to convince himself that you’re here, safe. 

Your hand reaches out towards his face. Without missing a beat, he leans in to nuzzle your palm, eyes closing shut. He reminds you of a big wolf, unbridled fire simmering beneath the surface, yet tame in the presence of his handler. 

“I’m fine now, thanks to you,” you assure him with a lopsided smile. “Give my thanks to Mephisto, as well. Tell him he gets a pass on the stalking this time.” 

Sylus opens his eyes, a hint of amusement and something else you can’t identify flickering through. “Oh, sweetie. You’ll be lucky if that bird gives you the privacy to bathe alone after tonight,” he jokes. 

He’s joking. Right?

You eye him for a moment before deciding to let it go. You're too tired to argue.

Instead, you cautiously ask a question you aren’t sure you even want the answer to. “What happened after we left?” 

Sylus expression doesn’t change except for the upward tick on the corner of his mouth; the same peculiar glint in his eyes coming across a little stronger. “They won’t be bothering you anymore. You don’t need to worry about anyone coming for you.”

“That’s not what I asked.” 

He hums. “Do you really want to know?”

You stare at him, and he stares back at you placidly. 

You purse your lips and look away. “Maybe not.” 

Sylus breathes out a laugh. He gently grasps your chin between his forefinger and thumb, guiding your head to meet his gaze once more. A softer look on his face, inching closer to yours.

Your heartbeat slightly picks up. In your vulnerable state, you feel a welling desire to bare your feelings to the man in front of you. You want to tell him how relieved you felt when you saw him in that cursed basement, how he was able to quell your fears with just his presence alone the moment he appeared in a familiar haze of black and red. Like your own, personal, vindictive guardian. 

Instead, you close the distance between the two of you, your lips meeting his. 

Sylus groans quietly, a hand cupping your face as he leans closer to deepen the kiss. Your eyes flutter shut, savoring the feeling of contentment from being this close to him. You feel, more than you see, how his taut body loses the remaining tension from the events that transpired just mere hours ago, how he finally relaxes as he loses himself in you.

Very carefully, he eases you further down, cradling your head with one hand until it rests on a pillow. His lips drift to the corner of your mouth, trailing soft kisses up to the apples of your cheeks, your forehead, then to your nose. 

He pulls back slightly, chuckling when you make a sound of discontent. When you open your eyes, you see him looking at you– half-lidded and tender. 

In a low voice, he instructs, “Rest. You need it.”

The feeling of exhaustion pulls you in, but before you surrender to it, you remind Sylus, “I’m not that fragile, you know. You don’t have to worry too much.” You poke his cheek and he catches the offending digit to bite it affectionately. “I’ll be up and running in no time.”

He doesn't speak for a minute, considering your words. His mouth sets into a thin line before letting out a sigh.

“And if you get hurt again? What then?" He whispers so quietly, seeming as if he's talking to himself.

"I'll get hurt again, that's for sure," You tell him, matter-of-factly. "But really, that’s just an occupational hazard. I’m sure you realize."

“Love — what a terrible, little thing,” he muses, half-forlornly, half in jest. "I’d rip this cold heart out and throw it in flames if I could.”

While speaking, his hand finds its way into the tangles of your hair, gently running his fingers through the strands in a lulling manner. His lips landing on the crown of your head softly. Reverently.

You hum sleepily.

“Of course you would, Sy.”

_____

“You’ll be glad to know that the artifact you had your eye on back at the auction will be arriving this Wednesday.” 

“Huh? But I thought it was already sold to someone else?”

Sylus shrugs. “I made a counteroffer.” 

“You didn’t have to. I told you it was fine.” 

“I know. But I also recall a certain someone telling me how much they wished they had placed a bid on it on our way back,” he pinches your cheek fondly. “Don’t worry about it, kitten. It’s yours.”

“Oh. Well– thank you,” you yawn in response, leaning your head to rest against his palm.

His thumb strokes your cheek. “Anything for you.”

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part sixteen —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn!!! enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

"I can't believe I woke up early for this."

You loosen your muscles, turning to dead weight in Ghost's arms, before using the awkward position to slip away. 

"No one said you had to be here," Ghost throws over his shoulder before his gaze fleets back to yours. "Good. Again."

Blue groans as you reposition yourself for the basic defense maneuver. You can see why she'd find this boring— Ghost started you off with a move so basic it was almost insulting when he explained it. But you quickly realized his reasoning. Each time you do it, your pulse tampers down less and less while in his arms. He's had to remind you a few times to "Breathe, Twix"— the order so quietly uttered into the shell of your ear that Blue likely didn't even notice. Perhaps you have grown used to taking orders from him, or maybe having Blue close by is helping, because you've been able to ward off the threat of panic so far.

"Fine, I'm out of here," Blue rolls her eyes the second you've finished the move again. "Let me know when you—" she jabs a finger at Ghost, "—decide to make things more interesting." As she leaps off the log she'd been perched upon, she adds: "Oh, and don't get too close, Ghost. She might bite."

"So I've heard."

Heat rises to your cheeks. And then— you're alone with him. You take a swig of water from the canister Blue lent you to ignore the awkward feeling in your chest. "Again?" You wipe your mouth. "Or have I passed your test?"

"Test?" he repeats, the gravel in his voice rolling over the word as his brow lifts in question.

"Well, I haven't... had a repeat of last time, and it's been an hour. I think I've proved that I'm ready for something a little more..."

"More what?" 

More interesting.

"Hand-to-hand, I guess. Something harder."

He rubs his jaw, as if to feign consideration. "Right, then. Let's try another one."

The next one he shows you is still simple, except you fail every other time. Basically, he gets behind you and you have to sidestep to avoid the trap of his arms. Somehow, Ghost's movements are light as a feather even though he's built like a rock. 

But then you get better at it. The next two days pass in much the same manner until you start to react a bit faster. He teaches you a few more basic tactics. How to wriggle your wrist out of someone's hold. How to avoid being grabbed from the front by rolling to the ground. All defense. After hours spent with him, he doesn't even have to remind you to breathe anymore. Chopping wood in the evenings helps, too. You go to bed exhausted and wake up ready to practice before Ghost even touches your shoulder.

On the third day, he gets you up even earlier. You cram your wool-covered toes into boots, confine your hair in a hasty bun, and follow him to the clearing that has become your makeshift training ground. It takes you a moment to register that some things are different: his boots have been replaced by sneakers, and his jeans by loose, black gym shorts. The exposed skin is strange, making your eyes widen. If Blue were awake, she'd certainly comment. 

His calves mirror the strength of the rest of him, and on the left leg, swirling ink catches your eye, reminiscent of the tattoos you discovered when tending to his wound. Skulls and a dagger; perhaps corny, but fitting for him.

"Have you tried it?" His voice cuts through your thoughts.

"Tried what?"

"The bow."

A white cloud forms around your mouth as you nod. "Needed some getting used to, like you said."

Yesterday you had a hard time shooting a chipmunk you wanted for lunch, so you spent the early afternoon firing arrows at oaks until the new bow started to feel like an extension of your limbs again.

"Let me know if I need to adjust the string."

"Will do," you say, almost mumbling.

When you reach the familiar circle of trees, you bounce once on your toes and crack your knuckles. Ghost retrieves something from his pocket. A roll of gauze. It is tossed at you without warning, and your hands fumble to grab it. 

"Wrap up," he commands. "Your hands will thank you for it."

You look up at him, brows raised, but begin covering your palms and knuckles. When you're done, you throw the roll back to him. Ghost stretches his arms above his head and splays his feet into a firm stance, jerking his chin at you in a go-ahead motion. Your brows furrow as you try to understand what the fuck he's doing.

"Go on. Get ready."

"Um. Ready for what?"

"A little hand-to-hand."

Your mouth falls open. "What?"

He shrugs. "That's what you wanted, right? I think you're ready for it."

"That's not what I meant," you almost laugh, shaking your head. "I didn't mean I want to— to fight you. I just meant we don't have to stick to the basics."

"We won't." There is the slightest trace of amusement in his voice, so faint you wonder if it's even there. "You have ten seconds to get ready, Twix."

"I don't even—" you sputter, eyes flying open. If you weren't awake before, you are now. He seems completely serious, his hands in fists and his shoulders squared.

"Five."

"Oh, fuck me," you exhale, balling up your bandaged hands. Did he get you up at this hour so there was no chance of Blue joining? He didn't want her to watch him finally annihilate you? You don't think he would seriously hurt you, not after everything, but that doesn't mean your heart doesn't begin to thump wildly when the seconds are up. Neither of you makes the first move; you are focused on keeping yourself distant, and he is circling you like a predator, flicking his eyes along the length of you. 

"What the fuck is that stance? I could just tap you and you'd fall over." His amusement has faded. "Is that how I showed you to stand when chopping wood?"

You shake your head, teeth gritted, and fix it, spreading your boots against the soil. 

"Better."

Then, he's lunging. You forget everything about your stance and prance to the side like a skittish deer. There is a moment of relief when you successfully dodge him, only for it to abruptly end when he darts around your back and hooks an arm around your neck. Your heart skips over a beat. Holy shit is he fast. 

"Be aware of your surroundings at all times," he chastises against the top of your hair. His hold is not aiming to fully restrain you, so when you claw your nails into his arm, it loosens and you slip away, staggering three strides before facing him with your fists up.

"What's the point of raising your fists if you're not going to hit me?" Ghost circles you again, and you have to shift your feet to keep up with him. "Come on, nurse. Where should you aim?"

"You're too tall." Your chest heaves. "I... I can't reach your face or neck without you blocking."

"Use the height difference to your advantage. Reach places that I can't."

You pause to think about it, studying him.

Ghost almost growls. "Stop hesitating. I could have killed you by now."

A mix of annoyance and determination makes you leap forward, jabbing your knuckles at the part of him where you know his liver would be. He captures you by the elbow before the blow can land, and sends you stumbling to the side, a few wisps of hair cascading over your face.

"Liver. Not bad. I might've let you have it if you moved quicker."

A hiss leaves your lips as you whirl around and punch directly into his core this time. He allows the hit, but your knuckles ram into solid muscle instead of the vulnerable stomach you hoped for, and you recoil with a wave of your hand, cussing under your breath.

"You hurt yourself more than you hurt me."

"Well, should I just kick you in the dick then?" you retort without thinking, flexing your fingers. Luckily, the gauze absorbed most of the damage. 

"That's always an option."

His tone is serious, to the point that you almost give it a try, but then he's closing in on you again, sending you back to the defensive. He doesn't hold back. You run in circles and duck frantically, earning a few hits to your ribs. He doesn't use enough force to send you down to the ground, but enough to knock the wind out of you. Rapid breaths fire through your lungs and beads of sweat percolate your hairline. Ghost, on the other hand, appears unaffected.

"Fight back," he says in a mild voice; almost bored.

You nearly throw your arms up. "I would if you'd give me a fucking chance."

"You said not to coddle you."

"I'm aware. That doesn't mean you have to—"

Your spine suddenly meets something hard. A tree. He's backed you into it without you even realizing. When Ghost takes another swipe, you dip your head down and then use his recovery time to grab onto a branch and hoist yourself up.

You're barely perched upon it when a hand grips your ankle and drags you back down, an audible gasp reverberating in your chest as you land flat on your back with Ghost on top. His hand quickly cradles the back of your skull before it can crack on a hard tree root, while his other hand captures both of your wrists.

"You good?" Although he is the one who has you effectively pinned, his tone seems sincere. He scans your face from your forehead to your parted lips. 

"Just... peachy." 

His brows furrow. "What was your plan once you got up there?"

Labored breathing splinters your voice. "I didn't have much of a plan, really."

He speaks flatly. "I can tell."

"You had me cornered," you point out.

"You should have been—"

"Aware of my surroundings," you finish for him, exhaling deep through your nose. "I know."

Your eyes shift around, from his covered face to where his chest just barely presses into yours. It's all so close. Uncomfortably close. You can feel the steady pace of his heart against your sternum, and make out the faintest flecks of green in his eyes.

An ounce of fear and something else you can't quite discern balls up in your stomach, making you swallow. You've been pinned like this before and nearly had your face eaten. Ghost simply stares at you, as if waiting for you to make a move, but when you tug on your wrists, his grip doesn't relent.

"Could you... could you maybe get off of me?"

He shifts some weight off you, if only by a little. "Relax and think," he murmurs. "What are your options here?" The curve of his lips tightens before he adds, "Besides biting my nose off. I'd like to keep that for now."

With a sigh, your eyes slide up to the awakening sky. Hues of violet and orange stare down at you. "Do I... do I even have any options? You must weigh like a ton." The words are past your lips before you can shut your mouth. 

"You always have options." 

"Doesn't mean any of them will be effective," you say.

His eyes darken, and the green disappears. "Why do you do that?" 

"Um... do what?"

"Doubt yourself. After all that you have survived." He sounds irritated. 

"As if you haven't doubted me?" You can't help it; you scoff. "You told her I wouldn't come back that time I went on my own. I mean, I'm still weak, remember? No amount of chopping wood will make me as strong as you or those men who almost killed us."

"It's not about strength," he replies.

"That's easy for you to say," you wiggle your wrists for emphasis. "You have nothing to be afraid of. You were cut out for this shit from the start."

"I have everything to be afraid of." His eyes narrow, but his voice softens. "And so were you."

"Me?" Your voice slightly elevates, and a lick of anger curls within you. "I should be in grad school right now, or maybe I would've quit nursing and gone into something useless and hate my life, but I was never meant to kill anyone, let alone fight them. I was meant to be young and stupid and make mistakes. Now, if I make a fucking mistake, it will cost me my life." Your nostrils flare as you huff, sending a piece of hair flying up into his face, and you writhe beneath him. "Get off of me, Ghost."

But he doesn't.

Beats of silence linger in the small gap between your bodies.

You should feel embarrassed for saying all those things, but instead, you think about what he said:

Don't hesitate.

The ball inside you is a fiery mix of emotions that you usually try your damn hardest to ignore and break and shove away.

But now you let it spread through your body like a sizzling tide, from the tips of your fingers down to your toes and... to your knee. Before you can change your mind, you slam it upward as hard as you can into the apex of his groin. 

"Fuck," Ghost mutters, the only sign of any pain aside from the brief moment that he closes his eyes.

His hold loosens only by a little, but it's enough for you to slip out from under him and find your way back to your feet, your chest rising and falling.

He clears his throat after a moment and rises.

"Good." The two of you share a stare-off for a few seconds before he shakes his head, saying again: "Good, Twix. More of that."

You rip your gaze away from him, cheeks hot, and say nothing as you snatch the canister and bring it to your lips, but the water does little to cool you down. 

You shiver in the bitterness of twilight, your fingers red and numb, wishing for a pair of gloves. The fireflies are coming out, dots of luminescence darting around you. You swing the axe down again, throat raw as you grunt, and then you add the broken logs to the growing stack. Sudden light footsteps announce the end of your alone time. 

"It's me," Blue greets kindly. 

You drop the axe, hands feeling stiff, and turn to face her with a breathless smile. "Hey. What are you doing out here?"

"Checking on you. Ghost went hard on you this morning, huh?" she says with a sigh. "I could hear you guys. You were a bit... loud. Made it hard to sleep."

"Not too hard. I'm… I'm good." 

If she is unconvinced, she doesn't comment on it. Rather, she hugs you. A warm one. You return the embrace before she pulls away.

"I also came because I wanted to invite you to a bonfire."

"Bonfire?"

"Well, with all your..." her eyes flicker to the pile of logs you've conjured over the past hour. "...special workouts, we have a lot of wood now. I told Ghost to make a big fire outside and we can cook dinner over it. It'll be fun, come on. Ghost is making tea, too."

Soon enough, your sore fingers are tingling, holding a warm, ceramic mug of tea. Ghost chucks another bundle of wood into the fire, spitting out smoke and embers, and sits on a tree stump while Blue takes the folding chair. Your hair is down, tucked behind your ears, and a patchwork quilt Blue grabbed from her room lays across your lap. The mug burns pleasantly against your lips when you take a sip, the herbal taste sliding down your throat. Whatever plants he used to make it work together perfectly. It reminds you of the tea your mom used to make when you were sick.

"Do you like it more well-done or is this okay?" Blue asks, meticulously spinning the skewered squirrel meat over the fire.

"That's good, thank you."

Ghost cooks their dinner, and the three of you eat and sip in a comforting silence. You avoid looking at him, opting for the starry sky above your head, where bold stars beam even brighter than the fireflies. It's quite nice. When you're done, you toss the bones into the fire and listen to them splinter.

Blue breaks the silence. "Would you rather be burned alive or be attacked by a bunch of squirrels with rabies?"

You take another sip of tea. "How many squirrels, exactly?"

She taps her chin. "One hundred."

"I think if it were fifty, I could handle them. One hundred, probably not. I'll choose being burned."

She makes a face. "That is a terrible death."

"Most deaths are terrible."

"Fair enough. Ghost?"

For the first time since this morning, you steal a glance. His elbows rest upon his splayed knees, and the orange flames reflect in his eyes as if they were twin black, mirrors. "I could handle the squirrels."

She snorts a laugh. "Even you can't survive rabies, though."

He shrugs. "Takes some time to kill you."

"Let's play a different game," you interject. "Maybe something a little less... morbid tonight."

"Like what?" Blue chimes. 

You shrug indifferently. "What other ones do you know?"

"Not that many. You tell us one, Twix."

"Well, I know one good one. You have to act something out and then we'll guess what it is. But you can't talk."

"Oh, that's easy."

"Try it, then," you nod at her.

She leaps up from the chair, nearly spilling her tea in the process. Without hesitation, she puts on a stoic expression and begins shooting finger guns. Quiet laughter shakes your shoulders.

"Are you, um... Ghost?" you guess, making her throw her arms up.

"How did you guess so quickly?"

"It was a bit obvious."

"Not to me," Ghost murmurs. "Terrible impression, kid."

Across the fire, you glance at him again, and his eyes meet yours, reminding you of the events that took place and the words that you spat. Emotions pulse against your ribs, like a swarm of flickering fireflies, but you fail to catch and examine any of them. 

A tug on your arm ends the shared look. Tea splatters around the rim of your mug as Blue ushers you up. "Your turn now."

"Alright, alright."

You decide not to feel humiliated with both pairs of eyes on you. They've both seen much stranger things than you act out a squirrel, which must be a good impression because Ghost guesses it right away.

A sudden crack of lightning in the distance puts an end to the game before Ghost can have a turn, which you suspect he is pleased about. He puts out the fire just before clouds roll in, blocking out the stars, and a drizzle of rain begins. Back inside, you kick off your boots and sink to the sofa as Blue says goodnight. Once she’s in her room, Ghost pauses in the threshold of the hall and speaks over his shoulder.

"Get some sleep. You'll need it for tomorrow, even if it's raining.”

[bbydeathclaw]

Petulance

pairing: silco x fem!reader (nsfw)

AO3

summary: Silco sends you away to try to get some work done and you decide to be a horrendous little shit about it.

tags: fluff, smut, established relationship, fingering, oral sex (f!receiving), good ol' mating press, teasing, bratty reader, simp silco

word count: 5.4k

adorably aesthetic mdni banner by @cafekitsune

a/n: hello! this is my first time writing in a looong while almost 10 years to be exact please don't look at me. but I had to get back into it with this shamelessly self indulgent fic of my favorite brooding king pin. I hope you enjoy!

Silco had thought it a bit odd at first, the ease with which you’d taken your leave from his office tonight. Ordinarily when he’d attempt to send you away in favor of getting his paperwork done in a more timely manner, you’d put up some form of sulky little protest.

An overemphasized pout coupled with a look of feigned sadness, eyebrows furrowed together when you’d offer to assist him with said work. Your reason being that it would ‘probably get done faster’ between the two of you. 

A lie, and a blatant one at that. You were, on all counts, absolutely shit at keeping your focus on any tasks he’d try to give you. You knew it. He most certainly knew it. Truly he’d wonder why you’d even bother offering at all if you just spent most of the time trying to distract him anyway. 

Still, he can’t say he isn’t amused by your actions. He finds these juvenile acts of yours terribly endearing for the most part, and even starts to look forward to them, knowing full well that he'll give in to just about anything if you’d simply ask it of him. 

Which is why he can’t help but feel somewhat disappointed when you don’t do any of this at all, and Silco starts to regret his idiotic suggestion entirely until you throw a cheeky smirk his way instead. 

“Alright, I think I’ll go bug Sevika for a bit.”

A single eyebrow quirk, followed by a low hum of approval. 

“I’m sure she’ll be positively thrilled by that,” he replies, suppressing a smirk of his own at the thought of his second in command being pestered by someone almost half her size. 

He’s still disheartened by your willingness to leave, but ultimately makes peace with it knowing that you’d more than likely return at some point. You give him a small wave with your fingers followed by a wink over your shoulder, and Silco doesn't hesitate to drag his gaze over your body shamelessly as it saunters out of his office.

About an hour passes, and the music coming from downstairs is just starting to pick up for the evening. You enter the room with a fluid sidestep, leaning back against the door once it closes behind you. His good brow raises slightly. “Back so soon?”

You don’t answer at first, instead making your way over to one of the tables in his office, like a cat quietly stalking about until something catches its interest. He watches you methodically as you settle for one of Jinx’s old trinkets that had been long discarded, carefully turning it over in your hand. “Sevika called me a menace.”

This time he makes no attempt to hide the subtle upturn from the corner of his lips. “I’m afraid I’m inclined to agree with her, my dear.”

“She seems pretty cranky tonight.” 

“Hm, surely through absolutely no fault of your own.”

You bite the inside of your cheek in what he can only assume is an attempt to stifle a giggle before turning to face him with an adorably giddy expression that makes his chest tighten. 

“Whatcha doin’?” 

So innocent, as if you were completely unaware of the effect you had on him. Silco doesn’t answer you verbally, merely bringing his forehead to rest against his hand and lifting the piece of paper he’s holding in the air with the other. The sullen face you make doesn’t go unnoticed by him as you turn to put the gadget back down with an airy sigh.

“Well,” you drag the word out. “I guess I’d better let you get back to it.”  

“Yes, that would be nice,” he says in turn, though it comes off more teasing rather than the displeasure he’s trying to convey. 

You study his face for another beat or two before you finally respond. “Okay, if that’s really what you want.” It’s not. Not even in the slightest. “I’ll go see if Thieram needs any help at the bar.”

“My love, Theiram is more than capable of handling his responsibilities as a bartender alone. It’s why I hired him, in fact.” He pauses. “Have you perhaps considered staying up here and behaving yourself, rather than looking for more ways to wreak havoc amongst my employees?” 

For a moment Silco thinks that he may be tipping his hand too soon, fearing that you’ve caught on to the fact that he’s basically been doing fuck all except sitting here and waiting for you to come back to his office. His suspicion only rises with the way you’re tilting your head and downright beaming at him with ill-disguised glee, like you’d been reading his every thought. 

“If I stayed up here it certainly wouldn’t be to behave myself.”

The paper he’s holding makes an audible crunch sound, his hand crumpling the edge of it faintly in response to your suggestive remark. 

Before he has the chance to reply with some snarky comment, you’re already heading towards the door, making a show of swaying your hips and giving him another view of the delicious swell of your backside before you take your leave again. His chair makes an audible groan as he leans back against it and lets out a lengthy sigh, running a hand through his hair and glancing down into his lap at the result of your seemingly endless torment.

Intolerable minx.

By the third time you make your way back up, only about half an hour has passed, and Silco’s all but given up on the prospects of getting any semblance of work done tonight. His thoughts being entirely permeated by you and the state you’d left him in. 

The Last Drop is in full swing now, and the liveliness of everything going on downstairs comes through the open door as you re-enter his office. However this time, he makes no effort to acknowledge your arrival, his chair now facing away from his desk, turned instead towards the large stained glass window that bathes him in a sickly, pale green light. All the noise from the club gets muffled when the door shuts once again, followed by the sound of purposeful footsteps making their way over to him.

“Welcome back,” he states flatly, trying to sound as disinterested as he can manage in his current predicament while he looks over his clipboard in a vain attempt at trying to salvage what was supposed to be a productive evening.

