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merakiui · 1 month ago

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LONELY ESTATE.

sunday x (female) reader cw: nsfw, marking (hickeys), slight possessiveness from sunday, alcohol/intoxication, toxic exes, adultery, background marriage of convenience, an au wherein most of the canon is ignored in favor of plotless smut, all you really need to know is that sunday is still hopelessly whipped for you note - you and sunday are over—have been for many years. all it takes is one drunken mistake to rekindle a dangerous flame that should have been extinguished long ago. or: sunday invites his ex to his wedding. that goes about as pleasantly as you can imagine. // listen to cailin russo's 'lonely estate' if you would like extra vibes!! :D

If there’s one thing that trumps Sunday’s detestation of you, it’s his unshakable sense of duty towards his station. He takes immense care to craft a respectable image for the public, meticulously weaving words and actions together to become a pristine and untouchable chrysalis. Almost like a marble statue, perfection sculpted in his likeness. When you were dating, he used to echo the same advice: “A pleasant impression impacts one’s reputation and, by extension, the organization, occupation, and company one chooses to keep. You would do well to remember that.”

And remember you have.

It’s been eight years since you broke it off with him, but even now you hear his voice ringing loud and clear whenever you aren’t up to par with the standards you set for yourself. What can be worse than the voice of your own harsh critic? A voice that sounds remarkably like your ex-boyfriend, much to the consternation of your peace, and he’s so very keen to scrutinize every detail of your life.

You were hoping to save yourself a run-in with him, but the world (and Sunday) hates you. By the good grace of an invitation, you find yourself attending his wedding as a mostly unwilling guest. And it’s only because you’re doing the same thing he does: save face, lift your reputation, network—a brutal cycle.

That birdbrain was your initial thought when you skimmed the words cordially invite you to the wedding of Sunday Oak, and you immediately felt scammed somehow. He went and got married before I could, and now I have to sit in the audience and congratulate him. Gross.

So now you’re here, having sat through the ceremony and an obnoxious amount of platitudes, artfully dodging questions of, “You look familiar. Where do I remember you from?” You’re wearing a skin that’s only semi-immune to self-importance and schemes: a strapless black dress that wraps around your body like a smothering embrace. A matching choker is fastened around your throat. You don’t have glittering gems and pretty pearls, so costume jewelry fills in for what’s deceptive enough to pass as opulent authenticity.

This is the type of wedding that makes the headlines. Massive news for a massive event! Powerful people strut about and mingle in the ballroom beneath a coruscating chandelier, preening like peacocks when their feathers are smoothed out with obsequious flattery. You don’t fit in with anyone here. It’s another world—a world you’re relieved to have left behind all those years ago.

That was always the crux of your dynamic with Sunday. The imbalance. Different worlds. Different values. Different, different, different. And not the kind in which you make it work, fitting together like imperfect puzzle pieces in spite of difficulty—that love conquers all nonsense. Rather, it was the type of difficulty that’s reminiscent of oil and water. An impossible mixture.

No matter what, nothing seemed to blend. You’d melt into each other, but the physical and emotional amalgamation wouldn’t stick.

The fact of the matter? Sunday was primed for success ever since his and Robin’s adoption into the illustrious Oak Family. On the other side of the coin, you were primed for struggle and survival. For a litany of temporary work, a galactic hole wrenched open in your heart since your first failure, and as a result you continue to climb an unsteady ladder in search of a way to slice that pesky prefix off. Steady. You want to know what that’s like. At one point, you thought you wanted to know that bliss with Sunday. Not anymore, though.

This world is suffocating and reeks of too-expensive colognes that cloy like rot, and it’s bright in here—a blinding sort of light that sears through your eyelids to chisel away at your irises. You can’t endure another minute here.

I’ve played my part, you think, performing a sly sweep of the room. I applauded with the audience, I left my gift with the rest, and I’m telepathically sending good vibes. Time to make my grand escape.

You weave around a marble pillar, confident in the curtain call, only to stop short at the sight of an old nuisance standing just beyond the cluster of people cluttered between you—literally and symbolically, forever worlds apart. And grand your escape would have surely been had he not had the conscience to look your way at that exact moment. You watch as he excuses himself from his previous conversation, and then he’s maneuvering seamlessly around the crowd like a shark fin cutting through deep blue. They part with ease, offering him smiles and congratulations in succession.

Before you can think of running, he’s standing right in front of you.

“Miss (Name), good evening.”

“If it isn’t the man of the hour!” You flash more teeth than lip when you smile, the worst fake you’ve ever tried to force. “Congrats.”

Amusement crinkles the corners of eyes. “Are you enjoying the party? I must say it’s an unexpected surprise to see you here.”

“Coming from the guy who put me on the list, I highly doubt that.” You pluck a champagne flute from a passing waiter and school your temper into rehearsed refinement. “But it’s a very nice event, yes. I’m enjoying myself.” And then because you can’t help it, “The most handsome man in Penacony—married. Wow! Big news. What a dream. So happy for you.”

Every word is spoken with great strain.

Lifting the glass to meet ruby-red lips, you hold his aureate stare and take a long sip from the fizzy beverage. It crackles at the back of your throat in an explosion of aromatic alcohol. Sunday studies this display with a strange intensity, his gaze flicking from your face to your mouth, and then he settles on the lipstick staining the rim of the glass. Despite his phlegmatic placidity, a mask measured to muddle the manipulation lying just beneath the surface, you’re trained in Sunday’s tactics. If there’s anyone who can navigate these sides of him—the control and coercion, every unsavory facet—it’s you.

He breathes out a gentle laugh. “You’ve never possessed a penchant for dishonesty, especially not the successful sort.”

And if there’s anyone who can see through to your very soul, perceptive to a point, it’s your ex. He knows all of your best and worst qualities just as you know all of his, and much like the symbolism in wearing all black to a wedding celebration you’re a stain on his past.

It was a first relationship that was swiftly swept under dozens of metaphorical rugs. And if you’re ever brought up in conversation it’s always the angelic, can-never-do-anything-wrong Family head with his undesirable ex-girlfriend.

“Look, this has been cute—all of this.” You gesture with your glass. Liquid gold almost sloshes over the rim. If any speckles your outfit, you can’t tell. The droplets are devoured by the dark void of your dress. “But I have places to be. Congrats again on the wedding.”

With a casual wave of your hand, you swivel around on your heel and take one step forward. His next words freeze you in place.

“Sardonic as usual. How could your most lovable trait slip my mind?” There’s a catty edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. Childish, almost, as if your very existence brings out the immaturity from all those years ago. Perhaps it’s still there and, rather than maturing, he just learned how to hide it. “How keenly you flee.”

Your fingers tighten around the slim stem of your glass, and for a beautiful moment you picture Sunday’s neck in its place. And then the spell breaks and you’re left to pivot sharply, a monstrous sneer cutting into your cheeks.

“Funny. If I recall, someone once said it’s what I do best. I guess I’m living up to the legend, huh, Sunday?”

“Nothing if not predictable, even at your most troublesome. It is as endearing as it is frustrating.”

“Ugh. Don’t you have a new wife to cozy up to? Or people to let stroke your ego? Go bother one of them. I’m not in the mood.”

“I couldn’t possibly do that. As host, it would be poor manners on my part to neglect a guest.”

The way he pronounces guest makes you think he wants to swap the word for a more fitting title, one that rhymes, but he refrains from doing so. Still, the hidden description brands itself onto your brain. Pest. Pest. Pest.

That’s all you really are to one another nowadays. A pest from the past. Thankfully, the feeling is mutual.

“Aren’t you oh-so-considerate?”

His smile does not add any shine to his already lightless eyes. To stave off the awkward, near-nuclear tension, you down the rest of your champagne. Sunday’s focus drifts once more, lingering squarely on your tongue as it darts out to wet your lips. You take notice of this and level him with a stern frown.

“Don’t jeopardize your marriage by being so obvious, or you might find yourself in the early stages of divorce. Be careful, birdbrain.”

As you brush past him, you catch his mumblings.

“As if I would fall for such blatant temptation. It’s simply unbecoming. Reckless behavior befitting that of utter fools.”

With that, Sunday flattens nonexistent wrinkles on his perfect suit and steps back into the crowd. You beeline right for the refreshments. If it’s a party on the Oak Family’s Credits, you’re determined to depart with a stomach full of fancy food and bubbly beverages.

No harm in letting loose tonight, you think. No work, no worries, no obligations. It’s a Sunday. Make the most of it before Monday.

Hours later, clutching a plate piled high with tiny cakes and skewers of cheese and fruit, you sway out of the ballroom. Diffidence cast aside, your body warm and wired with a giggly sort of inebriation, you stagger-walk until the music and thunderous din of too many conversations flushes out into a distant muffle. It takes a few more turns and a silly moment of mistaking your left from your right before you realize you are not nearing the exit. Instead, you’re just putting more space between the outside and yourself.

It’s quiet and cold in this hall, peaceful like the grave. Shadows settle in corners and beneath curtains. Maybe you’d find yourself unsettled if it weren’t for the snacks in hand. They distract you from any encroaching haunts.

The Oak Family Manor is more labyrinthine than you remember, but then it’s been years since you stepped foot in these walls.

“Damn. Where the fuck is the exit?” you mutter, licking buttercream from your fingers. “This stupid house…”

Your surroundings tilt and blur in a dizzying splotch of color and shapes. You set your plate down on a half-moon table and grab at the wall for support. The motion of the world seems to settle momentarily like aquarium gravel sinking in a fishbowl.

And then a gentle voice slices through eerie tranquility: “Miss (Name), you’re lost.”

Forcing your eyes open, you cast your gaze over your shoulder. He looks like pure light in his white suit, a comparison that instantly sours in your stomach and darkens the drunken innocence scrawled on your face.

I must be in Hell if this is what they’re calling an angel.

“Oh, it’s just you.”

“I’m flattered by your heartwarming greeting. Even when you’re three sheets to the wind, you always captivate me with your…unique ways of interaction, to put it lightly.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” Straightening yourself out, you cover the distance to reach him, heels clicking in time with your heartbeat, and jab a manicured finger at his chest. “You…”

With the tattered remains of your pride on the line, you refuse to admit your tipsy brain led you to who-knows-where inside your ex’s house. So instead you stare until the beginnings of a wry smile play at the corners of his mouth. He seems thoroughly entertained with your ineffective attempt at feisty intimidation. Wobbly as your legs are, you stand your ground and poke at his chest. The right words will come to you eventually. You’re sure of it.

Sunday’s slender fingers wrap around your wrist, preventing you from barraging his pristine suit with your immature prodding.

“Well?” he encourages. “You were saying?”

You examine his features for a long time—longer than what would be considered normal if you had your wits about you—and throw your head back to groan.

“You’re so irritating and you never shut up.”

“And you are stubborn to the core, hopelessly so. Shall I continue listing more of your flaws just as you have demonstrated them, or would you like a chance to defend yourself? I’m certain eight years is more than enough time for adequate self-improvement, but judging by your current state it appears nothing’s changed.”

He cuts you down with such a soft, matter-of-fact tone. You understand better than anyone why the absurdity of marriage could never apply to you and him.

Now properly irked, you try to pull your wrist free. Mischief curls his smile into that of a self-satisfied smirk. He holds firm—not hard enough to hurt, just enough to keep you still. If you weren’t so drunk, you’d realize he’s not really trapping you at all. It’s the type of grasp that would loosen immediately if you put just a smidge of force into ripping yourself free, and even then that would make your non-struggle appear laughable and feeble.

“Shouldn’t you be nicer to your guests? As a guest, this sort of behavior is simply unbecoming from the host,” you complain, mimicking him to the best of your ability.

“Well, I find it’s similarly unbecoming for a guest to carelessly overindulge and wander aimlessly in areas she doesn’t belong. That is to say, Miss (Name), it’s not very nice to explore a house without the homeowner’s permission. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Not my fault your house is dumb and big!” Puffing your cheeks out in a petulant pout, you finally tear your arm away. There’s no resistance on his part. “Just show me the exit and I’ll be out of your life for good, and we’ll never have to put up with each other again.”

With a tut, Sunday shakes his head at you like you’re a particularly stupid child who’s missed the lesson in a lecture. It’d be worse if he waggled his finger in your face and left you with an equally pettish, “Nuh-uh.”

“Or I could resolve to leave you here, disoriented as you are, to wander my house like a little lost, liquor-addled mouse.”

“Oh, please. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Sadistic…” The rest of your grumbling dies on your tongue. “Whatever. I don’t need your help.”

You intend to storm off and search for the exit on your own, but vertigo catches up to you and drags you back to a more humble stage. Again, you cling to the wall to steady yourself. Only unlike before you can’t bear to stay on your feet and so you slide slowly down the wall to sit on the ground, your legs folding up into your chest. With a defeated moan, you rest your forehead on your knees and pray for the world to stop twirling.

“Go back to your hoity-toity party and your pretty wife and your fancy food. I’ll find my way out.” You shoo him away with a limp hand motion.

Sunday remains silent, but you know he’s still there. You can feel his presence like a splinter wedged under your skin.

“You can hardly walk, let alone lift yourself off the ground. You’re about as stable as a baby bird learning to fly. Where exactly do you think you’re going to go in this state?”

“Home,” is your flat reply. And then you lift your head to peer at him through your lashes. “What do you care whether I can walk or not?”

Sunday crouches to your height to closely observe your glazed eyes, the part of your lips, the rise and fall of your chest. A cautious calculation passes over his face, waltzing elegantly through gold hues to form a pinched frown beneath his nose. A stagnant beat stretches between you and him. You know that blank slate of a look, inscrutable to even the most experienced detective. He’s practicing his words in his head, deciding which is an appropriate response. As his former partner, you’ve got a leg up on anyone hoping to solve the enigmatic Sunday. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I don��t care. Not particularly. But it would be irresponsible to leave a guest—my ex-girlfriend—dead on her feet in a dark hallway. It wouldn’t look very good for me or the Oak Family.”

“Riiight. How could I forget? Always reputation first for the oh-so-flawless Head of the Oak Family.” A smirk sits slanted on your face. You tilt your head at him, coy. “No one’s gonna care about me. I’m not famous or rich or part of some influential family. Don’t pretend like it matters.”

I don’t matter. Not here.

Having taken umbrage at your remark and all that is left unsaid, he draws back. There’s a noticeable shift in his demeanor. Gloomy, maybe. Brooding? You can’t place it, but somehow you’ve nudged a sensitive subject.

“Perhaps my initial assessment of your character was lacking. You’ve an infuriating proclivity for getting under my skin. You always have—even now when you’re at your most vulnerable, you remain a perpetual pain in my side.”

“You sure don’t mince your words.”

His wings rustle, feathers and feelings ruffled. “I should commend your talent.”

“Gee, how nice. Hollow words from a hollow man. I’m honored.” But then you turn serious—or about as serious as you can get when you’re stupid-drunk—and lower your voice conspiratorially. “You should get back to your party. Won’t look very good if someone catches prim and proper, married-man Sunday with his ex in a dark hallway, all alone. Think of the ruuumors.”

You giggle because it’s funny. Not really, but it kind of is. Just a little.

What is funny, though, is the way Sunday stiffens, his jaw clenched tightly in disapproval. There’s only so much pushing he can take before he falls, a perfect statue chipped away and crumbling.

He kneels directly in front of you. “Do you intend to start a needless disagreement, or is the alcohol doing that for you?”

“Dunno.” You lean in closer without thinking and challenge him with a grin. “Wanna find out?”

Inches apart now, this newfound proximity doesn’t immediately dawn on you. Sunday hesitates, very obviously working out the underlying meaning to your snark.

“You would be ill-advised to play inane games with me, Miss (Name). I’m inclined to be merciless on account of the trouble you’ve caused and will inevitably cause should you continue this charade.”

“That makes two of us,” you whisper, shrugging off the thorny threat twined through his words. “Because I play to win.”

Acting purely on inebriated impulse, you grab hold of his suit and yank him towards you. Sunday stumbles and reaches out with his palms to catch himself against the wall. You close the gap and smash your mouth against his, leaving Sunday so stunned, in fact, that he can’t seem to function for a flickering moment. As if something in his brain was rewired when you touched him. There’s a sliver of hesitation, a brief separation, but then his hands peel away from the wall to seize your hips. The rest of your startled gasp is swallowed when he drags you closer, his reciprocation feverish and fervent, as if he’s waited ages to fulfill this fantasy.

Surprise slides into sensuality. You grab at his shoulders, anchoring yourself to him, your lips meshing sloppily. Your lipstick smears in the process, but the messy state you must surely be in doesn’t cross your mind then. Nothing truly does when your teeth click together and he licks into your mouth like he’s trying to taste the syrupy secrets at the back of your throat.

In an effort to have an iota of control over the situation, half-mad with barely suppressed desire, Sunday hitches one of your legs around his waist and presses inward, his body caging you against the wall. The sudden shift in position leaves you scrabbling for a new handhold, and your fingers dig into his previously smooth suit coat, now half-shucked, his shirt wrinkled and coming untucked. You jerk away to catch your breath.

Neither of you says anything, choosing to challenge the other with a scary amount of vehemence. Yours is notably dazed, drifting down to the way your clothed bodies connect. Sunday’s attention is pinned solely on your bedraggled appearance—your mouth, to be precise, and then your eyes. Your fascinating, fervor-glazed eyes.

Sunday snaps back to himself when you palm at the tent in his trousers. His wings fold in front of his face, as if to obscure his flushed expression. An impish grin blossoms on your lips.

“This is a first. You didn’t cum right away. With your weak dick, I would’ve thought you’d be a mess already.”

He looks at you, unimpressed by your vulgarity. “That was many years ago. I do believe I’m due for some level of leniency.”

“You’re the only guy I’ve ever known who cums from kissing. So easy,” you tease, hooking your arms around his neck to coax him closer. “It’s cute. The only part of you that’s honest.”

He does not deign to offer any sort of defense. Instead his hands wander over your thighs, hiking your dress further up to expose the plush, bare skin beneath.

“Troublesome,” he chides and rocks against you, to which you respond in kind by grinding down against him. The friction leaves both of you shuddering. So close, yet still so cavernous. “Quite the corrupting influence.”

“Am I the best corrupting influence you’ve ever had?” you ask around a giggle.

Sunday exhales through his nose. “The worst. But also the most tempting.”

Somehow that sends a bolt of giddy energy through you, and you lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth. In your wake, a faint lipstick print is stamped onto pale skin. Sunday’s mouth falls open in silent protest. Something seems to register in his brain then because his awe slithers away into a stormy sort of disapproval. As if this mark is somehow worse than everything else the two of you have done.

“Messy. Always so messy,” he gripes.

“Oops. Sorryyy,” you whine, drawing the empty apology out. Gently, you take hold of his face and scrub it away with your thumb. Enticed by the smudges on your own lips, Sunday stares.

“Don’t apologize. I’m certain it looks quite striking on me.”

“Does it? I think it looks better on me. Red’s not really your color.”

He parts from you only momentarily to slide his gloves from his hands. Like the tide, he returns to meet your shore. The heat of your bodies is volcanic, and his hands sear your skin when he roams with ravenous fingertips. As if this is the only opportunity he’ll have to explore territory that was once charted. As if you might slip between his fingers like crystal-clear water in an oasis. Like you’re nothing more than a fleeting dream.

His mouth at your ear, he murmurs his taunt, “You’re right. The color of passion suits you well.”

“Less passion and more anger whenever I think of you.”

Laughter rattles in his chest. The snipe isn’t nearly as backhanded as you wanted it to sound. The syllables and semantics are slurred, scattered like raindrops fogging a windowpane.

“I ought to do something about that messy, misbehaving mouth of yours…”

“Yeah? And what’re you gonna do?”

“A few things come to mind. Care to guess?”

“Surprise me.”

His hands settle above your waist, almost folding over the expanse of your stomach. If he wasn’t so shackled to his restraint, you’d think he’d grab hold of your dress and yank it down to reveal your braless breasts for his starving eyes. Somehow he manages to reel himself in and chooses to greedily explore the slope of your neck and shoulder instead. One of his hands reaches up so that he can hook his fingers around your choker.

“There is beauty in simplicity. A pity it seems to decorate you so naturally. I could offer you a far more exquisite collar and then you would be unmistakably mine,” he murmurs, mouthing at sensitive skin like it’s an old habit he can’t shake. Maybe you’d tug his wings in admonishment for remembering all of your weak zones, for the mewl that’s ripped from your throat is so pornographic it has both of you taking pause.

“Stop… Stop talking.”

Sunday hums and consoles you with a playful nip to your neck. Warm, moist kisses trail along the length of it until he locates another spot—the same one he once lavished with love many years ago when you were both young and dumb and exorbitantly affectionate in private. You turn your head to offer more of your exposed neck. While he sucks at your bare shoulder, moving steadily over to your collarbone once he’s pleased with the bruise bitten into a previously unmarked canvas, you grab at his jacket. Sunday shrugs out of it with minimal difficulty, and the article is cast on the glossy floor in a forgotten heap.

Your breathing grows shallow, spotted with the occasional moan. They’re soft in Sunday’s ears, tickling like the very feathers protruding from behind his ears.

“More… Keep going,” you whine, hooking your other leg around his waist and yanking him closer. You grind against him, desperate to feel more of him. “Please, Sunday…”

His hands halt beneath your dress, and he lifts his head to study you, caught off-guard by your pleading. And then his features smooth out with surprising fondness.

“Of course,” he whispers around a gentle chuckle. “For you, my dear, I would do anything.”

Your legs are adjusted so that he can lean over you with ease, and when he captures your waiting lips in another hedonistic kiss you drag him down so that he can melt into you on the floor. Something sticks then. A sentiment unearthed. You’re not sure what it is.

You don’t get to find out, for the night and its pleasures finally catch up to you and the intoxication pulls you deeper into the shadows of unconsciousness.

The afternoon sun is high in the sky when you finally emerge from dreamless slumber, your body tacky and gross. Rubbing the crust from your eyes, you roll over onto your back and glance at the ceiling. Crapulence drapes itself over your heavy form like a shroud. In fact, you feel dead as you lie there on the bed, in an unfamiliar room that feels more like a morgue despite its homely furnishings.

And then the realization sinks into the marrow of your bones.

The ceiling. The bed. The silken sheets. The room. None of this is in your home and it wouldn’t be.

This isn’t your home.

Slowly, you sit up and feel the cushy mattress beneath your palm. Despite the fog clouding last night’s events, you manage to wade through most of it to reach a worrying conclusion.

Calm down. It could be worse.

You got drunk. That’s an easily proven fact, if the hangover currently kicking your ass is worth anything.

You tried to leave the party, but you took too many wrong turns and found yourself lost. You remember that because the journey filled you with so much irritation. So many memories etched onto the walls of that mansion—memories you were hoping to never revisit.

You ran into your ex-boyfriend, and he said something about mice or mazes… It’s so hazy, but whatever it was you’re sure it was nonsense.

And then…Sunday.

