#because things which should not be in it had been brought in and twisted

[animereaderinsertwriter]

we give what we can give (and take what little we deserve)

ch 7

pairing: alpha!kakashi x omega!reader

tags: omegaverse, arranged marriage, angst and fluff and smut, plot twist!

description:

Kakashi agrees to marry an omega princess-- the adopted daughter of the daimyo. However, what he agrees to and what he gets aren't exactly the same thing...

Excerpt: “You’re hurting me,” she cried, those glistening tears making glittery tracks down her cheeks. Her pain wrenched at his heart even as he held her fast. “Let go, let go!”

“If I let go, are you going to hit me?”

“No,” she sniffled piteously, and like a fool, Kakahshi let her go.

She poked him in the eye and made a break for the door.

masterlist

ao3

Kakashi’s coffee table had miraculously returned to the living room.

Well, perhaps not miraculously. The wailing women had been sanded off of the legs— (Y/N) had demanded that much be done before it returned— but she had allowed its return and had even suggested it when she’d noticed him squirming to get comfortable on what had become their reading sofa. Now when they read together, he’d sit with his feet propped up on the coffee table and her feet in his lap— one of many routines that they had developed together during her recovery.

It had been three weeks since (Y/N)’s return from the hospital, and in that time, Kakashi had learned more of his wife— and himself— than he’d ever thought there was to know. Because her recovery was going slowly, they spent nearly all their time in one another’s company; a lot of their time was spent reading together, sometimes separately and sometimes with Kakashi reading one of their books aloud to her. He hadn’t expected to enjoy reading aloud to her so much when he’d suggested it, but now it was one of his favorite activities. Doing voices for the characters, he'd learned, was actually fun, and his wife’s commentary was always so sharp and clever that he found himself looking at the book they were reading with different eyes. Suddenly, it seemed as though they had uncovered a new language together and had begun to babble happily back and forth like children. They laughed together, sighed together, and, on occasion, debated together over what they thought the characters should or shouldn't do. Kakashi could not recall ever feeling so at ease or so deeply connected with anyone who was not a shinobi. 

But this new happiness did not begin and end with reading. Kakashi had come to look forward to lounging in various spots around his own home with his wife. At the weekends, they would sit together beside the pond, drinking sweet wine, fighting mosquitoes, and singing raunchy pub songs so the snakes would stay away from them while they enjoyed the sun. It was, Kakashi had to admit, much more enjoyable than being in an actual pub, where he would have to be mindful of prying eyes while he drank. At his own home, surrounded by wards, the only eyes he had to worry about were his wife’s; often, they sat back-to-back for his privacy, and that, too, had become something to enjoy. He loved the feeling of her back vibrating against his as she sang, and how comfortable it was to finally take off his mask at home as he would back when he was a child. 

These moments, of course, were moments of leisure. During the weekday, Kakashi discovered that (Y/N) kept busy. If she was well enough to go, she went to the markets in the mornings. It was her habit to shop leisurely and talk to each vendor at length, inquiring about their sources and if the crops were yielding as they ought and how their children or grandchildren were. That task in itself brought her to the afternoon, at which point she would retreat back to the compound and entertain guests there. Often, Tsunade dropped by for lunch; other times, it was Shikaku-san or Inoichi-san, who indulged her in shoji and mind jutsu research respectively. Sometimes it was civilians who came, and sometimes young people (Ino and Sakura loved to have lunch with a princess), and seldom it was that no one came at all. If Kakashi was fascinated by this, though, he had seen nothing until he had seen the swarm of children that flocked to their door come four o’clock every other day. 

Directly at four, a troop of pre-genin would bound up to the door to the compound, loud and raucous, and (Y/N) would welcome them in for snacks bought fresh at the market that morning. She would feed them snacks and help them with homework until four-fifteen rolled around, and then, having settled the kids as best she could, she'd pick up the lesson of the day with them. Usually, it was languages or dancing or singing, something culturally enriching but fun for a kid— and then, once the lesson was over, she would send them home to their grateful parents around seven. Parents who, when they thought no one was listening, would later claim that the daimyo's daughter was single-handedly saving their marriages by making time and space for an afternoon away from the kids a couple nights a week. Kakashi found that it was nice to watch her work with the kids, and the way the horde of rambunctious rascals waited on her hand-and-foot through her recovery reminded him that there was, indeed, some pressure to produce an heir for the clan, even if he had already decided not to do so.

Well, it was nice to think about, anyway.

Once (Y/N) seemed fully recovered, Kakashi put in the paperwork to go back to active duty. As nice as the leave of absence had been, there was such a thing as having too much of a good thing. The weekend before he was scheduled to go on mission again, though, Kakashi had hoped to spend more time with his wife, basking in the little bubble of happiness they had made together, but alas, it was not to be. (Y/N) had already devoted one full day to give music lessons for certain interested young ones. Sulking only slightly as he lounged on their couch with a book— a reread, he'd never jump ahead on one of their shared novels— Kakashi listened while (Y/N) worked with a child on the harpsichord in their living room

“I can't do it,” the girl huffed, crossing her arms. 

Patiently, (Y/N) told her she could do it if only she practiced, then asked her to curl her fingers more and begin again. The girl sighed and tried again, running the scale up one side and down the other for a single octave. 

“And the arpeggio?” (Y/N) prompted.

The girl squinted, then pressed notes at the correct intervals, if not exactly in the rhythm (Y/N) had shown her previously. 

“Good. Again, now, and slowly— you’ll never play it as cleanly at the proper tempo if you cannot play it slowly first.”

Kakashi had not initially been thrilled with the idea of sitting in on music lessons, but to his surprise, he’d found himself fascinated by it. There were similarities, he noticed, between the discipline of his profession and music. The pacing, for example— perfecting movements slowly first always resulted in cleaner strikes in combat. The repetition, too, was familiar. Many a day, his father had run drills with him, teaching him proper form over and over and over ad nauseam, always gently and patiently correcting even the smallest slip, just as (Y/N) quietly instructed the girl whenever a note would land sharp or flat of where it should have for the scale. 

“You're doing very well, Amaryllis,” said (Y/N) as the girl groaned in frustration. “Better than I did at your age.”

The girl— Amaryllis— folded her arms. 

“You're just saying that.”

(Y/N) shook her head and laughed. 

“Oh no. I was a terrible student. I was so horrible that Mariko-san— my governess— would tie my legs to the bench and rap my fingers with a ruler when I'd get a note wrong, which only made me more determined never to practice.”

Amaryllis gaped. Kakashi tried to picture an obstinate young (Y/N), tied and howling in a palace full of sycophants who could hear her, but simply could not imagine it at all. As a grown woman, one lifting of her imperious brow could get her anything she wanted from most people; he could not picture her being told no by anyone. 

“But you're so good!”

“I am.”

“How?”

“Well,” said (Y/N), grinning down at her pupil, “I met a young man— a peasant boy, and an alpha at that— who outplayed me in his very first lesson with Mariko-san. By that time, I had been playing for years and could barely cobble chords together to make a song. This young man made the keys sing beneath his fingers, and I was very jealous.”

Now that Kakashi could see— a spoiled princess angry because someone made her look bad. And jealousy… oh yes, that he could see.

“Did he teach you?” Amaryllis asked eagerly. “Did you, you know… like him?”

“Like him? I hated him!” (Y/N) laughed. “He was always better than me— he was a prodigy, sent to the capitol for formal training so that he could make a living at my father’s court. As far as I'm aware, he's still better than me— but listening to him made me just mad enough to practice. Anything some lousy alpha boy could do, I thought, I could clearly do better. Like I said, that wasn't the case, but I began taking my lessons seriously then.”

This aspect of the story seemed not to have pleased Amaryllis so much. Doubtless, she would have liked it better if there had been a romance between her teacher and the peasant boy— young girls always like a romance— but that door had closed. (Y/N) directed her attention back to the music, and Kakashi listened on as the lesson continued for another few minutes.

“Well done, Amaryllis,” said (Y/N) at the end of the lesson. “You're really doing an excellent job. When you get home, tell your mother I said so.”

Amaryllis smiled. 

“Yes, sensei. Thanks for the lesson!”

“Of course.” (Y/N) ruffled the girl’s hair with a warm smile. “Be careful going home.”

“I will!”

(Y/N) saw the girl to the door, then turned to face Kakashi, smiling softly. 

“Hello, husband.” 

“Hello, wife,” he smiled back. 

Wordlessly, she stood and walked past him to the kitchen. As she went, she placed a light, sweet touch on his arm that made his heart leap and left him grateful that he could watch her go. Her skirts swished with the sway of her hips as she walked into the kitchen, and her lingering scent toyed with Kakashi’s senses, teasing him with its subtle sweetness. 

“Sorry if the back-to-back lessons have been tedious for you,” she called from the other room. “I know I say the same things over and over, and make them repeat the exercises just as much.”

“On the contrary, I enjoyed it,” he admitted, watching her grab an old bottle of his father's wine. “How long have you been giving her lessons?”

(Y/N) poured, filling the glass with white wine before replacing the cork and putting the bottle back where she'd gotten it from. She walked past again to take a seat by the harpsichord, and her earth-rain-tea scent mixed with the wine made Kakashi's chest feel funny. 

“Only a short while, though you wouldn't know it from listening. Amaryllis is really very good— her mother wanted her to learn before the talent show that Iruka is hosting.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” (Y/N) took a sip of her wine, watching him over the rim. Her gaze felt like a whisper against his neck, and Kakashi fought the urge to shudder. “It's open for the whole village, you know. You could do something too, if you'd like.”

“I'm not sure I have any talents I'd like to display.” I don't think I have any besides killing. “Are you going to do something?”

(Y/N) smiled.

“I’m going to play something, but I haven't decided what. Would you like to hear the pieces I'm deciding between?”

“Certainly.” 

As (Y/N) settled gracefully onto the harpsichord bench, Kakashi marveled at how strangely at home he had become with her. He knew now that the little roll of her shoulders meant that she was nervous; the slight raising of her chin meant that she had conquered those nerves. Even as he watched the expensive gold silk of her dress fold in delicate creases and spill onto the floor, her wealth and taste no longer seemed so garish as it once had. It was part of her, all this comfort and splendor— and he was beginning to like her, all of her, very much. 

“This first piece is a classic,” she told him, lifting the cover from the keys. “Admittedly, it's been used the world over by every insufferable show-off to… well, show off, but—”

She looked over her shoulder to shoot him a grin, her eyes sparkling. 

“This is a talent show. What's the use in going if you don't show off at least a little?”

Kakashi nodded, and (Y/N)’s focus moved to the instrument before her. The song began with quiet little trills, high notes plinking together something like a butterfly’s wings might beat, if such a sound were audible to human ears. Kakashi watched as (Y/N)’s skillful fingers moved to deepen and broaden the sound, expanding the song into a sweet, fast-paced melody. She really was very good; Kakashi had heard no better. More than that, though, she looked happy. She was not smiling— likely she could not spare the effort— but a fire blazed in her eyes, and her scent flared with triumphant joy at the completion of every difficult passage. Watching that felt… good. When the song came to an end, Kakashi wished it had not. 

“That was excellent.” Kakashi didn't trust himself to say anything else as he watched her take a sip of her wine. He was especially taken by the flexing of the muscles at her throat, how they moved as she swallowed. 

“Thank you,” she smiled. “There were places that could have been cleaner, but I haven't really practiced recently. It's good to know I've still got my chops.”

Kakashi watched as she took another sip of her wine, eyes glued to her throat. The thought occurred to him that he'd like to lick the hollow there between her collarbones, and he realized that he might be in some real trouble if he didn't get ahold of himself. 

“What's the next piece? I might be biased, but I'm not sure anything can top that.”

(Y/N) only smiled. 

“It's an old one, from back when—”

She stopped herself. 

“Ah, well. It doesn't matter. This one is a folk song about love. It's not as technically difficult, but I'm afraid it won't be as effective without the words.”

All of a sudden, (Y/N)’s face became sad, her expression downcast. Kakashi rose to his feet, grateful that he felt steady enough to do so, and placed a hand on her shoulder. Soft as a dream, she laid her head on his hand, letting it rest there for a moment. Kakashi could feel the warmth of her breath against his knuckles. It was a good feeling. A very good feeling.

“You can tell me, you know,” he said softly. “Whatever you were going to say, I wouldn't mind.”

She straightened, looking up at him. 

“My parents— my real parents— taught me this song.”

Kakashi’s heart skipped a beat. She was opening up to him! He hadn’t thought it would happen so soon. Hell, he’d been resigned to wait for months! And yet here the first gold nugget of information lay, nestled in the palm of his hand.

“You knew them?”

“Yeah. I was very young— seven, I think— when they… when they died.”

She was censoring herself again. She looked away, reluctant, but Kakashi pushed for more. 

“How did it happen?”

“They were murdered. I…don’t really like to talk about it.”

Kakashi was elated. Finally, finally, he had something of her that was real, tangible— her words rang with truth as clear as a bell— and yet what a terrible something to possess. He petted her hair soothingly, then let his hand slip to her cheek to cradle her face.

“I’m sorry.”

He meant it.

She shrugged.

“It’s alright. You didn’t know.”

Kakashi nodded, then bent to kiss her head through his mask.

“Play the song for me,” he asked gently. “I want to hear it.”

She nodded, and her fingers began to move.

This piece, too, started with high notes, he noticed— but these were more like raindrops, sweet and plinking in a springtime shower. Four measures passed, and then the magic happened. 

It was a deep, rich melody, if simple; (Y/N) did not sing, but she spoke the story above the music. Kakashi found himself enthralled by it. He could not imagine it could have been sung any sweeter than she spoke it. Through the song, she told the story of a young couple who had fled their clans, hoping to stay alive together, away from those who would object to their union. Sadly, it was not the harsh weather, the loneliness without family, or even the rough financial situation brought about by the couple’s nomadic lifestyle that tore them apart— it was their differences as people. But, (Y/N) related over sweet, sad melodies, even as they grew to hate one another, their love for one another would not release them. The song ended with cautioning the listener against such passionate, intemperate love, and yet somehow encouraging it still— but with the last few lines, (Y/N)’s voice faltered. She was looking at him strangely. 

“Sorry,” she said haltingly, staring up at him as her hand stilled over the ivory keys. “Sorry, I— I don’t want to sound rude, but— are you alright, Kakashi-san? You smell—”

Kakashi crouched. He took one of her hands in his own and kissed her knuckles through his mask. 

“I think you should go with this one,” he said simply. “If there is one thing that shinobi understand, it is reckless, overwhelming love.”

Her scent, usually so deep and balanced, became frightfully thin and wavering, then evened back out. It was impossible to parse what she was feeling just from that, but Kakashi wanted nothing more than to purr at what he did detect.

Desire. Thin and halting, but there. 

“Close your eyes,” Kakashi murmured. He did not look up to see if she had, choosing to trust her as he slid his mask down his face. Gently, he kissed her knuckles, tasted her skin. His thumb traced the scent gland at her wrist, and her hand began to shake even as he held it steady. 

“You're warm,” she said, and the words floated above him, around him, but did not penetrate. “Kakashi— are you sure you’re feeling alright?”

“Yes.” He'd never felt better. He sucked one of her fingers into his mouth, and the taste was divine. Yes— yes, he felt exceptionally well. 

“Kakashi! I— can I open my eyes, please?”

Kakashi pulled away from that sweet finger, frowning. He didn’t want to stop what he was doing, but if his wife wanted…

He pulled his mask up, then gently tapped look in the outdated version of ANBU code that he'd taught her a couple days ago by the pond. Her eyes opened, and she caught him by the chin, peering into his eyes searchingly.

“Oh dear,” she said, eyes widening. “That certainly explains…”

She wiggled her nose. 

“Is there— should I—” she frowned down at him. “Why didn’t you tell me your rut was coming up? We could have talked about this.”

Rut? That would make sense, he supposed, except… there was no aching, burning, desperate need. He wasn’t crying out for touch, shaking and trembling with need. He just sort of felt… fine. Besides, it wasn’t time. It was early. Like, way early.

Oh, but then his wife— his omega— leaned closer, and suddenly there was no doubt in his mind that he was touched by his season. He saw her neck, so soft and unMarked for him, and he salivated. It had snuck up on him, this rut. Instead of a roaring fire, it was a steady warmth.

That warmth was getting closer to combustion, though. He could feel it low and hot in his belly, its tail lashing like a cat’s.

“Uh…” he began articulately, then faltered as (Y/N) reached out to touch his mask-covered face.

“Do you want to spend this rut with me, or would you prefer someone else? I have no illusions about what kind of marriage this is, and if there was… if there was someone you wanted, I wouldn’t be offended if…”

Kakashi was only half-listening. Was she rejecting him? But… she smelled like she wanted him. Her scent was thick, cloying, responding to the metal-earth-lily scent of his own pheromones with roiling desire. She had wanted him in his rut before, years ago, would have had him if she could have. Why now would she deny herself?

“Kakashi,” she scolded, glaring at him. “Are you listening to me?”

He licked his lips. 

“Yes.”

He was not altogether sure that his mouth knew how to make another word. 

“Do you want me to help you through this first wave of rut, at least?”

“Yes.”

She frowned.

“You know we’re going to have a talk about this once you can think.”

It wasn’t a question. Her voice made it clear that it would not be a pleasant talk, but Kakashi could smell her acceptance sharp and poignant over it all. Barely containing his elation, he said,

“Yes.”

“And you’re sure you’re fine with this?” she asked, brushing her thumb over the bare patch of skin left by his mask. “Fine with me… getting you off, giving you some… relief?”

He shivered.

“Yes.”

For some reason that just seemed to frustrate her more.

“Kakashi, do you know any other word besides yes?”

“No,” he grinned, proud of himself for having managed it, and then his wife was sliding off of the harpsichord bench and sinking to her knees in front of him, his equal in want and deed at last.

“Cheeky,” she said, raising a brow in a way that made her sudden smile look sinister. “Take off your pants and let’s see what we’re working with.”

After the best blowjob of his life, Kakashi had thought that his rut would recede for a bit. Unfortunately, this rut seemed different from every other rut he'd ever had. Instead of being sated after orgasm, his body was even more aroused than before— painfully so— while his mind remained strangely unclouded. Usually, ruts were fairly pleasant for him, a time when he could let loose, chase pleasure, and not think too much about it either way, but this… this was torture! Not to mention embarrassing. 

“I don't see what the issue is,” his wife shrugged, her hand idly stroking the steel pole that was apparently his dick. She lay on her side, elbow resting on that damn rug in their living room that seemed to be becoming a regular place for their rare but ever-intense coupling. “You're coherent enough to consent, so surely that's a good thing.”

“Coherent,” he hissed as she licked his slit, “is not the word I'd use.”

Self-conscious, maybe, an evil little voice in his head murmured, and he growled at it in frustration. 

“So testy,” she sighed, releasing him. His cock ached as it bobbed back up towards his stomach. “Should we… I mean, would Tsunade-sama know what to do?

Probably, but Kakashi would go the way of his father before he ever admitted this… problem to his Hokage, medic-nin or no. 

“She'd probably just prescribe something to make me high as a kite until it's over.”

“You could try it. Might be fun.”

Kakashi shook his head. Is this how he was meant to go out? No glorious death in battle, no heroic sacrifice, just shame, embarrassment, and sheer horniness?

Suddenly, (Y/N)’s scent flared, and Kakashi looked down at her with interest. 

“So,” she began slowly, “the problem is that your body isn't settling down, right?”

Kakashi nodded. 

“Then… what if you weren't in your body?”

Huh?

“I'm not following.”

“Shinobi can alter the perception of reality, yeah? Through genjutsu, illusions and the like?”

“Uh-huh.”

“And you have the sharingan, a kekkei genkai that specializes in genjutsu.”

“Yes.”

She sat up and looked him in the eye with a grin fit for a lioness. 

“Then why not put us both in a genjutsu? Busy the mind and separate the self from the body— boom, problem solved.”

Kakashi just stared. 

“Or,” she backpedaled, suddenly unsure of herself, “you could just— I mean, I don't have to tag along or anything. The main thing is making sure you're taken care of. In fact, I'd be more than happy to watch over your body while you—”

Kakashi grabbed his wife by the face and kissed her hard through his mask. 