“Hello there, almighty Eye of Zaun,” you chime back with a playful lilt in your voice. “Did you miss me?”

Silco’s eyes tick upwards and stare blankly at the window straight ahead, actively suppressing the urge to let out another heavy sigh. You were going to be the death of him at this rate, there was absolutely no doubt in his mind. How you managed to be both so insufferable and still so unbelievably charming he’ll never quite understand. Before he has the chance to turn his chair with an already fixed scowl, he hears a faint thud behind him, the distinct sound of glass meeting wood only slightly muted by a soft shuffling of papers. 

A few seconds pass before Silco finally spins around to face you, seeing that a tumbler has been set down right on top of the paperwork he had been ruminating over all night. He’s also greeted by the sight of you already sitting in a chair directly in front of his desk, grinning from ear to ear. His heart swells at the sight and his scowl gradually melts away, only to be replaced by something more along the lines of skepticism when he takes in your expression fully. 

Your smile is accompanied by what appears to be a look of pure satisfaction, though he has no clue as to why. His non-discolored eye narrows at you, like a parent trying to figure out what misdeed their child has committed behind their back. 

Silco regards you warily for another moment, taking in every minute detail of your face in hopes of detecting something that might give you away while he reaches for the glass set in front of him. Ice clinks against the sides as he swirls it around before bringing it to his lips, taking a long sip followed by a hum of appreciation. His eyes shoot back up to meet yours, and finds you now biting your lip while trying, and failing, to suppress a huge grin. 

You’re definitely up to something, that much he’s certain of now, and the fact that he still can’t figure out what it is causes his previously feigned discontent to turn into more of a bubbling frustration, having just about enough of whatever game you’re playing. A fleeting thought crosses his mind as he glances down at the drink now dangling from his fingertips, then back up to you. 

Silco knows you’ve taken in the brief look of suspicion on his face when you let out a laugh that, despite the visible displeasure he's exuding towards you, is still one of the sweetest sounds he's ever heard.

“I didn’t poison you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” you quip, clearly amused at the implication.

“At this point I would be grateful if you did.”

You laugh again, but it comes out more like a short exhale through your nose along with a relaxed grin, taking a sip of your own beverage, and Silco’s good eye narrows at you once again. 

“Are you drunk?”

“What? No.”

Silence.

“Then what did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He practically glares at you for what feels like a considerable amount of time before it finally dawns on him that you haven’t left yet. 

“Did you need something darling? Or have you just come to find more ways to elicit whatever reaction you’ve been hoping for this evening?” Silco brings the tumbler to his mouth once more, letting it hover there momentarily in order to get the rest of his words out. “Because if the intended reaction was to see how far you can test my patience I can assure you-” 

Words die on his lips immediately when you make a move to stand, mismatched eyes shooting down to your waist to see what appears to be quite possibly the shortest skirt he’s ever seen you in, leaving so very little to the imagination.

He’s still holding the glass right up to his face while he watches you make your way around the only obstacle that separates the two of you before hopping onto one of the corners, your butt and thighs jiggling faintly when they make contact with the solid piece of furniture. “I just figured you could use a drink after such a long night of hard work. Is that so wrong?”

Silco tracks your movements with an almost predatory fixation, watching you lean back slightly to rest against your arms, crossing one leg over the other and he has to actively resist the urge to scoff. This thing is hardly covering anything, you’re essentially sitting there with your bare ass on his desk. The realization of that along with the sight of everything you’re showing has his cock hardening at an alarming rate.

You don’t seem to notice, or if you do you don’t say anything, eyebrows knitting together in a poorly disguised attempt at looking genuinely worried. “What’s wrong? You don’t look very happy to see me.” 

Silco sets the glass down onto his desk with a bit more force than intended, turning his chair to face all the way forward and bringing his mouth to rest against interlocked fingers. Any moment now he’s expecting you to hop right off that corner and make your way back downstairs, back to a place filled with depraved and perverted onlookers. 

Realistically he knows no harm would ever befall you while you were down in the Last Drop. All of his subordinates had been given clear instruction to keep a watchful eye on you at all times, and after a while a lot of them had started to do it less out of obligation and more so out of genuine care, especially Jinx and Sevika. 

Plus, he knows you can hold your own in a fight. Growing up in the undercity had hardened you just enough to make you a scrappy but formidable opponent. So logically speaking, Silco knows there's no safer place for you to be, but the thought of anyone other than himself seeing you in that, especially the less than respectable patrons that frequent his establishment nearly every night, makes his blood boil.

“Of course I'm happy to see you, my dear,” he retorts, turning his head to look over at you once more, eyes darting downwards to that indecent piece of fabric wrapped around your waist then back up to meet your gaze. “It's just that I'm seeing quite a lot of you at the moment, and if you go back downstairs, so will everyone else.” His last words come out strained as he shifts in his chair in a poor attempt to alleviate his growing erection.

“Oh, you mean my skirt? Is there…something wrong with it?” You lift your hips to take the tiniest of scoots towards him, and Silco’s eyes immediately hone in on the action. 

“Don’t be cheeky.”

Another scoot. “I’m afraid that can’t be helped, especially in this.”

At this point he wouldn’t be surprised if you really are trying to kill him, taking controlled and steady breaths while he attempts to suppress his growing ire in response to such a ridiculous question. Of course there’s something wrong with it. Silco’s sure he’d nearly be able to see the soft outline of your mound if you were to spread your legs, even in the slightest.

He lets out another deep breath before picking up his pen and casually scribbling his signature on one of the invoices strewn about in front of him. “You will not be going back down there like that.”

He’s not looking at you, but Silco can see the movements of you moving closer out of the corner of his unmarred eye.

“Are you..asking me to stay?” 

He doesn’t respond, instead electing to take another piece of paper to scrawl his name at the bottom offhandedly. He knows what you’re playing at, the fact that it took him so long to realize it irks him to no end. He wouldn’t mind answering honestly and just telling you that yes, he does want you to stay, but the thought of giving into your bratty little antics this evening doesn’t sit quite right with him. 

Which is why he makes the conscious decision to ignore you as you move close enough to where your upper leg is now narrowly brushing his elbow, the shift causing him to mess up the tail end of another signature. Silco chances a glance towards the movement and regrets it almost immediately when he takes in the soft curve of your thigh, his cock twitching painfully at the sight.

He makes his second mistake when he follows the tantalizing trail of your body upwards and is met with the most unabashed, shit eating grin plastered across your face. He has to force himself to look away, the hand not holding his pen coming up to drag his long fingers back and forth across his mouth as he contemplates the idea of sending you away all together, leaving you pouty and disappointed. And for a moment he comes close to doing just that, until he makes the grave error of risking a glance up at your face again.

You’re not smiling anymore, expression replaced by something far more lustful and serious. Silco simply stares as your tongue slides out to pull your bottom lip in between your teeth before gently nudging his elbow with your knee. He doesn’t hesitate in dropping his arm to offer you the space in front of him, and you slide over gracefully. He stays perfectly still while you plant a foot atop each of the armrests of his ornate chair, knees pressed tightly together.

He finally responds to your earlier question with one of his own. 

“What would possibly give you that idea?” His voice is light and teasing, all traces of anger gone. “You’ve been nothing short of a nightmare all evening, love. And now this?” Fingertips come up to stroke the side of your calf, humming appreciatively.  “What am I going to do with you?”

This earns Silco a wide, toothy grin as you scoot forward. “Whatever do you mean? I’m just sitting here.”

“Don't be coy with me, sweetheart.” He leans forward, breath fanning over your knees as he speaks. “Be a good girl and tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” knees parting just barely, “to answer my question.”

Silco pushes his tongue against his cheek in minor annoyance before sliding both hands up your legs and over your knees, then back down until he reaches your hips. He grips firmly at the supple flesh and yanks you closer towards him, eliciting a sharp squeak followed by a string of giggles.

“I think you might be the most aggravating creature I’ve ever had the displeasure of courting.”

Your face adorns a look of mock appreciation. “Awe, thank you!”

Slender hands travel back up to your knees. “Truly just a tantalizing little menace.” He waits for you to part them further, granting him the access he’s so desperately craving. “One that I’m both drawn to and irritated by all at once.”

Your smile is nothing short of haughty, as if you’re truly taking everything he’s telling you as a compliment. “Well now you’ve really got me hot and bothered,” you shoot back, knees moving further away from each other until you’re spread all the way open for him.

Although spoken in a sarcastic tone, Silco sees that your words are in fact true, his eyes taking in the sight of your already dripping cunt.

“Indulge me, sweetheart,” he says, one hand coming up to trace the backs of your thighs with his knuckles, causing goosebumps to decorate your soft skin. “Why the need to be so difficult tonight?” 

You shiver at the touch, bottom lip still tucked between your teeth as he brings a thumb up to stroke lazily over your pussy. 

“J-just for fun,” you retort, but your voice doesn’t hold the same conviction. “Wanted to see..how long it would take.”

“How long what would take?”

The laugh you let out is shaky at best, but there’s still a bit of confidence left when you answer. “For you to ask me to stay.”

It only takes about half a second before Silco’s thumb pushes into your core and his tongue cards a long, hot stripe along your folds. The noise you make spurring him on further as his mouth envelopes your clit, giving it a harsh suck before pulling away with a satisfying wet plop sound.

“I don’t recall asking anything of the sort,” he chides, sliding his thumb back out. “If memory serves me correctly, you came into my office several times practically demanding my attention.”

Silco punctuates his last few words by pushing two fingers into you, pulling another sharp inhale from your lips as he turns his palm to face upward and curls them inside of you.

“Has it ever occurred to you,” he starts, bringing his thumb to circle against your now swollen clit, drawing a long whine out of you as you work your hips against him. “..that perhaps I attempt to send you away in order to finish with my tasks quickly, just so I can get back to doting on you with said attention? Selfish little creature.”

Your eyebrows pinch together, speaking between shallow breaths. “You.. could have just.. said that.. you know.”

Silco smirks, watching you look back at him with a pair of pleading eyes. “And deny myself the pleasure of seeing your lovely pouts and open displays of petulance?” He adds a third finger. “I think not.” 

“Silco,” you whine, “please.”

His cock twitches in response, and he doesn’t waste any time bringing his mouth back down to your bud and swirling his tongue around it lavishly while his fingers twist and turn inside of you. He watches you throw your head back, one of your hands snaking upwards to grip the edge of the desk above your head, the other coming to latch onto the top of his head hard as you roll your hips against him. 

“There, that’s it,” he coos, “show me how eager you are. Use me.” 

This draws another string of small gasps and moans from you, coupled with lewd, wet, slurping sounds as Silco continues to lap and suck at your clit, bringing his free hand to grip your thigh and anchor you to him. The strain in his pants grows increasingly more painful when you sigh his name affectionately, followed by a noise of protest when he removes his fingers from you all together in an effort to tug at intricate buttons of his trousers, freeing his aching cock and palming himself to the sight of your ruined state. 

Your arousal coating his fingers serves as a welcome lubricant for him to stroke himself languidly, relishing in the feeling of you bucking up into him, using him to chase your own end. His licks are hot and thorough, leaving no part of your heat untouched.

“Yes,” Silco groans into you, “just like that.”  

Your other hand comes down to unbutton your top, cupping and squeezing at one of your breasts, and he knows you’re close by the way you’re begging and pleading above him. The sound of your voice feeds into his determination, letting go of his cock in order to wrap both arms around your thighs, securing you in place and devouring you like a starved man.

The way you cry out his name while your walls flutter around his tongue has him reeling, mismatched eyes boring into you, watching your orgasm in complete reverence as your fluids run down his chin.

“Good girl,” Silco sighs, his movements slowing down to let you ride out your climax. “You always make such sweet sounds for me.” 

Your legs tremble and the vicelike grasp you have on his hair loosens before you slump back down onto his desk, words barely managing to come through your short and labored breaths.

“Could've been making them a lot earlier if you’d…stop trying to kick me out.”

A hint of a smile creeps up on his face as he presses small, feather light kisses up the backs of your thighs, leaving glistening spots of your slick behind in their wake. “You know, it is possible to keep your unsolicited remarks to yourself every once in a while.”

Yours breaks into a devious grin that tugs at his heart without mercy. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?” 

“Mmm, point taken.” 

Silco stands to turn your body so that you’re taking up the full length of his desk before climbing up onto it and bracing himself with a hand on either side of your head. His length bobs thick and heavy with need, bringing it to rest against your slit.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

You roll your hips against him needily, coating his cock with your arousal. “Maybe.”

“You drive me absolutely mad,” he growls, voice dripping with carnal hunger as he pushes your legs up against your chest once again, lining himself up with your entrance. And it’s the way you're looking up at him with your lip tucked in between your teeth in anticipation, the slight inward curl of your eyebrows in an almost pleading expression that has him pushing into you in one, smooth buck forward, making you gasp as he bottoms out inside of you.

Silco sees your eyes roll back, and he has to physically stop himself from doing the same. He wants to see it all, wants to see your blissed out expression while he fucks you, wants to see all the different ways he can make you come undone beneath him.

You make a pitiful attempt at stifling a moan, one that ultimately fails when Silco starts to rock his hips against yours, pulling them back slowly and savoring the feeling of his cock dragging along your walls before driving them forward with a sharp, pointed thrust. But he’s right there with you, exhaling a throaty groan at the feeling of your walls engulfing him so deliciously, the sensation being nothing short of divine.

“Look at you, taking me so well,” he whispers, lowering his head and tilting it to place gentle kisses along your jawline before nipping at your earlobe. “Like we were made for each other.”

The breathy whine this elicits causes him to straighten himself upright again, picking up his pace steadily, and soon the room is filled with the obscene, wet smacking of skin against skin as Silco begins to pump into you with feral-like need. He readjusts your legs so that your calves are hooked over his shoulders, letting him fuck you so much deeper. 

You’re a mess of broken pleas beneath him, and he clings to every single one, a symphony meant solely for him and him alone. Silco watches you with wholly, unabashed devotion as your face twists and contorts in pleasure, pleasure that only he can bring you. And though he wants to feel like he’s still in control, he knows deep down he’s equally ruined by what you do to him, maybe even more so. His seafoam eye glazes over, and strands of hair fall loosely around his face as he ruts into you. 

You reach up and try to put your arms around his neck, but the position your legs are in only allow you to claw at his shoulders helplessly. “S-silco, please..”

“Oh? I see someone’s finally learned some manners,” he taunts.

The huff of annoyance you let out amuses him more than he’d care to admit, “For fuck’s sake, Sil. Let me hold you.”

“Demanding thing,” he scolds, but gives into your ‘request’ regardless, lowering your legs just enough so that your knees fall to the side and hook over his forearms, letting you wrap your arms around his neck with open urgency. And now you’re pulling him down and holding him there, like the waters he'd nearly drowned in.

Silco’s jaw goes slack as he turns his head and pants in your ear like some wild beast, whose sole purpose is to bring you to your end. Like it was all he was ever made for. Your head turns to meet his lips with your own, and he tries to keep some semblance of restraint while he kisses you, but he can’t, not with you. It’s hungry and sloppy, full of exceeding desperation. 

He breaks the kiss reluctantly to make his way down to your neck, lips and tongue moving against the delicate flesh and littering your throat with marks of all kinds, leaving no room for anyone to question who you belong to. “Mine,” Silco snarls possessively in between sucks and bites.

He's about to pull away when one of your hands slides up to the nape of his neck, tangling your fingers in his hair and locking him in place, begging for more, more, more, and Silco’s more than happy to oblige. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger so tightly, and this realization both excites and ruins him as he begins to ram everything he has into you with new purpose.

“Oh fuck, Silco. Right there,” you cry out, voice becoming raspy and hoarse from your continuous gasps in between moans. 

"Yes, that's it. Show me how much you want this, how much you need this," he huffs out through gritted teeth, trying to establish some form of dominance once again, but it's no use when he realizes his words are just as applicable to him as they are to you.

He forgoes his hold on your legs, letting them fall to your sides briefly before wrapping them around his waist. Your eyes flutter shut and your head starts to loll to the side, but Silco grabs your jaw quickly and forces you to look directly at him.

“None of that, darling. I want you to look at me when you come undone,”  His breath comes out ragged and primal. “You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”

You nod frantically in response, eyes drifting downward to stare at his mouth, like a silent plea. He takes the hint without delay, squishing your cheeks together until your lips form a small pout before leaning down to kiss you fervently. His tongue swirls around yours, hot and wanting, before he pulls away just enough for him to pant into your open mouth, his connecting to yours by the thinnest string of saliva. 

Silco can sense your second orgasm approaching rapidly, and he brings his fingers towards your lips. You take the hint right away, wrapping them around his digits and sucking on them lavishly. Once he’s satisfied enough, he removes them and snakes his hand down through your intertwined bodies, settling for the bundle of nerves located between your legs.

Your moans increase in pitch, arms and legs squeezing even tighter around him as he works you with skilled flicks of his wrist.

“You’ve endured this so well, my love,” he whispers against your ear, voice laced with unrestrained hedonism and resolve. “Let’s reward all that effort of yours tonight, shall we?”

His question is rhetorical, but you nod so eagerly for him nonetheless as your walls begin to pulsate, clenching so unbelievably tight around him you’re practically pushing his cock out, nearly sending him over the edge himself.  

“That’s my girl,” he sighs with heavy grit and worship. “You feel incredible.”  

Silco’s face comes back up to hover over yours, looking directly into your eyes while he fucks you through your climax, his own looming closer and closer. He leans down to kiss you, swallowing your labored breaths greedily as his thrusts begin to stagger before coming to a complete halt, his pelvis flush against yours as his cock twitches obscenely within your heat. He lets out a harsh, guttural moan right into your mouth as he spills into you, your walls continuing to milk him with stuttered squeezes, and he has to pull away sharply to exhale a series of delirious gasps. 

Your chests heave against one another, waves of pleasure slowly dissipating as your sweat soaked bodies stay interlocked. Silco shifts slightly, bringing his hands to stroke the top of your head lazily with his fingertips. His forehead comes to rest against yours as he places soft, tender kisses along your cheeks, your eyes, your lips, anything within reach.

He’s rewarded with a giggle, followed by a dopey little grin.

“You know,” you say as your breaths finally return to normal. “I just remembered the other reason you try to send me away while you work.”

Silco already knows the answer, but you punctuate your words anyway by wiggling your ass, causing the sound of his paperwork shuffling beneath you, followed by a light yelp as he smacks your bottom lightly. 

“Impossible little wench,” he chastises, lifting himself off of you and being greeted once again by the sight of the thing you keep referring to as a ‘skirt’. He grabs the edge of it with his fingertips, holding it up like it was a cursed object. “Where in Janna’s name did you even get this from?”

You bark out a laugh before propping yourself up hastily to look down at it with pride. “Ran let me borrow it.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Borrow it,” he repeats, “as in you have every intention of giving it back to them?”

You stare at him for a moment, no doubt mulling over your answer.

“...No?”

Silco smirks at your response before leaning in. “Good girl. Besides, I think we may find many more uses for it still.”

Your eyes widen with child-like wonder, but for the entirely wrong reason. “Oh, so you’ll wear it for me, too?”

He stares back at you blankly, blinking several times before rolling his eyes almost theatrically, earning him another small fit of laughter as he finally graces you with a response.

“Whatever pleases you, I suppose.” 

[starcrossed-lov3rz]

Me and the Devil - Part 2

Logan x Popstar!OC/Reader

Series: Series Masterlist

Warnings: MDNI, mentions of death threats

Tags: Logan, Wolverine, X-Men, Popstar!OC (or Reader with a Name!), Bodyguard!Logan, fake dating, they hate each other at first, romcom, sexual tension, (smut in future chapters)

Words: 1.2K

Description: Lyssa is an upcoming popstar with a cult-like following. After her mutant sister is murdered, Lyssa uses her fame to advocate for mutant rights. Even with her fans’ support, Lyssa finds herself the target for hate. After receiving numerous death threats, she reaches out to Charles Xavier to ask for assistance. 

Logan has been around the block a time or two. He’s certainly paid his dues at this point. Now Charles is putting him on babysitting duty?! Logan could be out there doing real work instead of following some spoiled pop princess around day and night. It’s not her fault, she actually seems nice. She needs to toughen up if she’s going to survive. 

Chapter Song: Brooklyn Baby

Check out more works in my Masterlist!

“Your room is across from mine,” Lyssa said, tossing Logan his hotel room key. “We leave for Chicago bright and early.”

Logan caught the key deftly, sliding it into his pocket. “If anything happens, or you hear anything out of the ordinary-“

“I know the drill,” Lyssa rolled her eyes, “I call you.” She walked off, hitting the call button for the elevator.

“You forgetting something, bub?” Logan passed her his phone, “put your number in there.”

Lyssa groaned, “would it kill you to say please every once in a while?” 

A growl of annoyance was the only response she got. Lyssa entered her phone number before snapping a picture of herself flipping off the camera.

“The hell is that for?”

Lyssa tossed the phone to him, hopping on the elevator. “Profile pic, gotta make sure you know exactly who is putting that radiant smile on your face everyday.”

“Wonderful,” Logan said sarcastically, following her on the elevator.

“Hey, hold that elevator please!” 

Lyssa and Logan looked up to see a man running towards the elevator. Out of instinct, Lyssa put her hand out to stop the doors from closing. Lyssa stepped back to let him in while Logan sized the man up. He was tall, just a little shorter than Logan and stocky build. 

“Hey thanks sweetheart, I was worried I wouldn’t make it,” the man said. 

Logan’s attention moved to Lyssa, taking in the way her polite smile dropped as she scrunched her nose at the pet name. She didn’t know this man, and she was definitely irritated. “Don’t mention it,” Lyssa said flatly. 

“Wow, no need to be rude baby,” the man purred, moving closer to Lyssa. The stench of liquor rolled off of him, and Lyssa flinched back. 

“Back off,” Logan growled in warning. 

The man rolled his eyes, moving to grab Lyssa’s arm, “I think the lady can speak for herself, can’t she?”

Lyssa froze, eyes darting towards Logan in a silent plea. In an instant, Logan planted himself between Lyssa and the man. “I won’t say it again. Back. Off.”

“Come on baby, you’re not gonna apologize for being so rude to me?” The man didn’t back off, trying to sidestep Logan to get to Lyssa. She hid behind Logan, grasping the back of his jacket. “Women, am I right?” he sneered. “Are you her boyfriend or something? Maybe you should keep your bitch in line.”

Logan sighed, turning to look down at Lyssa. “The easy way or the hard way, bub?” 

Lyssa’s eyes darted up and she shook her head. Logan wanted nothing more than to beat the shit out of the man in the elevator, but if Lyssa didn’t want to escalate then he wouldn’t. 

“Here’s how this is going to work,” Logan growled, hitting a call button for the next floor. “Once this elevator stops, you’re going to get off and take the next elevator to wherever the fuck you crawled out of.”

The elevator stopped with a ding as the doors opened. “Or what?”

Logan’s hand shot out to stop the doors from closing. “Get. Off. Now.”

The man’s eyes narrowed and his fist shot out, hitting Logan square in the nose. Lyssa screamed at the punch. Blood ran down Logan’s face. Logan shrugged his shoulders back, cocking his head back and forth as his body reset and reknit the broken nose. He hit the emergency stop on the elevator, shrugging off his jacket to wrap it around Lyssa. 

“What do you think you’re doin-” the man watched in horror as Logan healed in front of his eyes.

“The hard way.” Logan said as he hit the man with a right hook. He grabbed the man’s shirt collar, throwing him up against the side of the elevator and hoisting him up, feet dangling. Logan pulled an arm back, and the man flinched, throwing his hands up to protect himself. A light touch on Logan’s arm stopped him. He looked over to see Lyssa shaking her head. 

“Just let him go,” she said, “I think he’s got the point.”

Logan growled, extending his claws out. They stopped just before reaching the man’s face. “It’s your lucky day.”

“I-”

“Now get the fuck out.” Logan threw the man out of the elevator before closing the doors and hitting the floor button. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Lyssa muttered. “Next time, you don’t have to get physical.”