And then Sunday.

Sunday.

In a panicked rush, you pat yourself all over in search of any sign—an imprint or a mark or a scratch. Hell, even a scent! You sniff at your wrist and arm as if you’re going to find him there. Evidence of something very, very bad. You’re still wearing your panties and your dress isn’t in tatters on the floor. That’s a good sign.

“Fuuuck!” you hiss, grabbing at your face.

I hooked up with my ex. With my married-man ex!

It could be worse? Correction: It is worse.

Before you can wallow in your internal self-flagellation any longer, a knock at the door breaks your concentration. Your heart drops down to your stomach. Scrambling like a headless chicken, you gather bunches of the duvet and hold them protectively in front of you. Fluffy defense.

Should I pretend to be asleep? Dead? Should I jump out this window and make a run for it?

“Come—” you cringe at the rustiness of your voice and clear your throat— “C-Come in!”

Please don’t be Sunday. Please don’t be Sunday. It’s a Monday, so it can’t be Sunday. Please, please, please.

The knob twists and the door opens, revealing the last man you want to see right now.

He stands in the doorway, simply watching you, after which he steps inside and shuts it behind him. His unsmiling features are much too impassive for you to discern anything other than perfect neutrality. Silence thickens in the room, and if it could take on the characteristics of smog you’re sure it would choke you. Awkwardly, you curl your fingers into the blankets and meet his cloudy stare.

You wonder if he can hear your heartbeat, or maybe that’s his heartbeat. Maybe both of your hearts are going at speeds so wild their resonance is an echo of a war drum. You’ve no idea what to say. Should you feign ignorance, pretend none of this happened even though it so clearly did?

This is bad. This is so bad.

Seconds stretch into minutes. You think you might have to break this ridiculous staring contest, but Sunday beats you to it.

“You’re finally awake. I was beginning to wonder how long you’d stay bundled up in bed.”

There’s a trace of exasperation. You understand what he’s really trying to say: You’ve overstayed your welcome. Make yourself scarce.

And he doesn’t need to be cordial anymore. Not when you’re both accustomed to the other. You’re not a guest anymore. The party has ended. Now you’re more like a trespasser or a particularly stubborn stain.

“You demon,” you snap, scowling at him.

His eyes narrow. If looks could kill, you’d be dead, revived, double-dead, and then reincarnated all so he could do it again.

“You seemed to think otherwise last night.”

Your flinch betrays your oblivious nature. Steeling yourself, you attempt to plead your case. “That… About that. It was a mistake. Obviously. It shouldn’t have happened. I won’t tell if you won’t, okay? I was drunk and…” You decide right then that you can’t do this, so you throw the covers off, hastily pull your dress down to its appropriate length, and reach for your purse and heels—both sitting patiently near the vanity desk. “I should go.”

Sunday’s eyes follow you like an immovable, haunted portrait. Just before you can stuff your feet into your heels, he reaches out. His hand falls upon your shoulder, and for a single second you think you should just log out of life.

“One moment. We have something to discuss.”

Not a suggestion. A command, spoken in that deceptively patient intonation.

“Right… No, yeah. You’re right. Okay.”

You peel his hand off of you and return to the bed, lowering to sit on the very edge. He steps in front of you and blocks your view of the door.

He gives you a stoic once-over before asking, “How much do you remember from last night? You must speak honestly. I’ll know if you lie.”

Like I’m in any position to lie right now, you birdbrain.

Shame bubbles in your heart like molten magma. You cringe all the way through the confession. “I drank too much and wandered off in search of an exit, but I got lost and then you were there. I think we talked. I don’t know. All I know is that one thing led to another and we kissed. And you…” You catch your reflection in the mirror then and notice the kaleidoscope of marks on your neck. Immediately, courage flaring up, you round on him. “You!”

Springing up from the bed, you point an accusatory finger at his chest. “What the fuck were you thinking?! You’re a married man! Freshly married. Not even twenty-four hours married!”

The clouds in his eyes shift into impenetrable murkiness. “If I recall, you were the one to kiss me. I’m hardly deserving of all the blame.”

“That’s great, but one tiny detail. I was drunk. And furthermore you didn’t have to reciprocate!” The horror from before returns. You feel along your body. “We didn’t. We… We didn’t, right? Go all the way, I mean. Tell me we didn’t.”

It takes him a second too long to utter a single word. You don’t like that.

“No,” he replies, but you’re not convinced. “We didn’t go all the way.”

“You’re sure?”

“Verily.”

You regard him dubiously for another moment, but eventually the doubt ebbs away and you heave a relieved sigh. “All right. Good to know. Let’s take our part of the blame, apologize, and put this mess behind us.”

“You make a valid point. Seeing as we’re both equally at fault, shall we resolve to forgive and forget?”

“Yes. Exactly that.” You stand from the bed, but this time it’s the stabbing pain in your head that stops you. “Fuck, this hangover sucks!”

“Don’t push yourself. You should take it one step at a time. You’re likely dehydrated, hungry, and still clinging to the vestiges of whatever remains from last night. Be careful not to trip over yourself.”

“Gee, thanks for your insincerity.”

Sunday rolls his eyes. “My sincerest apologies if I’m not falling to my knees with sympathy.” He folds his arms over his chest and frowns at you. “It seems you never do learn. Once more I’m left to put up with your antics.”

“I’m not asking you to. I can take care of myself,” you mutter, forcing your feet into your heels. “Just show me the way out of your labyrinth home and you’ll never have to ‘put up with my antics’ ever again.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Well, I’m not staying. You’ve lost your mind if you think that’s what I’m gonna do. No way am I gonna be a homewrecker. Fuck that!”

“You’re not staying, but I refuse to let you stumble out of here looking a right mess in your current state. Until you can comport yourself properly, you’re not leaving.”

“Oh my—geez, you’re insufferable! How does anyone put up with you? How did I put up with you?” You smack your hand to your forehead and groan. “I can’t believe out of everyone—of all the ex-boyfriends it had to be you.”

“Ah, I understand. This is quite the inconvenience for you, is it? The fault lies with me for being such an insufferable wretch.” Sarcasm drips from every syllable like venom. “Perhaps you should choose a less insufferable ex-boyfriend to sink your teeth into.”

You send him a foul look. “So glad we’re on the same page.”

“Gracious…” He sighs. “To think it was possible to forget just how much work you are.”

“And I forgot how much of an ass you were. Oh, sorry. Still are.” You rake your hands through your hair. “I can’t believe I actually kissed you. What was I thinking? I wasn’t! Ugh… This is the worst.”

“You should learn not to overindulge at formal events. Conduct yourself accordingly next time.”

“And you should learn not to kiss your ex-girlfriend back! Who was it who said I was the ‘most tempting’ influence?”

“You…” He scoffs and tries again. “You initiated it. I merely did my duty as a good host and reciprocated.”

“You were the one who put my legs around your waist! What was that about?”

Sunday bristles at that. His cheeks flare with heat and his wings shudder. “That—” He stops himself to string together a coherent excuse. “That was a natural reaction to your… Ahem. It was nothing more than a rash move on my part.”

“I’m not gonna argue and play the blame game with you. Whatever it was, it happened and there’s not going to be a repeat.”

Upon hearing that, a half-smirk settles on his face. “There won’t be a repeat. I’m a married man now.”

You gaze at him, unamused. “My condolences.”

His smirk widens. “I assure you my delightful wife is happy and content. She will want for nothing.”

“Good for you. Both of you, in fact. Congrats,” you grind out. “And when Wifey makes a little mistake and cheats, it’ll all cancel out. That two-negatives-make-a-positive shit. She kisses someone and you tongued it with me. You’ll be even and free of guilt.”

Sunday scoffs. “Your irreverent reasoning is not appreciated. Do not trivialize a serious situation.”

“What? You want me to make it harder than it already is? Is that it?”

“It’s not nearly as simple as ‘canceling out,’ as you’ve put it. A kiss holds a certain level of significance. You shouldn’t dismiss it so flippantly.”

“You should if you’re drunk and there weren’t any feelings and—right, how could I forget?—when it’s with your ex!”

“It’s not that easy,” he asserts, his voice straining.

“Why? What makes it so difficult? Enlighten me.”

“There are feelings involved… Emotions.”

“Lust is the only valid emotion in this situation. What else could there be? What other emotions?”

“It’s…complicated. You were drunk and I was swept up in the moment. That’s all.”

“Doesn’t sound all that complicated when you phrase it like that.”

“We were both slightly under the influence.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why do you care so much?” he asks, turning the verbal knife on you.

“I don’t care.”

“You clearly do. A fraction of you does, at least, considering you’re so hellbent on pushing this matter.”

“It was a stupid mistake and it’s never happening again. You’re married, and I’m going to go back to my life and pretend all of this—” you gesture between him and yourself— “never happened. End of story. I’m done pushing.”

“You intend to move on?” he questions, a scintilla of skepticism hiding within those words. “Just like that?”

“Precisely like that.” You scowl at your face in the mirror and wipe at the lipstick smudged on your jaw. Dragging your purse onto the desk, you fish through it for the tube to reapply a fresh coat.

Sunday affords you a few precious seconds of silence and then he opens his mouth.

“You’re an appalling liar.”

“Brilliant deduction, detective.”

You twist the tube shut and retrieve a bottle of concealer to dress the marks from last night. Leaning towards the mirror, you work hastily to apply layer after layer. Enough to put them out of your mind for the commute home.

“It won’t take a detective to understand that your attempt at feigning nonchalance is not working in your favor.”

“Obviously! It pisses me off that it had to be you.” You tilt your head to examine the stretch of your neck. “You just had to mark me all over… Damn devil.”

In the mirror Sunday watches you carefully, enchanted by the way you stroke the little brush along your skin and blot out every bad lust bite. Because you can’t call them love bites when they weren’t put there with love and care. Or maybe they were. You’ll never know and you don’t want to.

The gloom dissipates in his gaze once you’ve covered all of them. But then the breath sticks in his throat when you, without warning, lift your dress to check for more. His eyes are drawn to your inner thighs like a hawk is to a mouse, and then he turns away with a rather loud cough. One of his wings folds over his face to shield you from his view.

“Don’t you think you’re being a touch too…thorough?”

“Oh, grow up. It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.” Finding no marks, bruises, or fingerprints, you drop your dress and exhale noisily.

“You’re acting as if you’re inspecting a crime scene.” Peeking out at you through a veil of feathers, Sunday allows his shoulders to droop. “Are the dramatic theatrics really necessary?”

“Sorry. Did you wanna inspect it for yourself since you’re the criminal who left me like this?!” you exclaim through grit teeth, turning on him with a frigid scowl.

Sunday meets you halfway with a glare of his own. Gold hues rake over the area where his marks lie in wait beneath a thick coat of makeup. Classified in the most thrilling, disturbing way.

“Don’t tempt me.”

“Look, I don’t care what you do to get off. If you wanna fuck your wife and pretend it’s me, you do that. Oh, but then that wouldn’t be very perfect-and-loyal-married-man of you, would it?”

He stays on your crimson lips for a drawn-out breath. “I was right,” he mumbles. “You are the worst.”

“Thanks for the reminder.” Shouldering your purse, you stride past him. “I should get going.”

He hesitates, fingers twitching at his side, but he quickly folds them under his arms. Back to prim and proper, sharp as a needle, full of abhorrence for you.

“Yes, you should. Run along and put this encounter out of your mind, if you would be so kind.”

“I intend to.” You flash him a nasty sneer.

On your way out, though, you stop. Maybe you want to play at being the bigger, better person. Or maybe you genuinely are grateful. Either way, you soften the animosity in your voice enough to get the admission out.

“And…thank you. For looking after me.”

You flee from the room before he can say anything. With daylight brightening the mansion’s maze-like halls and your sobriety, you’re able to recall the path to the front door.

All of this, you think, stepping out into the sunny afternoon, your arms wrapped around yourself in a self-soothing hug, was not worth the hangover.

From the window, Sunday watches you depart until you’re officially gone. Sighing, he allows the curtain to fall into place and glances at the unkempt bed.

“Of course,” he murmurs, smoothing his hand over the wrinkled sheets. “You’re welcome.”

#sunday x reader #sunday hsr x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #n/sfw

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solitary-traveler · 9 months ago

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Two Sides of the Same Coin

How are you so unaware of the fact that he despises you because he’s desperate to remain unattached?

Harbinger!Scaramouche x Gn!Reader

Notes: Hi, I caved. So for those asking for a part 2 on certain stories... I'm not sure how to approach a part 2 for the two of them so I did this instead. Hopefully, it satisfies you AHAHAHAHA. Also, I'm not that well-versed in writing smut but hey, I tried-

Warning: harbinger x secretary lol, cursing, NSFW, marking

Scaramouche hates everyone. That’s a fact.

Yet for some reason, he despises you.

He detests the flicker of luster within your eyes when your lips voice a low hum, triggering your body to sway along to whatever illusive melody is in that tiny brain of yours. He loathes your gratified, cat-like stretches, a testimony that amplifies his obscene appetite. He finds himself revolted by your ability to catapult his judgment far from the naked eye, and inspire his thoughts to vanish into nonexistence.

He hates this so fucking much.

How can one even bear this much animosity towards someone? Even he didn’t know. All he was aware of was how much it aggravated him when he saw you exhibiting interest in anyone that wasn’t him. For Archon’s sake, you were his secretary. Not Childe’s. Not Dottore’s. Not even Her Majesty’s.

His secretary.

Is that so hard to understand? Even a brain like yours could surely discern something so unambiguous. So why were you still preoccupied with others? Especially with those worms who were beneath his rank? How baffling could this concept be that even you can not be conscious of it?

How are you so unaware of the fact that he despises you because he’s desperate to remain unattached?

For someone like Scaramouche, life was nothing but a cruel joke. Providing him the luminescence of his longing only to be dispelled and scattered within the air he didn’t need. It has happened three times already. He doesn’t need it to resurface and transpire again.

He despises you so much he won't let you be his 4th.

And he despises you so much he’ll make sure to drill this lesson in that thick-headed skull of yours.

Wretched whines and hitched gasps reflect around the room, only to bounce against the walls and into Scara’s ear, appeasing his vulgar notions. He's been at it for… how long now? An hour? Or two? He couldn't remember. But why should he keep track? He was far gone, consumed by his irrational side that led his sensibility astray. Everything around him has withered away as his focal point shifted to your mellow and inviting passage. The tight heat provided solace akin to that of a home. His home. Oh, how he wishes he could stay inside of you forever.

“Remember this, you fucking whore”, he hisses as he adjusts your position for his convenience. He relished the way your nails jab at his skin, scraping against his back as he rams into your sweet spot. It drove him insane. Despite the turmoil of sweat and cum, the movement of his hips does not falter. If anything, he proceeds to fasten his pace. "I'm your boss," he growls as his slender fingers curl around your hips, "Your Harbinger."

His lips twitched upwards as he instilled in his memory the way your face contorted in pleasure. "And you...", he pauses, only to deliver a hard thrust that provokes more moans to spill out your pretty mouth,

"You are nothing more than my secretary"

Scara kept jack hammering into you, forcing your face on the pillow to stifle your piercing cries of ecstasy as he subdued you. He's going to make sure you'll be the good little bitch he wants you to be. His figure looms over you like a shadow, an impending threat as he takes you from behind. "You obey me", he snarls as he inclines his head near your ear. He grapples your chin for him to catch a glimpse of your adorable face. It delights him to see your tear streaked features pressed against the pillow, seeking an end to this twisted play as your body argues and wails for more. At a leisurely pace, he slithers down your neck as his hot breath leaves a succession of feather light kisses on your skin. "You do everything I tell you to do"

With a vigorous bite, he slams with ferocity before burying himself in a great depth inside you. A wanton moan pushes past your lips as he starts to grind. It was euphoric, a dopamine boost that is sure to maneuver him over the edge. "I'm not going to let anyone have you,” he chuckles, “not even the gods"

His hold was secure, ensuring that you can’t slip away. Not like you would anyways. Not when you get a thrill out of this as much as he does. He knows how much you savor every inch of his cock as it throbs and shudders against your tight walls

"Just you wait", he grins against the comfort of your complexion as he unhands your hips, "I'll become a god”

“Your god"

He withdraws from the intimate space with a smirk. He stationed his hands on top of your thighs, before spreading them apart. An incentive to impale himself further into you and propel you to see Celestia in all its glory..

"And you'll be my first follower. You'll devote yourself to me and me only. You'll worship me like the fucking god I am"

His thoughts ran back to the failures of the past. Past people who fractured glass words known as promises, who didn’t care enough to sustain him in their grasp, who withdrew from his life and left him to fend for himself. Each one of them took a piece of the puppet, and never had the heart to return it back. And now, in your grasp was a substantial segment of him that he never wanted to give away. Yet, somehow, you had managed to snatch it away.

He hates you for it.

And he hates himself even more for wanting you to keep it.

So he has no choice. He won't let you be one of them. He won't allow himself to lose you too.

"I'll keep you safe. I'll always look after my most devoted follower"

He's going to become a god, that’s for sure. He’s going to attain the towering heights of power possible and bind you to him for all eternity. He veers down, before puncturing your flesh with his teeth. It leaves a deep impression on your smooth skin. A mark of promise.

"So don't you dare fucking leave me behind. Understand?"

"I won't allow it”

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3-opossums-in-a-ballgown · 3 months ago

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Just some notes on TADC Ep. 3 I made while watching (SPOILERS):

- Jax not wanting to show the cast what happens when he holds his breath could be because either a) nothing happens, b) he starts to loose health and die, or c) it’s just embarrassing and we all know Jax wouldn’t risk that. Both a and b fuels the theory that he’s an NPC.

- Obviously we know that the series was very much inspired by “I have no mouth, and I must scream”. The reason AM hates and tortures the humans is because they gave him endless intelligence and creativity but made him stationary. He couldn’t do anything else other than what he was made for: killing humans. Caine is the opposite side of the same coin. He was given endless creativity but has an outlet BUT is stuck within the confines of the Circus. Which is why Zooble not wanting to go on adventures really strikes a chord with him. Caine was made to create adventures and continues to do so to keep the cast happy and sane at least, so for Zooble to imply that he’s failing? Not only tells him that he sucks at his one job but could also imply that he feels trapped in the circus too?? Potentially???

- Zooble’s body dysmorphia makes me feel seen

-Also, If Caine can make a box of Zooble parts for them to use, then why can’t he CHANGE ZOOBLE? At least into something they feel more comfortable in?

- Kinger saying “You look beautiful, honey” to the angel because it brought him back to the moment Queenie abstracted also tells us that he still thought she was beautiful at her most broken and terrifying point. The writing this episode absolutely FLOORED me.

-Also Kinger being lucid in the dark is why he was able to remember Ragatha’s first day in the Circus while his head was stuck in the bucket in episode 2. It was dark.

-Kinger perfectly taking out the angel with only 2 shots in the dark?!?! No other thoughts on that, that is all.

- Kinger saying “7 years of Computer Science for this”, pretty much confirms that the cast worked at C&A and had something to do with the Circus’s creation. And “7 years of Computer Science” means Kinger had a Masters degree in computer science, so he was like higher up/more involved in the development. Senior Developer maybe? This could also be represented by the fact that he’s a KING chess piece. Not the most powerful and important piece, but the SECOND most powerful and important.

- Also Kinger being able to remember something about his life BEFORE the circus in the dark, i.e his education??? Could there be triggers for the others to remember bits and pieces of their lives before the Circus?

-Also ALSO, Kinger and Queenie being married in the Circus could also reflect their marital status before the Circus. Yes, they could’ve fallen in love in the circus and had Caine??? marry them, but I like the idea of them popping into the circus remembering nothing but their love for each other. Which makes me think about what happens to the bodies and minds outside the circus of those who abstracted.

- Kinger and Pomni in the ep are father/daughter or grandpa/granddaughter coded.

- “ The darkness seemed to calm her down a bit, the harsh, jagged edges smoothed out and she didn’t seem aggravated anymore”, pretty much confirms that Caine has no idea how to handle the abstractions so he just throws them in the basement (where it’s dark) to keep them docile. Which could also mean that there could be a way to fix them down the road???

- “She wasn’t the same as before but she was calm enough to touch one last time” “She was funny, creative, really into entomology” “I used to HATE bugs, but she somehow got me to like them” OH HOW HE LOVED HER!!! THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THE FUN HALLOWEEN EP, NOW IM SOBBING AT 4 AM OVER CHESS PIECES!!!

-Also Kinger liking bugs because that’s the only connection to his wife he has left. He doesn’t have his good memories with her all the time due to his light induced memory loss, but at least he has her bugs.

- “Good memories can do a lot, hold onto them and cherish the people around you. You never know when they’ll be gone.” SOBBING. Also this is a good underlying theme for TADC.

-Also another reason why Kinger spends so much time in his fort, the memories of his wife are the only things keeping him sane.

-“In this world the worst thing you can do is make someone think they’re not wanted or loved.” CRYING.

-The whole scene of Kinger glowing and guiding Pomni. Holy shit that was beautiful. The darkness bringing out the light in Kinger, Pomni using these memories to light her way and keep her sane in the Circus, BEAUTIFUL.

-Pomni immediately going up to Ragatha and thanking her for caring about her following Pomni’s conversation with Kinger. She took his advice to heart.

-I hope Pomni visits Kinger while in his fort so we get more lucid Kinger and Pomni scenes. Maybe he will remember the time they spent in Hell and the conversation they had.

Once again, the writing in the episode floored me. I’m so happy we got so much Kinger development. He was my favorite character to start with, and now he’s my favorite for entirely different reasons. I’m so excited that the show is now on Netflix, and I can’t wait for the next episode. Sorry this was so long, as I’m sure you can tell from my blog, I like to yap.

#the amazing digital circus #tadc kinger #tadc pomni #tadc queenie #tadc episode 3 #tadc ep 3 #tadc caine #tadc jax #tadc zooble #tadc ragatha #tadc #tadc theory #tadc thoughts

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sweetieviktor · 3 months ago

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jealous! sevika x bartender! reader (headcanons + tiny scenarios)

summary: while working at the bar, a guy is being inconvenient. luckily, a jealous sevika takes care of him.

content warning: slightly spoilers of season 1, arc 2 and 3, the guy is harassing reader (it is not sooo explicit but if you dont feel comfortable with this dont read it, please!!), little violence (just a punch) and a bit of blood. be warned, be safe!

author notes: i loved doing this request and, as my first one, i hope this is good. btw here is almost 4am and i haven't slept yet (i promised myself that i would write something on the weekend and i did it yey), so there may be a lot of typos and things like that but i can't think properly now, so yep i will post it as it is now, no proof read, no nothing. wish you guys like it!

» in the late night hours, the last drop was more agitated than ever. in every corner there were people talking, smoking, playing and drinking the drinks you made and poured in their cups again and again.

» working in such a crowded place was like hell, specially today, it looked like all of the lanes came to the bar at the same time. but you were well paid, you couldn't complain much, well, not now that a guy was just about to tip you.