“You swear you consent to that?” he demanded, heart pounding. “You're really okay with trusting me to put us in a genjutsu?”

“Yes,” she breathed. “Do it.”

It was one of the best things Kakashi had ever done. Through the sharingan, they played out a thousand fantasies a thousand ways. One moment, Kakashi was a barbarian lord, a looter from centuries earlier and (Y/N) was his conquest, taken by force from her tiny farming village; the next he was a helpless farm boy offered to (Y/N), the local goddess of grain for sacrifice, and she took his virginity there on the edge of the cliff where they left him. His favorite one— oh, who was he kidding, they were all his favorite— was the one where they were both gods, and the heavens ripped open as they sired the universe itself as Anu and Antu, sky and earth. At one point, (Y/N) had been a woman with a freaky resemblance to Tsunade (yikes, don't know where that one came from), and he had been a grizzled man with a coarse, dark beard speckled with gray (he had a hazy memory of the daimyo's guards and a sneaking suspicion that he knew exactly where that one came from). The whole thing was so unbelievably good that they only returned to their bodies to eat and sleep, spending time in the genjutsu for a combined total of good three days, and even then, the both of them decided that sometimes a meal could wait if it meant enacting their latest fantasy in the genjutsu. 

“Don't you ever get tired?” she laughed as he poked her in the ribs— her real ribs, that is— while she was trying to catch a nap. “There should be a limit to your stamina, especially with all the chakra that must take.”

“I'm incredibly efficient,” he grinned, and though he saw it a million miles away, he let himself be shoved onto his back as his wife lunged to straddle him.

“I bet you are,” she grinned right back. “Show me, shinobi. I command you—get me off.”

That was how Kakashi found himself reminded of the pleasures of the flesh— the actual flesh— by fucking his wife on a mattress for the first time. From below her, he thrust over and over into her hot-wet-tight sex, and she babbled nonsense at him as he played with her tits.

“Yesyesyes,” she breathed, chest heaving. “Fuck yes, look at you, you're so hot, you and that fucking mask.”

Oh yes, she liked the mask— something that baffled Kakashi to no end. Usually, his partners complained because it got in the way, but not her. She desired him for all of what he could give and all of what he could not. Maybe he could learn to do the same. Maybe, just maybe, feelings so strong and true could overcome the secrecy, fill the silence with music. Maybe, maybe. He wanted it, and badly. To let himself love her would be easy, if only he could let go.

“You're beautiful,” he said, because that's all he could say as his rut drove him wild. “Like a queen.”

(Y/N) fisted her hands in his hair and brought them nose-to-nose. Kakashi's heart threatened to tear through his chest at the pleasure of it all. 

“I am your queen,” she growled, her bared teeth lovely and leonine. “Konoha might be your first love and you might even like the way she fucks you, but you have a new mistress to contend with now. You might belong to your village, Hatake Kakashi— Tsunade might own your life— but you also belong to me!”

Her nails scraped painfully against his scalp, and Kakashi’s knees buckled from the sudden, sweeping intensity of his orgasm. His knot swelled as he tried to right himself, but (Y/N) settled her weight over his hips as she kissed him over his mask

“You are mine,” she said again, this time softly, panting. “Mine, Kakashi. Nothing else can have you while I yet breathe. Not even death. No, not even that.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, and then he was lost to the void of rut-haze, finally comfortable and tired enough to feel like himself in his own body once more. “Yours.”

He would have agreed to anything right that instant. If she had asked to bond him, he would have agreed without question. In that moment, he was hers, well and truly.

“Touch me,” she commanded, bringing his hand up to touch her breast. “Please, Kakashi, I need it.”

He did, and she rocked back on his knot, grinding and moaning filthily. He was at her mercy, and damn glad to be there.

[imissthembutitwasntadisaster]

While I recognise that the boy and the heron is making deeply nuanced and complex statements I personally refuse to be sympathetic towards the greatuncle because he did that to the pelicans and I am on the side of the pelicans.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

malevolence

part I

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Bobby's!Niece!Reader

Summary: You've had a crush on Dean for longer than you even remember, but Uncle Bobby told you not to play with fire. When Dean returns home from a hunt, you knew something was off... you just didn't expect it to be this.

Warnings: 18+!, language, violence, manipulation, gaslighting, corruption, pining, smut (kissing, spitting, marking, fingering, oral/cunnilingus, p in v, implied breeding kink, rough sex, dirty talk, mildly dubious consent, cum-play), I may have missed some.

Word Count: 5,887

A/N: Oh my god. This has been in my drafts forever and I'm so happy I've finally put it out. I'm thinking... three parts? If I get all of the story down as it is in my head, then for sure... should be about three parts. It's set not long after John's death, so Dean is still a baby boy. <3 I found these gifs ages ago and I was like, "oh, I need to do a Demon!Dean fic where he's early seasons Dean." because ugh, the potential. You know the drill. If all the warnings listed above aren't evident yet? They will be. Oh, boy, will they be. I hope y'all like this. All the love.

You didn’t remember when it started. Maybe it had always been there, tucked beneath your ribs like a secret. Something soft and patient, biding its time in the dark. A seed waiting for heat and blood and something wicked to make it bloom.

Dean Winchester had been in your life for as long as you’d had a life worth remembering.

Not family, not really. But close. Tangled up in the same blood-and-oil world that raised you. The golden boy in your uncle’s long, strange shadow. Loud, sharp, sunburnt around the edges—he came and went like a storm, shaking dust off his boots and filling every room he entered with too much heat.

He was six years older, which had once felt like a canyon.

When you were ten and he was sixteen, he may as well have been a movie star. Too cool. Too fast. All swagger and sarcasm and smudged knuckles from a fight he didn’t bother to explain. You remembered the first time he called you sweetheart—just a tossed-off thing, barely looking at you as he handed you an ice pop in the middle of a sweltering July.

“Here ya go, sweetheart.”

And you remembered the way it made you freeze. How the word hung in the air like cigarette smoke, thick and confusing and too warm. You didn’t know what to say. You didn’t know why it mattered. You just knew that your name had never sounded like that before.

He’d swung you up onto his shoulders that same day—hands sure, grip steady, like he didn’t mind your weight. Like you belonged there. You’d clutched fistfuls of his hair and shrieked with laughter while Bobby hollered from the porch to “cut that damn foolin’ around before someone breaks a bone.” Dean had just grinned and jogged faster.

You were twelve when he taught you how to throw a punch. Fourteen when he handed you your first switchblade, silver and wicked and gleaming like a promise in your palm.

“Keep it in your back pocket. If a guy gets too close, don’t hesitate.”

He said it like it meant nothing. Like he hadn’t just handed you the sharpest thing you'd ever owned and trusted you not to flinch.

He always trusted you not to flinch.

That was the difference.

You knew what adoration felt like long before you understood it. You knew you liked his voice, liked his hands, liked the way he’d lean against the hood of the Impala and call you trouble when Bobby wasn’t looking. You hated the way your stomach twisted when he brought girls around. Hated the way you’d listen for laughter through the thin walls of Bobby’s house and feel sick when you heard it.

You were seventeen when it changed. When it stopped being something soft.

You’d grown into yourself by then. Still not tall, still not loud, but sharper in the eyes. More aware. And Dean—he’d started looking at you like he wasn’t supposed to.

It was in the way his gaze lingered a beat too long when you passed him in the hallway. The way his voice dropped when he asked you how your day had been. The way he smirked when you snapped back at him, low and dark, like he liked it. Like he was daring you to try again.

You didn’t say anything. Didn’t push. But you started wearing tank tops when he was home. You started sitting a little closer on the couch. You let your fingers brush his when you passed him a drink.

You told yourself it was nothing.

Bobby, of course, saw it all.

“That boy’s got too much fire in him. You don’t go pokin’ it just to see if it burns.”

But by then, it already had.

You were twenty-one now. The canyon had closed.

That afternoon, like so many before it, you sat curled in your usual spot on the porch swing, the cushion beneath you faded from years of sun, the book in your lap more of a habit than a distraction. Your bare legs were pulled up under you, one foot tucked beside the other, your back pressed to the peeling white wood of the armrest. The breeze was warm, sticky with late-summer heaviness, and the cicadas sang like they didn’t know how to stop.

Out in the yard, Bobby cursed low under his breath as he wrestled with the rusted insides of a pickup that hadn’t run since the Reagan administration. His ball cap was pushed up on his forehead, sweat darkening the brim, grease streaking his arms all the way to the elbows. There was a glass of sweet tea beside you, sweating rings into the wood, forgotten in the quiet rhythm of turning pages.

The world hadn’t shifted yet. Not that you could tell. Everything was still where it belonged.

You’d been half-asleep in the sun, lulled by the rhythm of cicadas and the creak of the porch swing, when Bobby’s voice cut through the quiet like a blade.

“Son of a bitch!”

You blinked, looked up from your book. A moment later—

“Goddamn bastard bolt won’t budge—get in there, ya stubborn piece of shit—”

Yep. Classic Bobby.

You closed your book around one finger to mark your page and leaned forward, peering past the porch railing toward the truck hood and your uncle’s hunched figure.

“You need a hand, Uncle Bobby?” You called, voice lazy with the warmth of the afternoon. “Or want some tea?”

There was a pause. A soft clank of metal against metal. Then, gruff:

“Tea, girl. And ice this time—I ain’t drinkin’ lukewarm leaf water in this heat.”

You huffed a laugh and stood, arms stretching up overhead as your back arched, joints crackling from the hours spent curled on the swing. The hem of your tank top slid up your stomach, bare skin catching the last of the sun as you padded barefoot across the porch.

Your cutoffs were frayed at the bottom, threadbare in the way only your favourite ones could be. Your legs had picked up freckles over the summer. You felt them heat now under the open air as you reached for the screen door.

Inside, the house was cooler, dim and familiar. You moved on autopilot, pulling a glass from the cupboard, grabbing the pitcher from the fridge. The ice clinked softly as you poured. You lifted it, turned—

And froze.

That sound. That rumble. Low. Hungry. Home.

The Impala.

You nearly dropped the glass right there on the kitchen tile.

You turned so fast your bare feet squeaked against the floor. The screen door banged open behind you as you stepped out onto the porch, tea sloshing over the rim, eyes locked on the long black shape pulling into the drive like it owned the world.

She slid to a stop in a slow growl of gravel. The driver’s door creaked open.

And then—there he was.

Dean climbed out like a scene from a movie. One hand on the roof, the other shoving the door closed. His boots hit the dirt and your heart tripped over itself. He looked broader than you remembered. Taller somehow. His hair was longer than it had been last time—curling just slightly at the nape of his neck, damp with sweat. His jacket was slung over one shoulder, and he moved like he hadn’t just been on the road for hours. Like his body didn’t get tired the way other people’s did.

Bobby looked up from under the hood.

“Well I’ll be damned,” he said, already wiping his hands on a rag. “Where the hell’s your brother?”

Dean just smiled, that lazy half-smirk you knew too well.

And then you called his name.

“Dean!”

His head snapped toward the porch so fast it almost startled you.

And when his eyes landed on you—barefoot, flushed from the sun, standing under the porch roof with your tank top clinging to your ribs and the glass of sweet tea still trembling faintly in your hand—he grinned.

Not like he used to. Not like the soft smirks he’d given you when you were younger, teasing and warm and safe.

No. This one was sharp. Wolfish. Like he’d been starving and just spotted his first meal in days.

“Well hey there, sweetheart.”

You didn’t think. Didn’t hesitate.

The second his voice hit your ears, smooth and warm and laced with something low and dangerous, your body moved before your brain caught up.

The glass of tea hit the porch rail with a clatter, sloshing again, forgotten as your bare feet left the wood and hit the gravel, sharp stones biting into your soles. You winced but didn’t slow, teeth catching your lip, eyes locked on him like nothing else in the world mattered.

“Girl!” Bobby hollered from the front of the truck, voice sharp as a whip. “You’re out here barefoot on the goddamn gravel again—what’re you, feral?”

You didn’t answer. Just ran faster.

Dean was already grinning by the time you reached him. One brow quirked, his whole face lit with smug delight like he’d known you’d come running. Like he wanted it.

You could see it in the way he stood, relaxed and ready, arms just starting to open. Like he was expecting to catch you.

And God help you, he did.

You threw yourself into him without grace—without shame—legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck, breath catching somewhere between a gasp and a laugh. His hands caught you under your thighs, rough palms settling against bare skin, fingers pressing. Harder than they needed to.

He smelled like heat. Like leather and road salt and motel soap and something darker curling beneath it. Something you couldn’t name.

Your voice came out soft, pressed close to his ear as you held onto him tighter than you meant to.

“We missed you.”

His hands flexed where they held you—gripping tight. You felt it. The possessiveness in his touch. The way his thumbs slid just slightly against the crease where your thighs met the curve of your ass. The quiet exhale that ghosted down your neck.

“Speak for yourself,” Bobby grunted from behind, but even that sounded weaker than usual. More bark than bite.

There was a pause. Then:

“Dean,” he said flatly. “Put my niece down. Don’t think I ain’t seen where your hands are, boy.”

Dean turned his head just slightly, that grin never leaving his face. Still holding you.

“Just catchin’ her, Bobby. Can’t help it if she’s a little…” His gaze dragged back to you. Slow. Heavy. “Squishy.”

Your breath hitched. You felt heat rise all the way up your neck.

Dean’s fingers squeezed again. Barely perceptible. Just enough for you to feel it. For Bobby to notice.

“Dean,” Bobby snapped, and this time there was steel under it.

With infuriating ease, Dean let you down. Gently. Like he didn’t want to. His hands slid down the backs of your thighs as he lowered you, only releasing when your feet touched dirt and your balance returned.

You took a half-step back, suddenly too aware of the heat between your legs. Of the gravel under your soles. Of the way he looked at you like you were his to pick up again whenever he pleased.

Bobby was already walking past, muttering to himself and wiping his hands again.

“Damn fool boy…”

Dean just chuckled, low and satisfied. His eyes never left you.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”

The house smelled like garlic and onions and whatever Bobby had pulled from the freezer that morning and declared dinner. The table was set with mismatched plates, forks with dull edges, and two sweating bottles of beer you’d pulled from the fridge yourself. One slid in front of your uncle with a thunk, the other nudged across the table toward Dean with just enough force to draw his eyes back to you.

He caught it easily, grinned like he knew the touch of your fingers on the bottle had been deliberate, and then tipped it in a mock toast before popping the cap with the edge of the table. You pretended not to watch the way his throat moved when he took the first sip.

You took your usual seat to Bobby’s left, legs tucked beneath you, sipping your water slow and quiet. The table was warm and familiar. A little too small for three grown bodies. A little too crowded in the heat.

Dean and Bobby talked like no time had passed at all.

“So where’s your brother?” Bobby asked around a mouthful of food, squinting at Dean like he expected bad news.

“Chasin’ some lead out in Idaho,” Dean replied, casual. “He’ll meet me back on the road. Said somethin’ about needing space.”

“From you or the case?”

Dean just smirked. Shrugged. “Probably both.”

You didn’t join in. Just twirled your fork in your noodles, dragging them across the plate like you were thinking hard about something. You weren’t. You were trying not to look at Dean. You were failing.

He looked good. Too good. Tanned and broad and infuriatingly comfortable, leaning back in his chair like it was his own damn kitchen. Like he belonged there. Like he always had.

You caught yourself staring and dropped your eyes back to your food.

Then something brushed your foot. Just a light nudge. The kind that might’ve been an accident. The kind that would’ve been nothing, if you weren’t barefoot and hyper-aware of every single thing about him.

You froze. Fork paused mid-twirl. Eyes still on your plate. The nudge came again—more deliberate this time. A soft push against your arch.

You looked up. Dean was still talking to Bobby. Still sipping his beer, leaning back in his chair like he didn’t have a care in the world.

But his eyes cut to you. And he grinned. Slow. Shit-eating. Wolfish.

Your stomach dropped straight to your knees. You cleared your throat and took a sip of water, suddenly warm all over. Bobby was still muttering about Sam, something about demon omens in Ohio, and you tried to focus. You really did.

Dean’s foot slid along the curve of your ankle. A slow, lazy stroke like he was petting a dog. You flinched. He didn’t.

You jabbed him back without looking, your toes kicking out under the table—more annoyed than anything else. But all it earned you was a harder nudge, right against your calf this time, like a shove disguised as affection.

You looked at him again. He didn’t break eye contact. He arched one brow, lips twitching around the mouth of his beer bottle.

What’re you gonna do about it, sweetheart?

You wanted to kick him. You wanted to crawl into his lap. You wanted to do something reckless. But you just stabbed a piece of meat with your fork and tried not to choke on your own pulse.

Bobby looked up, finally catching the flush on your cheeks.

“You alright there, girl?”

You smiled too quickly. “Just hot.”

Dean chuckled. Low and full of teeth. His foot bumped yours again under the table. You didn’t look at him this time. But you could still feel him.

You barely touched your dinner after that. Every bite tasted like heat. Every sip of water failed to cool you. You could still feel the press of his boot against your ankle long after he’d stopped. Like his touch had sunk straight through your skin.

You were the first one to stand when the plates were empty, scraping your chair back with a little too much force.

“I’ll get this cleaned up,” you said quickly, already stacking yours and Bobby's plates, trying to busy your hands so they didn’t shake.

Bobby looked up with a lazy arch of his brow.

“Someone’s in a damn hurry all of a sudden.”

You forced a small laugh, ducking your head. “Just trying to be useful.”

“Mhm.”

You were already halfway to the sink, rinsing plates under warm water, grateful for the hiss of the faucet and the hum of muscle memory. Plate, rinse, stack. Forks, soak, scrub. Your feet shifted over the cool tile, and for a moment, the tension in your shoulders started to melt.

Behind you, a chair scraped back.

“I’ll help.”

Dean.

Bobby snorted from the table.

“You? Since when do you ever lift a damn finger after supper?”

“Feelin’ generous,” Dean said, all smooth edges. You could hear the grin in his voice. “Must be the company.”

Bobby huffed and pushed to his feet with a grunt, grabbing the last beer and heading toward the living room.

“Well, bless your heart. I’ll be in my chair, pretendin' not to hear whatever dumb shit you’re about to break in my kitchen.”

And just like that, you were alone.

You didn’t turn around. Just kept scrubbing the last plate, shoulders a little too stiff, breath caught somewhere too high in your chest. You heard him behind you—soft bootfalls, the clink of glass against glass as he gathered the empty bottles and his dish.

Then—

Heat. He was behind you. Close. Then closer.

The heat of his chest pressed flush to your back, hard muscle and worn cotton, and you froze. Completely. Your breath caught in your throat. The plate in your hand nearly slipped from your fingers.

Dean reached around you, casually, his forearm brushing the side of your breast as he slid his plate into the sink with a quiet clink.

He didn’t move. He lingered, then stepped back a beat too slow.

“Oops.”

Your whole body burned.

You turned your head, wide-eyed, and found him just watching you. That smile on his face wasn’t sheepish. It was smug. Knowing. Unholy.

You tried to say something—tried to form any kind of reply—but your tongue felt thick and your heart was pounding in your throat.

Dean leaned one arm against the counter beside you, his body angled lazily toward yours. He was close enough that you could see the faint pink line of a healing cut along his collarbone. Close enough that his scent wrapped around you again—leather, motel soap, motor oil, and something else. Something you couldn’t name. Something dark.

“You always clean up this fast, sweetheart? Or just when I’m watching?”

Your mouth parted. Nothing came out.

He tilted his head, eyes dragging slow across your face, then down your neck, then back up.

“You've never been shy.”

You tried to laugh. It came out breathless.

“You’re messin' with me.”

Dean’s smile widened, teeth flashing.

“Am I?”

You shook your head—barely. “You don’t… You don’t look at me like that.”

“Don’t I?”

His voice was low. Deliberate.

You turned back to the sink, trying to hide your face, the blush crawling down your throat. Your hands moved automatically, scrubbing at a plate that was already clean.

Dean didn’t leave.

“Been gone a while,” he said, voice softer now. “Did you miss me?”