Logan snorted, the noise turning into a full belly laugh. “Don’t have to get physical? Princess, I’m your bodyguard. My entire job is getting physical.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“As long as you’re safe, I can live with that.” 

Lyssa and Logan walked to the end of the hall in silence, stopping at their rooms. Lyssa keyed in, and Logan brushed past her. “What the fuck?” she hissed, “are you gonna tuck me in or something?! Get the fuck out.”

Logan stalked around the room, checking for intruders. “I’m trying to make sure your room is safe. I don’t do well in hotels, too many smells to pinpoint.” He flipped lampshades upside down, looking for cameras. Satisfied there was nothing out of the ordinary, Logan checked the window locks.

“Smell?! Are you a bloodhound or something?!” Lyssa hissed. 

“Something like that,” Logan snorted. 

“Wait, what do I smell like? Please say I don’t stink,” Lyssa sniffed at her arms. “I really don’t think my self esteem could handle if I smelled bad and my new bodyguard was too nice to say any-”

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot?” Logan slid the curtains shut, content that the room was all clear.

Lyssa groaned, “that really doesn’t answer my question.”

Logan huffed a laugh. “You should be good tonight. I’ll be over in the morning.” He pulled his phone from his pocket. “If you don’t check in by 5:30 AM, I will be over to make sure you’re okay.”

“5:30 is ridiculous, I’m not doing that.” 

“Fine, 5:45.”

Lyssa hummed, “still not good, but I get the feeling it’s the best I’ll be getting.”

“Now did you actually want me to tuck you in? Cause if not I’m going to need you to quit blocking the door.” Logan said, moving towards the door.

“You ruined a good moment, Lo,” Lyssa snorted. “It almost seemed like we were getting along.” She sidestepped around Logan, letting him past her and out into the hall.

Logan snorted, “sure thing, princess.” He keyed into his room, and turned to face Lyssa before going in. 

“Night Logan.”

“Night, princess,” he said. “Oh and, maybe wear a little less perfume. You don’t need it, you smell fine.”

Lyssa face heated and she slammed her door shut. Logan chuckled as he heard the two deadbolts click shut. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

NOTE: Chapter 2? This fast? Yeah, half of this was written in speech to text (then fixed in post). If you're here from my other fic, The Vow Spoken Through Time.....Chapter 12 in two days!!!!!! Might have a little fun and make a playlist for this fic, we will see!! ~ Lacie <3

Taglist:  @100percentlazybonez , @nerrivm , @mooniesthings , @kmatrixx1130 , @dragonpunsart

Want to be added to a taglist? Click HERE!

[anonymousbeefriendfanfics]

Hiii hello there lovely human! Saw your spring prompts and i need to make 2 requests. Tighnari/Reader with a few prompts, basically a day in nature (let's imagine Teyvat has seasons like winter and spring bc we've never actually seen them lol). Prompts: 3, 10 and 18 + 24 after night falls. 1/2

Thank you thank you thank you, this was so much fun to write! I love Tighnari so much, he's everything to me <3 Now I want to write more about Tighnari and the seasons, hehe~

This is actually my first ever drabble, too!

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Character/Pairing: Tighnari x Reader

Warnings: Very fluffy, just like his tail!

Prompts: Spring Prompts; Nature Walk, Kisses, Animals, and Chilly!

"Nari, look!" you hiss, one hand catching his wrist while the other stretches out, pointing. His ears perk up as he follows your gesture, his gaze softening when he spots what's caught your attention. An avidya leopard is stretched out on a rock, warming herself in the sunlight, while two half-grown kittens play nearby. As you stand silently and listen, quiet little mews and growls reach your ears as they tussle together. One kitten baps the other on the head with a paw too big for its little legs, and the other kitten hisses indignantly, trying - and failing - to bite the retreating paw.

"They remind me of Kaveh and Alhaitham," Tighnari murmurs, and you stifle a laugh, nodding in agreement. The slightly smaller second kitten launches at its sibling, who easily sidesteps the attack, looking rather pleased with itself for dodging.

You watch on together as the kittens play until they tire themselves out and flop down near their mama for a nap. She affectionately licks the nearest kitten on top of the head, and you're surprised when Tighnari copies her, leaning over and kissing your cheek. He gives you a soft smile when you look at him, a playful look in his eyes. "What? Would you prefer that I licked you?" You give his shoulder a small shove, and he stifles a laugh, both of you careful not to disturb the little family.

"C'mon," he says at last, his gloved hand finding yours. "We should keep moving. It'll be dark soon, and we've gotta get home."

You don't make it home before the sun sets as you'd planned when you set out on the nature walk this afternoon, a fact that is made very clear as the warmth from the sinking sun retreats. It's quickly becoming chilly, and you shiver slightly, wishing you'd brought a jacket.

"Are you cold?" Tighnari asks, attentive as always. You nod, knowing better than to try and hide anything from him - he knows you too well.

"Come here, I'll warm you up," he says, dropping your hand and opening your arms. You gratefully step into his embrace, sighing happily as his arms close around your back, his fluffy tail curling around your legs. He's delightfully warm, and he smells incredible as you nuzzle into his neck. He always smells good, a combination of his natural scent and the various plant-based products he uses. It has a naturally calming effect on you.

Once you're warmer, you pull back slightly, ready to continue on, but Tighnari doesn't let you go yet. One hand cups your cheek as he leans closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Thank you for taking this walk with me. You mean so much to me," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat; that's practically a love confession. Before you can respond, his soft lips press against yours, capturing your mouth in a gentle, yet passionate kiss, showing you just how much he truly cares for you.

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[leviackermanscleaningbuddy]

SKZ DRABBLE-OT8

What happens when Jeongin-resident juvenile and the baby-is no longer the youngest puppy in the pack household? Even if it's just for a night?

Tags: SKZ, Stray Kids, Stay, OT8, SKZ!pack, SKZ!abo, Poly!SKZ, omegaverse, ot8 x you, ot8 x reader, skz x you, skz x reader, bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, hwang hyunjin, lee felix, han jisung, kim seungmin, yang jeongin, y/n, skz fluff, fluff, guest appearances from Jinyoung and Jackson

Genre: Nothing but Pure Tooth-Rotting Fluff

Title: Puppy Love

“And we’re sure we can handle a whole evening with this kid?”

Chan sighs good naturedly and rolls his eyes, folding up the multiple blankets left on the living room couch by the omegas’ movie date the night before. 

“Yes.” He reiterates, as he arches a brow and gives the other alpha a reassuring, slightly exasperated smile. “We’ll be fine.” 

Changbin lifts his own brow in response and stares him down seriously. “I admire the confidence, hyung, I really do, but this is Wang Gae Park Gae’s gang-aji we’re talking about here.” 

Chan chuckles beneath his breath and shakes his head, tossing the last folded blanket into the basket beside the TV. 

“We’ll be fine.” 

Jeongin enters the room, you hot on his heels-both of you carrying baskets overflowing with various childrens’ toys and activities-and catches the tail end of the alphas’ conversation. 

“Yeah, hyung, we’ll be fine!” He hefts his basket onto the couch beside an unimpressed Changbin with a strained grunt and wipes his hands together, grinning confidently, gaze scanning the basket’s contents triumphantly. “I borrowed a bunch of shit from the education department for the weekend. We’ve got everything a kid could ever want!” 

Jisung appears seemingly out of nowhere to whack the youngest omega on the shoulder sharply. 

“Hey! You can’t say shit in front of a kid!” 

“Ow shit! The kid’s not even here yet, hyung!” 

Another hard smack. 

“Doesn’t matter. Start practicing now.” 

You set your own basket of toys down beside Jeongin’s as the two continue to argue, and stretch your back, giving Chan a smile before you turn to Changbin with a knowing look. 

“Everything’s gonna be fine, Binnie. We’re gonna be great babysitters.” 

“If you say so.” Changbin mutters beneath his breath, pushing himself off the couch and disappearing into the kitchen without another word. 

There is a knock at the front door, and Jisung and Jeongin trample over each other to try and be the first to reach it, yelling and pulling and tripping. 

You and Chan follow behind with open exasperation. 

“Aha!” Jisung reaches the door first, fingers curling around the knob, and flipping off a clearly annoyed Jeongin, wrenches open the door to reveal three figures standing on the doorstep. 

“Yah, Jisungie!” Jackson leaps over the threshold with a huge grin and immediately puts the surprised beta into a headlock, ruffling his hair roughly as Jisung protests and struggles. “Have you gotten taller since I last saw you? You have, don’t deny it.” 

Chan sidesteps the scuffling trio and greets Jinyoung as he steps through the door now as well, a tiny pink backpack held in his hands, and a set of tiny hands wrapped around his leg. 

“Hyung. Good to see you.” 

Jinyoung smiles, his eyes crinkling, and hugs Chan briefly. “You too, Channie. You look well.” He glances behind the alpha to where his husband and Jisung are still locked in battle, his expression growing exasperated. “Sorry about him. No manners.” 

“It’s all right.” You step up beside Chan now, curling an arm around Jeongin’s neck and dragging him with you, giving Jinyoung a large grin. “We’re well aware he’s never been housetrained.” 

Jinyoung chuckles heartily at that, and Jackson yelps from the background in protest, “Hey!” 

Chan, meanwhile, has crouched down to be at eye level with the little girl cautiously peeking out from behind her father’s leg, watching the chaos silently with big, dark eyes. 

“Hey MeiMei.” He smiles softly at the little girl, and she studies him curiously. “Remember me?” 

Jinyoung drops the child’s backpack to the side and crouches down now as well, pulling MeiMei out from behind him and settling her carefully in front of him so she can come face to face with Chan from the protection of his arms. 

“Remember Channie-samchon, MeiMei? You’ve visited him before. He took you to the park while daddy and l were at the doctor.” 

MeiMei continues to stare at Chan with large eyes, and then she nods and a slight smile breaks through her serious expression, curving her tiny pink lips. 

Chan risks scooting a little closer and holding out his hand toward the little girl. 

“We got ice cream and went on the swings, remember? And now you’re gonna play at my house for a little bit while your daddies go on a date. That sounds fun, yeah?” MeiMei nods again, harder this time, her long dark pigtails bouncing, and then she turns to Jinyoung and whispers something into his ear. 

A smile splits Jinyoung’s face, and he chuckles, glancing at Chan before his gaze raises to you, watching the exchange with a slight smile. 

“She says you’re really pretty.” 

Your eyes widen, and you feel warmth in your chest, as you release your hold on Jeongin, crouching down beside Chan without another thought. 

The little girl ducks her head shyly into her father’s shoulder, keeping one eye on you, as you give her a reassuring smile and cock your head, studying her. 

“Can I tell you something?” You ask, feigning a whisper, and MeiMei nods, coming out of her father’s shirt just a bit. You wink at her. “I think you’re really pretty.” 

MeiMei giggles and her fingers unclench from Jinyoung’s blazer. 

Jackson appears at Jinyoung’s side then, out of breath and hair tousled, and as he smooths it down haphazardly with his fingers, he glances down at his husband and daughter, then to his watch. 

“Jinyoungie, we need to go. Our reservation.” 

Jinyoung glances up at the younger man and nods, before he looks back to MeiMei, who seems a lot more comfortable now, playing shyly with a toy Jeongin had offered her from somewhere in one of his pockets. 

Chan clears his throat and reaches for the little girl cautiously. 

“MeiMei.” When she looks at him, all dark eyes and long lashes, Chan offers her a comforting, warm smile, and you smell the spike of petrichor in the air, the calming pheromones flooding the entryway. “Your daddies have to go, but they’ll be back later, okay? So can you stay with Channie-samchon and Unnie until they’re done? We’ll have lots of fun, I promise.” 

A brief hesitation, and then MeiMei nods, and takes Chan’s outstretched hand. 

He grins, and passes her to Jeongin, who takes the little girl eagerly, bouncing her in his arms until she’s giggling and flushed. 

“C’mon, MeiMei. I’ll show you all the cool toys we brought you!” 

The youngest disappears down the hall with the still giggling toddler in his arms. 

Jinyoung sighs and pushes himself to a standing position, watching them go, and then his gaze slides to you and Chan. 

“Thanks for doing this. Really.” 

“Don’t kill my kid, Han Jisung.” Jackson points at the beta, who has once again appeared beside you, straightening his clothes with a grumble under his breath. 

He flips the older man off. 

Jackon’s hand curls around Jinyoung’s forearm and he tugs him slightly toward the door, even as the omega hesitates. 

“She’ll be okay, right?” 

The younger alpha rolls his eyes but presses a soft kiss to his husband’s cheek regardless. “She’ll be fine. Listen.” He points down the hall, where you can hear MeiMei laughing from the living room where she’s playing with Jeoingin. Jackson grins. “In fact, she’ll probably wanna live here when they’re done.” 

Jinyoung sighs and you see the older omega’s shoulders relax, and when he looks at you all again, his lips are curled into the start of a small, genuine smile. 

“Okay. We’re going then.” 

Jackson ushers him toward the door, silently mouthing over his shoulder at Chan, “Thank you!” 

And then they’re gone, leaving only the lingering smell of cherries and gunsmoke in their wake. 

Chan pushes himself to his feet with a sigh. 

He glances at you with the hint of a smile and a sparkle in his eye. 

“Where’s Felix? He’s gonna love that kid.” 

********

“Okay, you have to be really quiet, okay?” You whisper with a demonstrative finger to your lips, and MeiMei nods solemnly as you crack open the door to the betas’ closet. 

“Okay, come on!” You grin and slide inside, tugging the toddler in with you, settling her on your lap as you sit cross legged in the dark on the cluttered closet floor. 

“Okay.” You breathe out a breath and it rustles the little girl’s dark hair. She looks up at you curiously, her eyes reflecting the limited light creeping in from underneath the cracked door. You glance down at her and give her a smile. “Now we wait.” 

MeiMei settles back into your lap, resting her little head on your chest, and you can’t resist leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. 

She smells good, like baby shampoo and the faded effects of her fathers’ combined scents. 

There is the sound of a door opening, and you immediately tense, MeiMei glancing up at you once more in question, and you quickly hold another silent finger to your lips. 

There is the sound of footsteps, and then, 

“Eeny, Meeny, Miney, Moe.  Where did that cute little girl go?” 

Chan’s distorted his voice to be deep and scary, but MeiMei giggles cutely regardless, and you have to bite back a laugh of your own, lest you give your hiding spot away, though you know the alpha on the other side of the door probably already has a pretty good idea where you are. 

He thumps around some more, humming and hawing, just for the show of it, and MeiMei giggles again. 

“Channie-samchon can’t find us.” The little girl whispers, though it’s a child’s whisper, so it’s still much too loud, but you grin and nod your head anyway. 

“You’re right. We’re much too clever for him.” 

“Where could they be? I have no clue.” Chan speaks up again, louder, feigning confusion, and you can hear him getting closer to the closet, closing in. 

“Maybe-” He hems, footsteps growing even closer still. You hear his fingers grasp the knob on the closet door. 

MeiMei holds her breath, her little body curling into yours, eyes wide and fixed on the view of Chan’s sneakers that peek beneath the door. 

Chan takes in a deep inhale, and lets out a comically low growl. 

“-in the closet?!” 

He flings open the closet door, flooding the small space with light, and MeiMei shrieks loudly, as you laugh and Chan dives in to capture you both, tickling the little girl’s sides as she laughs and squirms, trying to get away. 

“You found us!” 

“Yeah, I did!” Chan grins and sits back, slightly out of breath, eyes bright, curls mussed, and pinches MeiMei’s cheek affectionately. “You guys were really good at hiding.” 

“Did you find Lixie-samchon too?” MeiMei questions, as Chan scoops her up into his arms and carries her out of the closet. 

You follow, straightening up and blinking against the light from the bedroom after being in the dark of the closet for so long. 

“Of course I did.” Chan puffs his chest proudly as he carefully carries the girl down the stairs in front of you. “I’m the best seeker in the whole world!” 

MeiMei looks over his shoulder to you, as if to confirm his words, and you silently shake your head, motioning to yourself. 

She giggles and glances back to Chan, who has just watched the whole exchange. 

“Don’t believe her, MeiMei!” He cries dramatically, swinging her around as they reach the hallway at the bottom of the stairs. “I’m the best!” 

“No way.” You counter, shaking your head, as you slide past them and head toward the kitchen. “Unnie’s the best seeker, everyone knows it.” You peek over your shoulder at MeiMei with a smug look. “Right, MeiMei?” 

MeiMei nods enthusiastically. “Right.” 

“Ouch.” Chan groans, holding his hand to his chest as if he’s been shot as you enter the kitchen, jiggling the little girl in his arms until she’s laughing again. “I can’t believe you’d betray me like this, MeiMei.” 

The smells of jjigae and kimchi warm the kitchen, Minho putting the finishing touches on a boiling pot of stew in front of the stove. 

Changbin looks up from his spot at the table, a slight smile on his lips, his hands stilling in their task of rolling kimbap as Chan carefully sets MeiMei into her booster seat beside him. 

MeiMei glances at the alpha beside her as Chan crosses the kitchen to slide an arm around Minho’s waist and ask him something in a low voice. 

“Hey kid.” 

MeiMei’s large, dark eyes fall on Changbin’s face and he smiles, offering her a small piece of finished kimbap, which she takes eagerly, stuffing it into her mouth. 

You resist the urge to coo at how cute she looks, like a little squirrel, cheeks stuffed full, eyes wide. 

“Good, yeah?” 

MeiMei considers, swallowing, and holds out her small, chubby hand for another piece. 

With a glance in Minho’s direction, Changbin covertly slides another piece of kimbap into the palm of her hand. 

MeiMei immediately pops it right into her mouth. 

Changbin hides a smile, nods in approval and turns back to the task at hand.  

You hide a grin of your own and slide into the seat opposite them at the table. 

Minho turns from the stove, all business, swatting Chan out of his way as he carries the bubbling pot of stew to the table. 

“One of you make yourselves useful and call the others. It’s time to eat.” 

Changbin motions to the kimbap he’s currently assembling. “Can’t, hyung. Busy.” 

Chan slides into the seat next to you and steals one of the complete kimbap, even as Changbin and Minho both give him glares in response. 

“Sorry, hyung. I gotta taste test.” 

Minho glances at you, and you shrug casually, though you very much feel like you’re walking a very thin, dangerous line at this point. 

You lean across the table and tickle MeiMei, making her giggle.

“Sorry, Min. Gotta babysit.” 

Minho sighs, deep within the dredges of his soul, and takes off his oven mitts. 

“These hooligans, MeiMei.” He addresses the toddler with obvious exasperated annoyance, and she stares back at him like she’s listening seriously. 

“Why don’t you do it, hyung?” Changbin asks, eyes sparking gleefully, as he pushes the dangerous line even further, glancing up at the other alpha while his fingers continue to work. 

Minho waves a hand between the three of you with a scoff, as if to prove his point, and heads toward the doorway, smacking Changbin hard in the back of the head and making him yelp as he passes by. 

In contrast, he pats the little girl affectionately on the head when he walks behind her on his way to gather the others, still talking as if she can understand every word he’s saying. 

She probably can. 

“Don’t ever let a man tell you what to do, sweetheart. And if he does, don’t ever let it go unpunished.” 

*******

“And she’s a mermaid.” 

You pause in soaping MeiMei’s dark hair to glance down at the doll she currently holds aloft, waiting for your reaction. 

“Wow.” You nod enthusiastically. “She’s very pretty.” 

MeiMei, satisfied, dunks the doll back beneath the surface of the bath, the bubbles immediately swallowing the toy from view. 

She hums beneath her breath, talking quietly to herself, playing with the doll, as you continue to work the suds through her hair. When you’re satisfied, you set aside the shampoo and reach for the cup you’ve left on the side of the tub. 

“MeiMei.” 

The little girl looks up at you curiously, and you show her the cup. 

“I gotta rinse your hair, okay? And I don’t wanna get the soap in your eyes. So can you tilt your head back,” You demonstrate, angling your own head back to show her, and she follows your movements, “and then close your eyes really tight like this?” 

You squeeze your eyes shut as an example, and she immediately does the same. 

“Good girl.” You praise, before you fill the cup with clean, warm water, and carefully wash the shampoo from her hair, rinsing a few more times before you nod in approval. 

“Okay. All done.” 

MeiMei opens her eyes and rubs the water from her gaze with chubby little fists and a brilliant smile, before she finds the doll once more and goes back to happily playing. 

The door cracks, and Felix slides into the humid bathroom, arms full of toy sea animals, bringing a wave of soft vanilla with his entrance.

MeiMei instantly brightens up at the sight of him. 

“Lixie-samchon!” Her smile grows bigger as she catches sight of the toys he holds. “You found some whales for the mermaid!” 

Felix settles beside you at the edge of the tub, grinning widely, freckles scrunching, as he dumps the toys into the tub beside the little girl. 

“Not even just whales! Look at this one!” He holds aloft a dolphin and makes a whooshing noise with his mouth as he dips the toy in and out of the water, like it’s jumping through waves. “A dolphin!” 

MeiMei giggles and takes the dolphin as he hands it to her, Felix instantly picking up another toy, this one a shark with rows of sharp teeth. 

“And a shark.” 

MeiMei eyes the shark in his fingers with a slightly horrified look of distaste. 

When Felix tries to show it to her closer, she shakes her head and shrinks away with a shriek. 

“No, sharks are scary!” 

“Hmm.” Felix remarks thoughtfully, looking at the shark now and then back to the little girl. “You’re right. He’s kinda scary. Let’s put him away.” 

MeiMei nods her head enthusiastically in agreement. 

Felix drops the shark out of view over the side of the tub. 

“What about this one?” Felix asks again, eyes lighting up once more, as he digs into the bubbles of the bath and finds a seal. “A cute little seal! He can do tricks with the mermaid!” 

MeiMei nods in hearty agreement and claps happily, lifting up her doll to stand on the edge of the tub next to Felix’s seal. 

She giggles as Felix makes the seal give the mermaid a high five and do a little dance. 

You watch them play with a slight smile on your face and a warmth in your gut. 

The humid air of the bathroom grows heavy with the scent of wisteria. 

The door opens once more, this time revealing Chan, holding a large, fluffy white towel. 

He steps into the bathroom, takes in the scene of MeiMei happily playing with Felix, you watching with open affection, and grins so wide you think his face will split. 

“I heard there’s a princess in here ready to be toweled off.” 

MeiMei meets Chan’s gaze and shakes her head with a pout on her face. 

“I’m a mermaid.” 

“Oh, my bad!” Chan apologizes, looking acceptably contrite, as he nears the tub, soft towel draped over one arm. “Is there a mermaid in here ready to be dried off then?” 

MeiMei nods, the smile once again on her face, and stands up from the water, her body covered in bubbles, which makes her giggle. 

Chan swoops her out of the bath into the warmth of the towel, and she laughs wildly as he carries her, wet and dripping, bundled like a little burrito, into the adjoining bedroom. 

You lean over to drain the tub and rinse the bubbles while Felix dutifully gathers up the sea animals. 

“How long do you think it’s going to take?” He asks out of the blue, and you glance up at him curiously, confusion creasing your brow. 

“What?” 

He glances at you sidelong as he towels off the toys, a sly smile curving the corner of his mouth. 

“For hyung to ask for one?” 

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you swallow, forcing yourself to continue wiping the tub as if he hasn’t just asked you a question that’s suddenly forced you to reconsider everything. 

“What, a kid?” 

Felix nods silently, lining up the sea animals on the edge of the tub now-the seal next to the whale, next to the dolphin, next to the previously banished shark-then says quietly, “Yeah.”

You settle on shrugging as casually as you can muster for an answer and toss the used towel into the laundry hamper. 

Felix sighs and straightens out the shark, ticking the tip of his finger along its many rows of teeth. 

“None of us are even remotely ready, but seeing everyone with her-” 

You nod and echo his sigh, because you get it, you do. 

“Yeah.” 

You both sit in silence for a moment and then you push yourself to your feet, reaching out a hand to help Felix up as you give the omega a soft, understanding smile. 

There’s a sense of solidarity in the air. 