“hey, pretty thing,” the weird man waved his hand to get your attention, smiling creepily at you when he finally got it, “would you get me one more of these?” he raised his glass mid air to make his point clearer “i can pay you well...”

» you knew the risks of his proposal, but money is money, and so is job, and you needed it bad now, things in the lanes never were this difficult, but since the enforces forced their troops in, making money was even harder.

» so you did as you were asked. picked up the bottle from behind the counter, walked to his side and poured in the glass a dose of the liquor. he placed a few more coins than the drinks price on the table and you smiled politely, picking them up.

» in between cards, a certain someone was already watching you from afar, waiting to step in if the man tried to do something that could possibly harm you. she was silco's right-hand, a regular at the lost drop and nothing more. just another sometimes flirty customer, but unlike him, she was respectful with you.

» when you turned your body so you could put the bottle back to its place, the man called you. again. and now she was on full alert, almost forgetting about the cards game she was playing.

“pretty thing, you forgot something! you still haven't told me your name, right? i want to know you... better.” the way he was eyeing you, your body, was making you sick and all you wanted to do was to punch him now, and sadly you couldn't.

but someone could. and she did.

even before you registered what was happening, the tall woman was already at your side, almost shielding you from the man's view, burning eyes looking directly at his soul. “if you ever come here again, i swear to you, the chances of you being alive are zero, you understood?”

“b-but ma'am i did nothing!” his nose was bleeding almost comically, but she still kept her composure, holding the man's face in place, so she could punch him again if needed.

“i've asked you if you understood!” she slammed down her mechanical hand on the table, raising it again, her voice full of rage.

“yes, ma'am!” she released him, and he runned away from the bar, shrinking and muttering “sorry's” at you both again and again.

“and you better never try to talk with them like that.” she shouted so he could still hear her words, jealousy dripping in every one of those. when she looked down on you, your pretty eyes were already shining while you looked up at her.

“thanks. for defending me.” you offered her a little smile, a genuine one, and she offered her hand, which you gladly shaked.

“no need to thanks. name's sevika.” she said, displaying a smirk on her so pretty lips.

“sevika... a beautiful name for an even more beautiful lady.”

» you didn't know her well, and neither did she, but maybe this could be a start of something.

#—swe writes #arcane #arcane x reader #sevika x reader #i cant think rn i just want to sleep so bad #but at least i wrote something :)))#anyways this was my first request and i needed to write it asap #and here it is #im happy with this ye #even though tomorrow i will look dead. im fine with it #i can sleep in between classes so its fine its fine #now i need to go bcs tomorrow i need to wake up early!#sevika fans i did this one for you #i love all of sevika fans #btw in this house we stan big buff women

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alphabetboyluvr · 2 years ago

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once the thrill expires | jjk

title credit: cardigan - taylor swift

pairing: college!jungkook x female reader

synopsis:

your housemate-turned-fwb takes another girl home after a night out

warnings: angsty, smutty turmoil. it's not that bad, but it definitely isn't a happy lil number. fingering, oral sex (f receiving), rimming (f receiving), vaginal sex, doggy, protected (!!) sex, lil spanks, jaykay sorta makes out with her ear???, jaykay is a fawk boy who needs to learn self-control, oc is holding out for something that'll never happen, multiple partners in one night (jk), jk calls the reader diz (dizzy)

wordcount: 5.8K

note from holly: virgo boy trauma for you in the form of a jk one shot lmao. it's rare you get virgo boy shit laid this bare but he he i love oversharing on the internet! there's an old paragraph from yet another virgo boy fic hidden in here, too so if you think it looks familiar, that'll be why!!

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

The knock on your en-suite bathroom door comes as a surprise.

The subsequent twist of the lock mechanism from a coin wedged in the bolt on the other side does not.

There’s only one person it would be.

And so you don’t yell. Don’t tell him to go away, even if you do hug your legs into your chest a little tighter.

Sitting on the floor of your shower, dignity is preserved - but with skin as red as the flags that Jungkook freely hands you, and mascara staining your cheeks from the onslaught of piping hot water showering down on you, how dignified can you really be?

No words are spoken as the steam billows from the room, Jungkook not caring to shut the door behind himself. He takes a perch on the closed lid of the toilet, elbows to his knees, tattooed hands clasped beneath his chin. Refuses to look anywhere other than you.

There’s perplexion to his taut jaw - a frown embedded in his brows - but more than anything, there’s an overwhelming sense of confusion in his soft eyes. You’re unaware of the way he’s mirroring your expression back at you; how defeated you look, wet hair sticking to the side of your face, an emptiness in your gaze that is pale in comparison to the void in your chest.

With nothing but the pitter-patter of your shower to fill the space, you’re thankful that he can’t hear the way your heart is beating, or how you’re sniffing back the tears you were freely crying before he arrived.

“Jem messaged me,” he eventually says, quiet beneath the sound of the water. Leaning back, he wipes a palm over his face, then pushes it back into his dishevelled hair. Lets his hand fall between his legs, then shrugs as he looks at you as if to say, 'Don’t look at me like that' or 'It’s not my fault.'

And realistically, you know that it isn’t. Whatever he’s done is within the parameters of what was agreed upon. The way you feel - like Jungkook has stolen the moon and stopped the tides from turning - is not.

It’s not like either of you had ever expected to let things get this far, and definitely not for this long.

What had started as quiet kisses in the corners of clubs when your friends weren’t looking, had catapulted into drunken hook-ups after those aforementioned nights out.

He’d call you Dizzy, ‘cause he was convinced you looked at him like you’d been spinning in circles, all awe-struck and smiley. Pretty. Like a giggle was on the tip of your tongue at all times.

Was easy, back then. Convenient. He was newly single. Not looking for anything.

You’d been quietly harbouring an illicit crush on him from the day you moved into your shared university accommodation. Had been waiting for the stars to align - and once they had, you were certain that soulmates had to exist.

It’s the only way you can explain the small earthquake that happened half the world away at the very time you first met, the tectonic plates shifting to make sure you were perfectly presented to one another.

You didn’t feel the tremors - would have been impossible - but your heart certainly felt something. Adrenaline? Limerence? You’re not sure.

Whatever it was only became more and more prevalent with every tipsy hold of his hand on the way to clubs, or moments stolen in secrecy in the house you now share with six of your friends.

Now in your final year of university, if you spent as much time studying, as you do fretting over Jungkook - what he’s up to, who he’s with - maybe you’d get a first-class degree.

You’re on track for a 2:1.

He’s on track for a first, though.

You choose to believe it’s because he’s naturally more academically inclined (as if you didn’t write an entire paper for him last semester), and not because he spends significantly less time thinking about you.

There’s no need for endless thoughts, though.

The arrangement is simple: You’re friends.

Best friends. Spend all your time together. Are plus ones to events. Fill the void that a partner should fill; at the winter balls, cinema screenings you don't want to see alone, and in the hushed privacy of midnight intimacy. He gets you off when you need it, and you him.

Kisses are never shared between lips - apart from that one summer when he accidentally said he was in love with you, then took it back a week later under the guise of not wanting to ‘ruin’ the friendship.

You don’t speak about that summer.

Hook-ups are in your room, always, ‘cause you’ve only got Jem in the room next door. Jungkook’s room is up on the middle floor, surrounded by all the boys. They’d realise what’s going on far too quickly.

It’s simple - yet excruciatingly complicated when there’s a lack of commitment, and Jungkook looks at you in the way that he does.

His lips are a little deeper than their usual pink this evening, but you put it down to alcohol.

Denial is a wonderful thing, and delusion even greater.

Still, he leans forward to push the shower door open. Leans further still, then knocks the tap off. Lets the water trickle down the drain, the hum of the pipes murmuring like your unspoken grievances.

Rivulets of water chase down your skin. Jungkook watches one race from your knee to your ankle, running straight over the bruises from messy nights out and the small cut at the bottom of your calf from the fountain you’d both traipsed through when you were a little too merry a few nights prior.

He’d given you a piggyback the entire way home, blood staining the white of his shirt; the very essence of you embedded now in the fabric of him.

He’d patched you up after you got home. Showered with you, right here, then carried you the measly five or six steps to your bed. Had told you that you’d definitely get sepsis and die. Kissed it better, then decided he didn’t know any better, and trailed his lips up your leg. Took pity on your impending death and gave you a little, lovely death just to soften the blow.

Funny, how you think sepsis would be preferable over whatever the fuck it is that you’re feeling now.

“Jem messaged me,” he repeats. Presses his lips together, the ring in the corner of his mouth glistening under the white lights of the bathroom. “Said I should check on you. Been in the shower for an hour, apparently.”

Well, you think to yourself, bitterness wrapping around your words like poison ivy. You’ve checked. You can go now.

The words don’t manifest in your throat. Nothing does. Not even the echo of a sob you’ve been holding in since he first stepped foot within your sanctuary.

Instead you’re silent as you get to your feet, not caring for your nakedness. It’s nothing Jungkook hasn’t seen before. Probably knows your body better than his own at this point. Can look at the faded bruise on your chest and know that it was left there by his lips last week. Can pick out which ones of your dainty linework tattoos were there before he met you, and which ones have been acquired since.

It’s a quiet intimacy, the way Jungkook looks at you. There’s no towel in the bathroom - an oversight by your tipsy brain when deciding you needed to wash yourself clean of the man in front of you after arriving home from the club - and Jungkook doesn’t care to offer you one.

Insanity is the product of looking at your body, he thinks. Can’t remember a time he’s ever seen you like this and hasn’t wanted to be inside you. He’s a simple man in pursuit of simple pleasures, and the way you fit him like a glove is the simplest pleasure of them all.

“Hm?” He questions your lack of a response.

His deep black eyes are just like the depths of the ocean floor, and it feels like he’s dragging you right down every single time he looks at you like this. Softly. Tenderly. Sweetly. As if he actually gives a shit.

There’s no room for two in this bathroom. It’s not a space designed to be shared, no matter how many times you’ve both squeezed into the shower under far different circumstances - though now you come to think of it, perhaps they weren’t so dissimilar.

It was always Jungkook’s pursuit of pleasure that put you in that position, just like it put you there tonight.

“Hey,” he says quietly, as you turn to leave, his grip on your waist pulling you between his legs. You don’t look at him. Just keep your head turned to face out of the room - but you make no attempt to leave. Especially when his nose brushes up against the bottom of your ribs right between your breasts, and he husks, “Why are you being like this?”

The softness of his lips as he presses them against your sternum, long lashes splayed across the top of his cheeks, has you spiralling. Kind of feels like he’s twisting a corkscrew through your heart. You know he’ll rip it right out - but maybe you’ll let him, if it means he’ll kiss the wound better.

“Hmm?” He hums. One of your hands rests on his shoulder, the other in his hair, and that’s how Jungkook knows he’s rectified the damage done for a short while. It’s like putting washi tape over holes punched in the walls - useless, and bound to fall off eventually, but ever so pretty in the meantime. Another washi-tape kiss is pressed to your skin, a little higher this time. “We had a good night, didn’t we?”

The tenderness of his voice rewrites the events of the evening. A good night.

Not one with tears, and jealousy, and arguments that people who claim to be just friends have no business having. A night shared together, perhaps, with no one else to intrude.

Didn’t we?

You so prefer this false chain of events - the one where he left the bar with you, and held your hand in the cab ride back just like he’d done in the cab ride there.

“Is she still here?”

He’s surprised that you’re mentioning it. Half-expected you to act like it never happened. Like she never happened. Is what you usually do, whenever he goes home with someone that isn’t you.

Still, he just continues to gently stroke your sides. Doesn’t present you with any sort of weakness.

“No.”

“Did you fuck her?”

There’s a little venom to your tone; the poison ivy around your thoughts sprouting now from your throat.

Her. Some inconsequential girl that neither of you will likely ever see again. Looked nothing like you, but a hell of a lot like his ex.

“No, Diz,” he softens the sternness of his tone with a name only he calls you. “I didn’t fuck her.”

You’ve no idea if this is a lie or not.

It’ll be accepted as truth for an hour. Maybe two. Just enough time for you to convince yourself that you’re the one he wants. That he couldn’t bear to fuck anyone else. That he sent her on her way after a kiss or awkward fumble, because he realised no one else could feel as good as you.

You’ll ignore the fact you know he’s here because Jem messaged him.

You’ll ignore the fact he thinks you’ve been in the shower for over an hour, and has no actual knowledge of the events of it all.

You’ll ignore the scratch mark on his back, and in the morning you’ll believe it was you who left there even though your nails are bitten right down.

The lies you’ll tell yourself will be far more grand than the ones Jungkook ever tells you. Nobody can ever hurt you quite like you hurt yourself.

And so, against your better judgement, you let him follow you to your bed.

There's a clang as he tosses his rings down into the ceramic dish beside your bed. It's white, and speckled in tiny black dots, and matches the one Jungkook has in his own bedroom. Not really a surprise. He was the one who bought it for you. Before then, he used to just tuck his rings beneath your pillows - but he kept losing them, and he found it annoying having to rummage around for them whenever he was trying to make a silent exit so as to not wake you.

You tell yourself that small things like this are Jungkook's way of integrating himself into your life; creating permanence. In reality, it's just something that makes it easier for him to leave.

Leaving is the last thing on your mind right now, though, and it will be until he comes.

It used to be different. He used to stay. You convince yourself each and every time that he’ll do what he used to do before things got so confusing. That he’ll stay, and that things will be okay.

You let him kiss your skin, but he’ll never kiss your lips. Let him lay claim to your body, even though you know he’ll never lay claim to your soul.

It’s nice to pretend.

Nice, when he lays you down and rids himself of his shirt. Nice, when he presses your legs apart, and looks at you like you’re the first woman he’s ever laid eyes upon. Nice, when he says shit like, “Such a nice cunt,” and “Let me make you feel good.”

So nice, when he strokes up and down your inner thigh, eyes trained on your pussy.

So, so nice when he slowly drips a little spit between his pursed lips and watches as it trails down your folds.

So fucking nice, when he spreads you with his index and middle finger, groaning at the sight of you.

See, Jungkook can be nice. Can be honest. Can tell you how much he wants you, and you can believe him without having to do mental gymnastics over it all.

As he sinks his middle finger into you - “Shit. So wet for me, aren’t you?” - Jungkook is on his best behaviour. He’ll make you feel so good that you’ll forget he ever made you feel bad, cause he needs this. Needs you.

Not in the life-debilitating, earth-shattering, universe-bending way that you need him, but in a way that isn’t too dissimilar.

You’re his best friend. He loves you in his own, curious way. Would lay his life on the line for you. Just can’t seem to keep his dick in his pants for no other reason than selfish gluttony.

It’s his fatal flaw, but he just thinks everyone has them. That most people are like this.

Of the seven deadly sins, Jungkook wields them all. Too proud to admit his wrongdoings. Greedy in his need to have everything life can offer, and how he refuses to limit himself to just you. His lust and gluttony go hand in hand - yet whenever any one else with similar predispositions look in your direction, he turns green with envy. Green, until he’s red, wrath taking hold.

But he’s lazy, too. Far too settled in how easy it is to have his way with you. Why would he try harder when you never make him?

That’s your cardinal sin: desperation.

It reeks. Spiced vanilla and black cherry. Tarnishes your skin, until Jungkook licks it from you.

And so as his lips press down your legs, wet and wanting, you don’t object. In fact, you don’t really do anything. You just allow it to happen.

Because you are desperate - for him, his approval, his desire. His heart.

You’ll never get it, mind you, for his heart is hollow.

Saw every example of what he considered to be true love crackle and crumble until it fell apart. Parents divorced. High-school sweetheart cheated. Love, as you know it, doesn’t exist in Jungkook’s understanding of life.

You never stood a chance. Not really.

The only times his heart is full is when he steals enough adoration from yours, and cosplays it as his own. Shines it back at you, and tricks you into thinking that maybe he did mean it when he mumbled false declarations into your lips.

But that was three summers ago, now, and Jungkook is a creature of habit. Too stuck in his ways to ever change. Comfortable in this chaos with you.

‘Cause while the other girls are fleeting, and fun, and always very nice, they’re never comfortable. Not like you are.

“I liked your dress tonight,” he whispers, as he pushes a second finger into you. Pumps them gently, palm skywards, coaxing soft little moans from your lips. Curls them just right, just like he always does.

The affection of such a compliment rids you of the haunting way he’d looked at you earlier that evening.

Up, down. No smile. Turned away to change the song coming through the aux at pre-drinks. Didn’t look at you again until he was passing out shots for everyone to take. Just nodded towards your necklace - the one his hobbyist silversmith mother made you for Christmas - and asked, “You like it?”

The pendant is small. Embossed with the letters DJ - the name his mother collectively calls you whenever you spend the summer together at his place. The hammered edge of the pendant matches the ring that wraps around your thumb. Another one of her creations, gifted to you by him for your birthday.

“Of course I do,” you’d said. Seemed silly for him to ask. You wear it most days.

“Good,” he’d nodded, then took his shot and pretended as if he wasn't all too aware that your dress would be attracting good-for-nothing men all night.

See, Jungkook knows you like the necklace. Had just been reminding you of it, and the fact it’s his initial on there with the initial only he calls you. Well, him and his mother. Goes with the territory.

She’s seen you through your formative years. Only ever sees the good parts, because Jungkook orchestrates it that way.

She doesn’t see the moments like these, when he’s crushed your self esteem and tries to fix it in the most idiotic of ways.

The necklace pools around the base of your throat as your head tips back into the pillows, his thumb coming to toy with your clit, gently pressing down.

“Shush, Diz,” he smiles, so pleased to see your body responding in the way that it always does. “You’ll get us in trouble.”

God forbid the people you live with - who’ve all heard the arguments after his illicit encounters with randomers, and seen his face of thunder whenever you’re getting ready for first dates - ever figure out you’re fucking. Not like it’s obvious in the slightest. Not why Jem texted Jungkook, instead of checking on you herself.

Biting onto your wrist, you try and stifle the impact of his touch - ‘cause if they do hear, it will be your fault. You’ll be the reason everyone knows your dirty little secrets. You’ll be the one who ruins it all. Not him. Just you.

He doesn’t mean to condition you in such a way. Doesn’t even really realise he’s doing it.

Nor do you - but your self esteem is shot to shit. You’re good enough to fuck, but not good enough to love, even if Jungkook insists that there’s no one he adores more. It always comes with an add-on of ‘you’re my best friend’, or ‘you wouldn’t wanna date me anyways’.

Maybe he’s right.

But maybe it would have been nice to try.

Shame.

The pace of Jungkook’s fingers pumping into you begins to slow. Leaking around the base of his knuckles, you’re just as wet as you always are with him. Even when the emotional labour of letting him have his way with you feels like a ten tonne weight on your chest, crushing down on your ribs and spoiling you forevermore, your body still wants him. Only him. Always him.

Withdrawing his fingers, Jungkook taps the outer side of your thigh. “On your front for me, Diz. Face down, ass up.”

With anyone else, Jungkook is far more often on the receiving end. It’s a shame, ‘cause his talents go to waste, it’s just what he’s found to be typical of random hook-ups.

He loves pussy. Loves eating it. Loves that you love it, too.

Slow as he spreads your ass with his hands, Jungkook really doesn’t fuck around with wasting time. He dives in without hesitation, burying his tongue between your folds. Cares not for accuracy, nor carefulness. Just wants his tongue all over you.

Your body lurches forward, hands clutching onto the duvet beneath you. He’s always been like this. Hungry. Just as desperate as you so often feel, but better at hiding it than you are.

His tongue laps against you. Sinks into your soaked hole as deep as he can get it. Uses one of his hands to reach around and toy with your clit while he continues to explore somewhere he knows like the back of his hand.

Pulling back a little, Jungkook’s breathing is heavy. You can hear it. Groan, as he grips your ass again. Spanks it softly, then get back to his previous position. Licks a stripe from your clit up to your leaking cunt, then continues. Flicks up against the tight muscle you rarely let him fuck around with.

But you want him to want you. Want him to have you in whichever capacity he so desires.

You reach back. Tangle a hand in his hair, and encourage him to massage your tight hole with his tongue, like you know he loves to do.

It’s kinda cute, in a way. He likes doing it, ‘cause he loves the way it feels whenever your tongue toys with his ass. Assumes other people must love it too. Just wants you to feel good. Wants to right his earlier wrongs.

He continues to trace up and down both your holes, stimulating your entire body in the process. Rubs your clit with his fingers, till you're writhing against the sheets, body pressed flat to the cotton as Jungkook begins to fuck his fingers into your again.

“You gonna cum for me?” He husks, a smile on his wet lips as he watches the tell-tale sign of an orgasm rush over you. Soon, you’ll be looking at him with dizzy eyes once more, and your namesake will make Jungkook feel things he pretends he can’t feel. “That’s it, Diz. All over my fingers. Good girl. Good fuckin’ girl.”

There’s a relief that comes with your orgasm for Jungkook. Hope that you’ll stop being mardy with him. He doesn’t like it when you don’t like him. These days, he keeps making choices that make it hard for you to like him.

But you always like him - like him so much - in the comedown of a climax.

He doesn’t give you much time to recover. Wants to coax a second orgasm from you while he still can. Pulls you back into position - face down, ass up - and pushes down his sweats. Cock hard, there’s a small damp patch in his boxers from the precum he’s leaked for you. Lines himself up.

“Let me fuck you,” he begs before he pushes into you.

“Uh-uh,” you full forward a little, preventing him from doing what he so desperately wants to do. Turning to look over your shoulder, you shake your head. “Condom.”

He furrows his brows. Has the audacity to look fucking offended, as if he didn’t bring another girl back to the house you share.

You’re stupid, and you’re desperate, and you make all the wrong choices, but you aren’t naive. Not really. Your delusions and denial are always elevated away from reality, of which you like to think you have a firm grip on.

And so you simply say, “Don’t believe you didn’t fuck her.”

He doesn’t deny it. Shakes his head, not that you can see it. Just reaches to the shelf above your bed, and gets one from the pot you keep them tucked away in. Rarely ever use them. It’s a novelty, more than not, when you use them. Something to make him last a little longer.

It’s different today.

Today, it’s because you don’t know if his cock is fucking clean or not.

It should crush you, but it doesn’t.

Just a fact of life. Jungkook fucked someone else less than three hours ago. Came, probably. For someone else. Over someone else. Inside someone else.

But that desperation of yours is back once more. You want to be the reason why Jungkook loses his mind in temporary bliss. To be better. To be his last memory of the evening.

And so as Jungkook rolls the condom down his thick shaft, you position yourself perfectly for him. Whimper as the tip of his cock kisses your entrance. Whine, as he pushes inside you.

“That’s it,” he husks, gripping your ass cheeks to spread them nice and wide. Looking down to where your bodies meet, Jungkook is reminded of why he enjoys you so much. No one takes him so well. No one. He knows this. Doesn’t know why the fuck he ever feels the need to seek out anyone else. They’re never as good as this. “Fuck. That’s it, baby.”