Your hand paused on the dish. Your voice was almost a whisper.

“Of course I did.”

He leaned in closer again, heat at your back, breath on your neck.

“Yeah?”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

And behind you, he chuckled. Low and dark and pleased.

“Good.”

You didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Dean was still behind you, heat pressed too close, breath ghosting somewhere near your ear—and for a second, it felt like he might lean in further. Might say something else. Might do something else.

But before anything could shatter, Bobby’s voice cut through the house like a crack of thunder:

“You two done makin’ out in there or can I start the damn show?”

You practically jumped.

Dean chuckled—soft, smug, low in his throat like he was deeply entertained by your reaction—and stepped back just far enough to let the heat leave your skin.

You scrambled into the living room a little too fast, like Bobby’s voice had tugged you from the edge of something you couldn’t name. Your skin was still warm, your breath still not quite steady, but you dropped down onto the couch with a half-hearted exhale, like you could shake it off with the right posture. You curled your legs up beside you, pulled a throw pillow into your lap, and clutched your glass of water like it was going to save you.

“Eastwood or MASH*?” You asked, too quick, too light.

Bobby looked up from the remote, squinting at the ancient television like it had personally offended him.

“Whichever channel works. If I get static again, I’m throwin’ the damn thing out the window.”

You smiled, even if it didn’t quite reach your eyes. The house had settled into its familiar hum—floorboards creaking under the weight of time, cicadas still buzzing low through the open windows, the faint clatter of Dean moving around in the kitchen.

You heard him before you saw him.

He entered the room like a slow-moving shadow—easy, casual, like he belonged there more than the furniture. Your stomach twisted.

He didn’t say a word. Just met your gaze for a moment—sharp, amused—and then reached down, hooked his hands under your ankles, and lifted your legs without asking. You startled slightly, not because it hurt, but because it didn’t. Because it felt so easy for him.

Then, with a slow exhale, he dropped onto the couch beside you, your legs falling across his lap like he’d planned it that way all along. One of his arms rested along the back of the couch, close enough for you to feel the heat of it at your shoulders. The other—casual, lazy—settled over your shin, fingers tracing an idle path along your skin.

You tried not to tense. You tried not to breathe. He didn’t look at you. Didn’t need to.

And Bobby noticed. He turned his head slowly, one eye narrowing as it moved from the screen to your legs across Dean’s lap, then up to the hand that hadn’t stopped moving. His jaw clenched. His beer bottle landed on the side table with a quiet clunk.

“Touch her like that again,” he said, voice low and dry, “and I’ll break your fuckin’ hand.”

Dean didn’t flinch. He didn’t even stop. Just kept rubbing slow, maddening circles along your shin with the pad of his thumb. He still hadn’t looked at you.

“Aw, c’mon, Bobby,” he drawled, the smile curling across his lips like smoke. “Ain’t like I’m doin’ anything wrong.”

Bobby didn’t laugh. Didn’t even blink.

“You think I don’t see it?” He asked, and his voice was sharper now, honed to an edge. “The way you been lookin’ at her since you pulled up? I ain’t blind, Dean. And I sure as hell ain’t stupid.”

There was a pause, a hitch you felt more than heard. Dean’s smile wavered for the barest second. Just long enough for you to wonder if Bobby had struck a nerve.

Then it returned, just as cocky, just as easy.

“She’s not a kid anymore,” he said, casual, like that settled something.

Bobby leaned forward in his chair. His eyes were cold. Steady.

“No, she ain't. Which is exactly why I’ll put you in the goddamn ground if you so much as look at her like she ain’t got a choice.”

Something shifted.

You didn’t understand it, not fully. But you felt it. Something sharp beneath the surface. Something not quite right. Like there was more to what Bobby said than what he said.

Dean’s silence stretched long enough to be dangerous. Then he tilted his head, eyes still on Bobby, and smiled.

“She looks like she can make her own choices to me.”

You tried to move your legs. Tried to pull away, just a little. Dean’s hand pressed down. Not painfully. Just firmly. Deliberately. Bobby was still watching. And so was Dean.

“You touch her like that again,” Bobby said, lower this time, the threat coiled beneath each syllable, “and I’ll remind you who the hell you’re talkin’ to.”

Dean didn’t answer.

The television filled the silence, tinny dialogue from a rerun you couldn’t focus on. And under the hum of it all, Dean’s thumb resumed its lazy stroke against your skin, like nothing had happened at all.

The house was silent, save for the low creak of floorboards beneath your bare feet.

The kind of silence that came only after the heat of the day had broken—after the static between bodies had faded into cool sheets and shallow sleep. Bobby had gone to bed not long before you had, muttering something about his bad knee and early mornings, casting one last look between you and Dean like he was waiting for something to ignite.

But nothing had.

Not then.

Now, it was past midnight. Maybe closer to two. You didn’t check the clock—just blinked awake with your throat dry and your skin too warm beneath the sheets. The house had cooled but your body hadn’t. Something restless sat in your chest like a live wire humming under your ribs.

The floor was cold beneath your feet, quiet in the way old houses only were when everyone else had gone to bed and the world had softened into stillness.

The air felt different after midnight—cooler, heavier somehow. The way it settled in your lungs felt like a warning, though you couldn’t say why. You moved without thinking, sleepy and restless, fingers trailing along the hallway walls as you padded toward the kitchen, drawn by nothing more than the dryness in your throat and the weight of something unnamed sitting beneath your skin.

Bobby’s old shirt hung off one shoulder, worn soft with age, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked. No panties. No bra. Just that and bare skin and the ghost of sleep still clinging to the corners of your vision.

The fridge opened with a low hum. You filled your glass slowly, letting the cool water slide over the ice and kiss the rim, the glow of the open door painting your skin in pale blue light. You lifted the glass to your lips and drank.

And that’s when you heard it.

The creak.

Not the house settling. Not the wind. Not the sound of an old man in the hallway. Boots. Slow, deliberate.

You turned just as the light from the fridge caught the edge of his silhouette, cutting him out from the dark like something carved from smoke and heat and half-formed sin.

Dean.

Leaning in the doorway like he hadn’t been asleep at all. Like he was waiting. He didn’t speak at first. Just looked at you. And when he did? Something in his expression made your stomach twist—not with fear, not yet, but something so thick and dark and electric it almost knocked the air out of you.

That grin.

It was the same one he’d worn when you were sixteen and he caught you staring at his mouth. The same one he used when he fixed cars with the sleeves of his flannel rolled high and the cigarette tucked behind his ear. Familiar. Easy. Pure Dean.

But something about it wasn’t right anymore. It was too still. Too slow. Too hungry.

“Well,” he said, and his voice was rough in that way it always got when it was late and he hadn’t talked in hours. “Aren’t you a sight.”

You swallowed hard. “Couldn’t sleep.”

His eyes dropped down your body. Then rose again. Like he had every right.

You didn’t move. Didn’t cover yourself. You should have.

“You always walk around like that?” He asked, stepping into the room. “Wearing nothin’ but some old shirt and a smile?”

You didn’t answer. The question didn’t feel like a question.

Dean smiled again, slower this time, head cocked to the side as he watched you over the rim of the glass in your hand.

“Bobby know his niece’s struttin’ around like a damn centrefold at two in the morning?”

You flushed hot. “It’s just a shirt.”

“Mm.” He nodded slowly, stepping closer. “Yeah. I can see that.”

He was close now. Close enough to smell—leather and heat and that undertone you still couldn’t quite place. Something wrong. Something sour-sweet and unplaceable. It made your knees feel unsteady.

His hand lifted—not fast, just steady—and pushed the fridge door shut behind you. The kitchen plunged into shadows again, save for the faint light of the oven clock. He was still grinning.

“Didn’t think you’d grown up this much.”

You laughed, shaky and quiet, trying to ease the weight of his stare. “Been a year.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s showin’.”

Your breath caught.

He took another step. Close enough now that the fabric of his shirt brushed your arm. He tilted his head down, voice dropping just slightly.

“You used to look at me funny,” he said. “Back when you were younger. Always staring. Thought I was imaginin’ it.”

You blinked, pulse pounding. “You weren’t.”

“No,” he murmured, and his eyes flicked to your mouth. “Guess I wasn’t.”

You could feel his breath on your skin. The heat of him. His fingers brushed the side of your thigh—light, just once, and then gone. It burned like fire anyway.

“You’ve really come into yourself, sweetheart.”

He said it like a confession. Like a revelation. Like it was all finally clicking into place.

And you couldn’t breathe.

His voice went softer. Meaner.

“You want me to look at you like this, don’t you?”

You didn’t speak. He didn’t need you to. Because he already knew.

You didn’t know who moved first. Didn’t know if it was his hand on your hip or the tilt of your chin or the way the space between your bodies seemed to vanish all at once—like the air itself had given up pretending there was still a line that shouldn’t be crossed.

All you knew was that you were suddenly there. Back pressed to the counter. Dean’s body crowding yours like gravity had finally remembered what it owed you.

And then he kissed you.

Not softly. Not hesitantly. Not like a maybe. No, Dean Winchester kissed you like he was claiming you.

His hand came up to your jaw, thumb pressed against your cheek, fingers curling behind your neck as he pulled you in and kissed you like it was the only thing that had ever mattered. Like he’d been waiting too. Starving for it. For you.

You gasped into it, lips parting without thought, and he groaned—"fuckin’ finally"—and kissed you deeper, tongue slipping past your lips like he knew exactly how to take what he wanted. And he did.

You were drowning in him. Pressed between cool counter and burning heat, chest heaving, hands fisting into the hem of his t-shirt just to keep from sliding down the cabinets. Your knees had gone weak. Your body was molten.

When he pulled back, it was barely an inch. His breath hit your lips. His grin carved into you like a knife.

“Goddamn,” he whispered, voice thick and low and already wrecked. “I always knew you’d taste this fucking sweet.”

You didn’t get a chance to reply.

His hand was already moving. Down your side. Over your hip. Between your thighs.

You gasped.

He grinned harder.

“No panties,” he murmured, dragging the hem of the shirt up your thigh with his knuckles. “You really were asking for it, huh?”

You opened your mouth—to protest, to deny, to confess every filthy thought you’d ever had about him—but then two of his fingers slid between your legs and found you already wet, and the words died on your tongue.

“Fuck,” he breathed, eyes dark and hungry, lashes low. “You’re soaked for me. All this time, and you’ve been walking around just beggin’ for me to get my hands on you.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate.

He slipped one thick finger inside you, slow and deliberate, watching your face as your jaw dropped open around a gasp. Then another, stretching you perfectly. You choked on a sound, back arching, thighs trembling.

“Shhh,” he crooned, lips at your temple now, the hand at your jaw moving to cover your mouth. “Gotta keep it down, sweetheart. Bobby hears you moaning like a whore in his kitchen, he’s gonna come down here and shoot me.”

His fingers curled.

Your eyes rolled back.

You moaned—muffled, desperate—against his palm as he started to fuck you with those fingers like he meant it. Like he’d been thinking about it for years.

And maybe he had.

His hips were pressed against yours, his breath against your cheek, his mouth dragging along your jaw as he fucked you slow and filthy and completely possessed.

“You ever think about me, baby?” He whispered. “Late at night, all alone in your bed? Bet you used these pretty fingers trying to imagine mine, didn’t you?”

You whimpered under his hand, your body jerking with every pump of his fingers, slick and obscene.

“Bet you used to fuck that little pillow, huh? Crying into it thinkin’ about me pinning you down, stretching you open…”

You were going to come.

It was embarrassing how fast it was happening—how quick he’d found every nerve, every want, every buried need you’d never let yourself speak out loud. But now it was all on the surface, raw and exposed, dripping down his wrist.

He growled in your ear, soft and dark and lethal:

“Come for me, sweetheart. C’mon. Be a good girl and come all over my fuckin’ fingers.”

You did.

You shattered—silently, somehow—body writhing against his hand, nails digging into his shoulders, whole frame trembling with the force of it. His fingers didn’t stop, fucking you through it, dragging every last wave from your body until you were limp in his grip, gasping into his palm.

He finally pulled his hand from your mouth, cupping your jaw again, kissing you slow and deep, like the filth he’d just whispered into your skin meant nothing. Like it meant everything.

He pulled his hand away, brought it up to his lips, and licked his fingers. Then smiled.

“Told you,” he said. “Sweet as goddamn honey.” 

Then his lips were back on your neck.

You were still trembling, thighs slick and trembling where he held you, one hand gripping the back of your thigh, the other back between your legs, slick with everything he’d pulled from you. You were floating, dizzy, pressed between the cool of the counter and the heat of his body, his mouth trailing kisses up your throat like he was about to say something—

And then the kitchen door slammed open. You barely had time to register the heavy feet pounding across the floor before—

Splash.

Dean staggered back with a sharp, visceral hiss, smoke curling from his shoulder where the water hit, his skin bubbling in a flash of red.

You gasped, shoved back into the counter, heart leaping into your throat.

“What the fuck—!”

Dean growled—growled—low and guttural, his spine arching with the burn, lips curling back to reveal teeth that didn’t quite look like his own.

And Bobby was standing there. In boxers and a flannel and socks. Holding an empty mason jar in one hand and a shotgun in the other. Breathing hard. Rage in every line of his face.

“Get. The fuck. Outta my house,” Bobby said, each word like a shotgun blast. “Now.”

Dean turned his head slowly. Eyes flashing black for a moment before shifting back to the green you'd always known.

“Well, shit,” he rasped, voice raw. “Knew you were smart, old man. Didn’t think you’d catch on so fast.”

“Yeah, well,” Bobby snarled, stepping forward, “I’ve seen a lot of demons pretend to be worse things. You just happen to be wearin’ a face I liked.”

Dean smiled—teeth too sharp, too wide.

“I’ll be seeing her again.”

Bobby raised the shotgun in his hands.

“Not if I have anythin' to say about it.”

Dean looked at you once. Only once. That same smirk, but now you saw it—really saw it—for what it was. Too smooth. Too slow. Something evil wearing something you used to love. And then he vanished. Not in smoke, not in fire. Just… gone. The air thinned out. The heat left the room. And the absence of him was a screaming thing.

You were still shaking. Still pressed to the counter, shirt rumpled, legs slick, skin flushed. The high hadn’t even left your blood yet. You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

Bobby lowered the shotgun, then turned to you.

“It ain’t safe anymore.”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out.

He crossed to you slowly. Gently. Like approaching a spooked animal.

“That thing,” he said, voice quieter now. “That thing wearin’ Dean’s face? That’s a demon. And he’s been here all day.”

You stared at him. Everything in you recoiled. Denied. And yet—you knew.

Bobby exhaled hard. His hand came up to your arm, grounding you. Steady.

“I’m sendin’ you somewhere safe.”

You blinked. “What—?”

“Somewhere he don’t know. Somewhere he can’t get to you. You’re leavin’ in the mornin’. No arguments.”

You were still in Bobby’s shirt. Still barefoot. Still breathless. And now the world had cracked open beneath you. You nodded. Because what else could you do?

@mostlymarvelgirl @losers-clvb @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @sl33pylilbunny @suckitands33 @nevercameraready @0ccvltism @lyarr24 @podiumackles @spxideyver @tinas111 @cevansbaby-dove @paristheonewhoreads @winchestersbgirl @blossomingorchids @sacr1ficialang3l <3

[ruoshik0]

DP x DC: The al Ghul twins but with a twist!

Danyal al Ghul was- is a phenomenal actor. Always have been.

He was one of the best in the league for infiltration and espionage. None can deny that.

Along with his twin, Damian- whose skill sets are the complete opposite, they made for a terrifying pair of twins.

Ra's al Ghul saw that. He would have been a fool not to. The heir and his spare were talented in a completely different way.

So much so that Ra's decided to team them up. In the spotlight, Damian- the heir- would fight with raw strength and brutal power whilst Danyal- the spare- would strike from the shadows with amazing efficiency.

However, as much as they are better together, the twins must learn to be independent. To better themselves by being alone.

Relying on another encourages codependency after all.

And Ra's did not want such a pathetic thing to be a bigger problem than it is now.

So, he sent the spare to learn more about the Lazarus waters. A long term mission of infiltration and espionage. And while the League did not do such missions, he needed to learn more about the waters and it's properties to make better use of it. And simply forcing the two scientists to spill everything may result in a less than favorable outcome. Learning from the inside is better, really.

And whilst Danyal was away, he would further along Damian's training.

It was a good plan. Two birds with one stone.

And when Danyal arrived at his destination, he was a little worse for wear. Torn and dirty clothes, messy hair and acted beyond his years. He was in the alley right next to the Fentons' house when they first found him. They decided letting him spend a few days in their home to get ahold of a normal life before sending Danyal to the CPS was a good idea.

They quickly got attached to the cute and soft child beneath the always suspicious and hesitant orphan.

The Fentons immediately adopted him after deciding he would stay.

His name is now Daniel James Fenton.

Daniel was an average kid who acted like how you would expect an orphan who had lived on the streets for a long time.

His academic performance is above average in comparison to the other kids.

Even without the Fenton blood running through his veins, Daniel fit right in with the weird family.

As stated before, Danyal al Ghul is a phenomenal actor.

When he first arrived, he engineered a situation in which the scientists had no other choice than to take him in for a time.

When he was successful, he didn't stop to celebrate. Danyal immediately started working on making them warm up to him. Little gestures such as a hesitant hug and following them around like a little duckling worked like charms. Little giggles here and a little harmless prank there worked too.

Those psychology books and being near civilians more often helped him with these things. As well as the specialized training from the League.

When the child named Jasmine had fallen in his trap, it was easy to get the parents in too.

After getting adopted, although not before getting him a legal identity, he immediately started working who exactly he wanted Daniel to be and how people saw him.

A scared little child who jumps at any loud noises and a big interest in space and stars. Mostly because Danyal himself was a big space nerd and it's hard to fake enough interest to seem real.

Then he had gotten himself friends. A quaint life in a quaint town meant having less than 5 friends.

Samantha Manson and Tucker Foley were both viewed as weird and should be avoided. The new kid in town has befriended both and thus should be avoided by association.

He did not want to deal with even more obnoxious kids.

Danyal had lived a fake life with a fake personality. He trained whenever he can, and helped in the lab other times.

Weekly written reports to the League.

And learn as much as he can.

That was then. Now, Danny was no longer as alive as he was. And while it's a nuisance, his ghostly powers brought a lot of advantage.

When he first became Phantom, he fought ghosts. Acted like the wimpy yet still brave Danny in front of his friends.

Every few days, he would complain about the vigilante life and every other day he would use make up to worsen his appearance. A little darker dark circles and messier nest of a hair.

And while Danyal got the hang of his new abilities in a few days, Danny took a few weeks.

He purposefully dropped his grades because Danny couldn't find the time to study and Danyal knew Sam and Tuck would get suspicious if his grades remained the same.

Weeks and weeks after, learning more about the Lazarus waters, ghosts, and it's properties at a faster rate than ever before, Danyal decided that his little engineering and sciencing hustle should end. And by that, he means he should end the mission. So he started working on the last phase of his plans.

(He got too attached. Oh Ancients, he got too attached. He wanted to stay there and actually live like a normal person. He wanted to but- but... what about his brother...? He had to leave. Leaving means more suffering for them. His... friends and family.

He is so gonna miss the cat and mouse chase with the Fentons. He is gonna miss everyone. He hopes everyone forgets him so that he can leave feeling a little better)

First step, making those who are in the know about Phantom, warm up to the idea of him leaving vigilantism behind.

Every few weeks, he would joke about quitting as Phantom. That turned into months and Danny started looking even worse than when he first became Phantom. Danny wouldn't have a future if he didn't study more. But he couldn't because of vigilantism. And the stress caught up to him.

16 year old Daniel James Fenton decided he should stop when he was finally convinced by his two friends and two sisters.

(He hated how much he engineered these situations)

And while Danyal knew Danny didn't have a future, Danny himself didn't and thus acted like it.

It was hard trying so hard to rebut his circle of people when he just wanted agree right then there. It all ended in a messy and teary situation Danyal would have liked to avoid altogether.

(His tears were real. He didn't want to admit that he was crying. Mourning his loss before it happened)

The things he does to stay character.