He takes your offered hand and you pull him up, leaning over to brush a kiss to his cheek, across the spattering of dark freckles there. 

“Now c’mon. I don’t wanna miss Hyunjin and the betas’ bedtime story.” 

Felix smiles in response, genuine and bright now, and you pull him from the bathroom, flicking off the light behind you. 

*******

“And then, the prince got lost in the woods.” Jisung points at the picture that fills the page of the book, and MeiMei follows his finger, staring at the bright image of a prince in a tangled forest.

“That’s not what it says.” Seungmin grumbles beneath his breath from the little girl’s other side. 

“Close enough.” Jisung says with a shrug, before he flips to the next page, which reveals a picture of a crying princess in a tower. 

“She’s crying because the prince got lost on his way to find her.” Seungmin interrupts before Jisung can botch up the story anymore, and Jisung rolls his eyes, but stays silent. 

“But we are strong independent beings who do not rely on men to save us.” Hyunjin points out from above the little girl’s head, stretched out on the pillows behind the trio. He glances down at MeiMei, who tilts her head back to stare at him with wide eyes. “Because we can handle our dragons ourselves.” 

MeiMei nods solemnly, and Minho snorts from his position in the corner. 

“But!” Jisung interrupts again, louder this time, shooting a glare at Hyunjin, before he turns the page once more. “Thankfully, the prince had a magical horse.” 

MeiMei runs her finger along the drawing of the large white horse, complete with bright beaming horn in the middle of its head, breaking through the darkness of the wild wood. 

“It’s always a horse.” Changbin mutters beneath his breath, listening half heartedly as he scrolls through his phone at the foot of the betas’ bed. 

“The horse’s name was Steven.” Jisung continues, and Seungmin sighs so hard you think he’s going to pop a lung. 

“No it wasn’t.” 

“Yes it was.” 

MeiMei yawns widely, rubbing at her eyes, sandwiched between the quietly bickering betas. 

“Actually, pretty sure the horse’s name was Greg.” Jeongin pipes up from Jisung’s other side. 

“Fuck no.” 

“LANGUAGE.”

“Sorry.”

“I think-” Chan reaches across Jisung to gently close the book, and when the beta gives him a glare, he motions with his head to the little girl in the middle of the bed, barely able to keep her eyes open. “-it’s time for someone to go to bed.” 

“Ah. Yeah.” You lean up on your elbow and smile at MeiMei, who blinks at you owlishly, her pink blanket cradled to her chest. “I think there’s a very pretty mermaid in this bed who is very sleepy.” 

She giggles sleepily in response and cuddles into the pillow. 

“Yeah. Right.” Changbin nods gruffly and rolls off the bed, standing as the other pack members do the same. He gives the tired little girl a soft look as he treads lightly toward the door. “Goodnight, MeiMei.” 

MeiMei yawns again. “G’night, Binnie-samchon.” 

One by one, MeiMei bids your packmates sweet, sleepy goodnights as they leave the room quietly. 

When it’s just you, Chan, and Felix left in the betas’ darkened room, Chan leans over the bed to flick off the bedside lamp, brushing a gentle hand through MeiMei’s dark, fluffy hair, spread unruly across the pillow. 

He leans over to press a kiss to the little girl’s forehead, and she sighs contentedly as her eyes close. 

“Goodnight, MeiMei.” 

She cracks open her eyes once more as he starts to pull away, her little fingers going around his wrist. 

Chan freezes as if he’s been touched by electricity. 

“Channie-samchon?” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

She yawns, all little white teeth and pink gums and then purses her lips, clearly fighting against sleep and losing. 

“Can I come play with you again?” 

Chan grins, a flash of white teeth in the dark, and shoots you and Felix a look. 

He brushes her bangs back from her face and gives her one more kiss. 

“Of course you can, baby. Anytime. Okay?” 

“Okay.” She nods drowsily and her eyes close once more. 

Felix leans over the other side of the bed to press a soft kiss to the child’s cheek. 

“G’night, pretty mermaid. Sleep well.” 

MeiMei hums contentedly beneath her breath in response. 

You lean over the bed beside Chan and cup her cheek, pressing a quick kiss to her button nose, making her giggle even in her almost asleep state. 

“Good night, MeiMei.” You whisper fondly, tucking the blanket around her chin. “Sweet dreams of beautiful mermaids and princesses who save themselves.” 

She sighs, long and deep, and her breaths even out. 

The three of you tiptoe to the door, and Chan shuts it quietly behind you. 

You instantly breathe a sigh of relief as you all head for the stairs. 

“She’s so cute.” Felix groans in obvious frustrated adoration, shooting one last look at the closed door as you descend, and Chan grins, sliding an arm around the omega’s waist. 

“She’s soooo cute, huh.” 

“I’m gonna ask the hyungs if I can steal her.” 

Chan laughs. “They’ll say no, but you can sure as hell try.” 

You grin and follow them down the hall. 

“Oh god, I’m exhausted.” Jisung says, already sprawled out on the couch amidst the scattered toys that litter the living room floor, arm over his face. “Having a kid is too much work.”

Chan looks at the clock on the wall with slight amusement. 

“It’s only been four hours.” 

Jisung groans. “Exactly!” 

“I thought it was fun.” Jeongin remarks, before he tosses one of the borrowed stuffed animals back into its basket, and you kneel on the floor to help him clean up the rest of the toys. He grins at you. “I liked having someone younger than me in the house for once.” 

You grin back and rustle his hair affectionately. “You would.” 

Hyunjin snorts and glances up from his phone. “Let’s place bets on how long it takes for this night of babysitting to amp up hyung’s kink to all new levels.” 

You all glance at Chan knowingly, sitting on the couch now with Jisung’s legs flung over his lap, and he widens his eyes innocently. 

“Who, me?” 

“Yeah, you.” Changbin scoffs with slight annoyance, playfully tossing a pillow at the other alpha’s head. “Who else here has a raging breeding kink?” 

Chan rolls his eyes, but the tips of his ears are pink. 

“I wanna place bets on how long it’s gonna take for this whole babysitting thing to make Felix beg for a kid.” Jisung retorts, uncovering his face now, as he fixes said omega with a pointed stare and a smirk. 

Felix sticks his tongue out at the beta in response, and Changbin throws another pillow, this time aimed directly for Jisung. 

It misses. 

“I’ll admit-” You start, and Felix glances at you sharply, to which you shrug in response. You in turn, glance at Chan from your spot on the floor. “-seeing all of you with that kid made me consider some things for sure.” 

Chan is watching you carefully, but it’s Minho who speaks up first. 

“We’re not having a kid right now.” 

“Oh, for sure.” Felix jumps in, and there’s a collective sigh of relief from some of the members in the room. He grins, eyes crinkling and freckles bunching. “But eventually.” 

“Eventually.” Changbin agrees carefully, and when you look at him in surprise, he shrugs easily. “You all were cute. With the kid I mean.” 

Hyunjin scoffs openly once more, playing with Seungmin’s hair. 

“If you ask Chan-hyung, he’ll give you a kid whenever your heart desires.” 

Everyone once again looks to Chan, and though he’s pink, he copies Changbin’s seemingly nonplussed shrug. 

His lips pull into the start of a slight smirk. 

“I mean. Say please?” 

There is a beat of shocked silence, and then, 

“Oh my god, hyung, gross!” 

“Fucking hell.” 

“Head Alpha Chan has just made an appearance.” 

Chan shrugs again, as if he doesn’t know what else to do, cheeks ruddy now. 

Hyunjin smirks and leans into the head alpha’s space suggestively. “I’d say please for you, hyung.” 

Jisung grins, all sharp teeth and knowing angles. “Yeah he would.” 

Jeongin gags. “Again. Gross.” 

Chan mimes getting his phone out of his pocket and shaking Jisung off of him so he can stand from the couch. 

“Oh, look at that, Jinyoung-hyung is calling, just gotta go take that real quick-” 

He exits the room as quickly as possible, leaving chaos in his wake. 

“The phone didn’t even ring, hyung! No one believes you!” Jisung calls after him, smirking wickedly as Hyunjin cackles gleefully. 

You toss another toy into the bin and exchange a grin with Felix. 

Changbin scrubs a weary hand down his face. 

“I forget just how much unbridled chaos Head Alpha Chan creates.” 

“It’s a coping mechanism.” Seungmin offers clinically in explanation to his exasperated moonmate. 

“It’s that damn breeding kink and this lot of savages is what it is.” Minho remarks, barely looking up from his phone as he waves a hand in the general direction of most of you. 

“Hyung.” Felix suddenly whines, scooting along the couch to sidle up to Minho in a rare show of wheedling. He waits for the alpha to look at him and flashes a brilliant smile. “Would you give me a pup if I said please?” 

Jisung loses his shit, laughing so hard he chokes. 

Minho stares the waiting omega down blankly, expression unreadable, and Felix remains, unwavering, his tiny fingers gripping the alpha’s arm. 

Finally, Minho says, “No.” And goes back to his phone without another word. 

Felix sighs and releases his hold on him. “It was worth a shot.” 

His lips curl into the start of a mischievous smile as he turns now to Changbin, who suddenly looks very much like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car. 

“Changbin-hyung-” 

Changbin stands up almost as quickly as Chan had, throwing Hyunjin’s legs off his lap as he makes a mad dash for the doorway, tearing through the living room like he’s being chased by a ghost. 

“Sorry, Lixie, gotta go check on hyung and that phone call-” 

Hyunjin is losing his shit right along with Jisung now. 

Minho looks up at Changbin’s hasty departure, his lips curling into the hit of a disdainful scowl as he watches the other alpha’s feeling back. “Coward.” 

“Ask noona, ask noona!” Jisung gasps out, breathless from laughing so hard, tears leaking from the corner of his eyes. 

Felix grins and turns to you, still sitting on the floor, surrounded by children’s toys. 

You arch your brow at him and wait. 

“Noona, if I said please, maybe even pretty please, would you give me a pup?” 

Your brow arches even higher, and then you blow him an overly exaggerated kiss, accompanied by a drawn out wink.

“Pretty please? How could I resist that?” 

Felix’s grin widens and Jisung collapses back onto the couch, slapping Hyunjin’s leg in the throes of his wild mirth. 

Jeongin stacks the last of the toys into the bin beside you, looking thoughtful.

You nudge him with your elbow, noting the slight furrow in between his brows. 

“What’s up, puppy?” 

He meets your gaze and purses his lips seriously. 

The words that come out of his mouth are not even close to what you expected.

“If Chan-hyung has a breeding kink, and Lixie-hyung has a being bred kink, does that mean any pups they have are gonna inherit both?"

You stare at him in shock, open mouthed, not quite sure how to respond. 

Behind you, Jisung falls back onto the couch and dies once more. 

*********

Several hours later, you’re all bidding a half asleep MeiMei goodbye, cuddled against Jinyoung’s shoulder, wrapped in her soft pink blanket. 

“Be good for your daddies, yeah?” Chan whispers with a smile, as he brushes her hair back from her face and presses a kiss to the tip of her nose. 

She nods sleepily, and Felix steps up beside the alpha, pressing something into the little girl’s curled fist. 

She unfurls her fingers, curious despite her exhaustion, and the plastic dolphin from the tub is nestled in her palm. 

She curls her fingers protectively around the dolphin and clasps it to her chest, beneath her blanket, as Felix offers her a grin and a kiss to the cheek. 

His voice is deep, even when he whispers quietly, “Come play mermaids with me again soon, okay MeiMei?” 

She nods once more, and buries her face into the skin of her father’s neck, closing her eyes. 

Jinyoung hefts her a little higher into his arms and secures the blanket around her as Jackson moves to open the door for them. 

“Thank you again. Seriously.” The omega whispers, careful not to wake the sleeping toddler in his arms as he steps out the waiting door.

 He gives you all a grateful look and Chan nods, hand on the doorknob.

“Of course, hyung. Any time. And I mean that.” 

Jackson ruffles Chan’s hair with a wide grin. 

“Good man. See ya later yeah?” 

You all wave as they make their way down the sidewalk and to the waiting car, disappearing from sight into the dark of the night. 

Chan shuts and locks the door quietly, and the hallway is silent for a moment, before he sighs and glances at you and Felix, expression hard to make out in the dark of the night. 

“Dammit.”  

Beside you, Felix grins. 

“Yes, hyung?” 

Chan sighs again and slides past the two of you with a warning finger in your direction. 

“Not a word.” 

You grin now too. 

“Say please?” 

Felix laughs, and this time, Chan’s answering sigh is so heavy you feel it in your bones.

[steeleidolon]

wingsdreamt​:

It’s over.

Not a bad thing.

Perhaps not a good thing either.

Commander Hewley’s orders are clear and striking, and even Zack can’t help but feel awestruck by the mere sight of him. There are many other SOLDIERs, and in fact new ones joining every day, but none so famous nor revered as much as the First Class Trio. And here he is seeing one of them in the flesh for the first time. Hewley is far more imposing in person than in poster.

Real, tangible.

A living reminder of an achievable goal.

Standing at attention proves to be a challenge when his body does not comply immediately. Not for lack of trying. He has enough of his wits about him to muster a wobbly salute when Angeal addresses them despite the fact that it feels like someone has given the soft matter contents of his skull a good blender bottle shake. 

Not what he had in mind as far as getting sloshed today to celebrate, but the crooked, wincing, split-lip grin that Zack offers Kunsel as Tanner and his lackeys scramble over themselves to fall into line does not speak of regret. On the other hand, what he wouldn’t give right now for a big bag of frozen peas…

A problem for tomorrow’s Zack, at any rate. 

They all must make for a sorry sight. Bloody, bruised, and bit up. The entire left side of his face is tender, hot and ruddy from burst capillaries like splotches of water color that have been left to spread across a canvas unchecked. Coming down from the combat adrenaline high, Zack is keenly aware that he is carefully sipping breaths of air through his mouth. Just the thought of expanding his lugs with a deep pull of breath has his ribs aching more than they already do.

The continued press of the other recruit’s back against his is a comfort, because at least they’re both breathing ragged together.

Tanner, Golden, Lanoue, Wheeler shuffle off in single-file behind the sergeant, and they are wise enough to reserve their glowers with Hewley still in line of sight. 

As soon as Hewley turns and strides beyond the doorway and into the hall of murmurs and stares, Zack prepares to follow too. 

Speaking of first meetings and impressions. 

“Name’s Zack,” he offers, dropping his voice as he glances at Kunsel. He does not know that Hewley can hear him just fine. “Hope you don’t mind that I tagged along to get my shit rocked too.”

Angeal notes the candidates' attempts at at-attention, wounded as they are, and he returns the gesture in kind with a solemn nod, affirmation that his order was heard and understood. Even in the rumbling quiet of the aftermath, they are a spectacle as they depart the Public Security wing, traversing the hall in a procession made formal by a First's presence alone. The sergeant leads a line in sulking contrast, the two parties split in opposite directions.

Kunsel's face bleeds. Facial injuries always do. A deep cut carves his cheek at the orbital, splicing his brow, painting him in red, red. It is not all his own, not given the smear across his mouth, down his chin. He sways some as combat adrenaline fades and as they move to follow.

One eye swollen shut - skin bruised, splotched, and somewhat pale - he cocks his head to look at his interlocutor, leading into a stagger-recover-sidestep to his right. To Zack's right too. At least this way he can see with his diminished depth perception. Footsteps are a rhythm, a meter to keep, one foot in front of the other. Focus. Focus helps.

It does not take a great deal of deductive reasoning to understand what might have happened and why, but Angeal listens, adjusting his gait. He towers over many, over most, and his pace can be punishing if not tempered. The pair has endured enough punishment at the hands of supposed allies for the night. They are not the first to endure harassment when making an exit from the Infantry to step into the SOLDIER program, and despite every effort they may not be the last. A grim thought. There is no honor in harming one's own.

If they can endure this intact, perhaps they are resilient enough to survive and thrive through the challenges to come.

"...hey," Kunsel rasps, wet and incredulous. "You make it a habit of jumping in when you're outnumbered?" The edge of a pained laugh comes with a squeeze of ribs, of boot-bruised abs. Tension hurts, but if he stops moving, stops focusing, the fuzzing-darkening at the edges of his vision might just close in. "The more the merrier. Gonna have to keep an eye on you. Just one though." He assuages something of a wheeze with a smooth of palms down the front of his scuffed uniform. "...thanks. Name's Kunsel. I'd shake your hand, but-"

He isn't certain he could manage it while marching along. He tries anyway, and nearly runs into the divider between door frames as they round the corner and through the airlocked double doors opened with Angeal's security clearance. On the other side, the destination of their trek becomes clear: a medical bay.

They will need their strength for the induction process. Angeal checks them in with calm familiarity, and prepares to stand by. He clears his throat and looks the two battered younger men over with a warmer aspect, with concern amid the firmness of command.

“Zack. Kunsel. We’ll debrief after. Try not to give them too much trouble, hm?”

[ihaveatheoryonthat]

Whumptober Day 10: Dazed and Confused (substitute prompt)

Okay. I thought this turned out fairly well at first, but the last prompt I tried with a similar approach didn’t communicate as well as I’d hoped, so we’ll see if this is any better. Fingers crossed.

For context’s sake, its basis is the Subnauts AU (crossover with Psychonauts). You can check out my Power Trick tag for a more thorough rundown of this version of events, but, if I’ve played my cards right, that won’t be necessary to follow what’s happening. Again, fingers crossed.

---

If one’s foe relied on cooperation, the best thing to do was disrupt their line of communication. This was a somewhat difficult task when said communication happened via telepathy, but far from impossible. There were always options, and if contact couldn’t be severed entirely, then the next best thing was to corrupt the information.

Confusion was very, very good for that purpose.

Ghetsis knew the score, knew how effective a solution it had been in the past, and if he could get one solid hit in, was certain he could get an advantage over the so-called Countertype Conductors; they wouldn’t get in his way if they were too busy trying to figure out which of them was which, and by the time they recovered enough to think straight, he’d have already secured his victory.

That had been the plan, at least. When he managed to trip up the pyrokinetic one long enough to put it into action, though, things began to go wildly off script.

There was a moment where everything looked perfectly fine, and he’d advanced on the agent in white, eager to deal with the most prominent threat first. Even if the other managed to put two brain cells together early, the facility’s arid nature would prevent him from fully utilizing the hydrokinesis he was famous for, forcing use of a less honed psychic ability.

Or so Ghetsis had assumed. As he loomed over the lighter twin, however, a prickle began at the base of his neck, rapidly becoming the burn of psychic energy. His robes whirled around him as he turned, backing up to escape the fiery radius.

That was completely impossible. The other agent wasn’t capable of using pyrokinesis. His people had watched for months and he’d never shown an ounce of affinity for it-- had never even tried to use it in the middle of the arctic.

The agent in black advanced on him, lips quirking up into a dangerous grin, but the dazed fog remained settled over his eyes. He’d still been affected, then-- just as he should’ve been, once his brother was hit-- and hadn’t managed to recover in such a short window. So then what--?

A dome of fire roared to life half a centimeter from his nose. He stepped back, as any reasonable man would, and readied himself. The aggressor crossed the temporary field of safety to his partner, who remained unsinged by way of their mental connection, and urgently called a name.

The wrong name.

That was it, then. While the one in black should have been the hydrokinetic, the wires had gotten crossed mid-fight; somehow, instead of scrambling their abomination of a mental world into a useless mess, the confusion had swapped one twin’s mind for the other.

It had to be a fluke; in all their months of examination, the application of confusion had never produced a result like this. He readied another measure of confusion gas as black-turned-white pulled white-turned-black to his feet, but threw it a moment too soon. White coat’s head snapped up as the lingering fire consumed the attack, and his scowl drew deeper.

As the last of the protective field burnt away, they started toward Ghetsis in lock-step, elbows linking together. It made for an easy target and he tried again, careful to maintain the distance between them and keep a steady head in spite of the complication.

The confusion landed. He knew for a fact that it did. They weren’t even trying to sidestep the psychohazardous fog that lay before them-- but neither so much as blinked as they kept their pace, focused on him and him alone.

In unison, their interlocked arms raised, obscuring the contrasting curve of lips.

A worrying flash of heat passed over him, or-- or maybe it was cold?

To his horror, Ghetsis found he could no longer tell the difference.

[eurynome827]

A Whiskey & A Dance

A/N: see this post for the picture that inspired this story. This story is a standalone oneshot and is not connected with my other 1940s Bucky stories.

1940s preserum Steve x Bucky x reader (female)

Word Count: 3,033

Warnings: 18+ ONLY for m x m x f (taking turns), protected sex (this is the 40s so I used the word 'rubbers'), loss of virginity (Steve), oral (m receiving), smoking and alcohol, masturbation, language and dirty talk, cumplay, Steve is having thoughts about Bucky that he's trying to understand but there are no overt acts of Stucky in this fic.

By clicking the Read More below, you affirm that you are 18+ as this fic contains adult content!

"Slow down already, punk!" Steve struggled to keep up with Bucky's quick footsteps on the sidewalk, sidestepping the other pedestrians, out of breath and wheezing. "What's the big rush? Afraid you'll miss out on your doll?"

Bucky stopped suddenly on the pavement and Steve ran right into his back, damn near bouncing off. "First off, jerk, she's not a doll. She's a dame." Bucky emphasized the word, drawing it out with a raised eyebrow. "And tonight's not for me. It's for you."

Bucky whirled and took off down the sidewalk again as Steve shook his head, dazed. "For - for me? What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about you - dancing. Smooching. Maybe more." The mischief on Bucky's face made Steve swallow, hard. He pulls on Bucky's arm to stop him again.

"Buck...you didn't...pay her, did you?"

"Will you listen to yourself?" Bucky pulled his arm from Steve's grip. "No, I didn't pay her. She's not like that. She just likes to have fun. Lots of fun."

Steve can't help himself. "Have you...had fun with her?"

Bucky nods, but it's written all over his face anyway. "Oh yeah."

"What's she like?"

Bucky looks up towards the two stars visible in the Brooklyn sky. "Like heaven, Stevie. Like walking through the gates to heaven."

*

The dance hall is loud and crowded when they arrive, and Steve's heart is hammering in his chest. He stares listlessly at the bodies moving on the dance floor until Bucky elbows him.

"There she is..."

You're not like any other girl Steve has seen.

You're definitely older than the other girls they know, and Steve doesn't recognize you from when they were in school. Your heels are a little higher, your dress is tighter and your smile is knowing, worldly. Bucky mentioned that you have your own apartment and you work in Manhattan, someone's secretary or something. You're drinking whiskey in a glass stained with the red of your lipstick and Steve's mesmerized by the column of your neck as you lean back to swallow. Bucky's right - you're not a doll, you're a dame. A woman.

"C'mon, Steve, let's dance."

You hand your glass to Bucky and grab Steve's hand and he's afraid for a moment that his palms are too sweaty or that you can hear how hard it is for him to breathe. The music changes from a fast song to a slow one, and you take Steve's hands and put them on your waist, drawing him in close. You're looking at him like he's the only guy in Brooklyn and in that moment nothing else matters - just you and your red lips and your perfume in his nose tickling the back of his throat.

"Bucky said maybe we could go back to my place and have a few drinks." You're whispering in Steve's ear, and you giggle when a shiver runs down his spine, his hands trembling on your waist. "Would you like that, Steve?"

"Y-yeah. Let's go."

*

You sneak the boys in through a side door, you tell them it's to avoid the nosy landlady. Bucky and Steve tiptoe up the stairs behind you and wait while you unlock the door and then you grab them both by the lapels of their jackets and pull them inside, your giggles floating out into the hallway. Bucky is laughing softly and he ducks his head to kiss the back of your neck while you're locking the door from the inside and Steve wonders again what am I doing here? What's going on?

"Let's have a drink, gentlemen," you kick off your shoes and grab the bottle of whiskey off the counter in the kitchenette. Bucky's taking three glasses out of the cabinet and it's clear he's been here more than once. You take a cigarette from your pack and offer one to Bucky, who takes it but opens a window before lighting yours, and then his.

"Oh," you look over at Steve, "will you be alright with the smoke?"