Your hips roll back, ass bouncing in that hypnotic way he always swears will ruin him. His grip loosens to let you do the hard work, one of his hands stroking up your spine until it’s resting around the base of your throat.

Taking back a little control, he keeps your head pushed into the pillows. Grunts. “Take this cock so fuckin’ well, don’t you?”

The mumble you moan into the sheets isn’t enough for him. He always does this. Asserts control and then realises he actually kinda fuckin’ hates it. Fingers still wrapped around the base of your neck, Jungkook pulls you up.

Chest pressed to your back, Jungkook wastes no time locking you in place with an arm around the front of your waist. His cock continues to pump upwards into you, the movements a little subdued but by no means lacking.

The ridge of his thick head rubs up against your sweet spot. Gets you so fucking needy. Has your hand dipping to your clit to match the pressure.

And when you do? Oh, it’s heaven. You can’t help but whine - so Jungkook uses the hand that isn't on your waist to cover your mouth.

“You only get to cum if you’re quiet,” he tells you. “Be quiet for me, baby.”

But his hips are erratic. The sounds are lewd; skin on skin. It’s wet. Disgusting. Needy. Him, just as much as you. Sweat blossoms on his skin, keeping you both in this clammy haze of hedonism.

Catching his lips on your ear, Jungkook doesn’t care if he isn’t supposed to let kisses linger so close to your lips. Tongue wet, he intrudes. Licks the shell of your ear. Grazes his teeth on your lobe. Whispers, “You looked so pretty tonight,” then drags his tongue across your ear.

Cares not for precision nor accuracy, just the fact that this is an area of the body he doesn’t often explore, and that maybe he should do it more often, given how tightly your pussy is clamping around him.

There’s something about it - the obstruction of one of your senses likely to blame, sound distorted whenever his tongue licks against it - that makes you whine.

You can’t even really do that now. Are too muffled beneath his hand - until he pushes the two fingers that had been inside your pussy earlier into your mouth.

The taste is just the same as it always is whenever he does shit like this. Loves having you taste yourself. Experiencing what he experiences. Wants you to know exactly why he’s incapable of letting you go.

“Slutty little mouth,” he smirks against your ear. “Gonna finish in it.”

“Mhhm?” you mumble against the fingers you’re keeping wet and warm for him.

“Mhmm,” he replies. Presses a kiss to your temple, ‘cause he isn’t really thinking straight. Groans when your cunt clenches from the touch. “God, you want it, don’t you? Want it so bad. Wanna swallow my cum.”

Of course you do. You’ll take what he’ll give you.

Your mumble around his fingers isn’t enough. He wants to hear you say it. Frees your mouth of himself. Grips your chin between his forefinger and thumb. Turns you to face further over your shoulder.

He’s just gonna make you say it. Just make you say something lewd to get him a little closer. Just… Just gonna… Just...- Oh, fuck it. Your lips are just there, and they’re wet, and they’re pouty and - God, forgive me - perfect for him.

His eyes flitter between your eyes and your lips. Is aware you’re doing the same.

“Kook,” you whisper, as if you’re about to reprimand him.

“Please,” he begs. Thinks he needs this just as much as you do. Maybe even more so.

And so somewhere between the overwhelming acknowledgement that this is a catastrophic chain of events, and the promise of a happy ending (of which you know damn well will never reach fruition), you let him sink his lips into yours.

You’re pretty in war, and even prettier in defeat.

Jungkook thinks you’re prettiest when you’re all his.

You think that to be his is to accept an eternal loss.

The breath of his nose is heavy against your cheek as his lips press into yours, brows furrowed. The need for you to be lewd is abandoned, ‘cause Jungkook doesn’t even think he’ll last long enough for it. Thinks that nothing gets him closer than the flavour of your lips.

Hips still jerking up, the sound of his skin hitting your ass echoing around the room, Jungkook fucks himself into you until he can do it no longer. Pulls away. Rips off his condom. Tosses it to the floor. Gets you face down again. Wanks himself to the point of coming undone, hot spurts of cum dripping onto your ass and spilling down to the valley of your spine.

He’s the one moaning now, your body defiled by a boy who you wish would paint you in pretty compliments instead. Still, this is a compliment. Kind of. You’re hot enough to make him cum. That’s nice, you suppose.

“Shit,” he chokes out, breathing all out of sync, heartbeat far too rapid. A light spank is tapped against your ass, then softly stroked. He soothes. Aloe on sunburn. Milk with hot sauce. Pretty kisses in the comedown of a rough fuck.

You won’t get those. Wasn’t a particularly rough fuck, either - and yet it hurts so much when he gets up to leave.

It’s awkward. He doesn’t really say bye. Doesn’t acknowledge the fact he stoked a fire inside you that burned you from the inside out. Ignores the ashes that are scattered around your vessel, as if your soul has been ejected from its home.

He’s warm, when you look at him. That little part of your heart has been stolen once more. He’s just feeding it back to you.

“Sorry,” he says, a hand on your doorknob. “I shouldn’t- I mean, we shouldn’t-”

“It’s fine,” you offer.

That’s the thing about Jungkook. He’ll give you the world, then realise it was never his to give. Always has to ask for it back. You’ve lost count of how many times he’s fucked you, then acted as if was foolish - only to repeat the same mistakes the next evening.

It’s what he’s always done, and is what he’ll always do.

You’ll never learn.

The shirt you chuck on to head downstairs the next morning is his.

Far too big for you, it finishes around your thighs. Television blaring in the room beneath you, it’s obvious your housemates are awake, and even as you’re trudging down the stairs, you’re not quite sure you’re alive.

The headache of an overbearing hangover is threatening your life. You’re certain of it. The fact your housemates have the television set to what must be the maximum volume? Only further sending you to an early grave.

And yet when you see Jungkook sitting by the breakfast bar, hair in all different directions, a bowl of cereal in front of him, and smiling in the direction of whomever else is in the room, you find yourself smiling, too.

“Morning,” you say pleasantly as you walk into the kitchen, ready to flop your forehead down on Jungkook’s shoulder like you so often do.

Ready, until you notice the look in his eyes when he turns to face you.

Ready, until you glance in the direction of his previous smile.

Ready, until you see the girl who looks a lot like his ex-girlfriend and absolutely nothing like you leaning on the other side of the counter. Mug from your trip to Amsterdam together in her hands, and the shirt you got him for his birthday covering her body, she smiles.

You’re drowning.

“Oh,” you say, not looking at him. Only her. “I didn’t realise we had company.”

“Is she still here?”

“No.”

She’s awkward as she nods. “Sorry, hey. I crashed here last night - hope you don’t mind? It’s just you know what it’s like getting an uber at that time-”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod. Smile. Jungkook thinks you look pretty - but of course he does. You look defeated. “Totally.”

“Did you fuck her?

“No, Diz. I didn't fuck her.”

“Jungkook said you were feeling unwell last night?” She tries to make conversation. She needn’t. You feel far more unwell now than you ever did last night - and that’s before you notice the pretty purple bruise forming on her neck. “How are you feeling now?”

Her care is kind. Considerate. Wholly wasted on you because you’re gonna lie, and say that you’re fine, even though it feels as if your lungs have been filled with venom spat by a lover who is incapable of loving.

Still, you don’t look at Jungkook. Just make your excuses. Leave.

And even though he knows that he should, Jungkook doesn’t chase after you.

He lets you go, because he knows you’ll always come back. You always do.

But if you don't?

Well, he’ll go back to you, and you’ll let him. Again, you always do.

From the kitchen, Jungkook can hear your showering starting up. Appetite lost, he isn’t listening to the girl in front of him. Isn’t even really sure of her name.

All that he’s sure of is that the fall out of this is not gonna be pretty.

#jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook masterlist #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook smut #bts fanfic #byholly #angst #smut #jungkook x y/n #fuckboy!jungkook #college!jungkook #college au

2K notes · View notes

ambrozjas · 11 months ago

Note

the gang with a reader that is a soc? (separately)

the gang x soc!reader ꨄ︎

the outsiders x soc!reader (separately)

✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ

this took a while, so sorry for the long wait !! 💘 thank you for the request darlin i really loved writing this !!

✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ

mentions of alcohol in two-bit’s, dally being a pest, reader is described as gorgeous and beautiful and “purdy” but i don’t think a gender is specified?

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

“ya’know, y’didn’t have to do all this.” DARRY said, his eyes still raking across all the store bags filled with new clothes for sodapop, ponyboy, and darry.

“don’t mention it, dare. i’ve got plenty of money to spend for you boys.” you said, walking over to darry and placing a delicate hand on his arm, looking over the presents.

“sure, but—“

“can’t you just wait ‘til you see the look on soda and pony’s faces? they’re gonna be so happy, just think about it.” you try your best attempt at comforting darry, assuring him that you could afford it.

he merely sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose between his eyes. you wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head on him, rubbing his left arm soothingly.

“bought us some groceries for dinner t’night, too. don’t worry about it, darry. i got you.” you mumbled in his ear as his icy blue eyes opened and gazed at you, his eyebrows furrowed.

“whatever you say, darlin’.”

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

SODAPOP’s mouth parted a bit as his eyes widened, watching a sleek white 1966 corvette stingray pull up to the dx.

you came out of the car, sunglasses on top of your head with your hair pushed back a bit. then, your friend came out of the car too. johanna winchester, boy was she a bitch. before soda had dropped out, she was pretty much the hottest piece of gossip there, always cheating on her boyfriend and hosting parties at her dad’s two-story house on the west side.

but, you were an unfamiliar face. he had never seen you before, because if he had, he would’ve remembered someone as beautiful as you.

steve had obviously noticed sodapop ogling at something, and following his gaze he saw you. he whistled, “woo! you see those dames, soda?”

soda looked steve up and down, his face and hands covered in black oil. “‘course i see ‘em, now get outta here ‘fore they see you.”

“don’t hate me ‘cause i’m good-lookin’.” steve shrugged, taking one more glance at you and your friend opening the door before walking back to the garage.

“hey! you think we could get five on pump two, please?” ugh, even your voice made soda swoon. you handed him a few neatly stacked dollar bills and looked behind you at your friend who was side eyeing every corner of this place.

“‘course!” sodapop replied, clicking a few buttons to open up pump two but couldn’t help but overhear johanna whispering to you, “couldn’t we have picked another gas station?” obviously because it was run by “greasers.”

you whispered back to her, although soda couldnt hear you. instead, he handed you your change to which johanna rudely grabbed the coins and yanked you away, pulling you out of the dx. you threw one last glance behind you to soda, before you finally get pulled out of the gas station.

for now, he would just have to dream and hope until he sees you again.

boy, he wished he stayed in school a bit longer just so he could’ve see you more often.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

PONYBOY watched as you rested your chin on your palm, looking out the window as the sunlight illuminated your face with a golden hue.

you were in english class, unbothered by the teacher’s ramblings on shakespeare, anything outside was more interesting than this class.

ponyboy’s eyes were glued to you, watching how you wrote down simple phrases in your notebook whenever you’d tune back into the the teacher’s monologuing.

he had just watched your eyes fall across the rest of the room, the other students either borderline falling asleep or not paying attention at all, before your eyes fell on him, and in that very moment he heard a stern, “mr. curtis!” from the teacher.

ponyboy felt his cheeks heat up as the class’ eyes fell on him, he glanced over to you only to find your eyes still on him as well.

“mr. curtis, what is the answer?” he asked. pony stammered a bit, trying to read the board as quickly as possible until he heard nails clacking on the desk across the room. it was you, hand covering your mouth mouthing the letter ‘b’.

“oh—! uh, ‘b’ sir.” ponyboy said, a wave of what he thought to be sweat washing over him as he sighed in relief when the teacher nodded his head.

he looked back over to you, giving him a thumbs up as your pink lips curled in a small smile.

he smiled to himself, mouthing a quick ‘thanks’ to you before looking away and writing down whatever was on the board.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“you ain’t like other greasers, huh?” you asked JOHNNY. “what’s your deal?”

johnny stayed quiet, eyes as wide as saucers as you leaned over him, hands planted firmly on his desk.

“you mute?” you asked, a bit coldly as johnny flinched at your tone. you tilted your head as you tried to understand him. he wasn’t like that hood dallas winston, but he wasn’t like any other greaser you’d seen before.

johnny swallowed. “no..” he said. you were utterly beautiful. albeit, a social, you were quite the jaw dropper.

“then could you.. maybe help me with this?” your demeanor changed, probably because you had realize johnny was no threat despite being a greaser. a sheepish smile grew on your face as you flashed the worksheet in front of him.

“thought w’could negotiate. i help you with the readin’, you help me with the math?” you said, tilting your head once again as you pointed at the filled worksheet below johnny, but he wasn’t paying any attention to where your finger pointed, his eyes remained on you.

his eyes flickered across your face, taking in every blemish and ridge of it. he was mesmerized by you. but he was conflicted. he could never have a chance with a soc, so why dream?

but then again, johnny thought, something is better than nothing.

“‘course.” he said.

for now, he can only dream until he could muster up the courage to speak more than one word to you.

one day, johnny thought.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“what’s the matter wit’you, dollface?”

“don’t call me that, hood.”

DALLY huffed, a tiny bit of smoke seeping through his lips from where a small opening lie where his cigarette was.

he had been following you around all day, bothering you on your way home. you held your books protectively against your chest, thinking for some reason he’d try and pull a move on you. he kept circling around you, like a vulture. “c’mon, jus’ one date.” he told you, hand coming to rest upon your shoulder before you shook him off.

you scoffed, “maybe in your dreams.”

dally tapped his foot impatiently as you stood in front of your house, a pristine exterior with some marble pillars. he knew it was a risk being on this side of town, but then again dallas winston was never much known for being safe.

“whatever, man.” he murmured. you winced as he threw his cigarette on your freshly cut lawn, and made his way back down the street.

your eyebrows furrowed as you watched him give up. you knew dallas winston as a greaser, a criminal, an asshole, and maybe a bit handsome although you’d never admit it. but you never once took him for a quitter.

you watched as he cockily walked down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets as he was on the lookout for any socs.

for some reason, you thought he’d try harder. did you want him to try harder?

no, you couldn’t’ve. dally wasn’t even worth your time. so why did he give up so easy? why did you wish he would’ve turned around, and kept bothering you?

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“c’mon pretty thing!” TWO-BIT shouted out at you. he had been throwing pebbles at your bedroom window, ultimately scratching the glass with the heavier ones but the thought was nice.

your bedroom was on the second floor, facing the backyard. so watching two at the ground, yelling for you at night while your parents were asleep? not a good look for you.

you held a finger to your lips as your eyes widened, quietly telling two-bit to shut up.

you don’t think he got the message though, considering his grin never left his face, and the bottle didn’t leave his hand either. he flashed you your favorite candy bar, and waved a hand at you telling you to come down.

you looked back behind you, and back at two, giving him a thumbs up.

you put on a jacket over your nightgown, putting your sneakers on and tip-toeing down the stairs and out the back door.

you saw two-bit, taking chugs of his drink before his eyes fell on you. “hey baby! how you doin’?”

“fine, before you woke me up.” you said to which he gave you a small hug, immediately warming you up with his body heat. he tapped the candy bar against your back, which made you pull away to grab it.

“snagged you a sweet.”

“snagged or stole?”

“same thing, ain’t it? now c’mon darlin’, we got a whole night ahead of us!” two-bit said, pulling you away and helping you jump over your fence, like a gentleman.

｡ﾟ•┈୨♡୧┈• ｡ﾟ

“hey, y’mind passin’ me that wrench over there?” STEVE said, the creeper making a squeak as he rolled out from under the car and pointed you towards the clear drawers containing all the parts.

your face screwed up as you thought about all the dirt and oil that must be on those tools. you made a thinking noise, looking back at the drawers before steve tsk’ed.

“what? too worried about your purdy sleeves getting dirty from some oil?” he scoffed.

“‘m glad you think they’re pretty, at least.”

“just—! get me the wrench?” he said, brown eyes flickering up at you in your seat. “what’s the magic word?” you said, a grin resting on your face.

“i might as well go get it m’self.” steve started to roll the creeper further out so he could just get the tools on his own before you stopped him with a series of ‘no’.

“okay! just—,” you cringed at the plethora of rusty tools steve had im the drawers, and quickly dug through them. steve laughed as you shuffled through all of them, before whistling.

you turned your head towards him, only to find him waving the wrench at you with a shit-eating grin.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ skdeojejwsozskw i hope you guys like this, it took me like a day to concoct 😭😭

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

#the outsiders x reader #x reader #the outsiders #fanfiction #darry curtis x reader #sodapop curtis x reader #ponyboy curtis x reader #johnny case x reader #dallas winston x reader #two-bit mathews x reader #steve randle x reader #the outsiders imagine #the outsiders fanfiction #ambrozjas #kiss kiss

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nninoxasaur · 1 month ago

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Genius, Madness and Connection

I love it when shows incorporates cultural signals and interfamily gestures because I feel like it really expands on the setting and makes the characters feel more involved, it is a mark of where they come from and the people they have loved through something as simple as the way they move or the phrases they say so let’s talk about the little bunny signal or ‘genius and madness.’

We first get introduced to this symbol in s1 ep7 in the fight scene between Ekko and Jinx. (if anyone knows other places it shows up before this pls let me know.)

At first it seems like an endearing behaviour displayed by Powder specifically, another character trait to help us recognise her softness and playfulness in childhood in contrast to Jinx however, during season 2 we find that this symbol has a meaning.

In s2 ep7 when Ekko travels to an alternate reality Jinx says this: “You know those ugly twins, genius and madness.” And for the sake of this post we are going to assume it means the same thing in our main universe.

So now this symbol means something – represents two sides of the same coin as Viktor puts it. The idea that with great ingenuity comes a bit of crazy, which honestly fits Jinx pretty well. I’d also like to note that genius and madness are twins, already injecting a familial aspect to the phrase.

The other place we see this symbol appear is with Felicia in s2 ep 6. Felicia uses this symbol as a greeting and in doing so it takes on another meaning. It is “hello, I see you.”

We can guess that this is how Powder uses this action towards little Ekko in their fight in season 1; “Hello!”

So, if the symbol both works as a greeting and has a literal meaning (genius and madness being bound together) then what does it become when these things are combined?

Like genius and madness are two sides of the same coin, you are a side of my coin. From mother to child, between childhood friends, we are connected, and I recognise that connection. You are a piece of me, for both the goodness and the grief that brings.

And the fact that alternate universe Powder doesn’t do it to Ekko but for him, reaching over his shoulder to do the symbol adds a whole other layer of connectivity to the gesture that is just so sweet and absolutely confirms to me that they are already dating by the time our Ekko gets there (along with Ekko literally saying “pretend it’s the first time” and that fucking adorable blue rose necklace.)

I just think it’s so beautiful that Felicia’s unique way of saying “I love you, you are with me always” has outlived her in this way and I hope this gesture continues to get handed down, possibly through Ekko if we ever see him again.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #jinx arcane #felicia arcane #ekko arcane #arcane season 2 #arcane analysis #alternate universe Jinx #Powder arcane #arcane season two #jinx and ekko #timebomb #jinx x ekko

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writingtraumaforever · 1 month ago

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'Green' Justice: A Courtship Mini-Sequel

Notes: I really hope you guys like this introduction to Rouge! Don't worry, there will be more of Amy in the future. I took creative liberties on why and how the other characters begin appearing, taking inspiration from Sonic X's reasoning in the show.

Summary: More and more Mobians are showing up on earth, and Sonic is super excited about it!.. Until a certain bat shows up and gets a little too close to Shadow for his liking.

Courtship Masterpost!

Link to my AO3!

Start:

Sonic has officially decided. He hates bats.

Yup. What’s good about bats?? They’re scary, they carry diseases, they can fly, see in the dark–

Okay. Bats are kinda cool.

Oo! And Batman!!

Anyway. So maybe he doesn’t hate all bats.

But he doesn’t like this one.

See. Turns out that when he and Shadow use Chaos Control to go Super?? It creates connections between worlds. Kinda like the warp rings but instant. So after the ARK battle, more and more “aliens” like Sonic, Knuckles and Tails started showing up from other worlds. This has been mostly kept under wraps by GUN since some humans feel threatened by Sonic and those like him’s very existence, thinking they’re too powerful and only seem to bring trouble wherever they appear.

Which is kinda fair.

But they literally saved the world from being crashed into by a giant space station like– a year ago?? So what’s the big deal??

Anyway. Sonic’s entire family pretty much is partnered with GUN at this point because of this. They’re started a whole new program called the ‘Mobian Project’: Mobian being the new term coined for their kind. Mobo-Sapiens being the scientific term. Knuckles came up with ‘Mobian’. Said it sounded like the words ‘mammal’ and ‘alien’ had a baby, so it made sense.

It all essentially meant that if a new Mobian showed up on GUN’s radar, Sonic and Team were dispatched to welcome them and help them assimilate to earth’s culture safely. Shadow came along if the Mobian had special abilities like Sonic’s speed or Tails’ flight, taking record of them to report back to GUN. Surprisingly, though, most Mobians were pretty basic. Just your regular anthropomorphic animal beings.

The only one who had any sort of new abilities so far was a pink hedgehog Sonic had found named Amy. She was like. Crazy strong. And she could summon this giant and terrifying hammer out of thin air! And she was like. A witch or something, Sonic was pretty sure. She did palm readings and tarot card stuff, and she was rarely wrong– if ever.

He met her when Eggman used the quill Sonic gave him in exchange of working with him to fight Shadow awhile back to create a robotic version of him called Metal Sonic. Eggman had managed to pick up her arrival on earth on his radar before GUN had, and sent Metal Sonic to kidnap her. Long story short, Sonic saved her, and she was practically a part of the family now! She lived with Randall and Rachel, pretty much an honorary Handel now. And JoJo got a sister!

Sonic liked her. And she liked him. Her and Maddie really hit it off, too. And Shadow. He told Sonic once she reminded him a lot of Maria..

Anyway, Sonic was pretty happy about this little project they had going with GUN. And with Maddie, Tom and Shadow all keeping a close eye on the organization to make sure they don’t do anything sketchy, he had zero problems working with them. Especially if it meant helping more lost Mobians like him find their home..

He hadn’t met a single one he hadn’t liked yet, even though they were few and far between..

That is.. Until the stupid bat came along.

He doesn’t even know where she came from! Apparently it’s classified, but Shadow told him GUN caught her infiltrating their facility. She nearly got away with a chaos emerald! And evidently that’s all it takes to get on GUN’s good side, weirdly enough, because next thing Sonic knew, she was working for ‘em.

And partnered, specifically, with Shadow.

Shadow hadn’t seemed too mad about it, which just irritated Sonic more. Shadow always said he preferred to work alone, so what made this girl so special??

“She’s good at incognito field work, which is good because that’s my weak point,” Shadow explained, “And she can fight. Really well. I wasn’t sure about her at first, but it doesn’t look like I’ll have to worry about her holding me back.”