Phantom quit after loudly announcing he was moving to another place to haunt.

And Danny's grades slowly went up to what it used to be before the ghost nonsense. He was finally relaxing again.

He was anxious. Anxious to the point of tensing. His League training thrown put the window)

Few months after, Daniel James Fenton went missing with little to no clues as to why.

Everyone mourned him. His ghostly core was happy when he had caught a glimpse of his grave while he was... visiting, for a lack of a better word.

(Finally, he was being mourned. Because he did die. Death touched him and he didn't even have a grave before this)

Now Danyal al Ghul returned from his long term mission. He could finally be himself again.

(Somewhere along the way Danny had become Danyal's real personality)

The League of Assassins was exactly as he had first left it. There were a few very glaring issues though.

First, Damian isn't here. He had left. Left Danyal alone. It took quite the willpower to not go out and track wherever Damian had gone to.

Second, Ra's al Ghul wasn't here. Grandfather had died and his body was nowhere to be found.

Third, Mother was leading. While it is not that much of an issue, Danyal is to be the heir and shall by crowned the leader in a few weeks time. Which is a big issue. Mostly because he was supposed to be in the shadows. Danyal decided that he did not want to be in the limelight like his brother.

Plus, he was already the Eventual King of another dimension. A rather infinite one might he add.

Ugh, more responsibilities.

He decided that he would greet his brother on their seventeenth birthday. A little terrorizing never hurts anybody.

Till then, he'd have to train his ass off.

(He’d do just about anything stop himself from thinking about Amity Park and its residents)

Sigh...

[multimilfs]

Lilia Calderu x Fem!Reader: In Omnibus Aequitas

Summary: Agatha isn't the only witch with a force of nature trailing after her.

AO3

A/N: oh my god i can't explain how excited i am to post this! so much thought and careful crafting went into this!! actually begging someone to ask for the TED talk on my planning process for this because hooooo boy

this is my first time writing Lilia, so apologies if the characterization is shaky at all!

also to give credit where credit is due, the idea for this Reader was prompted by a post from the brilliant trickofthelights, whom i admire greatly. i'll attach the post here

Tag List: @emiliaisdead @kenzie-floops @nightmare-of-homophobes @thepotatoislost @mckiejames @women-are-so-ethereal @galaxydreamer468 @angeliccss @goldenautomaton @asolitaryrose3 @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @escapetodreamworld

Warning(s): None

Shadows often linger in the periphery of Lilia’s vision; this she has grown to accept, on the basis that they are gone when she turns to face them. And she is glad of it each time. The twisted shapes and figures of the primordial horrors that linger are not made to be witnessed, even by her eyes.

So when a figure lingers, she turns with the expectation of seeing the silhouette vanish, but she’s not the only one who turns.

It strikes her as odd that Rio should see whatever she does. This thought occurs to her mid-ballad, fire licking at the back of her neck. When she looks, though, the figure does not vanish, but neither is it a horror to behold.

You are as beautiful as she remembers. The memory, coupled with your eyes on her, nearly trips her up. But Lilia holds strong through the rest of Lorna’s ballad—even as the burns on her shoulders ache, even as your eyes dart away and meet the curious gaze belonging to Rio, even, even as you watch her with that unerring devotion she had once craved.

When Alice tilts her head back, singing with the full force of her soul, Lilia’s eyes leave you. She watches the curse burn to ash above Alice.

You’re gone when Lilia glances back.

---

Sharon, human she may have been, was right about one thing—no witch can be expected to traverse the road without rest. So, the coven opts to take turns keeping watch around the little fire they’ve built.

Lilia volunteers for the first watch, restless, feeling the weight of eyes on her still. She should’ve known you wouldn’t stay away long.

Your entrance comes when the rest of the coven has fallen asleep; Jen and Alice on one side of the fire, propped up against the rock they sat upon, Agatha furthest from the fire, back to it, while Rio—if that is her true name—sleeps near enough to lay a hand on her waist. Teen, she assumes, remains in the makeshift bed they made for him.

She sees your shadow at the edge of the clearing, hesitant. Looking over her coven one last time, she stands, and walks to where you wait outside the light.

“What do you want?”

You reach out, a hand on either side of Lilia’s face. She doesn’t shake you off. Yet.

“You’re as beautiful as the day I left.” You murmur.

Lilia’s lip curls, “Are your brutal truths meant to be endearing?”

“No. They’re meant to be nothing more than what they are.”

Against all odds, Lilia has yet to throw off your hold. You run your thumb gently over the curve of her jaw. Everything in you wants to kiss her—has dreamt of it for over a century—but you know it won’t be welcome.

Her curls are frayed and wild around her face in an endearing picture. Mess suits her just as well as refinement; though that could be your bias talking.

“Why are you here?” Lilia asks.

“Because you’re here.” And because your job brought you here, but that’s less romantic.

She seems to sense the omission. Any warmth drains from her expression, her hands removing yours from her person. You miss the closeness immediately.

“A truth and a lie. Which will come next?”

“It wasn’t a lie. I could’ve been anywhere.”

“Then go there. But leave the coven out of this.”

“I have no choice, Lilia.”

Lilia scoffs, “You had a choice when you vanished for a century!”

You close your eyes against the reminder. Hurt flares through you. The ache from years of longing, feeling that veil between you exist so thin, yet being unable to reach through. You hadn’t even been allowed a glimpse.

It was torment. A century should have been easy, but a life without Lilia felt like clawing your way through. If you tell her, will she believe you?

“Please.” You whisper. You’re not sure what you’re asking for.

“Goodnight.”

You hear her walk away, can’t stop yourself from blurting, despite the consequences, “Please, don’t put yourself in harm's way.”

Her jaw is tight, eyes wary. She looks you over as if something about you will give away what you know.

She crosses her arms over her chest. You recognize it as both a way to keep you out and support herself. You ache to be let back in.

“This whole Road is a death wish.”

“Don’t put yourself in more danger than normal.” You say, then, smaller, “I can’t protect you.”

“Are you asking for my sake or your own?”

“Whichever you’ll listen to.”

“Why ask at all?”

You step forward, hands outstretched to take hers, but you stop short, “Because I love you, Lilia.”

The admission makes her flinch. Her eyes water and she swallows hard. For a fleeting moment you see the startling vulnerability behind her eyes—the loneliness you should have quelled—before she locks it away.

“You can’t love.” Lilia sneers, “It would tip the scales too much.”

“That’s not true.” You defend.

“Oh? Then who, in this wretched universe, have you decided to hate?”

You bite your tongue. Lilia takes your silence for its own—incorrect—answer. Bitterness creeps into her smile.

“Goodnight.”

---

“Here to watch the big show?” Rio asks, lagging behind while the others move forward.

“Just doing my job.”

“Really? I’d say things were pretty square when you showed up.”

You eye her, despising her knowing smile, “Why are you here?”

“My job.”

“Hm. And how many bodies have you collected, again?”

Her smile is wide, but her eyes are cold. She’s always despised that the two of you are equals; that she can’t add you to her menagerie of bodies. Just the same, you’ve despised that you can’t write her name down.

Agatha looks back and tilts her head. You know she can’t see you. Like nothing has happened, Rio turns that grin on Agatha, skipping back to her side.

You catch Lilia’s eyes on you and ignore the question in them.

---

Lilia watches. She follows you in her periphery, makes note of where you are at all times. Her eyes always dart to your hands. Every time she finds them empty, she relaxes.

She’s taken watch, again. You read the weariness in her posture.

Against your better judgment, you lay your hands on her shoulders. She doesn’t shrug them off.

“You need rest as much as they do, beloved.” You murmur.

She stiffens at the old endearment, “We’re splitting the time. I’ll manage.”

You run a hand through her hair. The curls are still loose, wild. You untangle a few of them. Squeezing her shoulder, you place a kiss to the top of her head, savoring the closeness.

For a moment, your hand quivers. You still it. Your punishment was endured with grace, you must endure the distance with the same.

“Sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

Lilia scoffs, “Right.”

The weight of her mistrust is like a knife in your chest. You do not endure the pain with grace; you flinch, tears springing unbidden to your eyes. Lilia’s eyes close in regret.

You wonder if your presence is more of a burden than blessing. Had you mistaken her intent all those years ago? Love is not an emotion that’d come to you naturally. Perhaps, in your learning, you misunderstood, and Lilia’s kind heart wouldn’t allow her to break your illusion.

She had loved you once, hadn’t she? You could swear she had.

“You have to know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Unless the greater universe calls for it.”

Her tone is honest, but sadness lingers within it. All you want is to see her face.

“If I thought it would do you any favors, I’d throw it all away.” You admit in a whisper.

Lilia turns, then. Her brows are furrowed as her eyes search your own, frantic, swimming with fear. In another time and place, you’d follow the statement with a smirk; but you cannot bring yourself to summon the facade now, not with her.

It isn’t a lie—your admission. If not for the overturning of the world without you, you’d forsake the job on your shoulders. You’d unmake yourself in a moment for her. For the younger witch who sang freely and lamented her gifts. For the wizened witch who eyes you with trepidation, mind rife with your betrayals and shortcomings.

“Where are your lies?” She asks.

“I tell them to myself, so you can have all my truths.”

Lilia smiles then, but it’s bittersweet. A warm hand settles on your cheek. You can’t help it—grace be damned—when you press yourself into the contact. They’re still there—the callouses you remember, rough against your flesh. She still smells of smoke.

There’s a rustling of fabric across the space. Alice shifts, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes. Lilia’s touch is gone from you. You settle next to her as she rests, not brave enough to lay another hand upon her.

---

You watch the knife fall as if time has slowed; absently, you think it might be, Time always did love her cruel jokes. It falls with Teen in the direct path. You feel the pen heavy in your hand, the paper near-weightless and yet the heaviest thing you’ve come to bear.

But then Lilia moves. The one moment you need time to slow for you, it’s returned to normal. Lilia shoves Teen out of the way and takes his place in the dagger’s path.

You fall to your knees, “No!”

Throwing your arms out, you aim a burst of magic for the dagger. Consequences be damned. Alice is faster, though, and moves Lilia from the dagger’s path before your magic can make contact.

Rio’s eyes are heavy on you. She can’t do anything—you didn’t technically break any rules, but the intent is damning enough.

“Now this is going to be fun.” Rio purrs.

You stare at the pen and blank paper you dropped in your haste to save Lilia. Your purpose. How close you’d come to unmaking yourself and yet… yet, a part of you is ambivalent to this. The larger part is freaking out, though.

Everyone’s eyes are on you. You flinch. They shouldn’t be able to see you.

Checking your mental list of active charms, you realize you’ve made an error; in your grief-induced act of heroism, you dropped every single charm on your person and directed the energy toward Lilia. The cat’s out of the bag, it would seem.

Lilia is the first to recover, moving out of Alice’s protective hold, “Do you ever think?”

You bristle, yet to stand from your kneeling position. It gives her an advantage over you this once.

“Well and often.” You defend.

“Well?” She questions, beautiful in her terror and rage, “You call that thinking well? You could’ve been killed!”

“You were in danger, Lilia.”

“And you’re not allowed to interfere.”

Ignoring all the eyes on the two of you, Lilia turns and storms through the exit that opened. You watch the road-conjured costume melt back into her normal visage as she gets further away.

It’s then that you recognize the silence.

All of them are staring at you save for Agatha, who eyes Rio with a mixture of trepidation and understanding. You stand as gracefully as you can manage. Smoothing down your clothes, you try to smile, but the action feels slippery on your features. How long has it been?

“What is it with you witches and beautiful mysteries?” Jen asks, “And where can I get one?”

You flush and fidget. The weight of their attention is so much less pleasant than your beloved’s.

Alice tilts her head, “Who are you?”

Holding out your hand, you speak your name. Rio laughs. You blush, remembering that mortal creatures don’t comprehend the original language, not like the two of you. Lilia once said it sounded like botched latin. The coven exchanges various looks of confusion.

“Lilia just calls me—”

“A pain.” Lilia’s voice cuts in, “A very severe, persistent pain. Are you all coming?”

You’re the first to follow, which prompts no shortage of grumbling. You find yourself grinning.

---

“Well, at least we have extra help on The Road.” Jen shrugs, later.

“She can’t help.” Lilia and Rio say in unison.

The two share a look. You can read the distaste in Lilia’s eyes. She doesn’t seem to think much of Rio, not that you do either—and you actually know her.

“Seemed pretty eager to help you, Lilia.”

“A foolish, misguided mistake on her part.”

You flinch at the statement, staring down at your hands. With the charms gone, you witness their true appearance; one completely dark, as if left to char in ember, the other so pale-white it is near translucent.

The beauty of a mortal body with a mortal heart is a range of emotion you’d have never felt before. Though lately, the gift feels more like a burden. Pain is your ever-present companion these days. Even when you look at your beloved, the love that overtakes you is laced with poison; with the reminder of what you had to do.

You can’t bring yourself to wish away the heart in your chest. But you do wish Lilia would be a bit more gentle with it. You’re hardly in the position to make requests, though.

“I can assist in small ways. Taking a watch at night, tending the fire.”

“No.” Lilia shuts you down. You freeze, “You are to do nothing but observe. Have I made myself clear?”

“Yes, beloved.”

You ignore the look between Alice and Jen.

---

The end of The Road is so near you can practically taste it. It tastes of rot and chaos, but you put that down as a symptom of your disposition. You watch Lilia and the rest of the coven relax, inhaling deeply.

A smile teases at Lilia’s lips.

“What do you smell?” You whisper.

The smile doesn’t vanish as you expect. Rather, it extends to her eyes as she regards you.

“Your perfume.”

You melt. Knees like jelly, you take her hand in your own, and press a kiss to the back of it, ignoring the eyes on the two of you. The Witches Road will give you what you most desire at the end. And before the last trial, it gives the traveler a taste of what their prize is. She can’t reach the end without knowing the truth.

“This body wasn’t mine, did you know that?” You ask. Her expression shifts as she grows a bit more tense in your hold. You hold tighter, “The witch before me had a little over a century left in her when I came. As payment, I had to serve out the rest of her years without the one thing that made it feel like living.”

The words are tumbling from you faster than you can comprehend them. You watch her face, hoping that what you’re stringing together makes enough sense for her to see. Even if it takes some other force whispering the facts into her ear for her to understand, you’ll just be happy that she knows.

Lilia’s the brightest witch you’ve ever known. She’ll figure out what you’re saying, but you just can’t stop; you need to say the words you’ve been dying to say for all these years.

“I never wanted to leave you, beloved.”

There’s no privacy on this cursed road, but you don’t care. If she asked it of you, you’d tell every soul you met how you love her. Lilia Calderu owns your heart, but even more than that, she owns your soul, and you have no desire to take it from her hands—even if she decides to rip it to pieces as repayment.

Let the coven know how you lived a century-long prison sentence to be with her. Let Rio and the greater powers know. You have no shame.

Lilia sneers, “You foolish woman.”

Her hands fist in the front of your shirt and pull your lips to hers. It’s messy; a clash of teeth and lips and noses, a poor imitation of the world-tipping kisses the two of you have found in one another. You’re both horribly out of practice. Never let it be said, however, that passion does not make up for tact. The near-quivering of Lilia’s grip and the force of intent behind her kiss makes up for any clumsiness.

The time on The Road has left her lips chapped, bitter with the remnants of lipstick, and never before have you known something so utterly perfect. You wrap your arms around her waist and pull her close enough that not a breath can exist between you. She sighs against your lips.

A curse of a mortal body is the functions that a higher being like yourself wouldn’t deem necessary; in this case, the need your lungs have for oxygen. Your heart is beating out of your chest and not from desire.

You pull back, panting, forehead resting against Lilia’s.

Breath successfully acquired, you tilt your head and press your lips to Lilia’s cheek, her temple, her forehead—anywhere you can reach, murmuring, reverent, “Lilia. My Lilia.”

“Darling.” She whispers with every kiss, voice hushed with devotion.

A lifetime apart seen to its end. Your fingers still itch with the pent up desire to hold her despite doing so. You were shameless before, but now… Gods help her.

Rio watches the entire display with shameless interest. Her eyebrows are high, a small, curious smile on her lips. Teen had been the first to turn away and busy himself with watching The Road. Somewhere mid-kiss, the remaining three found something more pressing to devote their attention to.

The lack of seeing, however, does not stop Jen from sighing, “When will it be my turn?”

Alice laughs at her side.

---

“Did you know all along?”

Lilia looks up at Agatha’s hushed question. She takes in the messy, haggard, but satisfied look of her fellow witch. She also catches the look Agatha throws your way. You sit across the clearing, Teen at your side, listening with rapt attention as you explain something about the moon.

“I had a suspicion when you mentioned my fortune.” Lilia admits.

A suspicion. A burgeoning hope she hadn’t let herself acknowledge.

“Oh?”

“What is fortune if not a lack of balance?” She shrugs, unable to look away from you, “To change it meant the end of my pain.”

“Enter, your solution.”

“Solution and problem.”

The two share a wry laugh. Lilia’s careful not to ask any pointed questions about Rio, though curiosity does eat away at her. Is anyone better suited to appreciate her experience?

Rio, while polarizing, is beautiful—and seems to have attached herself to Agatha in a way best suited to the witch. There is a beauty in it. Though she admits she’ll always prefer your well-meaning brutality over that which Agatha receives. To each their own.

“The Road seems to play favorites, giving you your prize early.” Agatha muses.

“Having her isn’t the prize,” Lilia corrects, “keeping her is.”

Agatha hums, eyes contemplative.

You’re aware of the eyes on you from across the clearing, but pay it little attention, instead devoting yourself fully to the question Teen has asked you. Gesturing with your hands, you weave similarities between the First Coven and their own. He watches you with a starstruck expression.

Something in your conversation prompts him to tilt his head. He fiddles with the little spellbook attached to his hip. Your musings come to a natural close and he speaks up.

“Can I ask—why Lilia? I mean, she’s great, but I guess I don’t understand.” Teen changes the subject.

You smile.

“Do you know the average person’s response to upsetting the state of the world?” You ask. Teen thinks, then shakes his head, “There isn’t one. It doesn’t matter what they’ve undone in the grand scheme, they’re painfully ignorant of what they’ve done. And what’s worse, most don’t care.”

It’s an old grievance you have with the greater universe. You recognize the necessity of it, but will never deny how it grates on you.

“Lilia… Lilia spent a large part of her life as a harbinger of tragedy. She’d travel through villages and upturn their worlds with a prediction.” You sigh, chest aching with the pain you know she suffered, “But when she did, she always sought to fix it. There were times she leveled the scales so completely that I didn’t have to do a thing. Few had ever considered me in such a way before.”

You look up from your fidgeting hands to Lilia. Her eyes are already on you. The warm, steady weight of her gaze makes you melt.

“And the others, well, none of them were her.”

Teen nods, “That’s sweet. I think.”

You chuckle. In a moment of fondness, you ruffle the curls on his head. He rolls his eyes but allows the contact; how do you tell a force of nature no?

---

You stare back down The Road with the coven. Though the return journey will be without any of the usual hassles, you curse the greater powers for not just providing an exit door. Your feet are killing you.

Lilia looks weary despite having rested. You rub a hand over her back, working out the knots you find with a skilled hand. She sighs.

“Where do we go from here?” She asks.

You raise a brow, “Back to the start of The Road.”

Lilia glares, though it lacks significant heat, “Us, darling.”

Ah.

“Wherever you lead, beloved.”

“That’s a lot of control.”

“Give me a century or so and I’ll start making decisions again.”

Her fingers lace through your own. Lilia stares down the length of The Road she has traversed and conquered, yet the greatest battle lies beyond. The world will never again be the same for her.

You raise her hand to your lips. You press gentle kisses to the knuckles.

“To the return of your glory.” You murmur.

Lilia looks at you for a long moment. Using your hold, she pulls you down, into a short but mind-numbing kiss. You hold tight and sigh, content.

She corrects, “To the return of balance.”