"He's fine with the window open," Bucky answers, sitting on the couch and leaning his head back, exhaling a cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

You pour out the whiskey, three glasses neat. The cigarette is perched between your pouting lips and Steve's mesmerized. He's never been in a place like this with a woman like you. You catch him staring and smile, soft and knowing.

"I'm going to get comfortable. Is that alright, Steve?" You ask, voice low as you hand him a glass. Bucky smirks at you when you hand him the other glass.

"Um, sure," Steve answers, taking a tiny sip and wincing at the burn. "I don't mind."

You drink, and Steve's watching your neck as you swallow again, everything about you soft but sophisticated, in Steve's eyes anyway. Putting down your glass and the cigarette in the ashtray, you unbutton your dress with your eyes on Steve the whole time. His mouth goes dry, his body feels numb, and he knows he's staring as your skin is revealed to him but he can't stop himself. You toss your dress on a chair, pick up your cigarette and lounge on the couch, next to Bucky in only your undergarments and stockings.

Steve can't breathe and it has nothing to do with the smoke. Bucky draws lazy circles on the inside of your thigh with his fingertips, and you open your legs wider for him but your eyes are fixed on Steve. You sigh before drawing more smoke into your lungs, exhaling a cloud around you and Bucky that looks like a magic spell hanging in the room.

"Do you want to touch me too?" You ask, quietly, like you're trying not to frighten him off. "I want you to. I like to play." Your lips curl up in a smile, and you put the cigarette in the ashtray again to beckon him forward, crooking your finger with a mischievous giggle. "Come here, Steve. Come and play with us."

Steve's mouth and throat go dry, and he takes a drink but starts coughing when the whiskey burns down his throat. You shake off Bucky's hand and stand up from the couch, walking to Steve and cooing, "oh, sweet baby boy, are you alright?" Steve's eyes nearly pop out of his head when you kneel in front of him, rubbing your hands up his thighs closer to where he's suddenly hard in his pants at the sight and presence of you. One of your hands rubs over his clothed cock and his head falls back, his eyes closed as he struggles to control himself.

"Steve," you're whispering, your hands unbuttoning his pants, "I know you want me, and I want you too. Will you let me make you feel good, baby?" A strangled moan escapes from Steve's throat as your hands grasp him and pull him free and he opens his eyes in time to see you lick the head, humming at the taste.

It's too much, and he has no experience and he knows he'll embarrass himself. "I can't - I won't be able to -"

"Yes, you will. Let me take care of you." Your red lips smile at him once more before you take Steve in your mouth, lipstick smearing on his skin and he raises his hips before he can stop himself, completely lost in the warmth of your mouth. You hum again, swirling your tongue and holding his hips, pushing him back down to sit and looking up to catch his eye, looking filthy and beautiful with your mouth full of him. Steve thinks he may have to close his eyes again but then he looks over and sees Bucky.

Bucky - he's unbuttoned his shirt, dog tags laying on his chest. His hair's a mess from how many times he's pushed his fingers through it, his lips are bitten swollen and pink from how aroused he is and his hand is slowly fisting his hard cock, watching you suck Steve further down your throat.

Steve's pretty sure this sinning will be worth a lot more than ten Hail Mary's, but he's in for whatever reckoning is coming his way. He gasps, feeling himself getting too close, but you know too and you pull off, tightening your hand at the base of his cock and holding him off. "I told you," you say breathlessly, "I'd take care of you." You surge up to capture his lips, rubbing off what's left of your lipstick on his mouth. You lick along his bottom lip, and Steve opens his mouth, letting you tangle your tongue with his and tasting himself in your mouth.

Steve's still painfully hard, but he could kiss you all night long. He wants to touch you but he's not sure where to put his hands, finally resting them on your shoulders and pulling you closer. Steve thinks you're about to straddle his lap and he's wondering how he'll control himself with that when you suddenly giggle and pull away from Steve's mouth and he opens his eyes.

Bucky's behind you, his hands smoothing over your skin, his mouth pressing open, wet kisses along the skin on your back and shoulders. "Sorry, sugar," he murmurs into your skin, his nimble fingers pulling the straps down your arms, "I couldn't wait to touch you."

"Bucky," you try to scold, but your voice is light and amused, "you have to be patient. Steve's first, remember?"

Steve watches as Bucky strips you, his eyes following Bucky's hands and breathing hard at every curve revealed to him. Bucky cups your breasts and teases your nipples with his thumbs as you lean your head back on his shoulder, closing your eyes in pleasure. "Bucky," you whine, "you're being bad."

"You love it," he chuckles in your ear, and Steve watches as Bucky slides a hand down to feel you between your legs. "Stevie, she's so wet for us," Bucky licks his lips and winks at his best friend. "Told ya you'd have a good time tonight."

Steve laughs, nervously. Part of him still can't believe he's here, that Bucky would share you with him and give him this experience. But then you're slapping Bucky's hands away with a soft, "behave," and pulling on his dog tags to bring him in for a rough kiss that has Bucky's hands wandering again. "Patience," you breathe out when you break away again. Bucky grins and kisses your forehead before helping you to your feet and extending a hand to Steve as well.

"The lady says you're first, pal," Bucky teases, and you pull Steve to your bed as Bucky follows.

"Why don't you lay down on your back," you tell Steve, pushing him back gently. "I'll take care of you, remember?"

Steve nods, his heart racing. He lays back on the mattress and watches you rummage in the drawer by your bed. You pull out rubbers - you're a real woman - and you straddle Steve with one in your hand. "Do you know what this is?"

"Yes, ma'am."

You smile, and lean over to kiss him, and Steve shivers at the feeling of your bare skin against his. You're so warm and wet between your legs and Steve can't believe this is really happening. "Do you trust me?" You ask, whispering into his ear.

"Yes!" Steve answers quickly, nodding when you sit up and take him in hand, rolling the rubber on and soothing him when he hisses at how sensitive he is. Then you're hovering over him, lining him up and sinking down - and oh shit Bucky was right.

Heaven. Like walking into heaven.

Steve lets his hands slide up your body as you roll your hips, touching all those valleys and curves he watched Bucky touch. He's drinking in your sounds and moans and he's loud too, he can't help it with how good you're making him feel. He fights to keep his eyes open and watch you above him, but he's falling fast and he can't stop himself. "I'm - I can't stop -" he stutters out, biting his lip, and you lean down to hold his hands and rock against him harder.

"You don't have to stop," you tell him, breathing hard, "I want you to feel good, Steve."

You're squeezing him inside you and he can't hold back, filling the rubber with a loud shout. You slow your movements, riding out his orgasm, and you kiss him hard before rolling off to lay on the bed next to him.

Steve's quiet, staring at the ceiling with a grin on his face, and you giggle and curl into his side. He's almost forgotten about Bucky - until he appears at the foot of the bed, rubber already rolled on and pulling at your ankle impatiently.

"Hope you had fun, punk, but now it's my turn."

You laugh, and move to your hands and knees, winking at Bucky over your shoulder before turning your gaze back to Steve.

"Should I go?" Steve asks, unsure, and you shake your head, balancing yourself to reach for his hand.

"No, sweet boy, you stay right there, and if you want to play more we can, but -" your voice is cut off by your moan as Bucky's pushes inside you, his hands gripping your hips. He leans over to brush a kiss to your shoulder before starting a quick and rough pace.

"But it's my turn now," Bucky groans out the words, jaw clenched and lips bitten. His dog tags bounce as he thrusts into you, and you - you're a vision, fists clutching the blanket, back arched, breasts bouncing and when you open your eyes you smile at Steve.

Steve's eyes are wide and he can't stop watching. He can't believe it but he feels himself starting to stir again, and he hurriedly removes and ties off the rubber, tossing it on the floor in a daze. Not like you care where he throws it, because the headboard's banging against the wall now with how hard and fast Bucky is fucking you.

"Can't get enough of you, you know that," Bucky's muttering, and your head falls to the mattress, moaning in response. "Dreaming about you, about fucking you everywhere, getting my head up your skirt and not caring who sees."

Steve can't believe the words coming out of Bucky's mouth, and the wild look in his eyes. Then those eyes drift to him, and Bucky grins, letting go of your hips for a moment to push his hair out of his eyes.

"You like this, Stevie? You like sharing a girl?"

Steve nods, too stunned to speak, and wraps his hand around his cock, stroking as he watches. He's not sure what he wants, but he wants more and he can't stop watching you, or Bucky.

You wail, something's happened and Steve's not sure what. Bucky pulls out of you and rolls you over and your head lands close to Steve's shoulder. You look up at Steve and smile, your eyes glassy and unfocused. Bucky crawls over you and licks a drop of sweat from between your breasts and you whimper. "Gonna cum for me again, baby?" Bucky asks you, softer now.

"Yeah, want more, Buck. Need more." Your voice is rough, and the slight begging tone shoots straight to Steve's cock.

Bucky grins, charming and roguish, and leans down to kiss you before sitting up and positioning himself between your legs again. Steve is mesmerized as he watches Bucky slide inside you again, watches the way Bucky's eyes roll back at the feel of you and watches how your chest rises and falls with the effort to breathe. Steve syncs his strokes with Bucky's thrusts into you, steady but longer this time, dragging in and out of you and making you moan.

You look up at Steve and then back at Bucky, and he understands what you want.

"Touch our girl, Stevie," Bucky says, nodding to him. "Let's make her feel good, huh?"

Steve nods, rolling on his side and figuring as long as he has permission he'll do what he's wanted to all night long. He lowers his head to your breast and sucks your nipple into his mouth, his hand keeping a steady pace over his hardening cock as your whimpers drive him faster and faster. His tongue flicks around you and Bucky suddenly groans.

"She's squeezing me, Stevie, she likes that," he encourages, and Steve lifts his head before moving to the other breast and sees Bucky wet his thumb in his mouth and then start rubbing you on a spot between your legs. You lurch up, back arched, and Steve files that away to ask Bucky about later.

"Bucky! Steve!" You're crying their names, and Bucky speeds up.

"Cum for us, darlin'," he demands, low and husky. "I'm right there with you. Look at Steve, he's gonna paint you up all pretty."

Steve looks at Bucky, and then down at his own hand flying over his cock, and he realizes what Bucky's saying. Is he - is that what he's supposed to do? You're wailing again, eyes closed and mouth open, and Steve shouts, his mess covering your breasts.

"Fuck..." Bucky swears, and thrusts into you twice more before he cums into rubber, pulling out of you slowly and collapsing onto the bed on your other side.

Steve watches you and Bucky, stunned silent. Your eyes open slowly and you look up at Steve, and you start giggling.

"You should see your face right now, Steve. Are you okay?"

Bucky looks over, and snorts. "Punk can't believe his good luck."

Steve smiles at you, sheepish. "Yeah, something like that, I guess."

You lift your hand, cupping Steve's cheek. "Was it a good first time, baby?"

Steve holds his hand on yours, moving to press a kiss to your palm. "Yes."

Bucky removes and ties off his rubber and looks over at Steve. "Do me a favor, grab a cloth from over there," he points, "and help me clean up our girl. She takes care of us, and we take care of her."

You move your other hand to Bucky's cheek, smiling up at him. "You were right. This was a really good idea."

[titan-fodder]

Prima Vista Part I

Rating: E (explicit; mdni) Pairing: Mike Zacharias x fem!reader wc: ~ 9.7k Warnings: dubious consent (because of alcohol), just copious amounts of sex, oral, squirting, 69ing, college shenanigans, obnoxious frat boys, terrible fashion choices A/N: At long last, here we have the beginning. Massive thanks to @pleasantanathema and @whats-her-quirk​ who have been cheering for me since I told them I wanted to right a “little college AU” for a “little collab” June and I have been planning for a while. Also, I don’t know where I’d be without Lauren’s fraternity knowledge, so extra thanks for that, babe. I hope everyone has as much fun with this fic as I did.

God, you hate frat boys. 

Their sense of entitlement, all their fucking house pride. Brother this, brother that. It's annoying. Add in the factors of being an athlete on top of it, and they're downright insufferable. 

So it makes absolutely no sense that you're at a fucking Pi Kappa Alpha party. 

Your friend, Hitch, dragged you here (naturally), and it wasn't like you could really object considering she's the only real friend you have on campus. You study together and switch off between dorms to watch movies and bitch about classes. She's the complete opposite of you in many different ways, but you soul-bonded over biology and that was that. 

Unfortunately, Hitch decided she would leave you to your own devices almost immediately, opting to skip over to a game of beer pong and flirt with a boy in her statistics class. You have no idea why considering he has a fucking bowl cut, but she's been talking about him for weeks now. 

The party is filled with loud music and too many people with red solo cups. There's no way they're all of age, so you're already paranoid that the cops are gonna raid the place, but there's nothing you can do besides leave. It's a tempting thought. 

Before you can, though, there's an uproar in the kitchen, and curiosity gets the best of you. Moving from your place against the wall, you make your way over to peek in and see what's going on. A large group of frat boys, what you think are sorority girls, and whoever else wants to join are raising their cups to cheer. An especially loud voice rings out above the rest, "One win down, eleven more to go!" 

Claps and supportive shouts are nearly deafening. 

"I think we can do it! Do you think we can do it?" 

More cheers, more hollers. 

"Let's hear it for UC lacrosse!" 

You have to cover your ears this time. Should have known this party was to celebrate the win earlier that day. 

When the crowd parts, you see the ringleader, Erwin Smith who is very well-known on campus for three reasons: he will talk your ear off about history if given the chance, he's irritatingly gorgeous, and he will fuck any pretty girl with a pulse. 

Again—you fucking hate frat boys. 

To ease your bad mood and possibly encourage you to have some semblance of a good time, you shuffle further into the kitchen to grab a drink. You feel a little exposed, not dressed like many of the other girls who are either in rompers or the classic sorority chick outfit (giant college shirts that cover their shorts). You are in a crop top, torn shorts, and a floral cardigan. Not your best outfit, not your worst. 

There's no way you're touching any of the pre-poured cups or the jungle juice, opting for an unopened can of mediocre beer. 

You feel someone approach you from behind, glance over your shoulder to see nothing but a broad chest covered by a fucking hawaiian shirt. 

Craning your neck, you're met with another familiar face, one Mike Zacharias known as 1) Erwin's best friend, 2) one of the tallest guys on campus, and 3) the best lacrosse player on the team. 

You haven't spoken a single word to him but that doesn't stop him from grinning at you, flipping shaggy hair from his face, and chanting a low, "Shotgun, shotgun, shotgun!" 

"Are you god damn joking me?" You ask with a raised eyebrow. 

"Hell no!" 

"I have shotgunned a beer literally once in my life, and at least half of it ended up on my shirt."

"That's alright," Mike's smile shrinks to a smirk. "We're all about getting chicks wet in Pike." 

Face falling, you scoff, "Yeah, okay, I'm leaving." 

You sidestep him, cracking open the beer, but he follows close behind you. It makes a little bit of fear spike in your gut—everyone knows the horror stories that accompany many fraternities—but you're mostly just annoyed. 

"Hey, what's your name again?"

Again. As if you've actually formally met before.

"Why do you care?" 

Mike does not hesitate when he answers, "'Cause you look like you're having a shit time here, and I'd like to change that."

You roll your eyes, let your head loll over your shoulder to look at him again. If you're being honest with yourself, he's kind of extremely hot with his undercut and flippy hair, not to mention the stubble that's grown out just enough to make you think thoughts for a split second.  

"A noble cause," you quip. "Truly." 

He chuckles, watching too closely as you take a sip of your beer. 

"So? Name?"

After too big of a swallow, you answer him, and light green eyes brighten a little. 

"Oh, you're Hitch's friend, right?" 

Of course that would be your only identifier on campus. Hitch is insanely pretty and very outgoing. It makes sense that people just know you as her tag-along. 

It doesn't stop you from feeling slightly offended, though. 

"Yeah, and you're Erwin's friend, right?" 

"Among other things," he snorts. "Mike Zacharias." He holds out a massive hand that you eye before taking, figure you shouldn't be too much of a bitch and make a bad impression on the most highly regarded frat at the college.  

"I know who you are, dude. Not many people don't."

"Aw, flatterer." 

That grin is back on his face, lopsided and far too charming, and you definitely need to get away from him before you down a couple more beers. 

"Freshman?" He pries, and somehow you wind up at the staircase, leaning against the wall and praying he'll just stand beside you instead of caging you in. 

He does, and you let out a breath of relief. 

"Sophomore."

His eyebrows shoot up for a second. "Fuck, you've made it through a whole year flying under my radar?" 

You give him a wholly unimpressed look. "Wow, you really know what to say to a girl, don't you?" 

"That came off as shitty, sorry. I just mean, like, you're super cute. Feel like I would have committed you to memory if I'd seen you."

Your face heats up probably more than it ever has in your life, but you still snap, "We haven't had a single class together, I never go to your games, and this is the first Pike party I've been to."

Mike nods. "Ah, that explains it. Just haven't given anyone a chance to notice you." 

"Sure, let's go with that."

Another several sips. You hiss at the taste, and Mike laughs. 

"Can't handle beer?"

"Can't handle shitty beer."

"Ouch. Want me to grab you something else?"

He really doesn't seem to understand the warnings all girls have heard over the years. That, or he just doesn't care. You don't know him well enough to pass that kind of judgement.

"Uh, no. I always make my own drinks at parties."

"That's understandable." Except it isn't. He doesn't have a clue. 

"Well, you can go grab one, and I'll just finish this one for you. Don't want it to go to waste."

It's your turn to smirk now. "That desperate to swap spit, Zacharias?" 

"Like this?" He laughs through his nose. "Nah. But I can think of other ways."

"We've been talking for literally two minutes."

"I'm perfectly capable of making decisions in two minutes."

"Not any good ones obviously."

Tilting his head, Mike thinks out loud, "Can't tell if that's an insult aimed at me or yourself." 

"Take it however you want. I don't really care."

His eyes glint with amusement. There's no way you're escaping this any time soon. 

Long, thick fingers close around the top of your can, and he gently tugs it out of your hand then keeps those eyes locked with yours as he takes a sip. 

"Gross." You try to keep the teasing tone from your voice. 

"Just go get another drink."

You actually listen, mostly to get away from him but also because you could go for something easier to stomach. 

A game of King's Cup is going on in the kitchen, a five obviously being drawn because everyone suddenly pantomimes holding a steering wheel. It's surprisingly fun to watch, so you post up next to the counter after mixing orange and pineapple juice with rum. 

"Four's whores!"

"Categories! Different beers!"

"Seven heaven!" 

"Ayyy, waterfall!" 

You shake your head as everyone drinks for way too long. Some people are already swaying in circles where they're sitting. Others are simply red-faced. 

"Wanna play?"

"Jesus! You came outta nowhere."

Mike looks too smug for your liking, but doesn't say anything, just crushes the empty can in his hand and throws it into the trashcan next to the back door, all gooseneck and perfect arch. 

"Let me guess—you're reigning champ at beer pong."

"Nah," he waves you off. "That's Erwin and Nile. King's Cup however…"

"King's Cup isn't even a competition. It's just flipping cards and getting fucked up." 

"Well, yeah, but it's still fun."

You let out a heavy sigh, eyes still trained on the game going on, then concede, "Once this one is over, I'll play. Just to get you off my back." And because he won't have the chance to talk to you for the duration of the game. 

"Excellent."

You manage to finish your drink by the time the round ends, have to rush to make another as Mike strides over to the table and steals the two seats that have been vacated. They're right across from each other. You don't know if you'd prefer that or just sitting next to him so he can't stare at you.

Sauntering over, you plop down and place your drink in front of you. The guy to your right is quick to introduce himself with hooded eyes and a self-assured smile. You give him basically the same treatment that you've been giving Mike, making him pout and turn away as a freckled girl deals out the cards. 

It's fast paced, and you find yourself drinking more than you'd planned. Mike picks you as his buddy (of course), and the guy next to you makes everyone drink for nearly thirty seconds straight when he pulls an ace. 

Still, you find yourself laughing as people scream and curse. You catch eyes with Mike often, and as you finish your second drink, he begins looking very attractive. More attractive than before. So attractive that you allow him to pour your third cup. 

"If you roofied this, I'm gonna be real upset with you," you tell him just before taking a sip. He added more rum than you did, but that doesn't surprise you. 

"Hey, one of Pike's virtues is being a gentleman."

As soon as he says it, about seven people around the table shout, "Pi Kappa Alpha!" like some kind of sports team, and you roll your eyes so hard it hurts. 

You're drunk after this game. And, then you make another drink and get plastered. Meandering around the rest of the party, bodies begin to blur together, the music fades in and out, and you barely know what you're saying to Mike anymore as he follows you close behind in the same state. For every drink you've had, he's had two, and now he's walking around with a cup full of jungle juice nodding at his brothers, smiling at all the girls who look at him.

His room is downstairs unlike most of the others, right at the end of the hallway. It makes it far too easy to end up inside, but as soon as the door closes and his huge hands find your hips, your world disappears entirely. 

*

The first thing you feel when you wake up is a nauseating pounding in your head. The second is a very large body behind you. 

God dammit, you think, trying to recall the events of the night before. 

Pi Kappa Alpha. Hitch left you, so you hung out with… Mike Zacharias? From the lacrosse team? 

Frowning, you try to look over your shoulder, but all you can really see is a head of hair. However, you can feel the coarseness of his beard against your bare shoulder, and that's enough to solidify that it is indeed Mike behind you. 

Shifting some brings more of your physical state to your attention—your naked chest under the blanket, the way your legs are pressed together, your pussy between your thighs… swollen? Jesus, what did he do to you last night? You can also feel something dry and crusty on your stomach which is both disgusting and relieving. At least he had enough sense to pull out. 

Luckily, his arm isn't wrapped around you which makes it much easier to sit up on your elbow. It takes you a while to locate your clothes around the room from where you are, and even then, all you can find are your shorts, shoes, and bra. You peer around, trying not to groan at the headache threatening to make you black the fuck out all over again, but that pounding as well as the nauseating churning of your stomach is making it difficult. 

You slide out of the bed, basically crawling to the little pile of discarded clothes. As you fumble with fastening your bra, you glance around one more time in search of your shirt and cardigan, but it’s no use. What you do see, however, is the obnoxious Hawaiian shirt  Mike had been wearing the night before, and well… You’d rather not leave the Pike house topless, so…

Snatching it off the floor, you slip your arms through the giant sleeves and somehow manage to button up about half of it. Then, you’re flying out the door, desperate to be in your own dorm, curled over your own toilet, in your own clothes. 

Oh, thank god his room wasn’t upstairs, you praise, trying to remember the way to the front door. There are numerous bodies and tipped over cups to navigate through, and you cringe at the various odors that assault your senses. 

You see the door from across the room, so close and getting closer as you try not to trip over anything, but as you pass the kitchen, you hear a smooth, familiar voice greet, “Good morning,” in a smug way. 

Erwin is leaning against a counter, smirking over a steaming cup of coffee. He’s wearing only sweatpants, his hair is a little mussed, and for a split second, you understand why he pulls so many girls. 

Still, you roll your eyes and continue moving—a classic DNE situation, but the frat boy doesn’t seem to get the message, instead calling out, “Nice shirt!”

“Fuck off, Smith,” is the only thing you utter before leaving, slamming the door behind you. 

*

Mike easily catches the frisbee that spins directly at his face then quickly throws it back to try and catch Nile off guard. It works, and the brunet curses and has to go running after the flying disc. 

A few girls watching from the nearby fountain clap and yell his name, wriggling fingers in a wave as if he can actually see that far away. Mike gives one wave of his own hand then turns back to the grass where Nile is jogging back to his place.

“You did that on purpose, you asshole!” He spits.

Mike shrugs his shoulders, yells back, “Get better at frisbee, and you won’t have this problem!”

Nile throws the plastic so hard that it flies off toward the fountain, making all those girls scream and dive for cover. 

“Yeah, I’m not getting that,” Mike shakes his head. Nile drags his fingers down his angular face before setting off on yet another trek, apologizing profusely then standing around to flirt like usual.

Blowing hair out of his face, Mike considers joining his brother, but before he can, he sees a familiar figure turning on the sidewalk, about to pass the fountain and head toward Hartley Hall. 