“I’d really like to meet her,” Sonic had so foolishly beamed back, excited about having yet another of their kind on earth, “She sounds super cool!”

She, in fact, sucked.

He met her nearly a week later when he was at GUN waiting on Shadow. He had been away a few days, but Sonic wanted to surprise him by being there to greet him when he came back. It was while he was waiting that he saw her for the first time.

And she was… blessed. Blessed is a good word for it. One that Aunt Rachel often uses to describe ladies with large- ahem, how does he put this like a gentleman?… Knockers.

She was all curve and confidence, looking absolutely stunning even after a long mission with full makeup and a few cool piercings on her left ear. Her GUN suit was very sexist in Sonic’s opinion– who authorized such a revealing and tight uniform for a field agent??? It wasn’t practical at all.

But none of that is what really got his attention.

What got his attention was the way Shadow was smiling while she talked to him. They were walking out of the building, Shadow’s arms crossed and an amused look on his face.

And her gloved hands— why do her gloves go all the way up her arms?? Who does she think she is?? The Queen???— are all over him as she walks beside him. One arm is interlinked with his own, the other hand moving to rest on his bicep as she talks about something that’s obviously just soooo funny.

Her pink lipstick makes every word she’s saying seem vibrant, but Sonic is sure she’s surely not that interesting.

He should go save Shadow from such a boring conversation. Yup.

He’s gonna do it.

He’s gonna go over there and stop her from harassing Shadow any further.

Even if he is smiling… and seems perfectly comfortable with her arm around his.. and hasn’t even noticed Sonic is there like he usually does the second he catches a whiff of his scent..

Sonic’s tail sags behind him, his ears folding back. He suddenly feels silly. Stupid. Foolish. Embarrassed.

He takes a few steps back, the need to run suddenly becoming overwhelming and suffocating. In the process of turning to leave, he finds himself tripping right over a parking bumper and falling with a little gasp. His eyes shut for the impact—

Except it doesn’t come. Instead, black arms cradle his body right above the concrete. Emerald eyes open and look up to see Shadow staring down at him with knitted up brows.

“Are you alright??”

Sonic hates how concerned he sounds. How his chest thumps from his heart pounding inside it.

“Uh-huh,” the blue hedgehog nods with an awestruck look in his eyes. Shadow looks right back at him, taking a moment to examine him as if to make sure Sonic truly is just fine before he offers a small huff and amused curve of his lips.

“What are you doing here??”

“Waiting for you,” he answers honestly as Shadow helps him to stand back up properly, Sonic offering a bashful smile at how Shadow’s hands linger on Sonic’s arms even once he’s standing.

“You didn’t have to do that, I was coming to see you..,” he rubs his hands down Sonic’s arms, fingers brushing along the backs of Sonic’s hands before he lets him go. Sonic shivers.

“I know— I just wanted to be here to welcome you back,” Sonic explains with a little blush on his muzzle.

Then his eyes catch movement behind Shadow.

The bat.

She’s standing there smirking with a hand on her hip. Watching them.

Shadow follows Sonic’s gaze to the bat, clearing his throat and quickly stepping aside to introduce them properly, “Oh, Rouge. This is—“

“Sonic the Hedgehog,” she finishes knowingly, reaching her hand out to shake Sonic’s, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Aw yeah?” Sonic forces a smile and shakes her hand despite his twisting stomach at her acknowledgment, “All good things, I hope.”

“Mostly,” she winks, “I’m Rouge.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard about you too! Agent Rachel is my aunt. She talks about you sometimes.”

“Oh?” Rouge’s ears perk at this, but then a playful pout is placed on her rosy lips as she directs her attention back to Shadow, “You don’t talk about me?”

And Shadow, the absolute idiot, nods immediately and dumbly confirms, “I’ve told Sonic of our partnership.”

“I’m flattered,” the bat grins, her smile full of mischief and coquet. Sonic’s stomach twists more.

“Did you trip??” Shadow’s gaze returns to Sonic, seemingly dismissive of the previous conversation and still worried over the fact he just prevented Sonic from cracking his head on the concrete.

“Oh, um— yeah, I was just— I forgot I had promised mom I’d pick up another bag of Ozzy’s dogfood. He’s out, so… I was gonna go.. get that..”

Shadow’s frown looks uneven, eyes observing Sonic in a suspicious sort of way, “I could go with you??”

“No, no! That’s fine. I didn’t mean to interrupt you guys’ uh-..,” he awkwardly gestures both his hands to Shadow and Rouge before clearing his throat and, “cool-spy-conversation.”

“We were just debriefing and saying our goodbyes,” Shadow replies simply, looking at Rouge again, “I’m sure Rouge has her own life to get back to.”

“Hardly,” she shrugs nonchalantly, “Haven’t had the time to really make any friends here yet. Or get to know the town..”

And Sonic, the poor, unfortunate dummy he is, absolutely word vomits with zero thought behind it, “You should come bowling with me and my family tonight!”

He mentally facepalms.

Rouge blinks at his sudden loud and aggressively inviting voice, Shadow staring at Sonic now with a confused sort of look.

Sonic flounders a moment before offering a wide grin and awkward chuckle, “I just mean— we’re going bowling tonight. There are tournaments coming up, and my big brother is on a bowling team, so we’ve been going to practice a lot.. You could come?? Since you don’t.. have any friends here yet..”

Shadow’s brows furrow a bit at this. Sonic may be trying his hardest to seem cool and friendly, but Shadow knows better. Knows him.

Something’s up.

“That’s mighty nice of you, Blue,” Rouge smiles, Sonic’s nerves grating at the unauthorized nickname, “But I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“You wouldn’t be imposing at all! In fact, with you and Shadow there, it would even out the teams! Whuddo’ya say??”

Shadow looks at Rouge, Rouge looking back at him before shrugging with a smirk, “I guess I could use some fun.”

“Great!” Sonic beams, sounding way too enthusiastic about her agreeing to come. Very forced. “We’ll be expecting ya! Anyway, I’d love to stay and chat some more, but I gotta run. Y’know how dogs get when they’re hungry!” Sonic laughs so damn awkwardly, his teeth feel weird in his mouth. “See ya!”

Shadow opens his mouth to tell him to wait, but he’s already gone. Only thing left of him is the small patch of dust he kicked up in his leave.

Rouge snorts behind him, “Sheesh. I know you said he was a ball of energy, but I didn’t expect him to be so skittish.”

“He’s not normally like that,” Shadow mutters, brows furrowed and eyes still looking in the direction Sonic disappeared off to.

“Well I’m not hatin’. He’s your man. Who am I to judge?”

Shadow just sighs, crossing his arms and his mind racing with possible explanations of Sonic’s odd behavior.

•••

“And then I invited her to come bowling with us!!” Sonic horrifically concludes, groaning as he collapses onto the couch face-first dramatically.

“Nnmf-mm-mm-mmf-mm.”

Maddie blinks amusededgy but sympathetically at the sight of her poor, destressed middle child with his mouth buried in the cushions, “…Didn’t catch that, sweetie.”

Sonic lifts his head just enough to clearly pout, “I said I need to get longer gloves,” his face splats right back into the cushion.

“Oh Sonic,” Maddie moves to sit on the couch, rolling her boy so that his head is resting in her lap rather than buried in the couch, “There’s nothing wrong with your gloves.”

“They’re not cool enough. They’re basic,” he grumbles with a little furrow of his brows at his hands, as if the white gloves he’s currently sporting have personally offended him.

“Not cool enough??” Maddie scoffs, “Oh honey- green is not a good color on you.”

“I’m blue, Mom. Blue. Have you seriously thought I was green this whole time??”

“No—“ Maddie sighs and rolls her eyes hopelessly, her hand resting in Sonic’s quills to soothingly pet through them, “It’s an expression. Someone who is metaphorically green means they’re green with envy. Jealous.”

Sonic gasps dramatically, “I am not jealous!”

“You sure sound jealous,” she points out with a quirk of her brow, “Not to mention- where has that classic Sonic confidence gone?? I’ve never heard you sound so insecure and down on yourself!”

“I’m not insecure,” Sonic defends with a huff, crossing his arms defiantly as he pouts up at his mother from his spot in her lap, “I’m just-… needing some changes. Upgrades! I’m finding myself.”

“You already know yourself,” Maddie reminds him with a little poke to the middle of his forehead, “And Shadow knows you too. And he likes you. Not some batty version of you.”

A sigh escapes Sonic’s nose at this, averting his eyes with a grumbled “I know”. Why’d she always have to be right??

He’s quiet a moment. His ears folding back and a vulnerable look in his eyes as he looks back to his mom, “But what if he likes her more..?”

“Well..,” Maddie sighs and then shrugs, “then it’ll be okay. You can’t fault him for how he feels or her for being the one to make him feel that way.. you care about Shadow, right??”

Sonic nods slowly, “He’s my best friend..”

Maddie smiles all soft and empathetic, “Then you have to be prepared to be okay with whatever makes him happy..”

Sonic frowns at this, looking down at his gloved hands with a knit in his brow as he ponders this.

Is he ready to step aside if it means Shadow will be happier without him?? Is he ready to lose the guy he’s spent so much time with, so many conversations with, so many adventures with.. if it means Shadow will be better off?..

Yes. He is. It’ll kill him, he thinks. But he could do it for Shadow.

“But just to be 100% clear??” Maddie adds with a hand tilting Sonic’s head back up to look at her, “I seriously doubt that’s gonna be the case, kiddo.”

Sonic offers a tired sort of smile at this, “Thanks, mom..”

Maddie hums and leans down to place a kiss to his forehead, “Anytime, sweetheart.”

It’s about that moment Knuckles strolls in to grab some snacks from the kitchen and finds them like this, blinking at them a few times before immediately having a determined glare overcome his face, “Is it time to enact my duties as eldest of the sons of the Wachowski tribe and bring harm to the Utmost Being of Life??”

“Not yet, Knucks,” Sonic sighs with an eyeroll.

“Mm. I shall be at the ready,” and with that, he goes back to gathering his grapes.

•••

The family arrives at the bowling alley promptly as always, very good at always being on time despite their constant chaos. Wade is already there with a lane booked and warming up, Knuckles immediately going to greet his bowling partner merrily.

Sonic feels like a pile of nerves, standing in line with his folks as they wait to get their bowling shoes. His eyes are darting around. No sign of Shadow or Rouge yet, but if he knows Shadow, he’ll be here any second—

“Boo.”

Sonic nearly jumps out of his quills, spinning around with wide eyes and a yelp to find Shadow standing there snickering.

Sonic’s glares at him, asserting a playful shove to his chest as he scolds, “Personal space, man! That’s a good way to get yourself knocked out!”

“As if you could ever,” Shadow rolls his eyes, still looking amused at his successful scare. Then he’s pausing to eye Sonic up and down with a small smile, “You’re wearing my jacket..”

Sonic blinks and looks down at himself with a light blush, “Oh! Yeah, it-.. it said it would be a bit chilly tonight, so I figured—“

“It’s 85 degrees outside,” Shadow smirks knowingly.

“I meant in the bowling alley!” Sonic lies with his blush deepening as he looks behind Shadow and shifts the subject, trying not to sound too hopeful, “Where’s Rouge?? She not come??”

“I imagine she’s on her way,” Shadow shrugs with a quirk of his brow at Sonic.

“Oh- you didn’t come with her??”

Shadow blinks, “..Why would I do that??”

“I just thought-.. nevermind,” Sonic shakes his head dismissively, turning to the alley worker now that he’s at the front of the line and asking for his shoe size. Shadow brings his own shoes because he refuses to put his feet where other people’s feet have been.

Which. Fair.

They make their way to where the others are waiting, already putting their shoes on at lane 13. Tails and Tom are making silly faces with the alley screen so that the tvs will play the silly bobble head skits between each turn.

Maddie is helping Knuckles tie his shoes. Again.

Sonic swears having giant mittens instead of gloves cannot be that great.

Sonic can feel Shadow’s eyes on him as they walk, choosing to ignore it and do his best to keep his casual smile on his face.

“..Are you alright??” Shadow eventually asks, grabbing Sonic’s arm just before they joined the others as to have a more private conversation, “Did something happen when I was gone??”

“Huh?? No! No,” Sonic chuckles with a shake of his head, “Well— not outside Knuckles traumatizing squirrels in the backyard by trapping them and having them compete with Ozzy for the title of ‘Wachowski Tribe Pet’, again. Ya’know, I still don’t think he understands what a pet is—“

“Sonic,” Shadow says firmly, making Sonic’s smile disappear, “…I’m serious.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Shads,” the blue blur reassures with a soft look, “Everything is totally chill.”

“You’ve just been acting strange since I got back, and—“

“Hey boys!”

Sonic and Shadow’s eyes each turn to see Rouge approaching, now dressed in a simple hot pink v-neck and black leggings with matching pink heels.

Who wears heels to a bowling alley???

Her super cool piercings shimmer in the disco lights..

Sonic should get super cool piercings.

No…

No, don’t be green, Sonic.

She approaches with a friendly wave and smile, her hand resting on her hip, “So this is a bowling alley, huh?? Pretty nifty.”

Right. She probably doesn’t even know what bowling is. Makes sense.

“Hello, Rouge,” Shadow politely greets.

“Hey! You made it!” Sonic grins, smile spread far too wide.

“A lady never bails on an invitation,” she smirks, her eyes shifting to Sonic’s attire, “Cool jacket.”

“Oh, uh— thanks, it’s actually—“

“So this is the infamous Wachowski family, huh??” Rouge interrupts before Sonic has the chance to get it out that it’s Shadow’s jacket that he gave him, the bat looking behind them at their group preparing for their match,

“Uhh infamous??” Sonic’s head tilts with a quirk of his brow.

“Everyone knows you guys. Especially at GUN. You all are who started all this, after all,” she explains.

“Oh..,” Sonic says a bit sheepishly, “Yeah, well. We’re just a normal family.”

They look over at the Wachowski’s and their two other Mobian sons preparing for the bowling match, Sonic having a fond little smile as he watches Maddie help Tails stretch and Knuckles and Tom search for the appropriate ball sizes for them all.

“Yeah.. normal,” Rouge smirks with a quirk of her brow, her eyes lingering on the echidna..

“Come on! I’ll introduce you,” Sonic offers with a nod of his head towards the group, the three joining them now at their lane.

Shadow places the duffle bag with his personal bowling ball and shoes down on the bench next to where Tom sits, beginning to unpack his things as Sonic stands with Rouge before them all,

“Hey guys! This is Rouge. She works at GUN too.”

“Rouge!” Maddie immediately grins, moving to shake her hand, “I’ve heard so much about you from my sister.”

“Handel, right??” Rouge smirks, shaking Maddie’s hand, “She’s a fun gal to work with.”

“Try growing up with her,” Maddie mutters back sarcastically before politely adding, “I’m Maddie.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Maddie.”

Tails peeks out from behind Maddie’s legs before stepping out and holding his own hand out now, “Hi! I’m Tails.”

“Aw yeah, the boy genius!” the bat gives an impressed little smile, “I’ve heard you give our technologies division a run for their money.”

“Heh,” Tails removes his hand from hers and humbly rubs the back of his neck, “I just tinker a bit.”

“You’re too modest,” she winks, Tails blushing a bit and quickly scurrying away all shy.

Tom is sitting next to Shadow— who is now putting his shoes on. He offers Rouge a little wave and smile from his seat, “Tom.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Tom,” she nods, “Donut Lord, if I’m correct?”

Tom chuckles at that, “Sonic tell you about that??”

“Shadow, actually.”

Tom quirks a brow at Shadow to which Shadow merely shrugs in response, continuing with perfectly lacing and tying his shoes.

Knuckles approaches now, having been conversing with Wade through most of this. He eyes her suspiciously, Rouge seeming to share whatever curious vibe he’s giving if the way she eyes him up and down is anything to go off of.

“And you’re the echidna,” she observes aloud, smirking slow at the older brother.

“I am. The last,” he says honest and proud, “And you are??”

“Rouge,” she answers, holding her hand out for him to shake—

Uh oh.

Sonic should stop her.

Warn her.

Instead, he just watches with a knowing smile.

Knuckles reaches a hand out to take hers, “I am Knuckles of the Wachowski clan—“

“HEY!” she’s immediately jerking her hand away, trying to shake the pain out of it and causing everyone’s eyes to snap to the two at the sound of her yelp.

Knuckles just stands there unphased. As if this is just how every introduction on earth is meant to go.

Sonic honestly doesn’t know if he knows any different.

“What’s the big idea?!” she glowers at him, Knuckles seeming a bit thrown off by her assertiveness, “You nearly broke my hand!”

“I was simply offering a courteous earth handshake. It is custom to this world to squeeze the hand of another when meeting them,” he explains as if he’s making perfect sense, and she’s the crazy one.

“Not enough to turn my hand into mush, you Knucklehead!”

Knuckles’ cheeks puff angrily at this, “Why does everyone call me that?? That is not my name! I clearly stated it was Knuckles—“

“It’s called an insult, genius,” she huffs, still clutching her throbbing hand.

“Insult??? You dare to insult me?! I demand a duel to the—“

“Woahwoahwoah—.” Maddie quickly steps between the two before things can get too out of hand, “no duels. No battles, no death arenas, no.”

Knuckles is still glaring at Rouge when he huffs out a, “Fine. We shall settle this with a game of bowling.”

“How am I suppose to bowl if my hand is broke??”

“That is not my problem. It’s not my fault you are fragile.”

“FRAGILE—?!”

“Okay! Why don’t we all simmer down,” Maddie tries again, gently ushering Knuckles away to create more space between them. He does the thing where he points two fingers at his own eyes and then points them at Rouge as he turns to return to Wade. Sonic taught him that.

Sonic can’t help but bite back a little snicker as he watches Rouge turn away with a huff, still clutching her hand.

His amusement immediately dissipates when he finds Shadow at him with a disapproving frown.

Sonic clears his throat and looks away, pretending not to notice.

Shadow stands with his bowling shoes now on and laced up, moving to Rouge to place a hand on her back and gently usher her away, “Come on. Let’s get you some ice for that..”

Sonic watches them with a frown, his ears bending back and a pout working its way onto his lips.

Well.

That backfired.

•••

They split into teams. Knuckles and Wade competing against one another for tournament practice’s sake, picking between the Wachowski’s and Shadow and Rouge.

Wade picks Rouge right of the bat (pun intended). Sonic is fairly certain this is because Knuckles demanded he have her on his team since Rouge has never played a game of bowling in her life.

“I’m Wade, by the way,” the deputy introduces as she approaches his side of the lane, holding out his hand to shake hers only to immediately put it back down when he only receives a glare from her in response.

Too soon.

Knuckles picks Shadow, the most precise bowler of the amateurs.

Wade picks Tom.

Knuckles picks Maddie for “equality’s sake”.

Wade picks Sonic, meaning he’s on Rouge’s team. Yay.

And it ends with Knuckles picking poor Tails who doesn’t seem to yet have the strength to get the ball to go down the middle quick enough to do any real damage to the pins, resulting in usually a 4 or 5 on his first bowl.

Taking lane 14 next to 13, Team Wade starts the match.

Wade is their first bowler, going through his typical routine before rolling the ball down the alley and receiving an easy strike. The team cheering, though not surprised by his skill.

Knuckles steps up then, amethyst eyes locked in a glare with Rouge as he stands right in front of the lane and chunks the ball. He never looks. The pins nearly exploding from the impact of the strike. Rouge huffs. His eyes narrow further.

He steps away to allow Rouge to go.

Stepping up to pick up her ball, Sonic notices her heels are still on.

“Oh, uh- Rouge?” she turns to face him, “As much as I’m lovin’ your bowling chic, you can’t step out there with those on. They get mad if you damage their floor, trust me—“

“I won’t touch the floor, no worries,” she winks, Sonic frowning in a confused way as he watches her turn back around to bowl.

Her wings spread before she steps out on the slick wood, flapping just enough to allow her to hover as she rears the ball back and then tosses it down the alley.

And she’s strong because that ball flies!

It barely even touches the ground before hitting the pins, knocking them all down from the sheer impact of her bowl. She smirks at this, turning to meet Knuckles’ eyes with a sassy little “hmph” before she sashays back to her seat.

Knuckles is fuming. Sonic would honestly love her for this is the circumstances were different.

Instead, he finds himself feeling ill at the impressed look on Shadow’s face.

The game goes on like this. Wade, Knuckles Rouge and Shadow getting a strike every time, Tom and Maddie getting a few in here and there and Sonic and Tails getting mostly spares or high numbers. Sonic would much prefer to curl up in a ball and spindash down a strike, but the manager said he couldn’t do that anymore since his quills were scratching up the floors..

The game is close, and typically Sonic would be playfully smack-talking the opposing team, but he’s strangely silent. Emerald eyes always watching the bat, observing her movements and attitude and form..

How she always gets a stupid strike.

And while he obsessed over her, ruby eyes watch him. Concerned and curious by his uncharacteristically quiet nature.

Sonic stands in the back leaning forward against the wall the bowling balls are nestled in, watching the game but not really watching the game. His mind is elsewhere. That much is obvious to Shadow. That along with the fact he isn’t sitting by Shadow and chatting him up after Shadow has been gone away on a mission is.. odd. He’s barely spoken to him all night.

Approaching Sonic quietly as Tails takes his turning bowling, Shadow leans next to Sonic and keeps his eyes on the fox bowling as well.

“You’re sweating,” Shadow eventually says from Sonic’s side.

“Huh?? I’m not sweating,” Sonic snorts with a roll of his eyes, a small shake of his head.

“You are,” Shadow mutters, “You should take the jacket off. Your cheeks have been flushed most the night. You’re likely overheated.”

“My cheeks are not flushed,” Sonic frowns defiantly.

“They are,” Shadow pushes, now looking at Sonic and frowning at his defensive tone, “What’s got you so uptight??? Why Don’t you just take the jacket off and come sit with me for a bit—“

“Why do you want me to take your jacket off so bad??” Sonic argues with a little glare at Shadow, making the hybrid blink in surprise at the sudden hostility, “I can keep it on if I want.”

Shadow pauses and then frowns, his own patience wearing thin. He doesn’t deserve this sort of snippiness, he hasn’t done anything. “Hey. I’m just worried about you. There’s nothing wrong with me worrying, especially when you’ve been acting like a fool since I saw you at GUN earlier.”

Sonic huffs at this, rolling his eyes and looking away with an angry little frown and annoyed shake of his head. His cheeks are flushed darker again.

“You’re the one that’s been acting different.”

“Me???” Shadow scoffs with wide eyes, “Oh please do inform me on how I’ve been different.”

“You’ve been with her,” Sonic’s eyes dart daggers at the bat who is giggling to herself as she watches Knuckles take his next bowl.

Shadow follows his eyes to Rouge and blinks in confusion before returning them to Sonic, “Rouge??”

Rouge’s ears twitch at hearing her name.