[elleaitch22]

Terms of Endearment

Chapter 6: Peace, Interrupted

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

A/N: Busy week this week, so I hope I'll be able to post chapter 7 by Wednesday! I hope you love it!! xx Elle

Warnings: Emotional abuse recovery and homophobia

Word Count: 3.4k

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Azzi blinked slowly, as sunlight began to peek through the curtains of her new bedroom. For a moment, she just lay there, listening to the quiet. No sirens, no shouting, no heels clicking outside her window. It was different. Peaceful.

Chicago was a city that never slept, but on the 59th floor of the Aurelia, Azzi finally could.

This was the first weekend she had been able to go to sleep before 3 a.m. since moving to Chicago. Now that she was free of Maison Noire, she would not be going back, ever. She had no more late-night shifts or weird customers, all because of Paige.

She nuzzled further into the soft, silky sheets and inhaled deeply. The lavender scented detergent lingered in the air, soothing Azzi’s nerves. She was rested now. She could think about Paige and all these handouts with a fully present mind.

A condo. A driver. Money. Too much money.

On one hand, Azzi wanted to say that it was a more acceptable form of what Grant was doing to her. But Jana’s comment from yesterday popped back into her head.

They said I’m family now.

And Paige? Paige clearly took care of her family.

Azzi decided she should wait it out.

People always show you who they are if you give them enough time.

She rolled out of bed, padding barefoot across the wooden floor to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth, twisted the front of her hair into a bun, and slipped into some leggings and an oversized t-shirt from her dad. She sighed as she pulled on a pair of fuzzy socks – Azzi hated cold floors.

She sat at the table, cataloging what the apartment had and listed what she still needed. She was still doing an inventory of the refrigerator’s contents when she heard a knock on her front door.

Unlike yesterday, Azzi was fully awake – awake enough to panic. Had Grant found her?

Breathe, Azzi. No one knows you live here, except for safe people.

Peeking  in the peephole, she saw Ice outside balancing a tray of coffee on top of a stack of books.

She flung the door open. “Let me take some of that for you!” She exclaimed.

Ice handed off the tray and followed her into the living room.

“No shoes inside,” Azzi added.

Ice kicked her Crocs off by the door with a playful smirk, before continuing into the apartment with a slight grimace. “I’m so happy Paige sent me,” she started, “This place is making me depressed.”

Azzi ducked her head and blushed. “Excuse me,” putting a hand to her chest dramatically. “Somebody decided to move me out of my old palace and move me into this dump with no notice!”

The women giggled, “Seriously though, I’m excited to help you make this space come to life! First things first, what kind of vibes are you wanting?”

“Oh,” she paused to think. Azzi was already indecisive, but her previous relationship did not help with that. “Um, maybe just a calm vibe?” She said, unsure.

“Well, there are many different ways we could style calm. We could do forest calm with lots of greens and browns. We could do beachy calm with blues and taupes. Or we could do a darker calm, grays, blacks, and whites. Which would you pre–”

Before Ice could finish her statement, Azzi’s front door opened. “What’s up girly pops!” KK strolled into the kitchen happily. She plopped onto the couch. “Am I late?”

“Who even invited you, Kamorea?” Ice rolled her eyes.

“Girl boo!” She turned to Azzi. “Paige said y’all were gonna meet up today, and I felt let out. I’m here to help!” She beamed.

Azzi loved the happy and lighthearted energy KK brought everywhere she went. She understood why everyone liked her so much. “Thanks for coming, KK. Do you guys want some breakfast? I was going to make an omelet before Ice came over.”

Both women put their order in with Azzi, Ice moving to the dining room to make a few sample boards for Azzi to choose from, while KK followed Azzi into the kitchen.

The next thirty minutes were filled with rapid fire questions.

Why do you work with children? Do they annoy you? What do you do when you’re mad? Do you ever lose your temper? What made you want to teach anyway? What’s your favorite food? Are you allergic to anything? Did you know Soleil is allergic to gluten too? Twins! How do you feel about the arrangement and everything? Is there anything we can do to make this easier for you? Do you know how hard it is to get into our family? You know you can always ask us for help? Am I your favorite so far? Do you have social media? Can you send me your handles? Oh, you don’t have my number, here. The most important question, what are all your favorites? Food, color, season, vacation, place, restaurant, movie, show, artist, song, book, smell, holiday.

Azzi had felt like she’d undergone an interrogation, not as aggressive as it could have been, but KK was obviously fishing for information.

She didn’t mind though. Initially, she felt almost guilty, laughing and joking with her new friends. Grant never allowed her to have girl time. During the first thirty minutes of Ice and KK’s visit, Azzi looked towards the front door every two or three minutes. She was tense, bracing herself for the angry tirade Grant would go on when he got home.

Over time, Azzi’s shoulders involuntarily loosened. Her laugh came easier. And her jokes and sarcasm flowed naturally. She could breathe deeply because she had friends. For the first time in a long time, Azzi had girlfriends again. The thought made her heart stutter in her chest.

“Shut up, KK.” Ice groaned, “Azzi, come pick a sample board before Paige murders me for wasting time.”

Ice had composed seven different options for Azzi to choose from. Which was lovely, except for the fact that Azzi hated making decisions like this. She would rather someone else chose so she didn’t have to sit there stuck on the same question for five hours. She was grateful that she was cooking, so she had something else to occupy her mind.

Azzi knew she didn’t like the ones that were mostly monochromatic, which eliminated three of the seven options. She wasn’t really a fan of the palette with only different shades of brown.

She served the ladies their omelets while she looked closer had the different sample boards. She narrowed it down to three options. Baby pinks, dark teals, and golds. Pinks, oranges, and yellows. And blues and greens.

Without vegetables to cut and omelets to make, Azzi had no more distractions.

Her hands wringed together anxiously. She didn’t want to make the wrong choice.

You can’t even pick which colors you want in your house? You’re a worthless fucking idiot.

“I kinda of like the one with the orange.” Ice said when she saw how flustered Azzi was getting. “Besides, it’s no big deal. If you don’t like it, we can always change it later.”

“Yeah, girly pop! For once, Ice is right! If you do the orange, you can do more happy colors. Like you can have those yellow pillows, and orange and pick rug, and a pink couch! You can have fun in here, and if you decide you don’t like it, fuck it!” KK’s logic made perfect sense to Azzi in that moment.

She swallowed thickly, head jerking in a nod. “S-sorry, sometimes it’s hard for me to make decisions.”

Both women looked at her, sadness in their eyes. “It’s not that bad. My ex, Grant, used to make all the decisions. He was a little controlling, and it’s just a little hard to remember he’s not in charge anymore.” Azzi finished, looking down as the empty plate.

Before either woman could answer, Azzi phone rang loudly. For a second, she was a statue. Fuck, had he found her already?

“Are you gonna get that?” Ice questioned lowly.

Jogging to her room to get the device, her brow furrowed. What the hell is her school doing calling her on a Sunday.

She waited to pick up, “Sorry guys, it’s my boss. Are you cool with waiting for a second?”

Ice nodded, gathering her things quickly. “Yeah, that’s fine. I need to get these plans to Paige so they can be finished sooner.”

KK still had half her omelet, so she stayed – and ended up hearing everything.

“Good morning, Mr. Smith. I hope you’re having a good Sunday.” Azzi’s voice was filled with false cheer. She was still salty over the meeting with Paige and Soleil.

“My day would be a lot better if one of my teachers wasn’t photographed being a harlot!” The principal sneered.

Azzi reeled back, like she’d been slapped. “Excuse me?”

You’re just a slut, Azzi. Not worth anything but your mouth and your cunt.

“I’ve had seventeen parents find me during the service to say their children don’t deserve to be corrupted by someone like you. You’re fired effect–”

Azzi’s eyes bug out of her head. “Fired?” She screeches.

“This can’t be surprising to you, Ms. Fudd. After I just talked to you about your behavior, you start dating your student’s parent!” Mr. Smith fusses.

“That’s not fair!” Azzi exclaims. “Mrs. Baker used–!”

Mr. Smith cut her off. “Well, Mrs. Baker isn’t a lesbian. That goes against our code of conduct. Please be here at 6 tomorrow morning to clean out your belongings.”

Click.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hit something.

Everything Grant had said to her came rushing back in.

You’ll open your legs for anyone who gives you a little attention. You’re a fucking whore. You think that guy’s gonna want you when he sees how used up you are? I’m so happy I don’t have kids because I could never leave them with you. You’re too fucking stupid to know how to teach them anything. The only thing you’re good at is sucking dick and laying on your back. You’re fucking pathetic. Worthless. Useless. You should be grateful I love you so much because no one else would put up with this shit.

Azzi was spiraling.

KK winced at the guttural sobs coming from Azzi’s room. She felt white hot rage at the things she overheard. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to fix it.

So she waited.

She washed the cutting boards and pans Azzi used to make breakfast. She wiped down the sink and countertops. She made sure everything was put away.

But Azzi didn’t come out. KK still heard sniffling coming from the bedroom, and she sighed. She was about to sit on the couch and wait a little longer before a thought popped in her mind. She knew exactly who could fix this.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

Paige smiled softly, looking at the options Azzi selected for her space. This was probably one of the best ideas she had. She got to dump out piles of money for the brunette, she was able to make sure she had a friend here, and, if KK had done what she was supposed to do, she would know a little more about Azzi Fudd.

Ice was getting to office furnishings when KK burst in.

“Azzi just got fired!”

The chatter between the two women stilled, heads snapping up. “KK what are you talking about?” Ice questioned.

“I heard it. Her principal called. He just fired her for dating Paige. Pictures were going around and parents were complaining.” Her voice was firm, face blank. KK was serious.

The best friends looked at Paige warily. “You didn’t think about that?” Ice questioned sharply.

For once, Paige stuttered. “I-I thought I covered everything.” Rubbing her temples, leg bouncing. “I told Q to bury the story. I paid her ten thousand dollars to make everything go away. She brought me the card with all the pictures on it.”

She was pissed. Obviously at the school, but also with herself. Paige Bueckers was always supposed to be ten steps ahead of everyone else. It was why she assigned Morgan to Azzi, why she moved her into her building. She went on this whole tirade about the media getting information about her, she didn’t even think about the repercussions it would have on her. A queer Black woman working at a Christian school.

Paige didn’t know how she looked at Azzi until she looked at the photos Q had dropped off. Anyone with eyes and a brain could see the hungry gaze Paige gave her. They could see the want as she looked at Azzi painting with Soleil. The heat in her blue eyes was evident during their dance. Of course the school would think they were together.

“FUCK!”

“Mommy, that’s a bad wowd.” Soleil looked up from her LEGO tower, hand extended. “You owe me ten dollaws.”

Paige sighed, forcing herself to calm down. “I’m sorry honey.” She fished a bill out from her wallet, “I was doing so well too.”

“It’s okay! Now I can get some ice cweam!” She smiled brightly.

“I’ll take her! Fire and Ice adventure time.” Ice beamed. Soleil squealed with excitement.

All the control Paige normally had was gone. For years, she’d controlled every narrative about herself. But she lost control last night – she let everyone see how much she wanted Azzi. And she got hurt because of it. She embarrassed her. Cost her everything.

Anyone could see how much Azzi loved her job. It was in the smile she wore when she saw her students. It was in the way her classroom was decorated. It was in the way she talked to children as equals, not second class citizens.

She loved that job. She needed that job. And Paige had gone and fucked it all up.

She’s going to leave. She’s going to leave Soleil.

Paige shook her head. No. Fuck no. She wouldn’t let her mistake screw with Soleil too.

She was going to fix this. She had to fix this. She would have Allie draft a lawsuit. She would buy the school if she needed. She would take all that money for the library and move Lei to a different school. A better school.

Nothing can undo what you did. Paige deflated, lifting her head from her hands.

“She really liked her job.” KK muttered, face serious. “She wouldn’t shut up about it.”

“I know,” Blue eyes traced the designs on the rug.

“Do you want me to get Nika?” Paige nodded sharply.

Nika would know what to do. It was half her job – being the COO and CMO of Kairos Equity meant that she would know how to handle scandals and negotiations. She would tell Paige what to do.

Paige pulled out her phone to text Allie, her lawyer, when Nika’s heels clacked across the polished floors.

“KK told me what happened. What are you thinking?” She cut straight to the point.

Paige ran her hands down her pale face. “Fuck, this is all my fault.” How the fuck was she supposed to prove that she would be good enough for Azzi if she couldn’t even think enough to know that she’d get fired if their “relationship” was publicized? “Nik. I need you to help me fix this. I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me if she can’t keep her job.”

Nika placed a warm hand on Paige’s shoulder. “Nothing like that’s gonna happen. I’ll fix it. Everyone knows you can’t fire someone for their sexuality; there are federal laws to support her. I’ll call Allie and have her look into it. You just need to relax.”

Paige heard the things Nika was saying, but she didn’t quite believe her. Azzi was a good teacher, and Paige’s ignorance costed her a job she was very good at.

“Have you talked to her yet?” Nika asked lowly.

The blonde shood her head, “I was planning on it. Was gonna start with talking about the shit with Ice, then try to get to know her.” She muttered.

“Oh,” Nika breathed. “That’s why you care so much.”

Paige’s head shot up, “What are you talking about.”

“You like her.” She smirked. “You’re trying to woo her, and you think she’s going to be so upset that she doesn’t give you a chance.” The stupid little smirk had turned into a full-blown grin.

“Shut up.” Through clenched teeth. “You really think she’s gonna want to talk to me today? Much less share a meal with me? She should hate me.”

“Suck it up, buttercup!” Nika says, rising from the couch. “Just ask her. She’s nice, so it’s not like she’ll say no. Use your charm and you’ll be fine. Just get her to dinner and talk to her.”

Paige pouted for a little while before doing what her big sister told her to do.

First, she texted Ice and asked her to come back after ice cream so they could finish ordering things for Azzi’s apartment.

Dinner tonight? I’ll be down to get you at 7. Wear whatever makes you comfortable.

Simple. Paige launched her phone to the sofa on the opposite side of the living room. Elbows on knees, she waited for the ding of a text message.

Ding

Azzi Fudd: How fancy is this place?

Paige sighed, she should’ve known Nika was right.

It can be casual or fancy. We’re in a private room. Wear anything but sweats.

The next ding came at the same time of the elevator.

Azzi Fudd: See you at 7

Paige only had a few seconds to wipe the smile off her face before Ice walked in.

Tonight was going to be perfect. It had to be.

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Azzi was confused.

From what she remembered, they had to do one outing a week. They had just spent the entire night at a gala. Cameras followed their every move, surely that had to be enough, right?

Maybe it’s a date?  She wouldn’t mind getting to know Paige better. She was pretty, intelligent, and she had the perfect daughter. She was protective enough to make Azzi feel safe, and that is probably why she was dangerous. Grant made her feel safe too, it didn’t last long, but he did.

She knew the signs to look for now. How to differentiate between being controlling and being assertive. She wouldn’t let herself be with someone life Grant again.

Besides, Azzi knew the Paige was out of her league. She’s one of the richest women in the United States. She had seen countless articles about her being the most wanted bachelorette. She’d had girls thirsting over her since she was in high school. She could have anyone she ever wanted, and she didn’t want Azzi. No. She just pitied and appreciated her enough to adopt her into her makeshift family.

Azzi figured she should take advantage of her situation and get as much free stuff as she should. She’d be able to heal her heart later, but pretty blondes who are willing to spoil you don’t come around often.

She was grateful for the distraction the dinner would provide.

She padded to the kitchen, digging for a spoon and some ice cream, before plopping down on the couch. She set an alarm for 5:00 so she’d have enough time to get ready, opting to watch Grey’s Anatomy in the meantime.

The show still played in the background while Azzi was getting ready. She browsed her closet and landed on a burnt orange mini dress. The lightweight fabric flowed while still showing her figure. She paired it with strappy, brown sandals and a light jacket. She pulled her hair up into a tasteful puff, and after adding a light layer of makeup, she felt ready.

Paige knocked on the door promptly at 6:30. She wore an all cream Honor the Gift outfit, a pair of Nike dunk lows, and a nice Dior bracelet. Her hair was left down and in gentle waves. She looked effortlessly beautiful, and Azzi felt a little better about letting the pretty woman ruin her life.

“Hey. I should’ve asked this earlier, but are you allergic to anything?” Paige asked as they walked to the elevator.

 “Just gluten, like Soleil. I miss eating things that brought me joy.” She joked.

“Perfect, the restaurant I chose has a great gluten free menu.”

Azzi let Paige lead her, waiting to see how this night would turn out.

[7-deadly-cats]

killing me softly | 6

K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

✿ G E N R E ✿ she fell first, he fell harder | slice of life | drama

✿ P A I R I N G ✿ s1!rafe cameron x overthinking!reader (f)

✿ C O N T E N T W A R N I N G ✿ swearing, overthinking/anxiety, reader being lowkey dramatic lol

✿ S U M M A R Y O F L A S T P A R T ✿ you and rafe arrived at kelce's. inside, you enjoyed kelce's self-made pizza with the three boys, though afterward rafe kept making cryptic comments about you and kelce. after an awkward back-and-forth with rafe about whether you’re interested in kelce, you both settled in to work on your project, only for rafe to unexpectedly invite you to his place the next evening. as you realized his house will be empty, it dawned on you that he might be setting the stage for a hookup.

✿ W O R D C O U N T ✿ 4.2k+

✿ A / N ✿ this one has less action or rather serves more as a little breather bc i wanted to focus more on what's going on in reader's head as well as rafe's hihihi. next part will have them interacting in person again :) i hope you guys enjoy and as always super thankful for any support <33

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

W E E K O N E // T U E S D A Y

With a slightly lighter feeling in your chest and a deep sigh, you let your phone slip into your bag.

Most of your conversations with Cara about guys were filled with delusions but every now and then, she somehow found the right words to quiet your overanalyzing brain.

At least for a moment.

You turned onto the street leading to your house, grateful for the short walk and the fresh air—though the sun beating down on your cheeks made them feel even warmer than they already were.

Your place was just a short walk from Kelce's, practically around the corner, and honestly, you couldn’t have handled another car ride with Rafe today. Not that it mattered—he hadn’t offered one anyway which, for some reason, stung more than it should have. So you’d just said goodbye to the three of them, thanked Kelce for the pizza, and left.

And yet, you couldn’t shake how weird the energy between you and Rafe had been after he’d brought up the idea of going to his place tomorrow.

Ugh, you didn’t even want to think about it anymore—it made your stomach twist—but your brain kept replaying the conversation on a loop.

"My dad and Rose are at some charity event. Wheezie's on a school trip this week, and Sarah can do whatever she wants, I don't care."

The moment those words had left his mouth, you knew he had to have something else in mind besides just working on a school project.

Or maybe you were completely wrong. Maybe his grade actually mattered to him because he needed it to graduate and it was just pure coincidence that he would have the house to himself that night. It’s not like he’d explicitly said he was expecting anything more.

In fact, hadn’t he even mentioned that it’d be more relaxing for you to work in a quieter space than at school? Plus, his weird attempt at trying to calm your nerves with the fidget spinner in his car before that...

Shit, maybe he is just trying to be nice. Maybe this really was just about making sure you were comfortable.

But if it wasn’t… Because somehow, it was hard to believe that Rafe Cameron gave a damn about you… especially after just two days of barely getting to know each other.

So, if you had accepted and the whole thing would've turned out to be a setup for a hookup, then that would've seriously been the end of you. You’d panic, probably overreact, and make things painfully awkward—or worse, you’d go along with it out of some stupid fear of looking like a clueless virgin and blowing your unrealistic shot with him.

Just thinking of the idea of having your first time with Rafe Cameron, embarrassing yourself in the process, and—OH GOD.

This was all so… UGH.

You pulled out your keys and stepped into the house, stomach twisting uncomfortably. Your parents were both busy with work, so you made a beeline for your room and collapsed onto your bed.

But isn’t this what I’ve always wanted? Some kind of connection with him, no matter how.

You frowned.

No. Not like this.

Maybe—okay, definitely—you were spiraling, overthinking everything, and projecting ideas onto him that weren’t even real. Because the truth was, Rafe wasn’t even a fuckboy. You knew that. Yeah, every now and then he was seen leaving a party with a girl, but normally, he'd spend the night with Kelce, Topper, and some other guys in some back room, doing coke or other stupid boy stuff.