His feet are moving before he really registers it, glad his long legs can carry him quickly even at a walk. Mike calls out when he’s a couple yards away, and you turn to him, eyes growing wide before you start to move faster. 

He can just barely make out the words, “Nope. Not doing this,” and chuckles, catching up the rest of the way.

“Hey, chill, I just wanna talk.”

You turn to look at him, head tilted up, squinting against the sun, and Mike has never been more thankful for his height because you look so god damn cute all small and irritated with him. 

“What is there to talk about? I don’t even remember anything.”

“Yeah, neither do I,” he says, lacing fingers together behind his head. “Shame.”

“Whatever.”

Mike tries and fails to hide a snort, nods at Nile as you both pass him and the gaggle of girls surrounding him. Mike has no doubt his friend will get at least one phone number out of it, if not all of them. 

“Did you at least have a good time before you blacked out?” He ventures.

You shrug your shoulders, hitch your backpack up a little higher. “Maybe. But, if I was just around you the whole time, probably not.”

“Aw, come on! What did I ever do to you?”

“You need a list?”

Mike nods. “Would probably help.”

“For brevity's sake, I’ll just say that you started the night trying to get a literal stranger to shotgun a beer and ended the night fucking said stranger and… Not holding back, apparently.” Mike frowns, about to ask what you mean by that, but you elaborate before he can. Voice dropping, you question, “Do you have any idea how fucking sore I’ve been for the last few days? What the fuck do you even have hidden in those stupid shorts?”

“I’d be happy to show you again.” He grins sideways, and when you shoot him a venomous look, he figures it’s time to change the subject. “Anyway, I may have done that and more, but you’re the thief.”

“Excuse me?”

Mike tries to sound nonchalant as he accuses, “Stole my shirt and everything." Honestly, he's a little upset that he didn’t actually get to see you wearing it. 

“I—”

“That’s my favorite shirt, you know?”

You laugh. Finally. “Are you serious?”

“Absolutely.”

“That shirt is fucking heinous, okay? You’re lucky I didn’t burn it.”

“Does that mean I can have it back?”

You make a little noise in your throat, something between a grumble and a growl, but you check your phone and tell him, “Fine. My next class isn’t for another couple of hours, so just…Follow me.”

It takes immense effort to not skip to your dorm like a little kid, but Mike is excited. He’s not gonna try anything weird, but just seeing your space? He’ll be able to get a better feel for you. So far, all he knows is that you live and breathe sarcasm and can’t handle your liquor well. It’s enough to get him a little more than interested, but it’s not enough to go off of.

The two of you gain a few looks as you make your way through the shared study space of the dormitory, heads turning, eyebrows raising in recognition. No one should be all that surprised; it’s not like Mike and Erwin haven’t frequented a lot of these rooms. 

You lead him down a hallway, and Mike looks at all the little dry-erase intro boards hanging outside of every door. He’s a little surprised to see that the one by yours isn’t blank. Your name is written in bubble letters, surrounded by little hearts, and when you catch him looking at it, you’re quick to tell him, “Hitch.”

“Ah. Of course.”

He follows you inside, staying by the door to not invade too much of your space, but he doesn’t even try to be subtle as he looks around the small room. Pennant for the college hung up over a cork bulletin board that’s a mess of photos and sticky notes. Cluttered desk with just enough of it cleared to fit a laptop. Tiny succulents on the window sill. Double bed covered in a quilt. And there, in the open closet, Mike catches sight of his shirt—pastel pink and littered with palm trees. 

After dropping your backpack on your bed, you step over to the hanging clothes and grab it, muttering, “Ridiculous,” as you hand it over.

Mike laughs as he slings it over his shoulder. “You know what’ll make you hate it even more?” You quirk an eyebrow, probably doubting that anything could, but your entire face falls when he informs you, “I have matching shorts to go with it.”

“No you do not.”

“Definitely do.”

“That should be a crime. You should be arrested.”

He chuckles, has a retort on the tip of his tongue, but something catches his eye—a bookshelf tucked away in the corner by your bed overflowing with novels and knick-knacks. Mike sees a particularly thick paperback, recognizing the black background and small desert picture on the spine.

“Bro!” He walks over, plants a hand in the middle of your mattress, and reaches for it. “Is this fucking Dune?”

“Uh, yeah?”

“This is, like, my favorite book, dude.”

“Seriously?” You sound just as disbelieving as you do disinterested. 

Mike begins flipping through it, scanning over highlighted passages as he nods. “I have the whole series back home, but I only brought this one and Messiah with me to college.”

He straightens up but keeps a knee on the edge of the bed, and you plop down to sit on it, watching him closely as he continues to look over the notes scribbled in the margins. 

“I had to read it in high school," you tell him. "Then my cousin gave me a lot of the books after I talked with him about it one time. I haven’t gotten around to reading them, though.”

“You really should,” Mike urges. “I mean, I know you probably have a shit ton of reading for classes, but if you ever get the chance, you should at least read the next two.”

“You some kind of closet nerd, Zacharias?”

“Kinda,” he admits, putting the book back on the shelf only to grab a worn copy of Fellowship of the Ring. “I mean, Erwin and a few others are well aware, but I don’t really broadcast it.”

“Not good for the cool guy image?” 

“Nah, people are just more interested in other things,” he mumbles, eyes fixed on the tiny print.

“Mike Zacharias,” his gaze flicks to you as you laugh quietly. “Lacrosse god and big fucking geek.”

He closes the book and uses it to lightly hit you on the top of the head with it. You half-heartedly smack him right in his abs only to push against the muscle harder and ask, “Jesus Christ, what do you have under there?”

“You know, that’s the second time you’ve asked what I have under my clothes,” he points out, a little too satisfied. “Better watch out, or I’m gonna start getting ideas.”

You huff, but your hand is definitely still on his stomach, unmoving but warm through his shirt. Mike told himself he wouldn’t do anything weird once he got here, but you’re already on the bed and touching him, and he’d kind of really like to have this particular experience while sober, so he very slowly takes your wrist and moves it away. 

It makes you look up at him, a question dancing in your eyes as your lips part. Mike makes sure his own stare conveys everything he’s thinking, wishes he could just transplant his thoughts into your brain so that he can put you a little more at ease around him. 

You’re onto him, though, tugging your hand from his grip and blinking a few times. He figures you’re about to point to the door and tell him to take his fucking Hawaiian shirt and leave. 

Instead, you pull on the fabric covering his ribs so that he loses his balance and has to catch himself before crashing into you. It puts his face level with yours, and you take the opportunity to kiss him—hard, desperate, and a little confused judging by the way you’re frowning. 

Mike grunts, holding himself up with the arm on the side of your hips then uses the other to slide under the thigh closest to him and pull you further onto the bed. He’s straddling you in no time, up on his knees so that he doesn’t crush you. 

Hearing the sound of shoes hitting the ground, he tugs his shirt off over his head, and then he’s curling over you again. Your mouths grow slick with spit. He slides his tongue past your lips, and you arch into him, fingers tangling in his hair. Mike pushes you back down so that he can strip you down to your bra and panties then takes the time to rid himself of his shoes and shorts.

“Oh, fuck,” he hears you breathe, and when he glances up at you, he finds you staring at what he knows is an intimidatingly large bulge under his boxer briefs. “It makes sense now—the soreness.”

Mike chuckles, slots his forearms on either side of your head and mutters, “Yeah, sorry about that.”

You lick his lips and he bites yours, bodies clashing together as he grinds himself against your covered pussy. Eventually Mike is able to snake a hand down your body, making sure to brush over your ribs so that you squirm beneath him. Fuck, he already loves the way you squirm. And, when he moves your panties to the side and teases your little hole, already wet just from making out, Mike discovers that he loves the way you moan too. 

He’s slow as he pushes a finger in, groaning when you clench around it. Pumping it in and out, he gently works you open and wonders if he was courteous enough to do this the other night. He hopes he was. 

You spread your legs for him, start bucking into his hand, especially when he hits that special spot inside you. 

“Fuck, fuck, fu—” You grab his face, bringing it close to yours again so that you can muffle curses against his lips. 

When Mike adds a second finger, your jaw drops, and you start to tremble. 

“Too much?” He asks.

You shake your head, stutter a breathy, “N-no. Just—ah—slow. Go slow.”

He moves to suck on your neck, promising, “I will.”

Mike waits until you’re dripping into his palm and spread about as widely as you can be underneath him. Then, and only then does he shimmy out of his underwear and question, “Condom?”

“Bookshelf,” you huff. “In the jewelry box.”

When he opens it, a little ballerina spins, and Mike has to laugh at the ridiculousness of it. “That’s twisted.”

“Shut up.”

He grabs one of the gold packages and tears it open, then rolls the latex over his cock and discards the wrapper somewhere. 

Mike only gives you his tip first, sits right inside your entrance so that you can squeeze him and get used to the feeling before he pushes in any more. You barely shift your hips back and forth, like an experiment. It’s just enough for Mike to see slick coating the end of the condom, and he nearly starts drooling.

He presses in a little more, appreciates the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, then adds one more inch.

“Jesus Christ.” Your breaths are coming in short gasps, words slurring together. He’s not even halfway in, and you’re already fucked out. 

Your cunt is spasming around him, and Mike tries to get you to relax more by lightly rubbing your clit with the pad of his thumb. 

You leak around him, pussy slowly but surely opening up a little more so that he can slide in further. He gives a few shallow thrusts that make you whine, then reaches up to grab one of your pillows which only sends him deeper. 

“God dam—”

Mike lifts you and shoves the pillow under your hips, smiles in a way he’s pretty sure you hate, then jokes, “Better to fuck you with, my dear.”

“In...sufferable…” The annoyed tone is lost when you cry out. Mike buries himself as far as he can without hurting you. He isn’t quite balls deep, but you feel so fucking good that he doesn’t even mind. 

Starting a steady rhythm that has every upthrust dragging over your g-spot, Mike watches through foggy eyes as your mouth opens and closes, chest rising with stuttering breaths before you exhale and moan. He dips his thumb between your folds to gather a little bit of slick and return it to your clit. The circular motion makes you arch again, and Mike abandons the little bud for just a moment so that he can unclasp your bra and pull it off. The sight of your tits bouncing in time with his thrusts almost does him in, but he holds back, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment to gather himself.

You’re just clamping around him so perfectly, pussy drooling and creaming on his cock, and Mike is not a quickshot, but for you—

He pulls out all at once, flips you so that you’re on hands and knees, then spreads you open to lick into you from behind. 

“Holy—” 

Mike’s cock is throbbing where it bobs against his stomach, but he can ignore it for the most part, focused on eating you out, sucking at your messy lips then dragging the flat of his tongue over your hole. He moves his face back and forth, wants to leave his mark on you in the form of stubble burn between your legs. 

“Mike, Mike, fuck, please.”

He’s positive you can’t actually hear him when he teases, “Please what?” right into the crevice of your ass. 

You growl, push against him, and swallow enough pride to beg, “Please fuck me.”

Biting his lip, Mike straightens up enough to watch his fingers disappear into your pussy. One, two, then a third that makes your messy entrance stretch for him. He lowers his face again, feather light licks around your sensitive hole, and when he twists his wrist so that he can tap on your spot, you come immediately. 

A mixture of slick and squirt drips from your cunt and soaks into your quilt. Mike pushes more out as he continues to finger fuck you, humming at the way your arms give out and you fall against the mattress. 

This is the perfect position for him. He replaces his wet fingers with his cock and ruts into you quickly, chasing after his own impending orgasm. Pretty little whimpers fall from your lips, fuck drunk as you babble, “Oh, god, Mike, Mike, fuck…”

He’s gripping your hips too tightly, pulling you back against him, shoving his cock deeper and deeper until he finally comes with a shudder and a low groan. 

Mike pants for a few seconds, then leans down to press a few kisses to your spine, but instead of the usual happy sighs he gets from most girls, you just roll your shoulders and mutter, “Stop that.”

He does, then pulls out, takes a second to stare at your pussy—worked open from his size and still dripping. It would make a very pretty picture, but Mike wouldn’t dare try that with you. 

You roll onto your back, a huff of air leaving your lungs as you scrub a hand over your face then tilt your head to him. It looks like you have something to say, but you just chew on your bottom lip, eyes moving from Mike to the door.

And, he can take a hint. You don’t have to say it. 

With a self-deprecating snort, he pulls the condom off, tying it then tossing it into the trashcan by your bed. 

“Yeah, okay,” he nods. “Let me just…” Mike tugs his clothes back on, kindly tosses you your top so that you can cover yourself like you obviously want to. 

He makes sure to grab the Hawaiian shirt that brought him here in the first place, tossing it over his shoulder then striding to the door. 

Chancing one more glance at you, you force a smile and try to pad his bruised ego. “Don’t worry, it was good. You were good. It’s just not gonna happen again.”

Mike fights a smirk, raises a hand in a wave, then steps out.

Not gonna happen again, he chuckles to himself. Yeah, right.

*

You don't understand how this keeps happening, how you keep ending up in bed with Mike fucking Zacharias. 

This time you had gone to the disgusting bar right off campus, got one whole drink in your system before the familiar trio walked in. They were all in khakis and pastels—Erwin in blue, Nile in yellow, Mike in pink. Again. 

You actually slammed your head down on the bartop because despite how basic he looked in his light polo, Mike was still hot. 

Is still hot. 

Back at the Pi Kappa Alpha house, you're a mess of limbs on his bed. You take immense pleasure in tugging his shirt off, and once his arms are free again, he's lifting the hem of your little skirt and mouthing over your thong. 

You're more than tipsy after a couple more drinks but nowhere near as drunk as you were the first night. It hadn't taken much convincing from Erwin for you and Hitch to play pool with them, and when Mike had come up behind you to help you line up your shot, you knew you were a goner. 

While he's busy between your legs, you take off your shirt and bra. Green eyes flick up as soon as you toss both articles on to the floor, and without any hesitation, Mike reaches up to grope your tits. 

He's clumsy and distracted as he tongues over the warmth pooling in your underwear, squeezing plump flesh and pinching your nipple so that you whine and push your hips further into his face. 

Mike groans, just as drunk if not more so. He's messy as he kisses your thighs, nearly rips your thong when he pulls it off of you. 

His tongue feels good, too fucking good as he laves over your entrance, soothing an ache that isn't quite there anymore but definitely was a few days ago. 

"Taste so fucking good," he grumbles, slurping and sucking and making you squeeze your thighs around his head. 

"Okay," you pant. "Okay, okay." You grab him by the hair and lift his head from you, stomach flipping at the sight of the bottom half of his face absolutely covered in slick. 

God dammit, why is he so sexy? 

Your mouth waters, and the thought of possibly giving him head this time crosses your mind. You're just inebriated enough to stay relaxed, didn't drink to the point of throwing up, and he has gone down on you the last two times so... 

Lizard brain taking over, you sit up, tell him to flip over, then start making your way down his body. 

Mike grabs you before you can turn to face him, fingers digging into your thighs and pulling you down to sit on his face. 

"Fucking—I'm trying to blow you, for Christ's sake."

He moves his head just enough to tell you, "So? You can do that while I do this."

And, he's not wrong. It just means that you're gonna get distracted. 

For a while, all you can really do is control your breathing and undulate on top of him, but eventually you fall to your elbows and lick up his shaft from base to tip. 

Mike really does have a nice cock—a beautiful cock—bigger than you've ever taken in terms of both length and girth, and veiny in the perfect way. Even his balls make your pussy throb, large and round, the right just slightly bigger than the left and now dripping with saliva as you lower your mouth further and further onto his cock. 

The feeling of his tongue buried in your cunt is making you delirious, eyes rolling, muscles going slack as you gurgle around the tip hitting the back of your throat. 

Mike groans into you, his legs starting to shake, and you assume in your half aware state that he's trying to not just skull fuck you into oblivion. 

You know you're making a mess, both on his face and on his cock. The fingertips that have been holding you open shift, one of them slipping into your clenching hole, and your hips begin to move on their own volition, riding what he'll give you while moving your tongue back and forth. 

You've only taken about half of him, doubt you can take any more. He's hot and heavy in your mouth, and when you pull off to breathe, you can taste pre cum on the back of your tongue. 

It triggers something in you, makes you raise up and clumsily turn around so that you can work him inside of you. 

Mike groans a long, "Fuuuck," and immediately starts thrusting upward. 

You're lucky you're as wet as you are, but the burn that comes with getting so stretched out still makes you hiss. You brace yourself on his broad chest, feeling the dampness of sweat forming a sheen on him, and your own body starts to feel too hot. 

You had wanted to ride him to feel in control of the situation for once, but you quickly realize it's not gonna happen, Mike gripping your hips and moving you how he sees fit. 

He's raw this time, a thought that should scare you, but he feels so good even through the discomfort. Every vein and ridge hits all the sweet spots inside of you, the flared head of his cock smooth as it presses just where you need it to. 

You're squirting again—he just seems to be able to fuck it out of you. It's not the high you're looking for, but the release in pressure still feels divine. 

Mike seems to enjoy it too because he looks down at where you're connected, swears at the way you gush on his cock, then starts swiping fingers over your clit so quickly it almost hurts. 

More fluid leaks from you, and Mike breathes a low, "Come on, baby, come on, 'm gonna fuck you dry tonight." 

Hearing him talk like that—his hand rubbing over your overstimulated clit, his thick cock threatening to split you in two—causes heat to travel up your legs and down your arms until it settles in your stomach and floods you. 

You cry out, stars and tears behind your eyes as Mike keeps going, taking everything he can from you until he's laying in a huge wet spot in his bed. 

He lifts you just in time to shoot cum upward on your chest, white splattering then dripping down in strands to pool on his stomach. 

You stare down at him, mouth hanging open and find him looking up at you with the same expression. 

It's hands down the best sex you've ever had, but you're not about to tell him that. Instead, you dismount him like the fucking horse he is and stand on weak legs, actually have to lean on the bed for support. 

"Just stay the night." His voice is deep and full of gravel. It's entirely too hot. 

"Absolutely not." You shake your head, grab your shirt and his boxers then ask, "Where's the nearest bathroom?" 

"Down the hall on the right, but you don't have to sneak out the window or anything. Just use the front door if you're tryin’ to run away."

You can't help but snort. Stupid. "I'm not trying to escape, dummy. I just need to pee." 

"Oh. Right."

You slip out of the room, hoping it's late enough for everyone to be asleep, but you have no such luck as the door to the bathroom opens and fucking Erwin steps out. 

He hums, looking you over for a moment as his lips lift on one side. 

"Don't say anything," you grit through your teeth. 

He holds his hands up in surrender, chuckles, acting all innocent. "Wasn't going to."

You squint, not believing him for a second, then move around him to get to the bathroom. Before you can shut the door, you hear him mutter, "Another one bites the dust," and consider running out and strangling him.

*

"Please please please come with me to this game," Hitch begs, her hands clasped together, imploring eyes wide and doe-like. 

"No. You have plenty of other friends to go with. You don't need me there."

"But, I want you to be there. It's gonna be such a good match. Rival schools and all that."

You roll your eyes. "Hitch, in all the time you've known me, have you ever seen me give a single fuck about sports?" 

"No, but you'll finally get to see Mike and Erwin and Nile play."

"All the more reason not to go."

"Do you not like them or something? Why wouldn't you like them? Everybody likes them!" 

She doesn't know, and you don't want her to. She had been too caught up with that Marlowe kid at the party, then was kept busy playing pool with Nile to see you and Mike slip out of the bar together. 

It's the only secret you've ever wanted to keep from her. You will take it to the grave. 

"I just… I just don't, okay? I get a… Sleazy vibe from all of them."

You really don't. Not exactly. You're not a big fan of the 'fuck-every-chick-on-capus' mentality, but most college boys think like that. Only difference is these three can actually achieve it. 

Hitch crosses her arms over her chest and gives you a look you've seen on your mother's face many times, usually when she has a point to prove. 

"You know I'm just gonna keep bothering you until you come to one, so why not just get it outta the way?" 

And, there's that point. 

"Ugh." You know she's right, and you really can't put up with this all semester. "Fine, but I'm gonna bitch the entire time."

Hitch squeals and claps, bouncing where she stands. "Yes! Wouldn't have it any other way."

You dress in school colors, put your hair up so that it won't be on your neck as the sun beats down, then take Hitch's little hatchback to the field. You try to talk her into sitting toward the back of the crowd that's gathered on the bleachers, but she just pulls you to the front without acknowledging your request. 

Even with the helmets, you can easily make out who's who, mostly because of their size. Mike and Erwin are doing some kind of pregame ritual where they hit their sticks together, shout something, and chest bump. It's the most alpha thing you've ever fucking seen and makes you question why you ever thought screwing one of them was a good idea. 

To be fair, you never really did think it was a good idea. It just kind of happened. Three times. 

But, it needs to stop. 

You repeat that thought to yourself as you watch Mike sprint across the field and launch the ball into the goal several times. You repeat it as he dances around his opponents with ease, quick footwork until he can throw them off. You repeat it as he stands on the sidelines and takes his helmet off to shake out sweaty hair and squirt water into his mouth. 

And, none of it really helps. Mike is pretty incredible on the field, especially with Erwin and Nile backing him up. Everyone in the stands is screaming, yelling their names and chanting. It's a little contagious, you have to admit. You get as far as clapping but refuse to actually cheer. 

At some point, Erwin jogs over to the bleachers and waves his arms for everyone to get louder, and they sure do. Even through his helmet, you can see his sparkling white smile, and your own lips curl up as you shake your head at him. Unbelievable. He has all these people at his beck and call. 

Erwin has to get back on the field, though, fueled by the crowd like the other nine players. They end up pulling ahead of the other team and finishing the game eleven to seven. 

Naturally, Erwin announces a party at the Pike house, and naturally, Hitch drags you to it. 

This one is even bigger than the last. It offends every one of your senses—too loud, alcohol permeating the air, bad drinks, worse dancing, and strangers rubbing against you as you pass them. 

You give up on your beer before you’re even halfway through with it, just set the can on one of the counters and start milling around. You’d rather be anywhere else but here. Your head hurts from the game earlier, baking in the sun and not drinking enough water. Should’ve taken an Advil… And some Benadryl. Hitch wouldn’t have been able to bring you here if you’d been unconscious. 

All of the lacrosse team is there, flanked with guys who won’t stop slapping them on their backs and girls who won’t stop batting their eyes and squeezing their biceps. It’s comical, really, the fairweather trend. There’s no way this would be happening if they’d lost their last three games. Instead, the team would be getting harassed and pestered, not so subtle comments about practicing more and replacing members. You’ve seen it all before. 

Leaning against a wall, you watch it all unfold. It’s probably the most entertaining thing at the party other than the group of sorority girls dancing on a table. Things are getting out of hand already, and you would prefer not be here for the aftermath, but just as you're about to leave, Mike breaks away from the group and strides over to you.

“Hey, didn’t expect to see you.” He takes a sip from his cup, smiling around the rim.

You use your usual excuse: “Hitch,” and he nods. 

“Right. Did you watch the game today?”

Crossing your arms, you mumble a, “Yes,” that Mike can’t hear but can definitely see.

He beams then asks, “You gonna tell me I played well? ‘Cause I did.” He’s all cocksure and giddy, and it makes your body run hot in a few different ways.

“I don’t think you need anyone else fawning over you,” you say with a condescending laugh.

“You mean you don’t want me to flex for you?”

“I’m leaving. Right now." When you push past him a little too roughly, it causes him to drop his cup, and your shirt is suddenly plastered to your chest and stomach. The white isn’t discolored, which leads you to believe, “Fuck, is this just straight vodka?”

“No, Christ,” he cringes at your wet state, looking genuinely apologetic. “It��s just water. Sorry.”

You scrunch your top up to wring it out, wondering what he’s doing drinking water instead of liquor, but you’re not about to pick on him for staying hydrated. 

“It’s fine. I was about to leave anyway.”

He’s quick to stop you with a, “No, don’t. Just… change into one of my shirts or something."