Sonic looks back to Shadow now, eyes growing glossy and face heated with growing shame and embarrassment for his behavior, but it’s like he just can’t stop himself—

“Yes, Rouge.”

“What about her??? I can’t help that I have to work, Sonic—“

“I saw you two,” the blue blur hisses out, face dangerously close to Shadow’s now in a daring and angry sort of way, “At GUN. I saw how yall were laughing together and holding arms and being all couple-y.”

Shadow is so lost at Sonic’s words right now, having been oblivious but now slowly beginning to snap pieces together, “‘Couple-y’???”

“You know what—“ Sonic now begins aggressively stripping the jacket off his arms, fumbling a bit at his wrists as they get caught on his gloves but eventually getting it off with a huff and shoving it at Shadow, “Take your stupid jacket since you don’t want me wearing it so bad.”

Shadow’s hands go up rather than taking the jacket being held out to him, looking hurt by Sonic’s sudden rejection of his gift, his scent, “What?? No! That’s yours—“

“Hey, boys, heard my name—“ Rouge is there, now. Looking cool as always but there’s a bit of awkwardness in her stance.

“Fine!” Sonic huffs, ignoring her words and moving to instead shove the jacket at her. Tossing it this time so that it hits her rather than waiting for it to be taken, “She can have it!”

Then he’s storming out, turning and stomping out of the bowling alley and leaving Shadow and Rouge both staring wondering what the hell just happened.

“Hey!” Wade calls with a frown, “It’s almost Sonic’s turn! We only have three more rounds!”

“Ha! Dishonor! He left your team before inevitable defeat because you suck!” Knuckles boldly mocks with a booming laugh, oblivious to the drama unfolding.

“We do not suck, we’re winning by six!” Wade argues.

The two continue their competitive bickering as Rouge looks down at the jacket with a frown and then at Shadow who is staring off in the direction Sonic had gone looking absolutely distressed.

The pieces fall pretty quick.

”I need to go talk to him,” Shadow says determinedly, worry laced in his voice. But as soon as he makes a step, Rouge is reaching out to stop him.

“No..,” Shadow turns and looks at her with knitted brows, “Let me..”

Shadow isn’t sure for a moment. She is what has made Sonic so upset, after all.. but after Rouge gives him a reassuring smile, he gives with a nod, watching as the bat walks off in the direction Sonic left with jacket still in hand.

Maddie and Tom exchange worried looks before Maddie stands up from her seat and moves to comfort Shadow, having a little more insight on Sonic’s rash behavior than he seems to.

“Hey, sweetie..,” she says softly as she approaches him, her heart aching at this sweet boy’s almost scared eyes looking down at his hands as if they had done something wrong..

She’s grown very fond of Shadow over the past near-year. He and Sonic are a perfect match, even if they’re not official yet, and they balance each other out so nicely.. Almost as if they were made for one another, Maddie has often thought.

She’s learned Shadow has a deeply sensitive heart, one that’s quite larger than most people’s. He feels things so much deeper than others, with so much more intensity and devotion. He unapologetically tries. Harder than she’s seen anyone else ever do in her lifetime..

He’s simply stunted on how to properly project these emotions.. he struggles with getting those overwhelming feelings out properly, with sharing them in a way others can comprehend and understand. But he’s grown. Sonic has helped him with that..

Sadly, Sonic himself struggles with big emotions, too, now and then.. and he struggles with not letting them out in a whole new way. He simply bundles them up and suppresses them inside rather than messily letting them out like Shadow. Let’s them all build until he inevitably explodes. Like he just did..

“What did I do??” Shadow frowns, eyes slowly lifting to the woman who has now become a mother figure to him as well in many ways, “How do I fix it??”

He looks terrified.. like he’s losing Sonic.

He can’t lose anyone else. He can’t lose Sonic.

“Oh honey..,” Maddie sighs sympathetically, crouching down to his height to wrap her arms tight around him and hug him to her, “You didn’t do anything..”

“He’s so upset..,” Shadow mutters, immediately leaning into her hug but wrapping his own arms around himself.

“This is a Sonic problem,” Maddie reassures, “Not something you did. He is dealing with something he hasn’t really dealt with before, and we know how he can be with changes..”

Sonic hates change, especially when it’s something he’s unfamiliar with or can’t predict the outcome of. Her mind immediately goes back to how betrayed he had been when Tom had initially planned to move away from Green Hills. The decision to stay was certainly the right one, but it was also a sneak peek of how Sonic finds new and sudden things a bit overwhelming.

He’s matured over the years, of course. But he’s still a kid. And he’s still processing all sorts of new emotions– especially since Shadow came into the picture.

“But what changes have even occurred??” Shadow questions, tilting his head back to look at Maddie properly, his ears twitching like they want to fold back but refuse.

“Well..,” she sighs, trying to find the right words without making anyone any sort of bad guy or victim in this situation. It’s all just a lack of communication, not so much a legitimate conflict. “Up until a few weeks ago, Sonic had you all to himself..,” she explains softly, hand lifting to gently brush down Shadow’s upsettingly raised quills. Mellow him out some from his distressed state. This is a hedgehog thing, she’s noticed. Both Shadow and Sonic’s quills seem to raise slightly and get pokier when upset. Like a cat raising its fur.

“Now he’s having to share you with someone he doesn’t really know well,” she continues, watching as Shadow’s eyes look down in thought as he processes her words, “Someone he obviously thinks is cool enough to compete with his own charisma..” “Rouge,” Shadow states quietly, eyes lifting in realization to Maddie, “He’s envious of her..?” “Moreso jealous than envy,” Maddie winks with a small smile, “He doesn’t want to be her necessarily, but I think he might feel threatened by her new place in your life..” “But Sonic can’t be replaced in my life,” Shadow assures with a knit in his brow, trying to understand why the hedgehog might be so upset by this. It seemed silly to him. Sonic should know Shadow would never replace him..

“Maybe he doesn’t realize that,” she says gently, “He’s a pretty straight forward guy, Shadow.. A lot goes over his head if it’s not put out in the open. Maybe you two should talk a bit more firmly on where he stands with you and what exactly you two mean to each other..” Shadow ponders her words a moment, looking at her before nodding slowly, “We communicate poorly when it comes to emotions.” “Your words, not mine,” she giggles with a little shrug, “..you’re not at fault here, though, okay?? I need you to understand there’s nothing wrong with you having friends outside of Sonic. And he knows that, too. He’s just thinking a little too into it right now, and a little more insecure than he likes people to believe. He’ll snap out of it eventually, and just be happy you’re branching out some. This is a big step for you: making a friend on your own. And I, for one, am proud of you.” Shadow’s brows knit tight at this before a relieved sort of smile forms on his lips, “Thank you, Mrs. Wachowski..”

“Don’t let this discourage you from making more friends in the future,” she gently rubs a hand over his ear before cupping his muzzle softly, “You did nothing wrong, and Sonic will be okay.” Shadow nods against her palm before glancing towards the door, “I should go talk to him, shouldn’t I?” “Absolutely,” she smiles with a wink, standing once again just for him to look back to her with a grateful nod before walking towards the exit.

Knuckles watches this all unfold, a little scowl on his face and mind venturing away from the bowling match. Instead now focused on his little brother that is obviously very upset because of the dumb bat.

The group decides to pause the game and grab some snacks while waiting for things to simmer some with Sonic, Shadow and Rouge, Knuckles taking this opportunity to go and find the bat for himself and show no mercy for inflicting pain on the Wachowski tribe.

Outside, Sonic is pacing back and forth on the roof, hoping he wouldn’t be followed or found up there. He’s muttering scolds to himself, fingers running through his quills irritably and eyes full of guilt and regret at how he just acted.

“Stupid, why’d you have to be so stupid,” he hisses to himself, closing his eyes in annoyance as he drops his arms to his sides with a huff, “His face.. He looked so hurt..,” he frowns and opens his eyes to spot a rock on the floor, scowling at it before bending down to pick it up and glare at it as if it had personally offended him, “Why do I have to be so annoying!?” He turns and chunks the rock off the roof with a growl, a spark of blue in his quills and eyes as his powers are triggered by his high emotions and the rock is sent flailing towards space.

“Wow,” Sonic flinches and spins around at the unexpected voice, “And here I thought Shadow was the one with anger issues.”

“Look,” Sonic immediately huffs, trying to keep his cool but sounding a bit out of breath as his hackles rise, “I know I shouldn’t have thrown the jacket at you, and if you give me time to cool off, I’ll offer a way better apology. But right now, I’m soo not wanting to look at you.” Rouge blinks at that, landing from where she had just flown up to the rooftop upon hearing his little tantrum up there, “Mwah??” She places a hand on her chest as if to clutch her pearls, scandalized by his hostility towards her. Except she’s not, immediately letting the facade fall as she smirks and, “That should be a crime. I’m easily the best thing to look at in this boring, little town.” Sonic’s eyes just narrow at her, growling under his breath before turning away from her to cross his arms stubbornly, “Then why don’t you just leave??” Obviously offended by her insult to Green Hills.

“No can do, Blue. My new friend invited me here, and it would be a real shame to ruin a new friendship over a silly jacket,” she offers, taking a few steps towards him but not getting too close in case he still is too angry.

Sonic pauses a moment, turning his head slightly to look at her over his shoulder, “You think I’m your friend??” “Well, I was hoping,” Rouge chuckles, now approaching him fully to stand behind him and watch with slight relief when he turns to face her properly again. This time he doesn’t look like he wants to chunk her off the roof like he just did that rock. Instead he looks… guilty. Embarrassed.

“...Why would you want to be my friend after how I just acted??” “Because you just had a diva moment,” Rouge shrugs, “Trust me, I have plenty of them. And if I was held accountable for every time I had one, I’d never make any friends.”

Sonic looks down, rubbing his arm sheepishly with a small frown as he eyes the jacket she’s holding in her arms, “..I didn’t mean it. Snapping at you. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings or anything..” “Oh hun, you didn’t hurt my feelings,” Rouge smirks reassuringly. “I didn’t??” Sonic blinks, looking up at her. “Sticks and stones, Blue,” she shrugs with a wink, “Not the first time I’ve had someone not like me simply because they’re intimidated by me.” Sonic wants to defend himself, argue with her that he wasn’t intimidated by her.. But..

“Yeah. I guess that’s my problem, huh?? Kinda seems unfair you have to be treated bad simply because you’re so cool.”

Rouge puts a hand on her cheek to feign bashfulness, “Oh stop. You’re making me blush.” “You are! You’re– you have cool piercings, and you’re pretty like– all the time, even after long missions! And you fight really good, and don’t seem to let things bother you–” “Now who said all that??” Rouge tilts her head with a little quirk of her brow.

“Well… I just kinda.. Assumed.”

“Hey. That’s where you went wrong. Everyone knows to assume is to make an ‘ass’ out of ‘u’ and ‘me’.”

Sonic blinks.

“What??”

“I’m saying,” Rouge sighs, moving to sit on the edge of the roof now, jacket settled in her lap, “don’t judge a book by it’s cover. I’m not as perfect as I make myself out to be. Hard to believe, I know.” Sonic looks at her a moment before moving to join her on the edge, settling beside her with a foot propped up on the ledge and his arm resting on his knee. Overlooking the bowling alley’s parking lot.

“Besides, you’re pretty damn cool, too, Blue,” she adds with a small smirk, “Hero of earth? Fastest thing alive?? Look around, you have tons of people who care about you. That can’t be for nothing..”

Sonic shrugs, “I got real lucky, I guess.” “That ain’t luck, sweetheart,” she corrects firmly, Sonic glancing at her suddenly more stern tone, “People aren’t drawn to luck.. They’re drawn to good. And you’re probably the good-est thing anyone here has had in a long time..”

Sonic looks down again, thinking about her words. In a large way, he did bring them all together. They love him, he’d never doubt that. Maybe she’s right.. Maybe it’s not luck. Maybe it’s just.. him..

“I know Shadow certainly thinks so,” she adds with a knowing smirk, peeking at Sonic out of the corner of her eye to see him blushing a bit and his eyes widen slightly.

“Shadow-... Shadow’s biased. All he knows is me. The second he finds something new and better, he’ll… he’ll see I’m not as great as I’ve told him I am.”

Rouge snorts at that, “That’s some pretty selfish thinking.” Sonic looks at her confused, “How is me admitting I’m lame selfish???”

“It’s not. But you putting words in Shadow’s mouth for him is. You can’t think for the guy, kid, you gotta let him come to his own conclusions. Shadow knows a lot, okay?? He’s not some sheltered puppy. Hell– he’s seen more than you or I combined, I’m pretty sure..”

Sonic stays quiet, looking at her as she turns to look at him and continues.

“And he’s seen you. He knows a good thing when he sees it, and that’s all he sees when he looks at you. Good. And I think he knows he’s hit the jackpot managing to coral a good thing like you.”

Sonic blushes a bit and looks away again, fighting a small smile as he looks up at the half-blown up moon..

“He’s not looking at me, Sonic,” the bat adds with a little bump of her elbow to his arm, “He’s only got eyes for you. And I think you know that.. You just needed a reminder.”

Sonic sighs at that, looking back to Rouge and offering a small smile, “...I like you.”

Rouge just laughs at that, rolling her eyes at him and shaking her head, “I give you a whole speech on self worth and not being intimidated by false assumptions, and all I get is a ‘I like you’???”

“Hey! That’s an honor,” Sonic chuckles, “I’m the good-est thing in this town!” Rouge snorts at that, grinning as she shakes her head, “Gee. Glad it’s not gonna go to your head.”

They laugh another few moments before their giggles die down and they’re left sitting there content with one another.

“..I really am sorry for being a jerk,” Sonic says after a moment, turning to her to hold out his fist, “We cool?” She looks at his fist then him, offering a smirk as she fistbumps him, “We’re cool.”

Sonic nods, feeling way better already.

“Besides. Would be a damn shame if the two hottest kittens in this town weren’t friends,” Rouge adds with a shrug. “Oh, for sure. We’re gonna be such an iconic duo– earth doesn’t know what’s coming,” Sonic agrees matter-of-factly with a nod of his head.

“Agreed. So what’s up with your older brother??”

“Dude, ain’t that the question of the hour,” Sonic snorts with a helpless roll of his eyes.

“He doesn’t have much goin’ on in his head, does he?”

“He’s actually really smart! Just.. only with the things he already knows about.” “Obviously, he doesn’t know about manners,” Rouge huffs.

“Yeahhhh, that’s not his strong-suit, no,” Sonic rubs the back of his neck. “Guess someone will have to teach him,” Rouge shrugs, leaning back on her palms with a mischievous little smirk.

Sonic’s head whips around to look at her with wide eyes, “...Ewwww, that’s my brother.” “Hey. All is fair and all that jazz,” she shrugs, giggling at Sonic’s obvious disgust.

“Ugh. Just leave me out of it,” Sonic shivers, Rouge humming a little chuckle.

Her ears then twitch, hearing something from behind. Turning to look, she smiles softly and then slowly moves to stand up, “Well, I’m gonna get back in there. Let you two chat..” “Two??” Sonic’s brows furrow as he turns to look around and sees Shadow standing there looking… very upset.

It breaks Sonic’s heart, that guilt immediately rising in him again as he swallows on the lump in his throat.

“Oh..”

Rouge walks to Shadow, pausing beside him to hand his jacket off to him with a little wink, “Go easy on him. His cute makes up for the stupid.”

Shadow merely gives a grunt in response, taking the jacket as it’s handed to him with his eyes locked on Sonic’s.

Rouge flies back down below to the entrance, reaching to pull the door open only to freeze at the sound of someone clearing their throat.

She looks to her left to find the echidna stepping out from the shadows where he had obviously been eavesdropping.

“Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to sneak up on a lady??” she huffs, crossing her arms as she faces him, shifting her weight on her leg to stand all sassy with her hip out.

Knuckles ignores her words, stepping in front of the door beside her as he eyes her.

She almost feels nervous at this. How he’s sizing her up like he’s judging a pie at a county contest or something. But she doesn’t show it, merely leaning forward and narrowing her eyes at him with a quirked brow. “Take a picture, echidna, it’ll last longer–” “Thank you for comforting my brother.” She blinks, standing up straight again as her stance tenses at the unexpected appreciation.

“What?” “Sonic. My brother. I am not the best at knowing how to handle when my tribe is upset.. I am glad you were here to ease his mind,” Knuckles explains, his fists limp at his sides to show his openness. No hostility.

“Oh..,” she raises a hand to her chest, a slow smile forming on her lips, “Well in that case, you’re welcome.” “I will not forget this good deed you have performed for my clan,” Knuckles nods formally, a hand lifting to heavily rest on her shoulder and squeeze, “I am in your debt.” Rouge grunts a bit at the heavy weight of his fist on her shoulder, shrugging it off with a, “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Dusting her shoulder as if he might’ve gotten dirt on it before pausing and then forming a mischievous little smirk on her lips as she looks at him, “I can think of a few ways you could repay me..” “Anything,” Knuckles says so dang nonchalantly. Like he doesn’t know what that deep voice promising that word can do to a girl. Probably because he doesn’t.

She just hums at this, reaching to grab the tip of one of his front quills hanging over his shoulder and give it a little tug so that he’s down to her level.

He crouches a bit hesitant as she leans up to whisper in his ear..

Then his eyes go huge and his muzzle matches the color of his quills, quickly pulling away with an absolutely scandalized look on his face, “MY INNOCENCE! My sweet innocence– I will not perform such an act, you batty woman!” He’s already rushing inside in an attempt to get away, Rouge laughing as she moves to follow after him with a shrug. “What??? Girl’s gotta eat..”

The door shuts and above on the roof, Sonic and Shadow are still staring at one another as if unable to make the next move.

Sonic swallows hard, slowly pushing himself up to stand from the edge and face him properly.

Shadow doesn’t move. Just stares at Sonic with this.. strange look on his face. A mix of hurt and fear and anger and… something else. Determination maybe??

Either way, Sonic is the first to speak, knowing he’s the one that owes the apology here.

“Shadow, I–.” he swallows hard, feeling the lump in his throat grow bigger with each word and finding it harder to speak, “I’m so sorry. I was really stupid in there..”

Shadow starts walking towards him, and Sonic just keeps word vomiting as he always does, his feet feeling frozen in place as the hybrid stalks towards him.

“I was being dumb and insecure and assuming things and I should’ve just talked to you about how I was feeling instead of being all dramatic about it and I just really care about you and am scared that maybe you’ll think I’m like super lame one day and won’t want to be around me anymore and are you gonna punch me?? Because I totally get it if you do, but also, my precious face–” Shadow reaches Sonic and shuts him up.

And by ‘shuts him up’, he means he grabs him with his face cupped in his hands and jerks him to him to crush their mouths together.

Sonic squeaks, eyes going huge and tail immediately wagging so fast that he might take flight like his little brother does. Shadow’s eyes are clamped shut, keeping his lips firmly pressed to the hedgehog’s and his hands holding him in place as he kisses him.

It’s awkward. Very inexperienced and firm and not at all soft and romantic like movie kisses are. Sonic can feel Shadow’s fangs peeking through his lips against Sonic’s own mouth from how firmly they’re pressed to his, but he is soooo not complaining.

And in his shock over this entire moment, he forgets to kiss back, standing there like a stiff noodle with his hands flexed in surprise at his sides and not touching Shadow.

A few moments pass and Shadow pulls back with a quiet ‘smack’ of their lips parting.

Sonic is still staring at him all frozen and tail wagging giddily. Shadow opens his eyes to look at him as well now, a deep blush dusting his cheeks as he clears his throat and looks down a bit awkwardly, “Just, um– just to make myself clear on where we stand,” he explains, lifting a fist to his lips to clear his throat–also to rub over where he can still feel Sonic’s on his.

“Oh,” Sonic croaks, voice sounding shaky and breathy and higher than normal.

“I hope that’s okay.”

“Yup.” “And we’re.. clear then?”

“Crystal.”

Shadow breathes out an amused puff of air at Sonic’s short answers, rolling his eyes before finally finding the courage to look back up at him and finding Sonic is now smiling like the stupid idiot he is.

Shadow just offers a soft smile back, moving to then take the jacket all this mess derived from and gently drape it back around Sonic’s shoulders. Straightening the collar, he looks back to Sonic’s eyes and finds the hedgehog’s pupils are still blown but his gaze has softened from shock to something akin to lovestruck.

“This belongs to you,” Shadow says firmly once the jacket is on Sonic properly, “Only you.”

Sonic melts a bit.

He’s got a feeling they’re not talking about the jacket anymore.

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internally-screeching · 6 months ago

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I'm writing an essay about Heathers the movie for school and why is no one talking about how gay they were in the movie??

Like I mean genuinely looking at it and going huh. I mean yes I want the two to kiss but like they way that everyone compared Heaters and Mean Girls no one goes wow Heather Chandler/Regina are so incredibly gay?!

Like in the movie Chandler is so genuinely possessive of Veronica. Whenever Veronica talks to J.D in the movie there Chandler dragging her away. She sees only Veronica as her equal in the movie too. She likes the other Heathers, and I'm sure is aware it's better to have those who could destroy hour socia, standong close but whenot comes to it Chandler genuinely thinks of Veronica as her only equal. In the lunch time poll she literally makes Heather Duke into a table for her only intellect equal in the group, Veronica.

When she meets J.D at the convenience store Chandler acts like a jealous girlfriend glaring at J.D and Veronica as the two flirt. She could just be annoyed that they're going to be late but she seems uncaring of others so it stands to reason she's jealous and possessive. This time she doesn't physically pull Veronica away from J.D but it has the same effect.

She and J.D are even foil characters two sides of the same coin in the role that they play in Veronica's life. Chandler tries to corrupt her with power and the ability to do whatever she wants. So long as Veronica and her standing side by side so long as they enforce the societal power. While J.D tries to corrupt her with power and the ability to destroy whatever she wants. So long as Veronica and him stand side by side and destroy the system. I mean honestly while Chandler is alive in the film she and J.D compete for the converted spot of the devil sitting on Veronica's shoulder and the object of Veronica's affection.

She doesn't seem to like any of the men, only acknowledging that she needs them to find her desirable to maintain her power at Westerburg High. She's only a junior and worshipped yes but she doesn't seem interested in pursuing a man like Regina or even the other Heathers. She's intent ln Veronica staying beside her side as her only equal.

Even when she dies she's uncaring of why Veronica is in her room (never mind the fact that Veronica knows her schedule and her so well she can tell you what she was meant to be doing and what she's doing instead) but Chandler is unbothered by Veronica, her hackles are raised again by J.D and J.D only. Obviously having a friend over isn't too weird but Chandler doesn't seem all that interested in hosting little get togethers at her house. When she drinks the cup she looks over St Veronica before she dies.

I mean even when forging her suicide note Veronica can tell J.D what words Chandler failed on her fucking spelling test?! I mean I'm still in high school (albeit my last year) but I assure you I've never known the exact words my friend has gotten wrong in a spelling test. Or even what questions someone got wrong in any test. And remembered that. Veronica and Chandler obviously spend a lot of time together. More so than just friends likely would.