Great. Now you felt like shit for having completely overreacted. You’d shoved the poor guy into a box and immediately assumed he was just trying to sleep with you.

Which was so stupid—and totally contradicted what you’d been thinking before: that he didn’t want anything to do with you at all.

What the hell is wrong with me?

You buried your face in a pillow and let out a frustrated groan. Your brain had been running at full speed for the past two days. Cara was right. You were overthinking—just in the opposite direction this time.

And yet… you still didn’t know Rafe’s real intentions and the fear of the unknown was too overwhelming for you to just take that risk.

That’s why earlier you had simply smiled and said, "That’s really nice, the invite, I mean, but I already made plans with Cara tomorrow afternoon to help her clean out her closet and I have no idea how long that’ll take. Besides, it’s your family-free evening—wouldn’t want you wasting that on a school project."

It was a lie. You hadn't have planned anything with Cara but what else were you supposed to say?

On the first glimpse, Rafe had actually taken it better than you'd expected. He had just shrugged and said, "Okay. Guess you're not as much of a nerd as I thought."

You’d given him another nervous smile, and that was it. The topic was closed, and you both went back to working.

But you knew better.

Your whole life, you’d been hyper-aware of the smallest details around you—how someone looked at you, how they reacted, how they spoke, whether they were actually listening, how they behaved after an interaction, the way they smiled—did it reach their eyes or not?

In short, you noticed everything.

And when it came to Rafe, your brain was running on overdrive because that guy? He was a fucking thousand-sided Rubix cube.

Even though he often said unfiltered things without a second thought, his body language always told a much bigger story. That much you had learned in the last two days.

Which was why you had definitely caught the slight hesitation, the barely-there crease of his brows before he had responded. And in that split second, you knew—he hadn’t liked getting turned down.

Rafe Cameron had an ego. A big one. That much was obvious. And someone like him didn’t take it well when things didn’t go his way—whatever his true intentions with that invitation had been.

So it hadn’t surprised you when he sat a little farther from you after coming back from the bathroom, sinking deeper into the couch with his arms crossed. When his answers and input on the project became noticeably shorter, when his eyes drifted to his phone more often, his leg bouncing slightly, or when that effortless charm—the kind you’d assumed was just second nature to him—suddenly felt replaced by a forced, detached sense of cooperation.

Simply put, he probably wasn’t used to rejection. And you had pissed him off.

If it had been Cara or any of your other friends, you would have said something—you hated dealing with that kind of tension. But Rafe wasn’t a close friend, nor was he anywhere near the phase of becoming one.

So, you had endured the rest of the hour with spinning thoughts and felt nothing but relief when he had finally called it a day.

When you walked with Rafe to the porch to say goodbye to Kelce and Topper, you politely declined when Kelce asked if you wanted to stay longer. Said something along the lines of you not being Rafe’s "little nerd bitch" or some shit like that and that the invitation to his place also included you actually hanging out with them.

Whatever that was supposed to mean.

Not that it mattered. You didn’t care about Kelce. It was the way Rafe had simply given you a nod for a goodbye that had left a bitter taste in your mouth.

And maybe it was in that moment—or rather, in the lack of his usual energy—that you'd realized this was how he treated people who meant absolutely nothing to him.

This, in turn, had sent you spiraling into the worst overthinking session of your life because—WHAT THE HELL DID RAFE CAMERON EVEN WANT?

A good grade? Someone to carry him through art class? A new friends-with-benefits-girlie he would drop after two weeks? A one-time hookup? A harmless friendship? Just the thrill of throwing you off your game?

A relationship was out of the question—he had never shown any interest in that during all his years at Kildare Academy. Every girl who had ever gotten involved with him knew that.

So, be for fucking real, what the hell did he want from you?

You wanted to text him right then and there. Hey, so, um, I’ve had a crush on you since fifth grade haha, and now that we’ve actually spent some time together, I keep getting these weird-ass signals from you hahahahha, soooo… what the actual fuck is your problem?

You squinted your eyes in embarrassment and ran your hands over your face in frustration.

Cara would do it, you thought. She’d write the damn text—or hell, even send a voice memo or call him outright. She hated mixed signals with a passion, and something like this, no matter how small, was the kind of thing she wouldn’t just let slide.

Shit. You know what? Why not? Huh? Why shouldn’t I do the same?

Your fingers were already pulling up your phone, hovering over Rafe’s chat. But then you hesitated. Aside from the fact that this was a total impulse move, what the hell were you even supposed to say?

Realistically.

Because no matter how you'd phrase it, bringing up weird vibes after just two days would make you sound like some kind of psycho.

Who the hell does that?

Fuck, but why was this messing with your head so much? Why did it bother you so damn much that he’d acted even slightly different? Sure, yeah, you had a crush on him but why were his mood swings affecting you like crazy?

Okay. Relax. Seriously.

Maybe you should text him something else first—just to test the waters. See if he really was being distant, or if you were just spiraling over nothing.

Yeah. Yeah! That sounded like a plan (not a good one but if you didn't do anything you'd go crazy in the next few hours).

And the moment you hit send, all the courage and impulsiveness drained from your body in an instant.

What was Rafe going to think…? Not even an hour had passed since you'd said goodbye, and here you were texting him?

Plus, the text itself sounded so... FUCKING FAKE OH MY HOLY SHIT, UGH THIS WASN'T YOU.

FUCKING HELL, this was so embarrassing. He definitely thinks I’m absolutely desperate for him now. Okay, maybe I can still delete the message before he—

Oh.

Your heart sank straight through the floor, and you suddenly wanted to crawl under your blanket and never see the light of day again.

So he really was annoyed in some way.

Okay, okay, no big deal, everything’s fine, it's all good hahahahah.

Except your pulse was racing, and your thoughts were spiraling. That one SpongeBob meme with the burning brain and all the little panicked SpongeBobs running around? That was exactly what was happening in your head right now.

Frantically, you started typing your next message.

The worst part about this whole situation wasn’t this absolutely terrible fake-ass message that made you look even more desperate and needy after his half-assed reply. It wasn’t even the fact that he had read it immediately. Nope—what really did it was the fact that, despite having read it right away, he didn’t respond for the next thirty minutes. And not even in the thirty afterward.

And that was the final blow for today. Completely embarrassed and feeling sick to your stomach, you shut off your phone, buried yourself under your blanket, put on your headphones, and let some random Netflix garbage play in the background. You didn't even bother texting Cara because of how horrible you felt.

Because the truly humiliating part? A tiny part in you, probably your stupid 11-year-old-self, had actually believed, for even a second, that there was some kind of spark between you and Rafe—that maybe, just maybe, he had seen something in the quiet girl who sat on the sidelines in class and at parties.

And even worse? The fact you were reacting this intensely to an absolutely non-intense situation. After. Two. Fucking. Days.

But deep down, it wasn’t just about this one moment. It was the disappointment of having been into Rafe for years, finally getting to interact with him for real, and then not getting to live out the before-bedtime scenario that had played out in your head so many times before.

Or maybe it was simply that his reaction had pretty much confirmed what you were trying not to admit: If he had wanted anything from you at all, it was probably something shallow. And your refusal to come over tomorrow had bruised his ego.

Whatever. Screw this. Screw Rafe, his stupid comments, his smug little grin—screw all of it.

You turned up the volume of the movie, trying in vain to drown out your spiraling thoughts. But your mind was a curse and you couldn’t stop wondering what Rafe actually thought of you.

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"And now she suddenly wants to meet up again," Rafe said, squinting irritated at your last message. "After bailing on tomorrow. No clue what kind of bullshit this is."

Topper tilted his head. "Thought she just didn’t have time?"

"Yeah, sure. Because she has to help her friend clean out her closet." Rafe scoffed, exhaling annoyed as he let his phone drop onto the porch couch. "I know bullshit excuses when I hear them. Sarah pulls the same crap all the time when she doesn’t feel like helping Rose out."

Kelce nearly choked on a hit from his hookah. "I don’t know, man, sounds to me like big bad Rafe Cameron just can’t handle getting curved for once."

Rafe’s brows furrowed. "Keep your fucking mouth shut. The only girls you pull are the ones too drunk to recognize your ugly ass." He crossed his arms, shaking his head. "This is some bullshit. I just wanted to get this fucking project done and now it's getting dragged out even more."

"Oh, of course," Kelce smirked, winking. "It's just about the project. It’s fine, bro, you can admit she’s a cute chick."

Topper nodded. "Yeah, she seems nice. Really quiet but not in a bad way, you know?"

"And?" Rafe pulled a face. "She called Kelce ‘nice’ too but we both know he’s a shitface."

This time, Kelce actually choked on the hookah smoke. "She did?"

"I’m just saying, she’s not loud and all over you like the girls that you usually hang out with", Topper replied, scratching his chin. "I also don't remember her ever being involved in any weird girl drama."

Rafe let out a dry laugh. "Nah, the way she acts sometimes? Makes me think I'm talking to two different people. One moment she's all shy and anxious and the next she's got this big ass attitude like she's on some Two-Face type shit."

"Oh, I bet she's a freak under all that shy girl exterior", Kelce said, grinning, but the other two ignored him.

"So, you're weirded out because she got a ... personality?" Topper asked and shook his head as if he couldn’t quite keep up. "Not everyone's as upfront with their self as Kelce, you know."

Rafe crossed his arms behind his head, already annoyed by this whole conversation. He didn’t even know why he was talking to these two idiots about you in the first place.

"I'm just pissed off at whatever bullshit she has suddenly going on", he said.

Topper raised an eyebrow. "Okay but why didn't you call her out immediately?"

"Yeah", Kelce chimed in. "Always talking big and now you puss out."

Rafe narrowed his eyes like he was debating whether to deck Kelce or let his bullshit slide. "Because I need this stupid project to work out." Rafe shook his head, his expression twisting slightly, feeling weirded out by this whole conversation. "And 'cause she’s always so fucking tense and nervous like I'm holding her at gunpoint. Shit's annoying as fuck."

He scoffed but he couldn't shake the feeling that you were indeed throwing him off in some weird inexplicable way. And sometimes your cautious behavior reminded him of Wheezie which somehow made your nervousness feel familiar.

"Sounds like she’s pissed she got stuck with you as a partner, bro", Kelce said, leaning back in his chair with a smug grin. "Probably figured out you’re just hanging on her ass to pass the class."

For some reason, that pissed Rafe off more than it should have but before he could snap back, Topper cut in. "I think you’re just overwhelming her."

Both Rafe and Kelce turned to him with matching confused stares.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" Rafe pulled a face.

Topper shrugged. "Bringing her straight here, you know… I mean Kelce alone is already a lot and maybe this was just moving too fast for her, I don't know. She doesn't seem the type to hang out with guys a lot."

"Moving too fast—Topper, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"I’m just saying—"

"She thinks you're trying to get into her pants", Kelce explained.

This time, it was Topper who pulled a face. "No! That’s not—"

"Okay," Rafe cut him off, rubbing his nose in irritation. "Both of you shut the fuck up. Neither of you knows shit."

Kelce smirked. "Aww, sounds like she's messing with your head."

That was enough. Rafe would’ve loved nothing more than to slam his fist into Kelce’s face right then and there but instead he stood up, grabbing his keys. "Okay, heard enough bullshit from you today."

Kelce just waved after him. "See you tomorrow, bro."

And yet, as much as that conversation with the two biggest idiots on Earth had irritated Rafe, it had also made him think. Which was a damn weird feeling because normally, he didn’t waste a second thought on stuff like this—or better yet, on any girl.

Especially not one who'd never really caught his attention in all the years at Kildare Academy. Sure, somewhere in the back of his mind, his subconscious had probably registered your presence. He knew you existed—your last name was recognizable, after all.

But as a person? You were more of a fleeting thought, like Oh shit, she actually talks? whenever you spoke up in class every few weeks, or Huh, guess she has a personality, when you were tipsy on some random couch, laughing loudly with your friend at a party.

But that was about it. Rafe wasn’t the kind of guy to waste brainpower on what he saw as background characters who occasionally made noise. And besides, he wasn’t exactly drawn to what appeared like boredom.

So, at first, he was actually kind of annoyed when Mr. Smith paired him up with the quiet girl. Because, yeah—as his graduation forecast had made clear, Art might be his ticket to scraping by in high school, but how the hell was he supposed to pull that off if his partner was basically a mute rock?

On top of that, you seemed like a total nerd, and he figured if you realized he wasn’t going to put in any effort, you’d rat him out. That would be the end of his diploma, meaning his dad would be horribly disappointed and that was something Rafe was trying his hardest to avoid. No way in hell would he allow Sarah to be the family's favorite.

So, he was determined to get this project over with as fast and as well done as possible. First day, straight to work, setting the base for this shitty project, sticking to your side to make you believe he was trying to put in effort. That had to be the way to impress someone like you, right?

Yeah, he’d expected your first lunch together to end in painfully awkward silence—the kind that would have him wanting to put a bullet in his head from sheer boredom.

He'd been wrong.

Sure, at first, he’d had to push things along but with a shy girl like you that was to be expected. What he hadn’t predicted was how blunt you were without you even realizing it. And the absolute crazy part? If Kelce, Topper, that bitch Ruthie, or literally anyone else said the things you did, it would made his blood boil.

But somehow, with you, it didn’t feel like ... you were mocking or judging him or some shit like that. Your honesty surprised him so much that most of the time he was too amused to seriously confront you about it.

In fact, Rafe found it oddly refreshing.

On top of that, he was used to people sucking up to him, trying to get on his good side because of his dad, or going out of their way to impress him. And why wouldn’t they? He was a fucking Cameron. But you? No clue what was wrong with you but you acted like you were trying to do the exact opposite.

You didn’t try to grab his attention. Most of the time you didn’t just sit there when he ran his mouth. You didn’t kiss his ass with over-the-top compliments or ask about the family business with that fake, polite bullshit—no, you had actually asked him how he was doing today.

Right after he'd asked you to wait in the car when that fucking idiot Scott had shown up, trying to buy a bag of coke. Rafe had nearly slammed him against the damn car—because how fucking stupid could you be, doing that on school grounds? Afterward, he’d been pissed. But instead of teasing him about it or lecturing him about his attitude like his dad would have, you’d just… asked if he was okay.

And the worst part? You actually seemed like you'd meant it.

For a split second, Rafe had even considered venting on how much everything pissed him off. Not just the jerk Scott, no fucking everything that had been on his mind in the past few weeks. Shit, he was glad he'd held back because what made him even consider it?

The fact, you'd somehow given him the feeling of not being judged??? The fuck. Shit, he'd probably sniffed a line too much last weekend because this was fucking crazy.

That would also explain why he had been so tense today. Like when it had pissed him off when Kelce had been drooling over you today. Or when Topper had started sucking up to you—probably just hoping to get another shot with your best friend through you but still, somehow Rafe had to try even harder to hold back his temper than usual.

Shit, up until now, he hadn’t given a single fuck about you. But this? Whatever the hell had flipped in his brain after Kelce had opened his mouth when he first spotted you two... it was messing with him.

And why he had asked you so insistently about Kelce earlier? Rafe had no fucking idea. All he knew was that it bugged him when you'd changed the subject instead of giving him a straight answer.

Oh, and then you had the nerve to turn down his invitation to continue this stupid project tomorrow at his place—with some cheap-ass excuse? Holy shit, that had really pissed him off.

Rafe couldn’t afford to screw up this project though, or he would’ve called you out on it right then and there. Because why the fuck would you say no—unless you actually couldn’t stand him?

Or was that idiot Topper right? Was Rafe being too overwhelming or some shit like that? Of course, he had noticed that you seemed to spend a lot of time in your own head—Wheezie was like that and it wasn't always for the better. So, was there a possibility that you were overthinking his invitation like you had with the whole coming-over-to-Kelce situation?

The thought made him scowl.

Silently, Rafe pulled his Mercedes into the Tannyhill garage and shut off the engine, his fingers drumming relentlessly on the steering wheel.

What Kelce had said came back into his mind and his mood went down through the floor. Rafe knew that idiot didn't know shit and he'd just been running his mouth as usual and yet it messed with Rafe's head.

But did you actually think he was trying to get in your pants?

Sure, he wasn’t gonna lie—you were pretty to look at. But Rafe wasn’t some horny dog trying to shove his dick up the ass of every random girl he met. And he'd thought he'd made that very clear. In fact, just yesterday at lunch, you'd also made it very clear you did NOT think of him like that.

So what the fuck was your problem?

Pissed off, Rafe picked up his phone from the middle console, eyeing your last text message. You wanted to meet up again on Thursday. The fuck? Was this some kind of fucked up power move? Turning him down, so he could be the one to dance to your bidding?

Nah. Fuck that.

He started typing.

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K M S M A S T E R L I S T | <- P R E V I O U S | N E X T ->

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T A G L I S T F O R M If you're only interested in this series, it's enough to drop a comment, no need to fill out the form

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[queenofmorningstar]

Caught Between the Vees

The Vees x f! Intern Reader

Summary: Will you be able to escape The Vees?

CW: MDNI, Foursome, Light Bondage. Oral sex (both f and m), double penetration, anal play. Overstimulation, strap-on. Kinda possessive behaviour? The Vees being Vees.

Word Count: 5.6K

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3| Part 4| Part 5

Chapter Five: Winner Takes It All

You laid sprawled across his bed, hair a mess, and small marks of his teeth still remained. The plush mattress beneath you was warm, soft, expensive—like everything Vox touched. You snuggled deeper, never wanting to leave this haven.

Your body ached in a way that made you smile lazily. Vox had been… thorough. You stretched, letting out a low hum of satisfaction as the sheets slid over your bare skin..

But then there was a knock.

Sharp, twice. Then a pause, and a third, almost hesitant one. You sighed, rolling over and tugging Vox’s oversized shirt off the floor.

The door creaked open before you could speak. An imp with wide eyes stepped in. “Miss? You’re needed in the lounge. All three Vees are waiting for you.”

The way he said all three was too careful. Like he knew it would rattle you. And it did. Your pulse kicked up, sitting up straighter.

Velvette, Valentino… and Vox, but this time with eyes that might not look at you like a lover…What did they want? What did they know? And why did it suddenly feel like your perfect morning was turning into a performance you hadn't rehearsed for?

“Did they say why?” you asked, voice cool despite the tightness starting in your chest.

The imp shook his head too fast. “No, ma’am. Just said to make sure you were dressed nice.” Of course they did.

A curl of unease twisted in your stomach. This smelled like a trap. You stood slowly, already calculating. You already had the info you wanted to give Charlie. Should you text her? No, it would be better if you told her in person, and explained more thoroughly.

You took your time. There was a mini fridge there as well. You made some coffee and he had…shark-shaped cookies? You shrugged and ate it as well. While you were gone bathing, the imp had also brought a tray full of different breakfast options. You picked at the lavish spread—hellfruit, spiced eggs and toasted bread charred just right.Vox didn’t seem to skimp on hospitality…

Your fingers twitched around the last sip of your coffee. You didn’t know which version of the Vees would be waiting, and you hated that uncertainty.

By the time you reached the hallway leading to the Vees' private lounge, the imp had scurried off somewhere, sensing it was safer not to stick around. You stopped in front of the tall doors. They were cracked open, just slightly, voices floating through. Your stomach fluttered in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the game you were about to walk into.

You took a breath and pushed the door open with the other. Three sets of eyes turned to you. Vel was draped over the arm of a chaise, sipping from a crystal glass with a wicked grin. Val was slouched like royalty in a leather armchair, smoke curling from his cigarette. Vox stood near the massive screen wall.

You stepped in. Valentino’s eyes dragged over your frame. “Well, well. Looks like someone had a good night.”

Velvette laughed. “You look comfy, babe. Breakfast good?”

You tilted your head. “Delicious.”

Vox’s expression didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes.

Oh, you were spiraling.

Not from guilt. No, never guilt. Just… logistics.

Because technically, you hadn't made any promises. Not to Vox. Not to Val. Not to Vel. There were no labels. And anyway—the Vees were poly. Open. That’s what the entire hell knew about them. They shared toys. Broke them together. Sometimes they passed them around like cocktails. Sometimes they fought over them just to spice things up.