Narrowing your eyes, you contemplate how many ways this can go wrong, how much you should not allow this, and even go as far as accusing, "You're just trying to get me in your room again."

"You wanna stay in a wet shirt?" Not really. "Come on."

He jerks his head toward the hallway, and you end up following him, grumbling the whole time because you swear to God if you end up on your back for him again, you're going to be very upset with yourself. 

Mike beelines it for his dresser as soon as you're in the room, much quieter than the rager outside. He digs around in it, flipping all the way to the bottom then pulls out a heather gray tee. 

"It'll probably still be a little big, but it's from high school, so you shouldn't drown in it."

He tosses it to you then, to your surprise, turns back to the wall to give you the privacy to change. You eye him the whole time, peeling off your top as well as your bra since it soaked through. His shirt still covers your little shorts, and you assume you look a lot like one of those sorority girls, but it's good enough, has that super soft feeling from being worn too much. 

"Thanks. You can, uh… You can turn around now."

Mike looks over his shoulder, like he's making sure you're decent, then turns around fully. 

"I was trying to get outta there anyway. Spilling a drink on you was a good excuse."

You open your mouth, choking on a scoff, then ask, "Did you do that on purpose?" 

"No! It really was an accident. I'm glad it was just water, but I still feel bad."

You're squinting at him, but now you're curious about something else.

"Why'd you wanna get away from the party?" 

Sighing, Mike shows a tired smile. "Honestly, I'm still worn out from the game. I'm already sore and covered in these god damn bruises. I just wanna relax."

"If you're covered in bruises, I can't imagine how the other team feels. You smacked the shit outta some of 'em."

"So, you were watching."

"I may have glanced up once or twice," you lie. "Anyway, why don't you just hide out in here?" 

He shrugs his shoulders. "Erwin insisted I show my face, and I didn't want him to give me shit about being a recluse."

You can relate. It's why Hitch drags you everywhere. You wouldn't even leave your dorm for classes if you didn't have to. 

Still. "Dude. You're definitely not a recluse. You're fucking everywhere. All the time."

"So? I can get tired too."

He's got a point. 

"Can we just chill in here for a while?" He asks you. 

"Why do you need me to chill? You basically just said you needed a break from social interaction."

"Yeah, but not all social interaction," he corrects with a small grin. "Please? I've got movies and video games, Zelda and shit."

Again, the contemplation kicks in, all the pros and cons. You know very well what this can (will) lead to, but you also want to escape the party. And, if Hitch whines about you leaving, you can tell her you were there the whole time. Not like it's a lie. 

"Fine, but I have some stipulations."

"Oh, do you?" 

"I do."

Mike waves a hand for you to go on. "Let's hear 'em then."

Holding up one finger, you tell him, "You have to let me snoop around your room—" he laughs. You lift another finger, "—and we are not, under any circumstances, having sex."

"Deal." 

You tilt your head, taken aback at how quick he is to agree. "Wait, seriously?" 

"Seriously. Go ahead. I'll pull up Hulu."

You hum, still suspicious, but start making your rounds, taking in photos from what you assume to be the high school soccer team he played on, then a fishing trip with Erwin, a middle-aged couple with a dog, and some pinned up tickets to sporting events he's attended. 

He has a bookshelf against a wall, textbooks at eye level, but the top and bottom shelves are filled with sci-fi and fantasy novels that make you smile. His TV is fairly large, big enough to see the picture from his bed which is also sizable and draped with a plush comforter. The last thing that catches your eye is his closet, halfway open and full of jerseys and Polos. A few different pairs of shoes sit at the bottom, but pushed all the way in the corner are a few boxes of fucking Magic the Gathering cards. 

"Oh, man. You really are a closet nerd. Like, literally."

"Huh?" Mike looks over at where you're kneeling, realizes what you're looking at and actually sounds self-conscious when he admits, "Yeah, uh, I wasn't joking the other day." 

"I've never played—too technical for me—but my friends in high school did."

"There are baseball cards back there too if that makes me any cooler."

"It doesn't," you say bluntly before straightening up and reaching to shut the door to his room. Plopping down on the floor next to him (where he was smart enough to sit), you add, "But even I can admit it's kind of endearing."

"Oh yeah?" He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, that stupid lopsided grin on his too-handsome face. 

"Don't get cocky, Zacharias." 

"You wouldn't let me if I wanted to."

Both of you agree to a Batman movie, and you make yourself comfortable, kicking your sandals off and leaning against the bed behind you. You're a little too aware of Mike's body beside yours, but you're able to ignore it for the most part, keeping a few inches between your arms and legs. Of course, he still brushes against you when the movie ends and he takes the time to stretch. His shoulders roll, making his shirt strain over his back, and when he holds his arms out, linked at his fingers, you can't help but take a quick look at his bulging biceps. 

"Fuck, I'm gonna feel like garbage tomorrow," he complains. You can see the bruises littering his arms, some of them thick lines while others are almost perfectly circular from where he was hit with the end of a lacrosse stick. 

"You have any classes?" You ask. 

"Just my ten o'clock and three o'clock."

You make a noise of acknowledgement then fall silent. You're not sure how to hold a conversation with him that isn't sarcastic or snippy since you haven't actually done a lot of talking in the first place. 

"Sucks," is all you can come up with. 

"It's alright. I've probably dealt with worse."

"Probably?" 

"Well, nothing really comes to mind, but I'm sure I have."

You should get going. It's late, and you have a nine AM tomorrow. Plus, the longer you sit next to Mike, the more ideas pop up in your head. Dirty ideas. Ideas that will leave you disappointed in yourself. 

"Well, I'm gonna head back. This has been…" You're unsure of what word to use, don't want to get his hopes up by saying 'fun'. 

Mike figures you out and offers, "Tolerable?" 

"Yeah, we can go with that. I'll get your shirt back to you sometime soon."

Mike chuckles and gets to his feet. "Just whenever you can." He grabs your wet top from the ground and holds it out to you, then reaches for the door as you slip on your sandals. 

You feel him close behind you, close enough for his chest to push against your back when you straighten up. His arm is pressing into your side, hand curled around the knob and twisting it, but he's unable to open the door as you let your head fall against it. 

"God dammit." 

"Hm?" You can tell he's leaning down because his breath falls just over your ear. 

"I said we weren't—"

He cuts you off, "But, you want to."

He's too hot and too smooth, and you can’t stop yourself from turning around and breathing, "Yeah, I want to." 

It's different tonight. Mike takes his time undressing you, kissing and sucking your neck, your collarbone, your nipples that pebble against his tongue. It's unnerving even as you squirm and moan. 

He eats you out lazily, flattening his tongue against your folds then dipping into your slit so that he can slip into your twitching hole. 

When he adds a finger, you immediately grind down on it, silently begging him to work you open enough to take his cock, but he doesn't move any faster, apparently content to just drive you insane. 

You're nearly begging by the time he turns you on your side and moves to lay behind you, hiking your leg up and pushing most of his length inside of you in one faultless motion that makes you choke and sob his name. 

That stretch is back, delicious as it is painful as he splits you open. His thrusts are the same slow pace, cock dragging against gummy walls as he drapes an arm over you to toy with your swollen clit. 

It takes you both longer than usual to come, but when you do, your whole body trembles against him, and you have to suck in several deep breaths until you feel like your lungs start actually filling with air. 

Mike paints your back with warm cum, groaning right in your ear as he rubs against you, his cock sliding easily up and down your skin and making more of a mess. 

That unnerving feeling blooms in your chest again, crawls up into your throat. 

Tonight had been too casual, too natural. The way you hung out and watched a movie was already a little strange. Him fucking you from behind, holding you tight against his body, was too tender. And, now, after he leaves to grab a wet towel and uses it to clean your back, you find yourself searching for words again only to come up with passionate—intimate. 

And, words like that scare you.

[ n e x t ]

[tickle-bugs]

Patience (and Silence) is a Virtue

Summary: In his commitment to restlessness, Anakin discovers something about Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan can't let him get away with that, of course.

Anon: Hi I don't know if you're taking prompts at the moment but would you consider writing a fic where Obi wan is tickling anakin, maybe where it's during the clone wars and anakin is being restless and teasing Obi wan so he decides to put him in his place?? Or something obviously if you're not taking prompts don't worry! But if you're that would be really cute

Do not tag this as ship. Don't do it.

Anakin had a critical inability to stay still, Obi-Wan noticed. He had become calmer and more focused under his wing, sure, but he was restless to his very core. Other Jedi masters would certainly have found his fidgeting to be a nuisance, something to be expunged--Obi-Wan saw it as human. For the things they’d seen and had to do, a little humanity was very welcome.

Except now, of course.

Anakin paced past Obi-Wan for nearly the twentieth time this hour--he’d been doing laps around the room at a speed that’d put any trooper to shame. Obi-Wan’s attempts at meditation had given him some measure of calm, but inner peace was hard to find with your protégé stomping past you every moment.

“We are wasting time.”

“There’s nothing to be done but wait,” Obi-Wan murmured, unwilling to release his patterned breathing.

“I can’t just sit around.” Anakin switched directions, pacing the other way.

“You are far too eager, Anakin.” Obi-Wan shifted slightly, but did not rise.

“And you are far too boring!” He snapped, but it held no real venom. Obi-Wan sighed deeply, dropping his head, and the relaxation promptly left his bones. He stood, brushing himself off, and Anakin watched him tensely.

“Perhaps a bit of sparring would do you some good.” Obi-Wan drew his lightsaber and beckoned him closer, already assuming a combat position. Anakin drew his, twirling it idly, and they circled each other.

For all of Anakin’s restlessness, he paid rapt attention in the field. Obi-Wan could see the gears turning in his head as they circled one another, waiting for Anakin to inevitably make the first move.

They exchanged a flurry of blows, sending blue sparks flying into the air around them. One of the strikes set Obi-Wan unexpectedly off-balance and Anakin used the opportunity to press his advantage, crowding in closer to force a surrender. Obi-Wan smirked--he could never resist playing dirty when an opportunity arose--and squeezed Anakin’s side. He yelped, lightsaber flying into the air, and Obi-Wan caught it, sheathed it, and clipped it to his belt. He tried not to look too amused at Anakin’s pinkened face.

“Do you yield?”

“Never.” Anakin smirked, rushing forward. He swung at Obi-Wan and he simply leaned to avoid it, hands tucked primly behind his back. A mistimed strike gave him an opening--he sidestepped and shoved Anakin forward and away.

“Your impatience will cost you if you aren’t careful. Again.” Obi-Wan readied himself as Anakin charged. Of course, he could never make things easy, but if he moved a tad slower to let Anakin get a few hits in? Ah, who’s to say.

Anakin locked Obi-Wan’s arm behind his back and started twisting out another forced surrender. It would’ve worked too, if Anakin’s stance didn’t leave his free hand wide open. Another lesson for another day, perhaps.

Obi-Wan reached back and grabbed at Anakin’s side, but he didn’t let up this time. He felt Anakin’s forehead smack into his back and heard the faint laughter floating up, but it took quite a few stubborn seconds for Anakin to actually let go.

“Excellent work.” Obi-Wan held out the captive lightsaber. Anakin took it gratefully.

“You absolutely cheated.” The silly smile on his face was contagious.

“I prefer calling it ‘alternative strategy’. Either way, you did well.” Obi-Wan squeezed his shoulder.

“Thank you, Master.”

“Of course. Now, for my sanity, I implore you to clear your mind. I’m not sure how much more pacing I can take.” Obi-Wan took a seat on the ground, and when his padawan didn’t move, he patted the space next to him until Anakin followed suit.

He could sense Anakin’s mind slowing beside him, falling deeper into the tides of the Force, and the comfort of it enveloped him. Obi-Wan allowed himself to drift inwards. His spirit floated away from his physical form and deeper into his psyche, deeper into peace. Tension left him in droves. He inhaled.

The air punched out of him, though, when Anakin started poking his upper ribs. He tried not to startle so visibly, but it was a little late for that.

“Are you trying to accomplish anything in particular?” He cleared his throat. Anakin could smell weakness, he was certain of it.

“Juuust testing a theory.” Anakin’s prodding fingers marched down his ribs and his fingers twitched minutely.

“You will not find what you’re seeking.” Obi-Wan’s voice strained against his better intentions. It took all of his strength not to move and a little more to appear calm.

“Are you sure?” Anakin reached Obi-Wan’s sides and didn’t let up. He exhaled a little too hard. He couldn’t allow himself even a smile—Anakin would never let him live it down.

“Of course, I’m—“

A lone giggle shattered their dialogue.

“Woah.” Anakin beamed, slow and steady. The dangerous sparkle in his eye was about one of the only things that could make Obi-Wan nervous.

“Anakin, I’m warning you—“ He didn’t get to finish. Anakin’s hands darted through the various folds and layers of his robes, seeking easier purchase, and found a delightful (read: terrible) spot around his waistline that pulled snickers from him like fresh taffy. He folded forward, falling into fuller laughter at curious scribbles upon his stomach, and Anakin gasped in wonder.

This was so alien to him, a relic of a life long gone. He found himself trying and failing to break up a cage match between his human instincts and his Jedi ones. Had what little shred of pride he had not been at stake, he would’ve fallen over under Anakin’s absurdly nimble hands.

“This is the best day of my life.” Anakin laughed, letting his fingers slip beneath Obi-Wan’s arms, and the subsequent bark of laughter surprised them both.

It’s about to be your last. Though he couldn’t possibly stay mad at the way Anakin was lit up. Perhaps it would be alright to let him win. Just once in a while.

Not today, though.

“I wish you hadn’t done that.” He hit Anakin with a gentle pulse of the Force, enough to push him back. Anakin’s face settled into playful terror in real time and he fled, making a hopeless dash for the door. Obi-Wan watched him run--he’d gotten faster lately--before grabbing him by the belt with the Force and throwing him back across the room. He caught Anakin bodily in his arms.

“No, wait—“

“Consider this a lesson in patience, ambition, and sensitivity. Especially the latter.” Obi-Wan locked his arms around Anakin’s waist and lifted him clear off the ground, burying his fingers into as much torso as he could. He burst into squeaky laughter, rife with voice cracks, and threw his head back, narrowly avoiding cracking open Obi-Wan’s nose.

“Oh, looks like you may have a thing or two to teach me!” Obi-Wan grabbed handfuls of Anakin’s sides and he snorted around his next bout of laughter.

“Obi-Wan pleahahase!”

“You know I am not a stickler for rules, but do remember your manners. You could get in some nasty trouble.” He swept Anakin’s feet out from under him, still tickling, and lowered him to the ground, taking great care to avoid the flailing limbs.

“I’m gonna die!” Anakin fruitlessly scrabbled at Obi-Wan’s torso to get the upper hand. Obi-Wan hooked his arm around Anakin’s and pulled it up, exposing the perfect landing strip for pinching fingers.

“Nonsense. You’re so close to being free! Wiggle out from my grip there—oh, you’ve made it worse. Hm.” Obi-Wan clawed at Anakin’s stomach with two hands and an iron grip. Anakin tried to pry the evil hands away, but his strength and coordination had evacuated long ago.

He swung his legs back and forth, kicking wildly, and Obi-Wan was proud of the little momentum he had. It was a clever idea--using momentum to break free of the hold. A fruitless idea, but a clever one nonetheless. Obi-Wan crossed his arms over Anakin’s torso, burying his hands beneath his arms, and the resulting shriek had Obi-Wan chuckling.

“This is wonderfully endearing, Anakin, but not at all effective.” On the next swing, Obi-Wan caught Anakin’s knee and wormed his fingers behind it. Anakin threw his head back and cackled wildly, all bright smiles and nose-scrunched laughter, and Obi-Wan had no qualms with admitting how much the sight lifted his spirits.

“I see the problem. You’re laughing too hard to focus.”

“You thihink?” Anakin squinted at him.

“I do. Try laughing less and see where that gets you.” Obi-Wan rained a hail of pinches down upon his hips and the fight was lost. Anakin made a noise like a ship’s hyperdrive starting up and flailed hard—he caught Obi-Wan in the chest with a stray punch. An endless stream of high-pitched, hysterical giggles bubbled out of Anakin and he did his best to muffle them, but Obi-Wan’s fingers on his neck ensured that he couldn’t.

“You’re turning rather red. Is something the matter?” Gloating was unbecoming, sure, but the two of them had always done things a bit differently. Besides, this was beyond endearing. He’d earned a little teasing.

“I give!” Anakin yelped, scrunching as much as possible. Obi-Wan’s fingers slowed.

“Good. You seemed intent on passing out.” Obi-Wan poked his stomach and Anakin snickered.

“One day,” Anakin wheezed, “I am going to destroy you.”

“I would love to see you try.” Obi-Wan extended a hand towards Anakin, glowing with pride, and he took it.

Did Anakin’s promise send a minute shiver up his spine? Perhaps, but he was never one to turn down an entertaining fight.

[cinebration]

A Challenge (Sherlock Holmes x Reader) [Part 1]

I would to see a Sherlock Holmes x reader fic where they meet at a party for the first time. Perhaps introduced to each other by Mycroft. — Requested by @inlovewithhisblueeyes​​​

Part 1 | Part 2

Tagged: @bichibibi​

Warnings: none

Gif Source: kpfun

Sherlock hated parties. They were a waste of his time, not to mention populated with far more people than he cared to be around—namely, all of them.

But Mycroft insisted. “Fame carries much weight, and if you won’t utilize it, then I shall,” he would say.

Thus he would parade Sherlock about like some exotic curiosity, introducing him to all kinds of members belonging to the upper echelons of English society. Sherlock would muster up a fake smile, which barely touched his lips, and listen to his brother and whichever poor soul he was trying to introduce Sherlock to natter over trivialities.

Mycroft had introduced half a dozen of said individuals within the first half hour of the party, and Sherlock was quite made up he was done humoring his brother. As he headed for the door, content to rid himself of social obligation, he found himself intercepted once more by his brother.

“Mycroft, no,” he said, trying to sidestep him.

“You will have to excuse him, miss,” Mycroft said to you, shooting a glare at Sherlock. “Sherlock, play nice. This is—oh damn, it’s Duke Farringdon. I trust you can take care of the introductions?”

With that, Mycroft raced to the other side of the room in the direction of a portly man with startlingly skinny legs for the size of his belly.

You smiled awkwardly, laughing with mild nervousness. “Well, introductions can be tricky business.”

Suppressing a sigh, Sherlock fixed his attention on you. “When it comes to my brother, that is true. I am Sherlock Holmes.” He waited for the gasp of surprise that usually followed.

Instead, you nodded and introduced yourself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“I’m sorry, but I was expecting…” He shook his head. “My brother usually introduces me to people who take an interest in my work.”

“What do you do?”

Puzzled, Sherlock answered, “I am a detective.”

“Oh! From Scotland Yard?”

He laughed. “Please. I have more dignity than that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.” You spoke rapidly, pushing past it. “I’ve been abroad the last decade. I haven’t heard much news from England.”

That explained it. Before Sherlock could comment, you continued, “So, then, are you much like the Pinkertons?”

Eyebrows arching in surprise, Sherlock scrutinized your face. “I operate on my own.”

“Ah, an independent contractor. How delightful. I was hoping you weren’t like the Pinkertons. They seem to operate more for the robber barons than for anyone else.”

“I take it your travels took you to America.”

“Yes, how could you tell?” Amusement glimmered in your eyes.

“It wasn’t a difficult deduction.”

“Clearly.” You swept your gaze around the room. “Parties can be so boring, can’t they? Everyone is at their best when they are deep in their cups, and for those of us who abstain, we are left with the dregs of their behavior.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I agree.”

“My brother dragged me here. I suppose his first thought was that, rather than returning home to rest after my travels, I would rather surround myself with strangers.” A rueful smile touched you lips. “He doesn’t know me at all.”

“He didn’t travel with you?”

“Good heavens, no. If the sea passage didn’t kill him, I would have.”

Sherlock felt a smile fluttering at his lips. Something about your blatant honestly and sardonic humor was appealing to him, especially after a half-hour of sycophantic talk from the others at the party.

“Were you traveling for work or pleasure?”

“A bit of both. I have always wanted to see the world, and my current position had allied me to just that.”

“What work?”

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re the detective. You tell me.”

He examined you. Your dress was two years old, indicating a lack of funds and status—or a general disregard for fashion trends. Gloves covered your hands, preventing him from seeing anything telltale there. A single necklace around your neck spoke of some inherited wealth.

“You were a lady’s companion.”

“Incorrect.”

He blinked. Mistakes were bound to happen, however ,especially with so little evidence. He considered your mentioning Pinkertons. “A journalist, perhaps?”

“Incorrect again. My, my, you aren’t very clever, are you?”

He would have been affronted but for the laughter in your face that spoke of teasing.

“Well, Mr. Holmes, as delightful as I find your company, I am desperate to flee before my brother notices my absence. If you figure it out, please do ring me.” Reaching into your small purse, you handed him a calling card. “I’m sure you will figure it out in time.”

Bowing your head slightly, you retreated, slipping out of the ballroom with a haste that Sherlock envied. He flipped the card over in his hand, checking the thickness of it and the printing. It wasn’t as high-quality as he expected.

“Mycroft,” he called, practically peeling him away from the duke, “the woman you introduced me to—”

“Yes, she’s such-and-such’s sister, I believe.”

“Who, exactly?”

Mycroft’s forehead creased. “Why?”

“Answer the question.”

“Him,” he said, gesturing to a thin man not far from them. “She was quite eager to meet you.”

Sherlock frowned. “She didn’t know who I was.”

“Yes, she did. She asked me to introduce you.”

Apprehension mounting, Sherlock strode over to your brother, interrupting a conversation he was having with two young women. “Sir, can you tell me where your sister has gone?”

The man frowned. “I don’t have a sister.”

Sherlock glanced back at your hasty exit, a deep frown scoring his face. Seeing it, Mycroft immediately joined him.

“What is it?”

“That woman lied to me.”

Mycroft’s eyebrow arched. “Well, they can’t be trusted.”

Sherlock shot him a look.

“Fine, fine, but really, she lied and you didn’t see through it?” Mycroft shook his head. “You are losing your touch.”

Sherlock examined your card.

It was a challenge.

A smile pulled at his lips. He loved a challenge.

[oh-no-another-idea]

Find the word tag

Words from @zmwrites today -- thank you! Looking for cold, short, tight, cruel...

From Invisible Girl:

Cold:

The stone steps leading up to the door were cold— and prominent enough to seep through the thin leather soles of her boots. The tall glass doors were edged with gold, and a doorman stood at the ready beside it, decked in matching braid. Velia paused and considered, hands on hips, the best kind of distraction for him.

“Ahem,” Paris said from behind her, nodding at the doorman, who cautiously tugged open one tall door for him. “Thank you.”

Short:

Velia tugged her jacket tighter and followed Fynn through the throngs. He was searching for the other boys, eyes darting left and right, but it would take ages to find them that way. “You need to get higher up,” she called, sidestepping someone’s trunk.

“There,” he agreed, pointing to a wrought iron stairway leading to the second level. “Wait here—no, you better come with.”

Climbing the staircase was a good idea, one of Velia’s better ones, if she said so herself. Within minutes they spotted Paris’ brown head moving through the crowd, Antonio’s ridiculously styled hair close behind. Behind Antonio was a short cap, that presumably had Lewis tucked underneath.

From Stars and Ships:

Tight:

“Hurry up,” the mechanic said, a leg tapping impatiently.

Quin yanked the belt tight and glared. “I’m sorry, I forgot that some people are operating with two working legs. I forgot that maybe it would be easy for you to quickly put on pants, never mind pants three sizes too wide. How insensitive of me.” He ended that last word with a punch, shoved it out and shot the mechanic a dirty look.

To his credit, he seemed slightly ashamed. “Well I did forget. And I’m sorry, because your leg is gonna be a thing of beauty when she finally works right, but you need to hurry up because if they catch us half naked in these guard uniforms, there’s only two things they’re gonna think, and neither of them good.”

Cruel:

“How bout you just aim and try again,” the mechanic said, sounding like he too was struggling for sanity. “If you think you can handle that.”

“No need to be cruel,” Quin retorted, holding up the gun again and eyeballing a particularly bare patch of paneling.