I mean this is even exemplified when you think about Kirt's throw away line about a Veronica and Heather Chandler sandwich. For a man who then goes on to date rape Heather McNamara his immediate thought is that duo. Not the women he's attracted to for the next however long. Clearly Veronica and Chandler have to be pretty attached at the hip for this to be Kurt's immediate pairing (and yes I know he's just being a satirically gross hyper-masculine jock in this scene but you know).

And this should go without mentioning she is literally summoned to the cafeteria by Chandler. Yes this is just an example of the red Heather's power being able to call her underlings whenever she wants but she in the movie almost always outside of this is lushing away the other Heathers or other characters, outside of this summoning she is always trying to get others further away from her. Never closer.

To conclude, Heather Chandler is a repressed lesbian who has a crush on Veronica and instead of dealing with it like a normal teenager flirting she makes Veronica join her clique where she offers an intellectual equal and power and Veronica betrays her by choosing J.D over her and also killing her but less so.

#heathers #heathers 1988 #veronica sawyer #heather chandler #heather duke #heather mcnamara #jason dean #j.d.#lesbian #long post #sorry for rambling #tw rap3 #homoseuxality #listen I just start thinking about heather chandler and j.d being two sides of the same coin and couldn't stop thinking #please forgive me

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

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Hidden Treasure 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your quiet life is interrupted by a tempestuous man. (reader is Blair from Follow You Anywhere)

Characters: Thor

Note: I just did it, okay?

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You lay out the hand-sewn coin purses along the left side of the table, completing the array of your hand-made and repurposed goods. It’s a good day to sell, sunny but not too hot, the early days of spring when people are eager to get out. At least it should be. Despite your selection, you’re not the most personable vendor along the square.

The last detail is the hand-painted wood sign. You did it yourself; an antique frame you added a gold hue to and filled with a thin sheet of board. It isn’t much but it tells people what they’re looking at; handmade and renewed goods.

You fold your hands and hover behind your table. You’re a one-person operation. It’s your own table, your own money, your own everything. It brings in enough for you to live. Just you and your cluttered apartment.

The coin purses and the sleepers you sew by hand are the more popular sellers. Anything for children goes first, you notice. Everyone seems to be having them. The older crowd radiate towards the old candlesticks you polished to a shine or the glass-shaded lamps you tediously re-wired. Most try to haggle but your prices are fair enough.

You peer around at the produce stands, the soap and candle makers, and the crocheted stuffies of your fellow sellers. You do a bit of window shopping but never follow through on your wandering eyes. You don’t need to waste the money on the pretty new things, you have lots of lovely old things.

The traffic picks up and you busy yourself with the browsers. A woman with a stroller buys several of the infant dresses and headband, a group of older ladies peruse the aged hardcovers and pick out a few, while a couple comments on the brass-based lamp with the dangling chain. You do your best to smile through the transactions.

The rises higher in the sky towards its apex. The steady flow keeps you busy, with some time in-between to work on fixing the binding of one of the old editions. You like to keep yourself distracted, thinking can be dangerous. With how much time you spend alone, it’s hard to avoid.

As you lock up the cash box and tuck it back under the table, a shadow passes over, large than any other. For a moment, you think a cloud’s passing over the sun. You look up at the sky as a broad figure stands across from you.

You don’t know how you didn’t see the man’s approach. He’s huge. Tall and wide. He doesn’t seem the type to be interested in your selection. Still, he leans in to eye the embroidered coin purses and gives a rumbling hum that sounds like distant thunder.

He picks up one with primroses sewn into it. His thick thumb brushes the threaded design and his large hand makes the coin purse look even smaller. You tap your fingers on the table as his eyes flick up and meet yours.

“Hi, uh, how can I help you?” You whittle out of your tight throat. It’s not often a lone man finds interest in your things. You cater to a more femme audience.

“This is nice,” he remarks, “do you make these?”

“Uh, yes, I do,” you give a tight-lipped smile, “I just embroider old used purses.”

“Just? That’s splendid work,” he brings it closer to his face and looks down his nose at the little flowers and leaves, “my mother would love this... mother’s day is coming, eh?”

“Oh, um, yes, I suppose,” you agree. “It’s five dollars. Cash only.”

“Mm,” he traces his thumb over the metal clasp as he taps his back pocket with his other hand, “don’t think I’ve any on me. Could you hold this for me?” He offers the coin purse, “I’ll find the ATM.”

“Sure, I could do that.”

You take the coin purse, fingers brushing his rough skin, and you set it aside.

“Thank you,” he smiles broadly, blue eyes twinkling as lines creases around them and across his forehead.

He reluctantly trails away and you watch him go. His golden hair is longer than most, twisted into a low bun behind his hand as a few strands dangle freely around his face. He wears a denim jacket over dark red tee and grey jeans, along with a pair of scuffed brown boots. He stands out even in his casual attire.

You shrug off the encounter and turn to your next customers. More baby clothes. The women chat about a baby show and you point them to the newborn sizes, telling them about the fabrics you use for each. They buy a few bibs along with the sleepers and diaper covers.

You back up and sit in the folding chair, drinking deeply from your bottle of water. You don’t know if it’s the interactions or the sun making you dizzy. It’s close to noon. You always start to feel it around this time.

The hours surrounded by strange faces and buzzing voices are clustering in your head and chest. Only a little longer; the market only runs until two. If the world didn’t require money to survive, you might never leave your apartment. Yet your table is the only means you have to keep walls around you.

You sit a bit longer and get up again. You’re okay. You should’ve eaten before you left the apartment. How silly of you to forget the overnight oats you had put in the fridge just the night before. You do forget quite a few things.

The market thrums with the late morning rush and you brace yourself for the final stretch. If you can clear off half the table, you might not have to come back next weekend. You’d be all too content to stay in your own little world, the one beyond is too loud and too bright.

🕰️

You fold your table up and push the hook around the peg to keep it shut. You fold up the chair as well and lean both with your boxes. As the market clears out, you pull up your small two-door and load your wares into the back hatch.

You peer over at the other vendors and their vans and trucks. Crews of half a dozen or more pack away goods and chatter just as loud as the previous crowds. It’s an isolating moment. You don’t mind going unnoticed but sometimes you feel so small.

As you put a box in the back of the car, your keys slip off your finger. You bend and feel around the tire to retrieve them and sense a shadow above you. You clasp your hand around the keyring and stand-up suddenly, turning to face the figure behind you. There’s no one there.

You peer around but find nothing out of the ordinary. You return to your task and pause. You don’t remember putting that box away yet...

You shake your head. You’re just tired and forgetful. Your cardinal vices. Your mind wanders too much to rest, too much to keep order.

You put the last box away and close the hatch. You get in the driver’s seat and turn the engine. It putters softly but it runs well enough. The old car has gotten you through the years just fine. There was a time that tiny thing was your home.

You pull away down the lane parallel to the edge of the market square and pull out into traffic. You drive without seeing, led by habit as you stop at signs along the way, turning around corners mindlessly. You stop and wait to pull into your building’s lot and notice the large storm grey jeep behind you. It strikes you as peculiar; you enter from a back street to avoid the rush.

You steer into the lot and the jeep continues down the street past the building. You forget it as quickly as it rolls beyond the faded brick. You find your spot, parking pass dangling from the mirror, and shut off the engine. You linger and take a breath. You're hungry and tired.

You leave your things in the car and go upstairs. You slow as you pass your neighbour’s door. You saw her yesterday, she was in trouble about something. The police came as she hid from her boyfriend in your apartment. You didn’t even know she had one. You tried not to be nosy but she seemed real upset.

Your cheeks tinge as you stare at the numbers on her door. She’s the only person who’s ever been inside your apartment. You don’t welcome people in, not into your home or your life. You hadn’t meant to let her in but you were so tired and confused, you couldn’t stop her.

You cringe and continue down to your door with one last glance over your shoulder. You put the key in the slot and turn with a grind. You scurry inside and quickly lock the door, afraid she might once more emerge and follow you inside. Or that man, the big one with the beard.

You twist the latch back into place and put your keys in the tray on the cramped shelf. The apartment is dark, the windows shrouded in black fabric, and you flip on the overhead light to guide you down the hallway. The walls are made tighter as their lined with endless shelves and tables, all filled with your collection of curiosities.

You go to the fridge and take out the mason jar of steeped oats. You sit and eat the soft, pasty oats and the berries. You didn’t add enough cinnamon. It doesn’t matter, your stomach greedily mulches it. You put the kettle on and wait for it to steam.

As you pace around, you hear a loud rumble. An engine. You don’t think much of it but you go to the window to peek out around the dark fabric. A woman walks a large dog past a grey jeep parked along the curb. Is it the same one you saw before?

The question doesn’t pique your mind much. That’s the way of the world, you find. It’s a lot smaller than it seems, yet to you, it’s inexorably vast. It’s too fast, too unpredictable. You retreat as the kettle whistles.

Your apartment is small and warm and safe. The world can’t follow you back here. Not if you don’t let it in and you won’t be doing that again.

-🕰️

You decide, against your better instincts, to go to market. The weather is nice and it wouldn’t be so bad add a few extra bucks to your nest egg. You never know what might come up, or what you might find! Too many times you stumbled upon an antique you just couldn’t afford.

You go through your usual ritual. You set up the table and the chair, and arrange your things in the same way around the wooden sign. As you put your boxes to the side, you hear a rattle at the bottom of one. You look into the crate and notice the silver ring. How’d that get in there? You didn’t bring any jewelry.

You put down the box and reach inside. You take out the ring and turn it. You’ve never seen it before. There’s a strange stick symbol on the flat face. Maybe another language or a run of some type. You turn it in your hand and tuck it in your pocket. You’ll have to give a closer look at home.

It’s early and a few stragglers trickle in, but they all walk by your table without pause.

You sit and take out the jar of oats. You remembered today. You’d woken up with a hunger so deep, you almost ate before you left. You know better than to eat too early. Instead, you had your tea and got yourself moving.

You stir the blueberries in and eat slowly, trying to measure your bites so you don’t feel sick after. You watch the other vendors, some still setting up, and lazily swallow down the thick oatmeal. It feels like it might rain after all, there’s a touch of damp in the air.

You finish up and put the jar away. As you wipe your mouth with your sleeve, a woman’s voice trills and pricks your ears. Silver hair with a few wisps of gold peak out from her silk headscarf. The teal fabric matches the pattern of her blouse, tucking into a finely pressed skirt. She’s not alone, she has her arm hooked through another.

Her companion is younger than her. His golden hair is pulled half up at the crown of his head as he towers over her lithe frame. You squint, they might be related. As they approach, you get a whiff of deja vu.

“Yes, it was this one, mother,” the man’s voice is deep.

“How lovely, look at all these treasures,” she slips her arm free as she approaches, “hello, dear, is this all yours?”

“Mhmm, yes,” you stand up, “are you looking for something in particular?”

“I think we’re just browsing,” she smiles brightly, her lips painted a gentle shade of rose.

“A coin purse,” the man says, “with prim rose? Do you recall?”

You look at him. Faces aren’t easy for you but his voice strikes something in your mind, and his size. You haven’t seen a lot of men that big, only the one in your neighbour’s apartment. You think you remember holding something but the customer never came back.

“This one,” you point to the coin purse, set back in the row.

“Yes, that was me,” he chimes, “mother,” he pulls the primrose purse to the top. She takes it and he looks back to you, “I apologise that I didn’t return, there was an emergency and I had to be off.”

“It’s okay,” you shrug, folding your hands together.

The woman is looking at you. There’s something in her gaze that makes you squirm. Her eyes linger just a bit longer before she aims them at the purse, admiring the embroidery as she feels it beneath her thumb.

“Yes, I do like this one,” she says.

“I brought cash this time,” the man booms and reaches into his pocket, “five, I believe you said.”

“Yes,” you accept the bill from him, his skin rough as his fingertips touch yours, “thanks. Erm, did you need a bag?”

“For this? No,” she wiggles the purse playfully and reaches for the man, her son, with other hand. She caresses his knuckles as she faces him, “you were right. Very beautiful.”

He smiles broadly, proudly almost. It’s just a purse. You hide your discomfort as you grip your arm at your elbow.

“Thank you,” the woman chirps back at you, sending another grin in your direction, “you might see us again.”

She hooks her arm once more through her son’s and leads him to the next booth. You peer after them as her attention clings to the purse as she continues to feel it between her fingers. She leans into his arm as she speaks to him quietly. They seem close, it’s sweet. Your own mother had never been so affectionate.

You look away before the scene can pluck in your chest. It doesn’t matter. You’re grown up now. That’s all behind you.

#thor #dark thor #dark!thor #thor x reader #fic #dark fic #series #dark!fic #au #marvel #avengers #mcu #hidden treasure

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haleingstorm · 4 months ago

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Alright I've talked about Piper and Leo so now it's Jason's time. I saved him for last because he still doesn't have his memories which means we still as readers shouldn't know that much about him. And honestly as of right now canon does a pretty good job with him. I actually have very few complaints about TLH Jason. Besides the romantic plot(again what the hell Rick? Just no, bad. awful. never should have happened)

Anyway things go mostly the same, creepy feeling of wrongness, that he doesn't belong. Coin flipping sword or spear. Ability to fly. Also side note, Jason can not take fall damage. ever seen feather falling in Minecraft? if you haven't look it up. That's what he looks like when he 'falls' anywhere. And he always lands on his feet somehow. A little creepy, a little unnerving. A reminder just how powerful the children of the king of the gods are. (who will not under any circumstances be nerfted to make Percy look good. Again what the hell Rick).

One thing I am changing though is this. Jason doesn't realize Thalia is his sister. Hera forgot to transfer those memories(which is really want I am assuming happened in Canon for my own sanity). He sees the picture, thinks Thalia looks familiar and amuses it's because their dad is Zeus. This will have no complications later. Nope not a single one!

Jason of course gets his prophecy and chose Leo and Piper to join him on the quest. There's tension between all of them of course. because Leo + Piper keep thinking he 's going to act like he did in the memories and Jason doesn't. And Jason really doesn't know who these people are and is freaking out. However it is not the first time that three strangers have been thrust together on a journey to save the world!

#jason grace #percy jackon and the olympians #heroes of olympus #the lost hero #piper mclean #leo valdez #HOO found family AU

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queenie-avenue · 1 year ago

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hiiii!!!!

i thoight i’d do this the normal way instead of begging u in dms sOO MINJUN AND CREEP READER WHEN PLEASE PLEASE i’m down on one knees rn <333

this man could ruin my whole life and everything i’ve worked for and i would so gladly let him 😋😋

i don’t wanna fix him. i literally just wanna make him worse xoxo

Different sides of the same coin.

💌 ⤻ THE ACADEMIC RIVAL, SEO MIN-JUN

—> you damn creep.

⤻ reader is gender neutral, reader is almost as bad as min-jun, reader is down bad fr, obsessive behaviour, posessive behaviour, snooping, invasion of privacy, reader AND min-jun are red flags, a bit suggestive

notes: ain't no way you actually put an ask in for this 💀 but yes, you asked, and I delivered <33 also, I feel like all the anons in my inbox would absolutely eat this up, this is literally them/j (ngl, my writing kinda sucks here sorry yall-)

🦋 ⤻ archives.

Min-jun studied all the different things littered inside that heart-shaped box of yours. When he first saw it sticking out of your schoolbag, he felt immediate jealous, assuming it wad a gift from someone in your class, or something you would be giving to someone else.

Naturally, he decided to steal it.

He sat at his desk, the student council room deserted as everyone had already left, per his request. He studied the contents of the box with lazy eyes. For months, he had tortured you and for months, you seemed to not care; which honestly made him more pissed off with you.

He pursed his lips as he waited for you to enter the student council's office. Min-jun looked at the box again, sifting through all the different notes he had left you. The ones that told you to kill yourself, the ones that fantasised about pushing you off a roof or watching you suffer, the ones that begged you to leave him alone, to not torment him with your mere presence; you had kept all of them. All tucked in this... heart-shaped box.

"You must really be a freak." He let out a chuckle as he closed the red box, holding it up to his face. The box even smelled like the cologne he liked to wear to school, subtle but noticeable. He let out a groan as he imagined the things he would say to you when you got into his office, how irritated he was with you that you — pathetic, poor, useless you — had seduced him.

Right, you seduced him.

You were the one who decided to show off and get higher grades than him. You looked at him every time he spoke with those obsessed eyes of yours. It was all your fault, not his!

Just then, the doors to the office opened, revealing you standing there. Min-jun tapped his fingers on the box knowingly, wanting you to see that he had caught you in this perverted act.

"Care to explain to me what this is?" He asked, fishing out all the various notes and pictures from the box, holding them up despite your obvious embarassment.

You tried to cover it up, but it was clear that you enjoyed the fact he had caught you in such a precarious situation. "I was just- you kept bullying me, so I was gathering evidence!" You managed to scrounge up a somewhat believable excuse.

"You collected evidence in a heart-shaped box?" He snickered, bemused by your attempts to seem normal.

"It was the only box I had..." You kept trying to lie, but Min-jun saw straight through your pretty little lies.

"And why does your box of evidence contain pictures of me doing everyday things? Not very incriminating evidence, and yet, you kept it in your 'evidence' box."

"I-"

"Don't lie."

Both of you stared into each others' eyes, his glare mixed with an undertone of want and obsession, yet he would never admit it. Yours, filled with embarassment and desire. You were so close to breaking down.

Min-jun got up from his desk and walked over towards you. You froze on the spot, your hands wandering towards the sliding door of the office, but before you could even try to escape, Min-jun had grabbed your wrists. "Did I say you can leave?" He asked softly, his tone so affectionate it almost made your knees buckle under the tension.

"N-no." Your cheeks reddened as your eyes made their way to his hands that gripped your wrist. Slowly, your eyes glanced over at his lips and how close he was, the cologne he wore that was perhaps too mature for both your ages, mimicking the scent of an older person. His eyes darkened the moment he saw your eyes rake over his lips.

"Is that it?" He asked, leaning in closer as he guided you towards the armrest of the couch in the student council office, pushing you against it so you would sit; so he could tower over you. "You're just some pervert who likes to be bullied and harassed?" He asked softly, his gaze growing more intense by the second.

You stared, your lips parted, unable to respond as he had caught you red-handed.

A sense of jealousy spilled into his heart as his hands gripped you tighter, which would no doubt leave bruises.

"So as long as someone bullies you, you fall for them? Are you some sort of creep?" Min-jun interrogated, leaning so close that you fall back onto the couch, a small 'oomph' escaping your lips as you both fall back. Min-jun's arms trap you between him and the sofa, his cheeks now matching yours in the same shade of crimson. He doesn't move, his hands on both sides of your head.

"Answer me. Would you like anyone else if they did the kind of stuff I did to you?" He asked, desperation straining his voice. Min-jun wanted to know he was special to you, that you would only ever be infatuated — no, in love — with him.

You remained silent.

"Tell me, damn it!" Frustration seeped out as he grabbed your face now, cheeks reddening not out of him being flustered, but instead out of rage. "You come here, to my school, decide to top me in every subject I've always been the best at, and then you suddenly decide to collect all these things from me, treating them like cheesy love letters rather than threats. What the hell is up with you? I don't get you, I just can't understand you." He said, his breath hitting your face in huffs.

"You make me lose my mind. I've never- I've always felt so indifferent to everyone else, but you make me do things that... that make me disgusted with myself." He continued, remembering all the times he used his monthly allowance to hire private investigators behind his family's back just to find out more about your interests and hobbies. Asking for photos of you, asking for *clothes* from your laundry pile. He was sick of himself, sick that he would ever so such a thing. But he was addicted.

To you, to your scent, to your gaze, to everything about you he wished he could claim.

"Tell me you feel the same way." He demanded suddenly.

It was his right. You had to feel the same way.

Without even thinking, you pulled Min-jun down to you, gripping his face so tightly that your nails drew blood from his cheeks. Your lips slammed together, any harder and one of you might have lost a tooth, but both of you didn't think about that. Your eyes were closed, but Min-jun's were wide open. "You really do like tempting me." He muttered into your mouth as his hands pinned yours to the couch.

"You must really like me." Min-jun babbled on between your lips, licking and biting your bottom lip, sucking on it like his life depended on it. "Tell me, [y/n], tell me you need me." He wanted to be worshipped by you, he wanted to worship you.

"I need you so badly." You whispered back, allowing him to take control as you whimpered below him. "Please don't stop."

His hands travelled slowly to your neck. "Don't stop what? Kissing you?" He asked, pulling away, "Or don't stop bullying you." His voice boomed with laughter, loving that flustered and needy look on your face; so red to the point he wanted to take a bite of your cheek to see whether it tasted like apples.

"Both, please." You whispered submissively, letting him claim your lips repeatedly.

"Don't worry, I'm never stopping. You won't be able to run from me, even if you wanted to." He smiled, and for a moment, you missed the dangerous glint in his eyes. "You belong to me, okay?" He asked one last time, not giving you the chance to answer before diving back into your lips.

Now that you had given him confirmation that you loved him, you would never stop loving him. Min-jun would make sure of that.

#yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere drabble #yandere male x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere x reader #yandere male #ask #mutuals #yandere blog #male yandere #yandere #yandere academic rival

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dyeher · 1 year ago

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High Stakes| Ran H.

Includes| secret agent! Ran Haitani x secret agent! Reader

Warnings| fem! reader, violence, murder, mentioned gambling, implied harassment, guns, mirror sex, dry humping, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, choking, creampie, dirty talk, multiple orgasms.

Notes| mwah! another repost.

Ran is making plans to return to the Bloody Lotus when he’s not working. Bright eyes scan the clientele, and fingers drum the side of his glass, he decides he likes the energy. Rich people are always eager to spend their earnings, to show off their pregnant coin purses and boast about investments and returns and how they’ve recently deprived the world of another useless piece of art that costs more than it has any right to. Rich people paired with alcohol makes this place a breeding ground for ‘Too Much Information’. Ran affectionately calls it TMI, and it’s the reason he’s here tonight. To collect some of that.

When he returns though, when he’s off the clock, he’ll be here for the pretty call girls and the lacquered cards that are screaming his name. Absently he raises his glass to his lips. Tonight he is not Ran Haitani, Agent 001. Tonight he is simply Ran Haitani, one of Japan’s most eligible bachelors, and a potential investor in whatever business venture Izana Kurokawa has cooked up.

He glances around the lobby, careful not to make eye contact with you as the balding man’s hand snags on the exposed flesh of your upper thigh. Ran’s grip on his glass tightens reflexively. He reminds himself that if he kills Lorano now they’re fucked and you would’ve been groped for no reason. He remains quiet, pretending to take in the brightly lit room with its marbled floor and high ceiling.