So really, what were you guilty of? Nothing. Right? Still, your brain wouldn’t shut up.

Velvette was the first to move, her heels clicked across the room, each step was measured, languid. Her amused gaze never left yours, like a cat playing with a mouse before the kill. “You know, sweetheart,” Vel purred, breaking the stillness like a glass shattering on marble, “we could’ve kept this all light. Had fun. But you had to make it personal.”

You startled. “I don’t understand—”

Behind her, Valentino’s chuckle was low, burning with something darker than amusement. “You know what I hate, doll?” he asked, his voice smooth but with an edge that made your skin prickle. “I hate when someone plays me.”

Your chest tightened, and you couldn’t find your footing. “Okay,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, “What the fuck is going on—?”

And then, Vox stepped forward. His presence was like a heavy shadow falling over you. His eyes locked onto yours, glowing faintly, unreadable. “You lied to us,” he said, his voice a slow, smooth drawl.

Your stomach dropped. It felt like the floor had disappeared beneath your feet, leaving you to hang in midair. For a moment, you couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

“What?” Your voice was raw, sharp—denial, a reflex.

Vox didn’t blink. His gaze never wavered. Velvette’s laugh was soft but dark. “Thought you could slide in all pretty, ride us, and sneak back to her with all the juicy little secrets, huh?”

The words hit you like a slap to the face, sharp and stinging. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Vox was still staring at you, still calm but cold. “Little Princess Morningstar must be very proud of your performance.”

Your mind spun, scrambling for answers, for something to hold onto, but you couldn’t make sense of anything. But the truth was already in the room, hanging heavy and damning, no matter how hard you fought against it.

Vox didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he raised his hand, just a small gesture. The lights cut out. The room plunged into darkness, and behind you, the screen flickered to life. The images were sharp and clear, the footage showed you hugging Charlie, talking very clearly what you intended for the Vees. The silence that followed was unbearable.

You were frozen. “How long,” Vel’s voice sliced through the quiet, “were you fucking us while working for her?”

“I wasn’t—!” Your voice cracked, but it was already too late.

And then, Vox whispered softly almost affectionate. “I adored you.”

You staggered back a step, breath caught in your throat. The words were a confession, an accusation, a punch in the gut. Valentino turned his head away, his jaw tight, but it was there—the flicker of betrayal in his eyes. Velvette didn’t smile anymore, she didn’t even look at you.

You stepped back. “No,” your voice barely a whisper. “No, you don’t understand, it wasn’t like—”

Another step. Then another.

“I didn’t… I didn’t mean… I wasn’t—” Your voice cracked as panic clawed its way up your spine. Your chest constricted, and vision blurred. Your body took over before your mind could stop it. You turned and ran.

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Thoughts jumbled in a million different directions, but one thing remained crystal clear in your mind: You had to get out.

Your legs carried you automatically like instinct. Down another hall. A sharp left. The V Tower’s labyrinthine design was no mystery to you; you’d studied it for weeks.

Only Charlie could get you out of here. You ripped your phone out, fumbling with the screen as you flew down the stairs. Your thumb hovered over the screen, shaking from the adrenaline. The call connected."Charlie," you gasped, voice tight with panic, barely able to keep it together. “Charlie, I need your help. I’m in trouble—I'm—”

Awful glitching filled your ears. You yelped, tearing it away from your ear and staring as Vox’s face appeared. “Darling, we didn’t finish our talk.”

Your fingers shook as you threw the phone down and it shattered.

You’re on your own. The thought settled coldly in your chest, a weight of finality sinking deep into your bones. You kept eyes trained on the stairs below, forcing your legs to keep moving, one foot after another.

You were almost there. Just a few more turns. A few more goddamn steps.

Then—BOOM.

The wall to your left exploded in a cascade of flame and stone. You shrieked, flinging yourself to the ground as debris rained over like ash from a funeral pyre. Dust clouded the air in a suffocating wave.

Valentino stepped through first, adjusting his pristine fur jacket, brushing rubble from his shoulder with deliberate flair. Right beside him, Velvette huffed and said to Val. “That was my wall you blew up, jackass.”

But Val ignored that and looked at you. “Going somewhere, sweetheart?” he drawled, voice rough and venomous.

“Aw,” Velvet pouted, her eyes glowing like twin pink stars in the smoky dark. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Your heart nearly stopped. You turned on your heel, every muscle screaming as you sprinted back—Only to find him.

Vox, standing in the middle of the corridor like a vision summoned from your worst nightmare. No emotion in his face. He didn’t move. He didn’t need to.

You were trapped. Fuck.

You looked left…nothing but stone. Right…just the broken wall and the flaming rubble. Forward, Vox. Behind, Val and Vel.

Nowhere to run.

“You don’t get to walk out,” Vox said, his voice distorted. “After all that you did.”

You clenched your fists, swallowing down the terror, forcing yourself to breathe. Think. THINK. But there were no secret doors here. No windows. No distractions.

The game was over.

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The world tilted sideways as you kicked and writhed, fists pounding against Valentino’s back to absolutely no effect.“Put me down, you son of a—!”

“Now why would I do that, dollface?” He purred. He had hoisted you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. You twisted, elbowed, clawed—nothing. His grip was iron, steady even as you thrashed like a wildcat. Vel skipped beside them, unbothered, humming while Vox trailed behind in complete silence.

You couldn’t get a read on them. Not when your blood was roaring in your ears and the taste of dread coated the back of your throat like smoke.

Val's laughter rumbled through his chest, jolting her. “You really thought you could play us, huh?” he said, casually, like this was a flirty conversation at a bar and not a kidnapping. “Spy on us, lie to us, take our cocks and our secrets, then waltz out like you were never ours?”

“I wasn’t yours,” you hissed, struggling harder. “I never said I was—”

He smacked your ass. “You acted like it,” he said, sharp and low now, all venom under the charm. “And that counts, sweetheart.”

You grind your teeth. You hated the weight of not knowing what came next. You wanted control back. Just something. You opened your mouth to speak, to argue, to distract—

“Don’t waste your breath,” Vox said flatly from behind them. “We’re not doing this for information.”

For a moment, your brain stalled—caught between panic and disbelief.

This was about them. Their bruised pride. Their ego.

God, the bed. It was ridiculous. Huge, overstuffed and drenched in red silk sheets and many pillows. With a slow, deliberate motion, Val tossed her down onto the oversized bed in the center of the room. You bounced once on the mattress, then settled, wrists pulled gently up as Val clipped the cuffs to the headboard with a quiet click. "Comfortable?" Vox drawled. His screen held a crooked smile, cold at first glance but something else flickered beneath it. Amusement and affection. And maybe... a little bit of hurt.

You were restrained, yes, arms stretched above your head, wrists snug in those cuffs but still trying to stare him down like you were in control. It’s cute… it’s infuriating. It makes his circuits hum with something just shy of hunger.

That fire in your eyes dared Vel to get closer. Her eyes roamed from the rise of your chest to the curve of your thighs. Still trying to hold your pride, even now.

Val reaches out, brushing the back of his knuckles over her collarbone. You shiver, not from the cold, from him.

The shame of being caught should’ve made you shrink. But instead, it made your thighs clench. You knew you could break out of these flimsy cuffs…but you didn’t want to. You wanted to see this through.

Valentino shrugged out of his shirt first. He gave you a dangerous grin, letting you take in the view before unbuckling his belt, his pants sliding down his hips. Vox discarded his jacket carelessly, revealing the sharp lines of his chest, his eyes never leaving yours, daring you to look away. And Velvette, always the tease, unzipped the back of her dress with languid grace, letting it slip down her body, leaving her in nothing but delicate lace lingerie that hugged every curve.

Vox leaned in close, brushing your cheek with the back of his fingers, eyes glittering with amusement and something darker. “Let’s play a little game, sweetheart,” he murmured, his lips grazing your ear. “If we can make you cum first… every round, no breaks, no begging out — then you stay. You’re ours. Forever.”

Valentino was already grinning like he couldn’t wait to win, Velvette practically purring with excitement.

“And if you don’t?” you rasped.

He smirked. “If we cum first…then you get to walk. Back to your precious little hotel and your redemption arc.” He traced a slow circle over your thigh. “No hard feelings.”

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The silk cuffs dug into your wrists, not painfully — just enough to remind you weren't going anywhere for a while.

Vox moved between your thighs. His sharp, elegant claws pushed your knees wider apart, dragging it along the soft skin of your inner thighs. Your body arched at the first teasing brush of his tongue, every lick purposeful and smooth. He pinned your hips down with strong hands, not letting you squirm away, breathy whimpers falling from your lips almost as if he had mapped every nerve.

“Already moaning, baby?” Valentino climbed onto the bed, his cock heavy and throbbing in his hand as he moved above your chest. He brushed his cock against your lips. “You know what to do, muñeca,” he purred, dragging the head across her bottom lip, smearing precum. “Open up and take it like a good girl.”

Your eyes flicked up at him, defiant even as your lips parted and took him in. Your tongue curled around the head of his cock. Vox’s tongue flattening against your clit, his fingers spreading your folds wide as he devoured you like a man starved. Every flick of his tongue was deliberate, every suck timed to the slow rock of Valentino’s hips. They moved in sync, overwhelming you from both ends and you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think.

Velvette had curled up beside you like a contented kitten, her pretty lace panties already pushed to the side for her slender fingers to slip into her slick heat without hesitation. Two fingers teased her folds, slow at first, tracing lazy circles against her clit while she watched everything—the rise and fall of your chest, the way your mouth stretched around Valentino, the twitch of your thighs under Vox’s tongue.

Vel groaned softly but edged with something darker. “God, watching you like this…” She gasped as her fingers picked up speed, rubbing tight, practiced circles that made her thighs tense. “You’re so fucking hot like this.”

Her eyes fluttered half-shut as her hand moved faster, slick sounds mixing with the obscene rhythm of the bed creaking beneath them. She was so wet—fingers gliding over her clit, then dipping inside herself, only to drag that arousal back up and rub it in harder.

Vel moaned softly as she rubbed her clit faster, but it wasn’t enough anymore. She needed to taste you, to touch more. Her lips hovered over your chest, those pretty nipples already stiff from the cold air and stimulation.

“That's it, baby…Look how good you're taking it.” Velvette whispered, then closed her mouth around one nipple, sucking hard. She moaned, her hand between her legs growing frantic as she ground into her own palm. She sucked again, wet and noisy, leaving red marks around the delicate peak before kissing it softer, almost sweet.

Valentino’s hips rolled in slow, deep thrusts, filling your mouth with every stroke, keeping a steady rhythm. One of his hands tangled in your hair, not harsh, but insistent, like he was guiding you where he wanted you. “Fuck, baby,” he groaned, low and drawn out. “Mmm, that's it, take it all.”

The soft wet sounds echoed off the plush walls of the room, mixing with Velvette’s whines and Vox’s low growl from between your thighs.

Val looked down at you—tears pricking the corners of your eyes, spit glistening on your lips, your lashes fluttering as your throat flexed to take him. You gasped, hips twitching involuntarily and that made Vox grin. He latched onto your clit then and sucked hard. You whimpered, mouth still full of Val’s cock, and Vox moaned darkly in response, tongue circling tighter and faster, a perfect spiral of pressure. His fingers slipped between your folds, sliding in effortlessly, curling with calculated cruelty as he found that perfect spot. The spot that made your thighs jerk, made you cry around Val’s cock, made Vel whimper in giddy delight beside you.

“Doll, you aren’t even fighting that hard.” Vox whispered, voice glitching with pleasure as he fucked you with his fingers. “You want to be ours, don’t you?”

He sucked again, relentless as his tongue flicked with maddening speed, fingers curled deep, pumping in as you moaned around Val’s cock. Your thighs started to shake.

Vel moaned with you, grinding her fingers faster. “She’s close,” she whimpered. “I can feel it—"

Val’s thrusts stuttered,“F-Fuck—baby, I’m—” he growled, voice breaking, and with a deep groan, he spilled down your throat. He held your jaw gently, thumbs rubbing your cheeks as he watched you try to swallow around him. At the same time, your thighs spasmed around Vox’s head.

Velvette bit gently down on your nipple as her body twitched as she came against her own hand. She moaned, voice cracking with release. “That's it, baby, that's it...Give in to us... fuck, you’re so perfect when you come."

“That's my girl... Just like that. Fuckin’ perfect for me.” Vox murmured, finally lifting his mouth from you, chin wet with slick.

Valentino pulled out slowly, panting, then leaned down and kissed you hard. Your body was floating… barely noticing Val pulling away, murmuring something low and filthy in your ear as he stroked your cheek. Your lips tingled from the stretch of him, saliva still dripping down your chin.

Before you could try to come back to senses, Velvette was straddling your chest, knees digging into the sheets on either side. Vel spread her folds with two fingers, slow and teasing. “Eat up, sweetheart,” she said, voice high and playful.

And then she lowered herself, grinding down onto your mouth with a breathless gasp. You moved your tongue, your hazy mind obeying on its own. Velvette let out a high-pitched moan, her hands flying to the headboard to steady herself. “F-fuck, yes—just like that,” she gasped, her voice already cracking. “Smart girl, such a pretty mouth…”

She was dizzy, but then Vel cried out above you, thighs trembling against your cheeks, clit sensitive to every stroke. And that’s when your brain, calculating even under pressure…Velvette's already cum before, so she’s sensitive, you thought, eyes glinting beneath lashes. If you can make her come first, you win this round.

You focused. Your tongue darted, circling tight and fast around her clit with expert precision. You flattened it, then flicked it just right, small repeated strokes that made Vel’s whole body jolt. Vel gasped, head thrown back, fingers white-knuckled around the headboard. “W-wait—,” Her voice was high and breathless, hips twitching. “Oh fuck—”

But you didn’t stop. You angled your head just slightly, lips sealing around Velvette’s clit now, and sucked hard. Meanwhile, Val had slumped back against the pillows, one hand resting on his thigh while the other wrapped around his cock, lazily pumping. Because the sight before him? Fucking art. “She’s too fuckin’ clever for her own good,” Val purred, voice thick.

But below them, Vox had gone still. “Still scheming?” he murmured as he leaned forward, palms pressing into the mattress on either side of your hips. You didn’t answer, mouth still on Vel. But your thighs tensed around him.

“You’re so clever,” Vox said, voice dripping with affection. He reached down, brushing the swollen, soaked lips of her pussy with the head of his cock, teasing. “Go ahead, beautiful. Outsmart me. Outsmart all of us. I’ll just have to fuck the fight outta you.”

Without warning, he sank in. One smooth, devastating thrust. You jerked, a muffled cry vibrating against Vel’s pussy as your back arched off the bed, every muscle going taut with the sudden fullness. It stopped your movements around her clit, which gave Vel some reprieve. Scheming bastard.

Vox let out a low moan, his eyes fluttering shut for a second. You clenched around him, involuntarily. “Oh,” he chuckled, voice glitching. “Sensitive already? Sweetheart, I haven’t even started yet.”

He pulled back halfway, savoring the friction then drove in again, harder this time. Not sloppy or rushed, but precise, like everything he does. Each thrust made you moan into her pussy, sending vibrations up through Velvette’s sensitive core. Vel’s thighs tighten around your head. “Sh-she’s still licking—!” She cried out, her hands scrambling for the headboard again. “She’s still going, Vox!”

“Of course she is,” Vox moaned darkly, leaning down to kiss the inside of your knee as he kept thrusting. “She knows what’s at stake.”

He set a brutal, perfect pace, each stroke driving deeper, angled to hit every sensitive spot inside you. Your slick coated his cock, every thrust more obscene than the last. 

“I told you,” he said, his thrusts never faltering. “You don’t come cum first, you walk. But if we make you come first… you stay.” His grin widened. “And I’m going to make sure you fucking do.”

You gasped against Vel, your tongue faltering. No, no. You had a point to make. You knew you could make Vel come first. He reached between them now, fingers finding your clit, throbbing from before. He rubbed tight, sharp circles, perfectly synced with each brutal thrust. But you didn’t give up either.

And then Velvette came, hard and fast and messy, grinding helplessly against your face as her whole body convulsed. Vox’s rhythm faltered, and he pulled out.

The cuffs rattled as you tried to lift your head, smug satisfaction glowing under the flushed exhaustion in your eyes. You licked your lips. “Don’t pout, you’ll get another chance to lose to me later." The Vees definitely didn't like that. You won this one.

Vox was done playing nice. He didn’t yell, just spoke, cold and crisp. “Turn her over.”

Val’s hands slid under your thighs, and Vel laughed, her hands already slipping beneath the cuffs to help. Your hips were lifted and your body turned. Face down, ass up, chest pressed into the soft pillows.  

Velvette was in front of you again. She pulled out a strap-on, the harness hugged her hips tight. It jutted upward, inches from your face. Her fingers slid into your hair, tilting your chin up until their gazes locked. “You’ve got such a smart fuckin’ mouth,” Vel said sweetly, “Let’s see if it’s good for anything useful.”

The first push was gentle. She let the tip slip between your lips. She held eye contact like a challenge, even as your cheeks flushed deeper. You opened wider. Vel’s breath hitched, watching your tongue swirl around the base, lips stretching to take the length. Your throat bobbed. You gagged once, eyes fluttering, but didn’t stop. Vel was content after the last orgasm, and now wanted you to fall apart completely.

Valentino groaned low behind you. “Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered, dragging a golden claw up the back of your thigh, slow and deliberate. “All mouthy until we put somethin’ in it.”

Vox, off to the side, chuckled with static hum. “She is a fast learner,” he said lazily, stroking himself as he watched. 

Vel’s hands were on your hair, guiding her movements. The dildo slid in and out with maddeningly slow precision. And that was when you felt the shift.

Vox moved beneath you, the faint scrape of his fingers against your hipbones. His cock, hard and heavy, pressed against your entrance. Vox’s cock pushed forward as he sank deep inside you, filling you in a way that made your body shudder and pulse with need. “Fuck…” Vox groaned, eyes dark as he took his time, letting you adjust to him. “Fuck, you’re so good, baby. Taking me like the perfect little thing you are.”

Vel added more pressure, her thrusts growing harder, more demanding as she hit the back of your throat. You let out a loud moan, swallowed by Vel’s movements.

Vox smirked at the sound, a low chuckle rumbling through his chest as he pushed deeper. “That’s it,” he murmured. “You can’t hide what you want forever, sweetheart. You like this, don’t you?”

Vox’s hands gripped your hip as he drove into your soaked pussy. His voice glitching between low moans and dark laughter. “Oh, baby, I know you're sharp, but you can’t think your way out of this, can you?"

Behind you, Valentino’s lubed fingers circled your rim, pushing inside inch by slow inch while you moaned around Velvet's strap-on. Vox thrust up harder, fucking you onto his cock and making your whole body jolt. 

With one hand Val gripped your hip, holding you steady as his fingers pressed inside you. He stretched you open gradually. His palm smoothed up your back, tracing the shape like he was learning it by memory. “Y’know,” he murmured, leaning in to press his lips to your shoulder, “I’ve had a lotta whores. But you? You’re the one I think about when I jerk off. You’re the one I want moanin’ my name ‘til your voice breaks.”

Then, with one smooth roll of his hips, he lined himself up and pushed inside. Deep, stretching, burning in the most exquisite way. He didn’t rush. Valentino sank into you, taking you like he owned your soul. You cried out, back arching but he groaned, a rich, filthy sound. “Fuck... tight as ever.”

Then Valentino drove into you, slow but relentless, stretching you open until you cried out. Sandwiched between Vox, Valentino and Velvette, your mind reeled. Every thrust from below shoved you onto Val’s cock, every lazy rock of his hips pushed you deeper onto Vox, and both their movements shoved you forward, taking more of the dildo harnessed to Vel.

Vox’s hand slid to your clit. "Come for us," he ordered, voice ragged. "Show us how fucking good you have it."

You shattered with a strangled sob, body clenching down so hard on both of them that Vox cursed loud and spilled inside you, twitching as he filled your pussy. Valentino groaned against your back, grinding deep inside he came too.

Vel kissed your forehead sweetly, cooing, "Good girl... That’s our girl."