No pressure tags for @emelkae @ashen-crest @azusawrites @ghost-town-story @fiercely-raging-writer @vellichor-virgo @sleepyowlwrites and you, reading this! Your words are particular, because, rather, and glad :)

[verryberriess]

Whatever This Is | Chapter 1

READ PROLOGUE HERE!!

Whatever This Is

Synopsis: In which Jude and Cardan meet again after seven years, but not on good terms.

thanks to @maastrash for helping me edit LOL!!!! :D

CHAPTER ONE

The last time I saw Cardan Greenbriar was seven years ago.

Today, seven years later, we were a mere few feet apart. I’m unsure whether to feel relieved or insulted at his lack of acknowledgement. Relieved that maybe he has forgotten my face and I could continue along with my life, undeterred and unaffected as ever. But insulted, because, maybe he has forgotten me.

“Are you ready to order?” The cashier startles me. I didn’t realize that the line had suddenly quickened in pace. He must be new, since I haven’t seen him around the Torre’s until today.

Thankfully, I respond with my usual order without thinking. The cashier nods and I fumble my purse in search of my wallet. I’m able to quickly spot my cyan-colored wallet and unbutton its strap with haste, fishing for my credit card from the compartment with my nail. The card is stubborn, in a tight space stuck to two other cards.

“Sorry,” I look up and flash the cashier a tight smile, embarrassment coloring my features.

The cashier responds in turn, his green eyes alight in amusement. “It’s alright. That happens to me all the time.”

I immediately return to the war against my card, which finally relents. I slam it into the card reader, chip in first. While the payment approves, I smile and say, “Thanks for your patience,“ peering down at his name tag to add, “Beckett.” He is handsome and new, and on another day I would try to get to know him, but I am in a hurry, so I walk from the bounds of the register and head straight towards the door outside.

The door swings open in response to my adrenaline and haste. I curse inwardly at the crowd outside of Torre’s that seems to have gotten even bigger. As I mutter “Excuse me’s” and sidestep around the large number of people, I inspect the streets for an absurdly tall head of iridescent midnight hair. I am quickly astonished to see that exact head right in the middle of the large crowd, showering the thrall of excited women with a crooked smile.

Cardan stands in the middle. While he keeps his hands at his sides, his posture is loose and his torso leans in to angle himself for a selfie with another woman. The woman presses her back into Cardan’s again. He doesn’t seem bothered by this at all.

I zero in on the changes in his features. He has gotten taller, his face more angular. His style has been perfected, dressed in a dark suit and decorated in gold rings and darks and blacks while the midnight black hair atop his head seems unruly and untamed, as if on purpose. All these years and he seems to have perfected perfection, looking more horrifically beautiful than ever. I have forgotten this obtrusive charm I had once been fooled by, and even after all these years I am disgusted at myself for still being reigned in, captivated.

But all of a sudden, for a few seconds, he turns his head away from his surroundings and regards me with his eyes, looking as if he were noting my presence with the same disgust, and then quickly looking away. The exchange was so quick, I had barely registered it.

Yet, as I stand at the outskirts of this group, I am reminded of the past, and how I have gotten over this already. I have replayed scenario after scenario of reunions in my head after the first few months of my departure, but I had never really anticipated some overly-large crowd separating Cardan Greenbriar and I by just a few feet.

A few feet that might as well be an ocean. Or two.

I can’t help but marvel at how we were once more than acquainted with each other. That look had reminded me that everything is over, that he wants nothing to do with me. Seven years could be more, if I refocused myself. I could do that, I reminded myself. Seven years could turn into forever.

A twinge of sorrow worms its way into my gut. I squash it.

I turn around. My coffee must be done by now and I want to head to work before I’m late. I suppose the sidewalk will take some weaving around and being late was not on my agenda.

My steps are forward. I make my way back to the door of Torre’s, pulling open the door to step in.

But a familiar voice, ringed with the same distinct tone of arrogance and authority that I haven’t heard in years, ceases any of my movements.

“You need to back up.”

My grip at the handle falters, and another person shuffles out on the other side. They thank me for holding the door for them.

Instead of responding, I turn back around and face the direction of where the voice had called. The atmosphere feels almost different. Where the women had once been gathered around him, they now stand at a distance, clearing for the space he had requested.

I watch one of them snap a quick selfie while he is in her background. She leaves the group right afterwards. My eyes move back to where Cardan is, but he is walking towards my direction, uncaring of the people around him.

I pull the door handle hurriedly and slip inside into the safety of Torre’s. The chatter and ambiance of the coffeehouse usually offer safe haven from San Francisco’s morning bustles, but not today.

I could feel his looming presence right behind me, about to catch up to my stride. I’m not about to do this right now. I don’t think I can.

The choice is ripped away from me, however, when a gentle grip takes hold of my wrist.

“Jude?” The voice is soft, a complete one-eighty from that of authority outside.

I still immediately. I first turn to check the surroundings, discovering that none of the women from outside have followed him in. Then, I glance at the hand which still grips my wrist. I try to shake it off. Cardan’s hold is firm, but he reluctantly lets go. He removes himself slowly as if he is unsure whether or not he should.

Taking a step away, he stands and shifts awkwardly. He is too tall now, absurdly towering over me. Where he used to be only about an inch taller, he is now a few inches above my height. He is no longer able to slouch against me without adjusting himself as easily anymore.

The distance between us is off-putting. Though traits like his height and broadness separate us physically from our past selves, it is the other changes in our approaches and personalities that further highlight the obnoxious tension between us.

Why he suddenly acknowledges my presence is a mystery to me. Why he is here astonishes me. I am unsure if fate is cruel enough to have forced us to meet in this kind of circumstance, or if this was a making of pure coincidence.

Cardan stares at me with some deep intensity. I want to be rid of his scathing stare, grab my coffee, and disappear from this whole ordeal. Pretend that this stain of an encounter had not been inked upon seven years of spotless script.

“Cardan,” I say stiffly. Once acquainted, but now strangers. I am hesitant to say more, despite all the questions that rage within my mind and my wickedly cursed heart. Everything about this is full of uncertainty and unpredictability. A type of situation that I am not entirely familiarized with, since plans and strategy have always ruled my life. It is frustratingly tiresome.

Cardan eyes the row of occupied couches, and later the arrangement of empty rustic tables and chairs. He gestures out to the seats, “Why don’t we find a seat? I imagine that we have much to catch up on.”

I secretly consider his offer, but my brain votes to think of ways to escape his reach. Before I can make a decision though, I am led away to an open table. I am reluctant to make this encounter any longer than it should be, but I decide that I should at least gain some reasoning for his recent presence.

“I’m glad you’re so eager to see me again. After all, it’s been so long.” Cardan resumes his usual nonchalant character. “What an extraordinary coincidence running into you here.”

For a moment, I remark on his wording. I am glad that this turned out to be an occasion of pure coincidence.

Concern or indifference? I decided on the latter tone to respond with. “Yes, it certainly has been a while. But considering how we left things, I’m surprised that you even want to be near me.”

He raises an eyebrow and the corners of his mouth lift slightly. “Considering how we’ve left things, I’m surprised you’ve let me into your vicinity.” It doesn’t look like it, but the small twinges in expression reveal that he is thinking of what to say next. I am about to retort back, but what he asks next catches me off guard as he continues, softly, “Why did you leave for so long?”

My cheeks heat. At this, I am suddenly hyper aware of how close he is, of his overwhelming heat despite the violent cold that rages outside, and how he almost whispers his question, with a compelling mix of rasp and seduction. He towers over me, as if using his height to shield me from the world like he has done so many times those years ago, but in this instance, it feels as though he is also looking for something. Cardan is cautious though, leaving room for retreat.

If I am not careful myself, I imagine that I would fall into his chest, and take advantage of the closeness that I had secretly yearned for nearly a decade. Seven years be damned, my focused mentality would dissolve into dust.

I announce my resolve by taking a step back. The distance between him and I is lengthened. Although my heart curses at me, my mind is indiscriminate. I hadn’t expected this conversation to go about this way. Though, I also didn’t know what to expect. Everything was unpredictable at this point and many things have changed. I didn’t know what response he wanted, because he should’ve known why I left.

“... Because of you.” I say gruffly. I leave little context, wanting him to fill in the blanks.

For a second, a mixture of hurt and surprise leaks into his expression before it is masked again. In that second I can’t help but relish in a small sense of satisfaction that I had got to him. Hurt for hurt. An eye for an eye. Whatever game he is trying to play at this time will not rouse a fraction of feeling from me. Not again.

“I see.” Again, Cardan contemplates. He does not show anything, but his eyes start to roam around us, like he is taking in the coffeehouse setting again as if he wasn’t just here only a few moments ago.

“Excuse me?” The green-eyed cashier from before stands in front of us.

He looks between Cardan and I. Cardan, in turn, twists to the direction of the abrupt voice, and slowly assesses his form. I watch his eyes trail up and down the cashier’s physique, his face contorting in judgement before glaring at him, clearly annoyed by his abrupt intrusion.

Beckett turns to me instead, smiling brightly. His dimples deepen and his white teeth flash to me. He holds out a branded cup of Torre’s. “Hey, Jude right? We called out your name earlier, but I don’t think you heard us. I thought I’d bring your coffee to you before it got cold.”

“Thanks so much, I almost forgot.” I take the cup from him and gently set it down at our table.

“Of course.” Beckett still hovers over us, his attention only towards me. “Andrea told me you were a regular here. I should have known.”

“Yes, I come here often. But it’s okay, I noticed that you’re new here too. And it’s Beckett right?” I ask.

Beckett replies, “Yeah, it’s actually my second day.”

Beckett hovers over us. I notice that he is handsome, with close-cropped blonde hair that is slightly grown out. His green eyes twinkle as he observes me in return. He is well-muscled and tan from what I could see of his arms, which are mostly covered by his gray, long-sleeved uniform.

I take a quick glance at Cardan. His fingers tap the tabletop in a particular rhythm as he watches the exchange between Beckett and I.

“Well, I better get back to work now. If you need anything else, check your cup.” Beckett smiles again and walks away.

I look back at the coffee cup and peer at Cardan who eyes its side, a murderous expression set upon his facial features. His eyes are cold and his jaw is clenched.

As I take the cup in my hands, I inspect the sticker attached to the side of the cup. A phone number written in scrawly blue ink is scribbled onto the light orange sticker.

“​​I didn’t realize hand-serving customers was a part of the job description.” Cardan remarks icily.

“Well,” I clear my throat. “At least he’s done something you didn't have the balls to do seven years ago.”

A/N: i haven't been here in a while... hello! let me know if you want to be put on the tag list lOL

[jeongyunhoed]

Past-Present-Future   Black Dahlia     RED: Rogue, Extremely Dangerous

The fourth and final installment to the superpowers AU. San’s past comes catching up to him as he is targeted by an old colleague turned foe. With everyone else caught in the crossfire, San is forced to reveal what happened to him in the years before going on the search for his sister.

group: ATEEZ member: San pairing: yunho/oc, san/oc (in flashbacks) t/w (in this chapter): fear of heights, mentions of death, funerals, just ominous themes all around.

things to note: And this, marks the end of our superpowers au. This has been a years-long AU that I've been writing, both the original canon and the remade one. I hope you enjoyed this as much as I have for the past...nine years or so because I started the first story back in 2013. I'm excited for the other WIPs I've got to write and finish. Also, the final sequence is like a post-credits scene, haha. 

word count: 2648

tagging: @kflixnet

Masterlist

Chapter 10 - Final 

San got out of bed later that night. He heard the weird rumbling coming from the middle of the city and it didn’t help his efforts in trying to sleep. It was especially loud, and he figured that it was probably some construction mishap, or a demolition that was taking place at this hour, when there were the least cars on the roads and people in the streets. 

Stepping out of his room, he glanced at the one other room in the apartment. Yunho was sleeping in his own apartment for the night. San would have to deal with being the only one living there for a while. For a while, he reminded himself, refusing to accept the only other scenario. 

The apartment felt unusually bigger without her, and everything remained the same. As San walked through the apartment, he stopped whenever he saw something of hers. The pairs of shoes that were lined by the door, the bag hanging on the coat rack, along with the khaki green jacket that she wore whenever the weather got a little chilly. 

San stopped at the pictures that were hanging on the wall, and the certificates that were hanging above them. The pictures grew in number since then, from being mostly of her and Jihoon, to the two of them, to her and Yunho, to the three of them, pictures with Hyuk and Chanyeol, with Junhong, and then all of them together, including their first Christmas. There were even pictures with Ino that even Mirae didn’t want to take down after what happened the previous year. 

His eyes scanned through the pictures and he stopped again when he saw the staff leaning against the wall. San sniffled, blinking back the tears that were poised to fall, as his mind kept replaying the last moments he had. Jungwoo wanting to keep torturing her until he caved, all the while torturing everyone else all because he wanted more power, more mutant power. 

The doorbell suddenly rang and San approached the monitor to see who it was. There was no one there, and it only meant one thing. San went down to the door and opened it, seeing Yeosang standing behind. “A little late for you to be here, isn’t it?” He said, stifling a look of surprise at how Yeosang looked now. 

“Where is Yunho?” He said, sidestepping San to enter the apartment. San closed the door behind them only to step back when Yunho suddenly appeared, looking a little frazzled. 

“I’m right here,” He said, San following him back into the apartment. “I had an insane dream, something about statues.” 

“Then you have received the vision,” Yeosang stared at the taller male.  

San looked confused. “Okay, what the hell is going on? Why are both of you here?” He asked. “No, why are you here, Yeosang?” 

“I am here because I will need Yunho’s help. I spoke with Mark not too long ago-” 

“Mark? Mark Lee?” San and Yunho looked surprised, and Yeosang nodded. “What does that guy want now? We beat him last year, remember?” 

“That may be so, but alas, what Mark and I have found out and what Yunho has dreamt about, is something much bigger than us,” Yeosang’s expression remained stern. “If you two keep staring at me like that, it is because I haven’t fed.” 

“Okay, so what was that about?” Yunho said. 

Yeosang studied their expressions for a moment. “The statues have broken, they have woken up, and mutantkind, humanity, is at risk. Those statues have traveled all across the world over the centuries, the last time I saw them was in Tokyo in 1935. There’s also a chance those could be in eastern Europe, at least that is what Mark thinks.” 

“Statues? Like mutant statues?” San asked. 

Yeosang shook his head. “Something else entirely. If you ever wonder what the very first of our kind was like, this might give you an idea. Mark and his entire cabal of bastards are aware, as does the very man who betrayed Mirae.” 

Yunho and San exchanged looks. “Ino…” They said at the same time. 

“Yes. Ino is looking for those statues as well. We must get to those statues before Ino does, especially as Ino may still bear a grudge,” Yeosang said. “But we will need to be sure so we must go to Japan tonight.” 

Yunho nodded. “Okay then, I’ll wake Seonghwa up-” 

“That is also something I must point out. Just because I told the two of you doesn’t mean you two will bring the rest of them along, only the two of you can go, the rest cannot follow,” Yeosang gave them a look. “At least for now, but I doubt their…services are needed as much as yours,” He pointed to the taller male. 

“Alright, alright, I won’t tell them, but they will wonder where we’ve gone so I have to at least tell Seonghwa this,” Yunho pointed out, and Yeosang nodded in defeat. 

“I shall inform you of where to meet as we will take my jet to go there. You two must pack some belongings immediately,” Yeosang told them before rushing out of the door, closing it behind him. 

San turned to Yunho, trying to process what Yeosang told them. “So, we’re going?” He asked. 

“I don’t think we have a choice if what Yeosang’s saying is true, and if what I dreamt of was true…” Yunho shrugged. “It’s going to be hard, doing this all without her, but we’ll have to do it. No one else can.” 

“If Yeosang turns out to be a liar, I can’t promise you I won’t try to kill him,” San said. 

“Hey, you’re talking to me, I’d gladly kill him,” Yunho assured him. 

As soon as Yunho disappeared in the hallway, San looked over to the pictures, his eyes traveling towards the staff that was leaning against the wall. He picked up the silver object, retracting it to its shorter form. Somehow he felt he might need it, and he brought it with him to his room. 

~ 

Seonghwa felt his legs shake from nervousness and fright as he was standing on the ledge of the roof of the record store. It was four stories high and Seonghwa felt himself freezing, unable to look down. Mirae was standing next to him, and Yunho was standing by the fire escape ladders, his appearance obscured enough for him to be able to teleport. Hongjoong was standing by as well, as was San, both of them looking up at them from the ground. 

Wooyoung, Mingi, and Jongho were standing behind Mirae and Seonghwa, watching what they were about to do. Junhong was also standing by, clipboard in hand and ready to take notes. 

“Why are we up here?” He asked nervously. 

“Because, if you want to better learn about your powers, what better way to use it in a situation like this?” Mirae said. “Hyuk would’ve taught you this, but he isn’t, so it’ll be me. Who knows, you might actually be a stronger telekinetic than you thought.” 

Seonghwa swallowed hard. “This is insane,” He said, trying his hardest not to look down. 

“You’ll be fine. You have five seconds to break our fall and keep us afloat, if you hesitate, Yunho will pop in and out to get us down safely. If not Yunho, Hongjoong will. Think of it as another way to train how fast you can be,” Mirae glanced at the speedster, who nodded. 

“Worst case scenario, Wooyoung will get us out,” Junhong chimed in. 

“Hey!” Wooyoung gave them a look. Mingi and Jongho laughed. 

“How about, to make even more challenging, Jongho’s standing down here with his spikes out?” San yelled. 

“Good idea,” Mirae grinned, and Jongho ran down the stairs. “You’ll be fine,” She assured Seonghwa, who nodded. “There will come a time that you can’t use the bow and arrows, or you have nothing at all. Not even what we know might help, so your powers can come in.”

“I really hope you’re right,” Seonghwa said. 

Mirae patted his shoulder then held his hand. “You ready? Five seconds,” She said, and grabbed onto him as they jumped down the ledge. 

Seonghwa let out a yelp as he held onto Mirae, his eyes and fingertips immediately emitting a green glow. Mirae was under him and she was inches above Jongho’s spiked form, barely touching the ends of the spikes that were coming from his arm. “Not bad!” Hongjoong called out to them, San cheering as well. 

Seonghwa sighed in relief, only for the two of them to collapse on the ground just when Jongho put his arm down. “Couldn’t hold it that long?” San chuckled as they stood up. 

~ 

Junhong pulled the van up to the airport later that night. “I still don’t understand why Yeosang only needed the two of you, but okay, if he says so,” He said. 

“Worried?” Yunho asked. 

“Well, I haven’t been on this kind of mission, you’ll need my help,” Junhong pointed out, making the two of them chuckle. “But, I guess I’ll tell the others what’s going on. I’ve already outfitted your bags with things you might need anyway.” 

San stared at the taller male. “Heol…you could seriously make it as a pickpocketer, you know,” He said. 

Junhong grinned. “Hey, before Professor Jang found me, I might’ve done a few things as a kid,” He said. “If the fighting spills over here, we’ll be at the ready.” 

“Good, from the looks of this, it might be,” San said. 

Junhong nodded, and the two of them got out of the van, giving the taller male an assuring wave. Junhong drove away, and Yunho and San turned to enter the airport. “I would’ve thought we’d be at a private airport hangar if we’re taking Yeosang’s jet over there,” Yunho muttered. 

The two of them walked in the direction of what looked like the first-class lounge, but was actually the lounge for clients and associates of the Kang Organization to wait for the jet to be ready. 

“The last time I was in this kind of lounge was when Mirae and I flew to the south of France for a vacation,” San recalled as they were served drinks upon sitting down on the plush couches. “We went on a cruise afterwards. Yeosang invited us. Then again, he found out we were on the same flight as him so he upgraded our seats.” 

“That was the one thing I wasn’t able to do with her,” Yunho said, looking down at the glass of gin and tonic that he was given. “Thinking about it now, we weren’t able to do a lot of things together.” 

San sipped his drink, staring at the bubbles as they waited. He was relieved they didn’t have to go through those security checkpoints or else they would really need Yeosang’s help in getting out of the endless hours of questioning, even more so when they arrived. Both of them were heavily armed. 

Yunho’s eyes widened as he took another drink, a familiar feeling coming over him. It was the same kind of feeling he got when he sensed Mirae for the first time, only it wasn’t just because he sensed her. He put his glass down and stood up, his expression hopeful yet surprised when he saw the woman who entered the lounge, only she looked different with her blonde, almost-white hair.

He took a few steps, seeing her stop at the sight of him as well. Yunho noticed how calm she looked, even as she was wearing what seemed like incredibly expensive clothes. “Mirae?” He said softly. 

“Hello,” She said. 

Yunho took another step closer, while she stayed put. “Is it-is it really you?” He said. 

“I guess so,” She replied. 

“But-but how? How are you alive?” Yunho was still trying to process seeing her. “You-you even look different too.” 

“I feel different,” Mirae said. “I was wondering the same thing, actually. How I’m alive…” 

Yunho took another step forward until he was right in front of her. “Did-did Yeosang bring you back to life?” He asked, trying to fight the urge to pull her in his arms until he was sure. 

“He couldn’t understand why either,” She said. “He found me where I died.” 

Yunho kept trying to read her mind. He wanted to be sure it was her. Mirae looked up at him, then noticed her brother having the exact same expression as him. “Mirae?” He said, his eyes almost welling with tears. 

“Hello Sanie,” She said. 

San moved past Yunho and hugged her tightly, sniffling as he tried to keep himself from breaking down. “Mirae…” He sniffled as he pulled away. 

“Yeah, it’s me,” She said, looking back at Yunho, who moved to hug her as well. 

San blinked back his tears. “Looks like we were right, we should’ve waited for you to come back somehow.” 

“I heard about the funeral,” She said. 

“So, I guess you’re here for the same reason we are?” San looked hopeful, and she nodded. He hugged her again, a little longer than before. 

They heard someone’s throat clear, and Yeosang was standing by the entrance, with some of his assistants already lugging what looked like two suitcases. “I trust this little reunion is satisfactory? We won’t have time once we land in Japan, we won’t have time for this at all seeing as it’s quite a short flight,” He said. 

Mirae pulled away. “Yes it is,” She said. 

“My dear, our bags are to be loaded onto the plane at any moment, shall we?” Yeosang said. “Don’t worry, Yunho, I did nothing of what you are speculating to your beloved, but we must go.” 

San and Yunho picked up their bags, as they followed Mirae out of the lounge, the three of them following Yeosang down the hall that led to the doors of his plane.

The End.

~ 

From the place where the graves of Hyuk and Chanyeol were located, a bright beam of light shot down from the sky near the tree. A figure was falling down from the sky, followed by another, and three more. They were young men, dressed in blue, wearing black tactical vests, jackets, and boots. 

One of them had red hair, his left eye was black but had a white pupil in the shape of a star. 

“Where are we?” He said. 

The tallest one from the five of them, whose ear pieces were pointed, shrugged. “From the looks of this place, we must be on Earth,” He said. 

“Earth? We’re on Earth?” asked the male with brown curly hair and had mechanical wings sticking out of his back. “…Wait a minute, we’re in this solar system?” 

“I believe we are,” said the male with small horns sticking out of his helmet. He took out a device from his pocket to scan the area. “Yes, we are on Earth.” 

“Then we went in the wrong galaxy, there’s no stars here,” said the male whose tactical jacket had metal spikes. “There’s nothing of value here, Taehyun, didn’t you check the coordinates?” 

“I did, but I must have miscalculated,” Said the male with the black eye. “We should probably get back to our ship.” 

“Maybe this is a blessing in disguise,” the male with the horned helmet chimed in. “There’s probably a star here somewhere. I bet we can fetch ourselves a pretty penny, bringing back something from Earth. No one’s going to be able to know we got something from here anyway.” 

“I hope you’re right about that Yeonjun,” the tall male with pointed earpieces said. 

They took another step, and found something glinting in the ground. Yeonjun bent down to take a look at what was glinting. It was a diamond. He picked it up and showed it to them. “You were saying, Soobin?” 

Satisfied smiles played across their faces.