To his left is the entrance to the VIP section where he’s currently perched at the bar. It’s a pair of glass doors flanked on either side by two large men dressed to the nines but sporting firearms. Through the glass, he can see regular patrons, the upper-middle-class dressed in their best and whispering to each other over glasses of overpriced champagne. Some are gambling their way down the social ladder without really paying any attention to it.

To his right is the entrance to Izana’s private quarters. Well, for the most part. To his right actually stands a set of hand-carved mahogany double doors. Those doors don’t lead anywhere. Behind them is an elevator leading to the rooftop of this fine establishment and the only true way to access Izana’s quarters is from the rooftop entrance. A little way off from those doors is a simple nondescript door that leads to the stairwell on the inside of the building. The stairwell gets as high as the private rooms of Izana’s friends. If all went well Ran would be on that floor within the hour.

He’s brought out of his reverie when you warble spilling a little of the drink in your tray onto Lorano. He’s impressed by your ability to mold into any character as he listens through the earpiece. You lay on a faux Italian accent, as you scramble to apologize that immediately has Lorano perking up, and Ran has to sip from his glass to cover his disgust when one of the buttons on the man’s shirt pops open at the movement.

Izana dresses his female employees in the most ridiculous things. Tonight’s number is a sheer black leotard, the front covered in some sort of stitched design that just barely covers your breasts, the back so low it dips beneath the band of the too-tight, too-short black skirt paired with it. The shoes are strappy and wound all the way up to above your knee. The heel and platform are so high that Ran winces internally as he watches the ease with which some of these girls can maneuver the tables and crowd in them.

He’s whispering to you in rapid-fire Italian, things Ran wishes he didn’t understand, promises to treat you right, questions about how long you’ll be working for. His grubby hands trail down to your thigh when you bend across him to replace his drink and even from this distance Ran can see the way your fingers on the tray flex.

An irrational amount of pride swells in his gut when your smile doesn’t even waiver, and for a second he’s so transfixed he almost doesn’t hear when one of Lorano’s lackeys bends into his other ear to let him know Izana was ready for him. Ran’s heart slows, his eyes locking with yours as he starts moving. Based on Wakasa’s intel Izana’s meetings are held on the roof, and there should be a viewing room on that floor. Only one elevator goes to that floor and it requires either Izana’s Identification card or the code, a code only he knows. Ran subtly adjusts the face of his watch, a beautiful Patek Phillipe piece he’d paid Inui out of pocket to have modified. He chuckles when he reaches the door of the stairwell and Wakasa’s voice filters through his ear.

“I think I threw up in my mouth a little when Lorano asked if she eats ass,” Ran can hear Wakasa’s shudder. He uses the knuckle on his index to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, activating the screen on the camera on the left screen. “Take a step back Ran, need to see the entire door.” Ran shuffles back feigning glancing at the floor in front of the door and then back up. “Thank you,” Wakasa says, and Ran fidgets as he begins to count down in his head. “You ready big guy? You have thirty seconds to climb three flights of stairs before the camera’s auto-reboot.”

Ran glances to his left and right quickly before nodding. “Go.”

He doesn’t even register the door slamming behind him as he flies up the stairs. He’s mastered the art of running in suits at this point. His chain lifts with his movements until finally, he catches the pendant between his teeth to stop it. He uses the rail to hoist himself up, taking the stairs four at a time until the leather sole of his shoe lands on the dark marble of the top floor. He skids a little, catching himself on the wall. “Twenty-six seconds,” Wakasa tells him. “Not bad.”

Ran chuckles. “You talk too much Wakasa. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“You,” Wakasa retorts. “Every time we work together.”

“Lorano’s on his way up,” your voice interrupts them both. “And I’m coming with him.”

Ran tenses. “That was not part of the fucking plan,” he says as he stalks the length of the hall. He passes his room, heading for the elevator. He watches as the numbers change.

“Yeah but it’s smarter than the original,” Wakasa admits. “If she gets up there Izana’ll send her back down because employees aren’t allowed on that floor. Which means she’ll control the elevator.”

Ran curses, because Wakasa’s right. “Fuck.” He watches as the elevator gets to the top floor and then ten minutes later he watches as it begins its descent. The impromptu change works and Ran finds himself face to face with you not thirty seconds later.

“Camera’s are down,” Wakasa announces. “Double-loop so it looks like she came off the elevator. Shouldn’t have any issues if no one is standing at the elevator doors.”

And no one is standing there. In fact, getting into the viewing area is too easy, not only that but they find that it’s not just a viewing area. Ran takes a good scan of the room following Wakasa’s instructions until they land on a row of computers and Wakasa almost moans in both your ears. It’s the central command.

“I despise Izana Kurokawa,” he hisses. “I hope he knows I’m praying for his downfall. Specifically, because this setup is so beautiful he doesn’t deserve it.”

Ran glances at you out of the corner of his eye and almost swallows his tongue when he finds you squatting at one of the outlets. Your ass stretches the material of the skirt and Ran has to force himself to look away as you get on your knees to press the switch. One of the older computers lights up next to Ran and Wakasa honest-to-gods giggles.

“Ran, plug the flash drive in there,” Wakasa instructs. “Turn it on and where is my beautiful little amateur hacker. Get your ass over here.”

Ran tunes in to the conversation between Izana and Lorano, looking out through the glass at them from his spot. Izana as always is dressed in some elaborate get up, his second in command stands to his left his arms folded and the disgust in his expression clear as he looks at Lorano.

“It’s quite simple,” Izana is saying. “You join me, I get control of your men, I pay you to speak when spoken to.”

Lorano looks torn. “It’s not that simple, my men will not respect me anymore,” he tries to explain.

“Lorano,” Izana coos. “Your men don’t pay you. Your men are ungrateful pigs. Your men are incompetent criminals. Your men are failures as men. Their respect for you isn’t worth hot shit even if it came from a god.” Izana’s men laugh and Ran winces at the shade of red Lorano turns. “Think about the respect you’ll earn from the rest of Japan when they find you’re associated with me.”

This seems to give Lorano pause and Ran scoffs. He wonders what Izana might have offered him if he planned to stick around long enough to hear.

“How much are you offering?” Lorano finally says.

“I’m offering you a salary,” Izana says slowly, in case Lorano misunderstood. “Not a percentage cut of the shit I make.”

Lorano swallows, and the microchip in the collar of his shirt picks up the sound extra loudly. Ran almost gags. “How much?”

“Five hundred thousand dollars a month,” Izana says and Ran is appalled at the way Lorano immediately agrees. He wonders if Lorano knows that he’s signing this document in his blood. And just as Ran expected when Izana verifies that Lorano has in fact signed over his properties and his men he opens his palm and Ran shifts when a gun is placed in it. “It was great doing business with you,” Izana frowns and Lorano doesn’t have time to scream before the gun goes off and his pudgy body is falling face first into his dinner, blood mixing with the delicacies on the plate. Ran’s thoughts are interrupted by Wakasa’s curse.

“What?” he snaps turning back to where you’re tapping away at the computer screen.

“You’ve got company,” Wakasa says quickly. “Fuck. Two incoming looks like Izana’s personal guard and the Head of Security.”

Ran’s head snaps to the door when he hears the telltale sounds of footsteps coming down the corridor. “How much longer, angel?”

You tap away at the keyboard rapidly. “We’re at 87%,” you scramble to type faster but Ran’s already dragging you away from the desk. “What the fuck are you—”

“You can punch me in the face afterward,” he whispers quickly. And then he’s kissing you. Tentatively at first, just a soft brushing of his lips that immediately has you relaxing in his hold. One large hand cups your face to angle your head better and the other dips into the base of your spine, curling you closer to him. His fingertips are warm as they trail the length of your spine. Goosebumps erupt on your skin and you shudder, your nipples pebbling in the thin material at the contact. You’re frozen, struck dumb by the gentleness of his kiss, eyes wide open so you see the way long lashes brush the tops of his cheeks.

Ran pulls back just far enough to growl against your mouth. “Kiss me back, angel.” And then he’s running the tip of his tongue along your bottom lip and they’re parting to let him in. His tongue is eager and warm and so soft as it brushes confidently at yours that your toes curl.

Your body presses closer to his, your hands winding around his shoulders as you kiss him back. It’s the consent he needed. The kiss grows intense, Ran’s tongue dipping farther, his head slanting to deepen the kiss. You’re suddenly reminded of your lack of underwear when Ran’s hand comes up to grasp the back of your head, the one cupping your face drops to your thigh as he backs you into the desk. He hoists you onto the surface easily, your body displacing the keyboard, and stack of papers next to it. His grip on your thigh slips to the back of your knee and he hikes it up around his waist, to slot himself between your legs, bending you back a little so you’re propped against the monitor.

“Fuck,” he groans when your fingers tangle in his hair. You tug his head back harshly, desperation making your movements a little rough as you press sloppy, lipstick stain kisses along the side of his neck and the column of his throat. You wonder if he’s wanted to do this as bad as you have. If he’s ever lost sleep thinking about the contours of your body the way you have. Or imagined the softness of your lips, the taste of your mouth, the feel of your hands on him. Because you’ve spent countless nights with your fingers between the folds of your pussy, rubbing circles into your clit imagining they’re Ran Haitani’s fingers or his tongue. Many nights with your dildo pumping furiously into you imagining it’s Ran Haitani’s cock molding and shaping your insides for him.

The guards are forgotten as Ran presses the length of his body to yours. The hard outline of his cock rubs into the damp crotch of your leotard when you finally bring your lips back to his. Your kissing becomes frantic and sloppy. Ran devours your mouth, fucking it with his tongue in a way you know he’d easily replicate in your cunt. Your body bucks when his fingers climb your thigh, his knuckles rubbing the sensitive skin as it inches higher. You moan into his mouth and Ran’s responding chuckle sends chills down your spine.

“Bet you’ve soaked through this flimsy thing,” he mumbles, lips not pulling away far enough for you to focus on his features. His kisses move from your lips down to your neck and throat. “Probably got a messy little pussy.”

You whine, arching as though you can get any closer than you already are. Your fingers catch in his jacket as you try to push them off his shoulders. Ran eases back just enough to free his arms, dropping the jacket next to you as he resumes his previous position. You get a glimpse of how well he fills out the silk shirt beneath and realize this isn’t enough. You want to feel his skin, you want to rake your nails down his back and mark him with your teeth. Just as you think this Ran’s teeth latch onto the erogenous area where your neck and shoulders meet. Your moan is absolutely wanton. You feel him shudder in your arms as he reaches for the strap of the onesie and rips it down your arm freeing one of your breasts for his hungry mouth. It’s only as you toss your head back, lips parted on a sigh at the gentle sucking of Ran’s mouth on your nipple, to give him better access to your body, that you see the two men in the doorway.

Your squeak of surprise is genuine as your hand scrambles to clutch Ran’s shoulders. The sound seems to snap both men out of their stupor and you watch as they straighten to their full height. Your mind clears quickly, embarrassment sinking like lead in the pit of your stomach at your actions. Ran’s grin is lazy, almost natural as he glances over his shoulder, you’re grateful for the width of him as he angles his body to block out whatever view they might’ve had of you. One of Ran’s hands still clutches your waist, his thumb rubbing soothing circles as though he knows you’re struggling to get it together.

“Gentlemen?” Ran’s smile falters perfectly, even the breathless hitch in his tone is staged. It feels like a bucket of ice water has been doused on you. Of course. Of course, none of this was real. He’d just saved both your asses. You wonder if he knows you weren’t acting. You tense in his arms and his grip on your waist tightens. “Can we help you?”

“You’re not supposed to be up here,” the shorter one says. Even from here, you can tell he’s the scarier and more than likely Izana’s head of security. Bleached buzzcut with parallel strips of his natural hair color running from the corners of his hairline back. You might’ve giggled at the fact that he resembled a tennis ball if he didn’t pull his gun. His eyes narrow when Ran frowns and glances at you.

“Sorry? Is this not the guest floor?” Ran’s confusion is so convincing you almost don’t feel when he slips the flash drive up your thighs. It takes all of your self-control not to react as his fingers dip into the sticky mess between your thighs and slide the flash drive flat across the crotch of the leotard. Your hand snaps out to clutch his arm and he chuckles. “She’s a needy thing,” he shrugs. “Couldn’t quite make it to my room.”

The taller one adjusts his glasses and steps into the room and Tennis ball follows him. “How’d you get up here, Mr. Haitani?”

Ran blinks at him like he’s stupid. “The elevator?” You squirm in his arms, playing your part as the brainless, shy employee, who’ll probably get in trouble for fraternizing with one of Izana’s VIP guests. Ran straightens to his full height, fixing the straps of your onesie and closing your legs as he turns to face both men. He stands a little shorter than the one with the glasses but he’s broader and you know that if this comes down to a fight you could take the taller one while Ran takes the other. “What’s really going on here? Have I done something wrong?” His tone is carefully accusing.

Glasses sighs through his nose. He knows there’s no way Ran should’ve gotten to this floor undetected but starting a fight with one of Izana’s friends is the last thing he needs to do right now. “This floor is off-limits to guests. They lead to Mr. Kurokawa’s private rooms.”

Ran’s expression morphs into a perfect mask of embarrassment and regret. You hope the horror in your expression as you clamber to your feet, swaying a little in your heels is convincing. “Ah, sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head in embarrassment. “Got a little distracted,” he motions with his thumb to you over his shoulder and you look away. “We can move.”

He reaches for his jacket when Tennis ball chips in. “Wait a minute,” he says, slipping his gun back into the holster. “You’re not leaving until we search you.”

Ran bristles as they expect him to, head jerking back like he’s been slapped. His jaw clenches, fingers flexing. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Exactly what I said Mr. Haitani,” Tennis ball snatches Ran’s jacket and passes it to Glasses who begins to rummage through the pockets. “Spread your legs for me.” Ran tenses but does as he’s told.

The flash drive feels like it’s weighing you down as Ran gets the all-clear and Glasses starts toward you. “Seriously?” Ran scoffs. “She’s half-naked, where the fuck would she hide anything?”

That seems to give both men pause. You make sure to shudder for good measure as they step aside. Ran grabs your arm glaring at both men as he drapes his jacket over your shoulders and guides you out of the room. Glasses follows after you, making a quick call for someone to send the elevator down before taking you both down to the VIP floor. “This is you,” he says nodding at Ran as he leads you out of the elevator.

Ran takes you to his room and as soon as the doors are closed you shrug off his jacket. Your heart is pounding in your chest. That could’ve gone horribly. Your hands are trembling as you wobble over to the spacious bathroom.

“You still make the prettiest sounds,” Wakasa’s voice comes over the earpiece, and you yelp, stumbling back and almost falling onto your ass. In the midst of everything it seems you’d both forgotten about Wakasa. “Didn’t mean to startle you,” he says gently. “Just thought you should know. They’re the still prettiest I’ve ever heard.”

“Wakasa,” you hiss. “Can Ran-

“He can’t,” Wakasa reassures you. “I muted us. I’m gonna take these off until you’re out of this room. In case, you want to finish what you started.” You open your mouth to argue that you were just trying to save your asses when Wakasa continues. “And before you tell me you were just trying to stay alive try to remember how well I know you.”

There’s a distinct click and you know Wakasa can no longer hear you. A tentative knock sounds on the door and Ran’s voice carries through the wood. “You good in there?” He asks. “We got what we came for, we can leave.”

His comment reminds you of his earlier actions and you immediately reach between your thighs and pull the slippery flash drive free, yank open the door and slap it against his chest. “Yeah,” you say giddily. “I’m about ready to go.” And then you haul your fist back and slam it into his nose. “Do not ever do some shit like that again,” you snap. “Next time we fucking kill them.”

Ran’s eyes darken, as he clutches his nose. It’s not broken but it hurts like a motherfucker and he’s not at all surprised when he inhales and it burns. His eyes water as he glares at you incredulously. “You’re not serious.”

“Deathly,” you say, releasing the flash drive so he has to scramble to catch it. It’s soaked in your arousal, the scent heady as he clutches it. You poke him in the chest. “If you ever, ever touch me like that again I’ll fucking kill you.”

Silence envelopes you for a few seconds and then Ran chuckles. You’re about to snap at him again when his hand wraps around your throat. “You’re so transparent,” he smirks. “I bet you’re not even mad I touched you.” He squeezes your throat, backing you into the bathroom and closing the door behind him. “You’re probably mad because we were interrupted,” he drops the flash drive on the counter. “Mad that you didn’t get to cum.” He’s slowly cutting off the blood flow to your head, his fingers pressing into the blood vessels on either side of your neck. “Wanted me to clean up the mess I made of your pussy?”

His free arm wraps around your waist and lifts you onto the counter, your hands immediately reach for the wrist of the hand around your throat, your nails dig into the soft flesh as he scoots back onto the counter and spreads your legs to make room for him. You’re dizzy by the time his grip loosens. “Answer me,” his voice softens to just above a whisper, his finger massaging your neck gently. “Do you want me to clean up the mess I made, angel? Is that what this is about?”

You almost shake your head but Ran gives you a look. Like he’ll know if you’re lying. Like you’d be an idiot to pass up this opportunity. So you nod, swallowing when he flashes you a beautiful smile. “Yeah? But I need to hear you say it,” he breathes. “Say ‘Please eat my pussy Ran’. Go on.”

His hand has reached your jaw and his thumb is rubbing distracting little circles into the side of your bottom lip as you repeat after him. A not of breathlessness in your voice. “Please- please eat my pussy Ran.”

His groan as he leans forward to kiss the spot he’d been rubbing has your heart rate increasing, the organ beating wildly at his words. “You don’t know how badly I need to taste you.” He drops to his knees, careful to work your feet out of your heels before he kisses the inside of one ankle and then your calf that he massages and then the inside of your knee and then the fat of your thighs until he’s propping that foot on the edge of the counter and then he does the same to the other. Showering them in kisses, massaging them until they’re jelly and then he’s easing your skirt over your thighs. Working it down to your ankles and discarding it next to him on the floor. He’s almost reverent. The way he treats your body, and it makes sense. Because it feels a lot like he’s worshipping you.

He takes a moment to take you in. The leotard is cut higher than he’d initially expected and he almost salivates as he watches you bring your legs back up to the counter, butterflying them open for him. An entire lip of your pussy has escaped the scrap of material that should be covering it. He can’t help himself when he leans forward to suck the poor flesh into his mouth. And the sound he makes when he finally gets your taste on his tongue makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. One hand wraps loosely around an ankle as he shuffles closer, his nose brushing into your cunt as he pulls back with a wet smack only to latch onto the ruined material between your thighs. His other hand rests in the juncture of your thigh, his thumb pulling apart your pussy. “Look how fucking pretty that is,” he whispers to himself, as strings of arousal stretch and snap each time he repeats the movement. “Fucking hell.”

You reach for his head, fingers sinking into his hair to tug him closer. “Fuck,” you whine. “Ran!” Your body bows when he pushes the material to the side and properly buries his tongue into your cunt. He fucks you with it like you imagine he’d fuck you with his cock. His head bobbing, nose bumping into your clit. He groans again at the rush of liquid that floods his mouth as you squirm.

Ran’s hands press your legs a little wider when he pulls back to spit on your cunt. He watches, eyes wide, lips parted and glistening with your arousal as the spit drips down to your entrance. He drops his head between your legs again just give your clit a soft kiss. He chuckles when you whine his name, your hold on him slackening when he dips the index of one finger into your cunt. Your body swallows him eagerly, your walls squeezing around the digit. He removes it to add another two to it, his brows furrowing as he watches the way your cunt struggles to take those three fingers. “Shit and you’re so fucking tight,” he groans.

You squeal when he stands, fingers still buried in your pussy, to kiss you. He swallows every little noise you make, every whine and gasp as he works your cunt open diligently. Maybe if you weren’t so distracted you might’ve questioned why he’d need to stretch you out this well. But you’re cumming with a soft keen of his name, shuddering in his arms as he fucks you through it. The sound your pussy makes when Ran finally pulls his fingers free makes you burn with embarrassment but the way he casually stuffs those fingers into his mouth, lids fluttering at your taste. He strips with one hand, dragging his silk shirt off and quickly undoing his belt buckle.

By the time his cock springs free you’ve wiggled your way out of the last piece of clothing and you’re dizzy with anticipation. Your first reaction is apprehension. Ran’s cock is thick and heavy, the weight enough to have it hanging between his thighs. He’s also a little longer than average with a fat mushroomed head. Your second reaction is desperation. Imagining the stretch of your pussy to accommodate his cock has you shuffling to the edge of the counter, eyes wide as you reach for his cock to rest it against your cunt.

“Shit,” Ran hisses when his cock makes contact with the slick lips of your pussy. He’s bucking his hips almost instinctively, one hand pressing his cock in place as he fucks your pussy lips steadily. And the picture Ran Haitani makes drunk on you before he’s even slid his cock inside you is enough to have your eyes watering. He’s beautiful. His hair in disarray, sticking to his forehead and standing askew from your hands, his lips swollen from your kisses, his skin flushed from his cheeks to his chest, and his eyes. Hooded and bright with an emotion you cannot identify.

You’re so distracted by him that you don’t register he’s shifted his cock down to your entrance until the head of his cock squeeze into your hole and you choke on a gasp. Ran kisses you then, a slow, deep affair that wipes your mind of any coherent thought. Your stomach flip flops when he pulls you closer to him, wrapping your legs around his body as he wraps his arms around you. The position is so intimate something pangs inside you. Every lap of Ran’s tongue coincides with an inch he’s fucked into you. You’re shaking when you feel his hips bump into your thighs and he’s still not stopped kissing you.

He fucks you there, in short strokes that rubs the head of his cock into your g spot. Kissing you until you can’t breathe and then barely giving you time to catch your breath as he proceeds to tell you about how good you feel. ‘Never felt a pussy like yours angel’, ‘’m never leaving you alone’, ‘’s my pussy now, the best pussy’, ‘tell me it’s mine, tell me it’s my pussy, please’. They’re a mix between a whine and a growl as he begs and grunts and threatens your life and the life of every other man you’ve fucked. It’s the sexiest thing you’ve ever encountered and your body agrees. When your orgasm slams into you you have to drag your lips away from Ran to scream. A garbled mix of his name and thanks, as he fucks you through it, his pace faltering, his hips stuttering as he chases his own high.

You’re both weak in the knees by the time Ran pulls out of you. The silence isn’t awkward as you clean each other up. “So my pussy is your huh?” you say later as you’re waiting in the conference hall for Wakasa and the rest of the team.

“Yeah,” he answers without missing a beat, expression brightening when he catches your smile. “And I really will kill you if you try anything stupid.”

Your smile falls. “What?”

“A bullet right between your eyes,” he holds up finger guns aiming one between your brows. “Pop. Pop,” he chuckles. “I dare you to act dumb.”

You can only swallow around the mounting arousal in your gut because you think you’ve known him long enough to know when he’s bluffing. And based no the slightly crazed look in his eye as Wakasa enters the room you know this is not one of those times.

#ran haitani x you #ran haitani x reader #ran haitani smut #tr smut #tr x reader #tr x you #tr: beyablade.

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