_______________________________

You sat slouched in a giant cushioned chair, wrapped in a fluffy pink robe (Velvette’s), your thighs still sore, hair a disaster, and sanity hanging by a very frayed thread. You’d barely survived a three-way sex marathon, and now Valentino was doing your nails. “Babe, hold still or I’ll smudge the glitter,” he muttered around his cigarette, squinting with terrifying concentration as he painted your pinky the exact shade of blood red. “I swear, you fidget more than Vox when the WiFi’s down.”

You gave him a dead-eyed stare.

“I’m an artist with exquisite taste and access to 5K worth of OPI demon polish.” Val said without looking up. 

Vel plopped onto the armrest beside them, shoving her phone in Valentino’s face. “OHHH oh oh—do this next! Look at the little rhinestone skulls!! They’d look so cute on her middle fingers when she flips off Vox!”

“I feel like I’m gonna die,” you muttered.

“Nope!” Velvet chirped. “You’re ours now, darling.”

Before you could protest, Vox strolled in like he owned the place (he did), shirtless and content, a steaming mug that said “Fuck Alastor” in one hand. “I’ve already handled the paperwork,” he announced cheerfully.

Everyone blinked.

“What paperwork?” you asked, already regretting it.

“For the future marriage, obviously,” Vox said, sipping his coffee. “Three-way binding. You, me, Val, and Vel. I had the property deeds transferred this morning. Congrats darling, you now own a penthouse here.”

You looked into the metaphorical camera like you were on the Office.

Valentino gently blew on your nails to dry them, surprisingly delicate for an overlord. “Maybe I’ll get your name tattooed over my heart. Or ass. Same thing.”

The door to the room swung open with a sudden force, and Charlie stepped in, her hair flowing, red eyes glowing, partial demon form showing. “WHERE–”

She stilled, her expression going from anger to shock as she took in the sight of you sitting in the chair, surrounded by the three Vees who were clearly treating you…not torture-y?

“Charlie!” You smiled wide, getting up and hugging her close. Charlie hugged back tightly, glad you were okay. The Vees frowned.

“What the hell is going on here?” Charlie stepped back a little to get a good look at you. “Are you alright?”

Your lips curled into a smile, “Oh, don’t mind them. They’re just... being themselves.” 

Charlie raised an eyebrow, but didn’t say anything. You knew she would ask as soon as you got back at the hotel. Charlie smiled at you, looping her arm around yours.“Come on. Let’s go home.”

Before you could take a single step, the Vees exploded into action. Velvette’s smile held a dangerous edge. “She belongs here with us, princess.”  

Vox was pushed off the wall with a sudden growl, his voice dipping into a deeper, more menacing tone as his left eye spiraled. “You really think you can come in here and walk out with her? Think again.”  

Val already had his gun out, his moth wings flaring wide.

Oh god, do they really think they can win against the princess of hell? You thought they were smarter than this. And you hadn’t gotten a chance to clarify shit.

You rolled your eyes and gave them a pointed look. “You guys can’t just calm the fuck down for once?” Charlie, still somewhat stunned but equally protective, tugged you behind her, giving the Vees a stern look. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” Vox said, wagging a finger lazily. “Not so fast, sweetheart. You lost the game.”

You blinked and slowly turned to him, arms crossed. “Excuse me?”

“You know the rules,” Vox continued, setting his mug down with theatrical care. “We win the game, you stay with us. Forever. And, well... baby, round three? You didn’t stand a chance.”

Velvette chuckled behind him, lounging on the couch like a smug panther. “Mmm. Sweetheart was screaming our names.”

Charlie looked like she realised it all now and didn’t like this one bit.

“Then let’s talk about the results, shall we?” you said, holding up one finger. “Round one? You all came embarrassingly fast.”

Valentino actually gasped, like someone has offended his entire family. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me I’m wrong.” You arched a brow. “We all came together. So I’m calling that round a tie.”

Vox's smirk faltered slightly. “Fine. Round one: tie. And round two?”

You held up another finger. “Round two? I won. Easily. Valentino was still recovering, Vel forgot her name, and you,” You pointed at Vox, “were close to a reboot. I could tell.”

“I was distracted!” Vox snapped.

“Point proven.”

Valentino whistled low. “Damn. She’s got receipts.”

“And round three,” You went on, “I’ll admit, yeah, you guys won. Barely. Because I was exhausted by that point and couldn’t feel my damn legs.”

Charlie looked increasingly like she wanted to be anywhere else right now.

“So!” You declared brightly. “One round tie, one round me, one round you. That makes it a... what, kids?” There was a long, tense pause.

“Tie,” Velvette muttered.

You beamed. “Correct! So technically, no one wins. Meaning you can’t hold me to the ‘stay with us forever’ clause. But I am feeling generous today…I give you six months a year.” The Vees all blinked.

“In the V-tower?” Vel asked cautiously.

You nodded. “With you maniacs. But the other six months? I stay at the Hazbin Hotel with Charlie. My sanity needs time to regenerate.”

Charlie hummed. “That sounds familiar.”

“Exactly.” You smiled sweetly. “Persephone-style. Half the year in V tower with you guys, the other half with Charlie and the slightly-less-insane people.”

“I am so done with all of you,” Charlie mumbled under her breath.

Valentino leaned forward, intrigued. “Do we at least get conjugal visits during the off-season?”

“No,” You replied instantly.

“Phone sex?”

“No.”

“E-projections?”

“Valentino.”

He sat back with a mock pout. “Fine.”

Vox rubbed his chin thoughtfully, then gave a slow, wicked grin. “You know what? I’ll allow it. Six months on, six months off.”

Charlie threw her arms in the air. “I am officially declaring this entire situation cursed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Next>>>

Notes: Wow! Can't believe this fic has come to an end. Omg this was SO fun, you guys!! I hope you had just as much fun as I did! Thank you — every like, every comment, it seriously means the world and keeps me writing more.

For my next piece...stay tuned!

*******************

Some bonus crack for your guys(◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

[theemporium]

blurb request for oscar - maybe he gets jealous/possessive and this is the first time you see this side of him

thank you for requesting! and thank you to @scuderiahoney for brainstorming with me since it's partially her fault i am writing oscar again!!🫶🏽

.

It genuinely didn’t bother him at first. Or at least, not that much.

He had noticed it. He would have been fucking blind to not notice it. In fact, he wasn’t the only one to notice it because Lando had brought it up to him. They had been walking through the paddock, making their way back towards the garage after a press conference when he spotted the two of you in the distance. 

“Does it not bother you?” Lando had asked, pausing whatever conversation they had been talking about to nod towards where you were standing. 

Truthfully, Oscar didn’t even need to follow his line of sight to know exactly what he was talking about. But he did anyway, maybe because some twisted part of him liked torturing himself that little bit more when he found you deep in conversation with one of the intern engineers—Oscar vaguely remembers his name being Greg or something along the lines.

“No,” Oscar told him, and it was only partially a lie. “She’s just talking to him.”

“They seem close,” Lando noted, glancing towards his teammate with a knowing look.

“I trust her,” Oscar had replied. And he did trust you. He trusted you irrevocably. He trusted you with his life and his heart. But that didn’t mean something deep in his stomach twisted whenever he saw you laughing away with Greg. 

“It’s not her I think you should worry about,” Lando muttered under his breath, but they had reached the garage by that point and the conversation never continued.

But despite his trust in you, he didn’t trust Greg—not one single fucking bit.

Because it wasn’t just a passing interaction or a budding friendship. It was starting to creep into something more, something so slow and subtle that maybe other people didn’t notice but Oscar fucking did. He noticed it every single time. 

The second he wasn’t by your side, Greg would jump in. The second he had to get in the car or talk to his team, it seemed like Greg had taken it upon himself to keep you company. The second you were in the paddock after not attending a few races, Greg would be greeting you like he hadn’t seen you in years. 

Oscar tried to push down the bitter feelings bubbling in his stomach. You didn’t look uncomfortable or bothered by Greg’s company, and the last thing he wanted to do was come off as some controlling, territorial boyfriend who dictated who you spoke to. If anything, it should have been reassuring to him that you were making friends in the paddock to spend time with when he was busy with the team. 

He just really wished it wasn’t Greg.

Yet, despite his restraint and promise to himself to keep his mouth shut as long as you were happy, Oscar could only be pushed so far before he snapped. 

It was a good race. In fact, it was a great fucking race. After what seemed like a disappointing qualifying that was setting up a shittier race, Oscar hadn’t had high hopes for the weekend. In fact, nobody in the team did—for either car. But it felt like something had just come alive in the car and the second the lights went out, there was a new buzz that had him speeding through the pack. 

It wasn’t a podium weekend, which was always a gutting occurrence. But ending the race in P4 was more than enough for Oscar when the team weren’t even sure if he would make it in the points. He was buzzed, he was on a high and he felt like some of the stress of this weekend had been taken off his shoulders. 

However, when he made his way back to the garage to celebrate with the team and you, he was confused when he was unable to find you the second he got out of the car. That confusion fizzled into something far more bitter and resentful when he noticed Greg huddled beside you, yapping your ear off as you stood there, nodding and smiling. 

He didn’t even realise he was making his way over until he had saddled up beside you, his arm curled around waist like the touch would ease some of the tightness in his chest.

“Sorry, mate, mind if I just steal my girlfriend for a second?” The words had left his mouth, but the usual friendliness was long gone. His words were sharp, blunt even. And he genuinely couldn’t bring himself to care in that moment as he dragged you away before Greg even had the chance to open his mouth, his body working on pure muscle memory to lead you both to his driver room.

It hadn’t even hit him what he had done until the two of you were finally in the privacy of his driver room, the door locked and the rest of the world shut out. 

“Oscar,” you said his name and the tightness in his chest returned.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out before you could even say anything more. “I just…he is always there. He is always fucking there and I just wanted you for myself just once. All I could think about since I crossed that line was hugging you and then I got out the car and I just saw him and—” 

But his rambles died on his tongue when he caught the way you were staring at him, a soft smile playing on your lips. 

“What? Why are you smiling like that?” Oscar questioned, his brows furrowing together. “I just acted like a caveman and you’re smiling.”

“A caveman,” you repeated with a snort, shaking your head before you took a step closer to your boyfriend. “Well, caveman or not, I thought it was kinda hot.”

Oscar blinked. “Huh?”

However, you just shrugged your shoulders. “What? You’re always so calm and collected, it was nice seeing you get a little worked up.”

He watched your expression closely. “So, you’re not mad?”

Your face softened as you reached for the boy, winding your arms around his waist. “I’m not mad, Oscar. If anything, I’m more relieved. He was kinda annoying, like he never shuts up.”

Oscar let out a relieved breath, but his frown remained as he took your face in his hands. “You should have told me if he was bothering you.”

You shrugged again. “It didn’t seem worth the drama,” you admitted. “You should have told me if it upset you.”

“I didn’t wanna seem like a dick,” he confessed with a sheepish expression on his face. He paused for a moment before thinking better of it, pulling you against his chest as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. “I promise I’ll tell you next time if you tell me too.”

“Deal,” you murmured as you sunk into his embrace. You waited a few moments, expecting the boy to pull away but he never did. “You good?”

“Yeah,” he spoke, his breath fanning over the skin of your neck. “Just…makin’ up for the lost time he stole from me.”

You snorted. “Yeah?”

“Mhm,” he hummed innocently.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you assured the boy, smiling a little when you felt a soft peck against your neck. “But I would really appreciate it if you could go shower first. You kinda stink.”

Oscar snorted. “Geez. Thanks.”

You grinned. “C’mon, caveman, the quicker you shower, the quicker I’ll hug you again.”

.

[solxamber]

On my hands and knees sobbing throwing up combusting into dust signs my soul away to you THAT WAS SO SO SOOOOO CUTEEEEEE GUAYAYYAYYUUUUUAUAGAHHHHHH!!!!!!!!! Poor Rollo thinks hes just being nice meanwhile poor yuu is so used to people digging underneath the bar that he's literally prince charming incarnate. Rollo clearly needs to adjust their standards and do what the villains could not by kissing yuu softly while they take a nap. And also threaten crowley to give them money for food. ANYWAYS!!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR FEEDING ME AND THE 5 OTHER ROLLO FANS THAT SURVIVED THE FAMINE (/j) I OWE YOU MY LIFE!!!!! This message is getting so long, but you deserve to know how awesome your writing is and that I look forward to whatever you post for real. I slide over a crisp 5 maddol and ask for when you feel like it (and if you even want to ofc!!) A part 3 where maybe they're deeper in the relationship and are doing heinous things like m*king out and grimm thinks they should be executed for making him walk into this horror. (He didn't knock. Bc he's grimm. He claimed to be scarred for life until Rollo busted out the premium tuna suddenly we should get married asap) . ANYWAYS SORRY FOR THE LONG RAMBLE. IM BARKING AND CRYING AND EXPLODING AND PROPOSING TO YOU. Signed with love, rollo anon 💗💝💖

Rollo Flamme x reader

i just saw this and this almost made me cry 🫶 also sorry for the very long wait

Part 1 ; Part 2

Rollo was nothing if not diligent. Whether it was reorganizing the shelves at the library, fixing the perpetually squeaky door in Ramshackle, or chastising Grim for yet another snack-induced fire hazard, he was always helping in his quietly intense way. It wasn’t just duty—he genuinely seemed to enjoy making your life easier, which both baffled and warmed you to your core.

You, of course, did what you could to return the favor. Helping him clean up after unruly magic festival events, proofreading his endless notes about anti-magic policies, and gently reminding him to relax when he got that telltale furrow in his brow.

And you were in love.

Like, grossly in love. The kind of love where you found his huffy rants about magical irresponsibility charming and he tolerated Grim's chaos just to spend more time with you. It was a weird, wonderful balance you’d somehow managed to strike.

Which led to this particular evening: you and Rollo, tangled on the old, creaky couch in your room at Ramshackle.

It had started innocently enough. You’d been reviewing a new book he'd brought for you—something philosophical, of course, but he’d chosen it specifically because he thought you’d enjoy it. You were teasing him about his insistence on leaving a handwritten note inside the front cover (“Who even does this, Rollo? It’s adorable, but—seriously?”), and he had flushed in that way that made you want to pinch his cheeks.

Then one thing led to another.

Now, his lips were on yours, one hand cradling your face with the kind of reverence that made your heart twist. His other arm was around your waist, anchoring you against him. Rollo might not have been an experienced romantic, but he made up for it in sheer, focused intensity. When he kissed you, it felt like you were the only thing in the world that mattered to him.

“You’re—mmph—very distracting,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and tinged with amusement.

You grinned, tugging him closer. “Says the guy who started this.”

His only response was to kiss you again, deeper this time, until your brain was reduced to a pleasant, fizzy blur. The world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just you, him, and the creak of the couch as you shifted closer—

“WHAT IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS GOOD AND HOLY?! MY EYES! THEY’RE RUINED!”

Grim’s shrill scream shattered the moment like glass.

You froze, pulling back to see Grim standing in the doorway, paws dramatically covering his eyes. “HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME? ON MY COUCH?”

“Grim, it’s my couch,” you said, face burning.

“You’re the henchhuman; it’s ours by default!” Grim wailed. “And now it’s a place of SIN!”

Rollo, to his credit, had already straightened up, his expression transitioning from flustered to composed in record time. “Grim,” he said, voice calm yet firm, “surely you’ve barged in enough times to anticipate that privacy should be respected.”

“Oh, I respected it,” Grim sniffed. “But my henchhuman clearly has no shame. And you!” He pointed an accusatory paw at Rollo. “I thought you were better than this! But no, you’re—”

Rollo, completely unbothered by the tirade, reached into his bag and produced a can of… premium tuna?

Grim’s rant ground to a halt. His ears perked up as he sniffed the air. “Wait. Is that—?”

“Indeed,” Rollo said smoothly, holding it up like a peace offering. “A gift I intended to give later, but it seems circumstances call for a different approach.”

Grim’s eyes lit up with unrestrained glee. “You know what? I’ve never doubted you for a second, Rollo!” He scurried forward, practically salivating as he swiped the can. “You’re clearly the best thing that’s ever happened to my henchhuman. You two should get married. Tomorrow. I’ll get a priest. I’m sure Crowley owes me a favor.”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands as Grim popped the can open with zero regard for decorum. “Grim, you are the worst.”

“Correction: I’m the best,” Grim said, already devouring the tuna with gusto. Between bites, he added, “This guy’s a keeper. Don’t mess it up, henchhuman.”

Rollo’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through his otherwise composed demeanor. He leaned closer, whispering just loud enough for you to hear, “Shall we take his advice?”

You gave him a playful shove, laughing despite yourself. “Not helping, Rollo.”

But deep down, as Grim devoured his bribe and Rollo sat beside you with that quietly pleased look, you couldn’t deny that the idea didn’t sound all that bad.

The exhaustion of the day had finally caught up to you, and you’d collapsed onto your bed with a sigh of relief. “Wake me up for class, okay?” you mumbled to Rollo, who was sitting at your desk, meticulously organizing the scattered notes you’d left behind.

“I’ll make sure you’re on time,” he replied, his voice carrying that steady assurance you found oddly comforting.

You barely managed a hum of acknowledgment before sleep claimed you, leaving the world behind in a haze of warm, peaceful quiet.

When you stirred again, it wasn’t the sound of your alarm or the creak of the floorboards that woke you. It was something far gentler.

A warm, featherlight pressure on your forehead.

Your eyes fluttered open slowly, and the first thing you saw was Rollo leaning over you, his expression soft in a way that made your heart do an Olympic-level somersault. He was close enough that you could see the slight flush on his cheeks, though his composure never wavered.

“Good morning,” he said softly, his voice a gentle murmur. “It’s time to get ready for class.”

You blinked at him, your still-sleepy brain struggling to process what had just happened. “Did you… just kiss me awake?”

His blush deepened, but he stood his ground, meeting your gaze with quiet confidence. “You looked so peaceful. I thought it would be a more pleasant way to wake you than simply shaking your shoulder.”

Your heart melted on the spot. If there was a scale for romantic gestures, this one had just broken it.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, though your voice betrayed how utterly smitten you were.

“Perhaps,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But you didn’t seem to mind.”

You didn’t bother arguing because he was absolutely right. Instead, you reached out, tugging him down for a proper kiss this time.

When you finally pulled away, you smirked at his flustered expression. “If you keep this up, I’m going to start napping more often.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to be even more diligent about ensuring you don’t oversleep.”

You laughed, warmth blooming in your chest as you sat up and stretched. “Thanks for waking me, Rollo. Really.”

“Of course,” he said, his tone earnest as ever. “It’s the least I can do.”

The man was going to ruin you with how thoughtful he was. And as you got ready for class with a lingering smile on your face, you couldn’t help but think that waking up like this every day wouldn’t be so bad.

It started with something simple. You were both sitting in the courtyard of the chapel, enjoying a quiet moment together. The sun was setting, casting a warm glow over everything, and Rollo was, as usual, the picture of composure. He was reading a book—some historical text you’d never have the patience for—but his attention drifted when he noticed you staring at the horizon, lost in thought.

“Are you cold?” he asked, setting his book aside and leaning slightly closer.

You blinked out of your reverie, shaking your head with a soft smile. “No, I’m fine.”

He studied you for a moment, then pulled his scarf from around his neck and gently draped it over your shoulders anyway. “Just in case,” he murmured.

It wasn’t anything extraordinary—just a scarf—but the gesture made your heart swell. The scarf smelled faintly of lavender, and the warmth of it felt like an extension of Rollo himself.

“Thanks, Rollo,” you said, voice soft.

He nodded, but when he saw the way your smile lingered, something shifted in his expression. His usual composed demeanor softened into something… almost reverent.

“You deserve this,” he said, his tone uncharacteristically tender.

“Huh?” You tilted your head at him, confused.

“You deserve to be cared for,” he clarified, meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “You give so much of yourself to others. It’s only natural that someone should do the same for you.”

You stared at him, heart racing. “Rollo, I… That’s really sweet.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, though not at you. “It’s concerning that such basic decency stands out to you,” he muttered, almost to himself. “What kind of environment is this school fostering?”

The thought of Rollo, grimacing at the thought of NRC’s questionable population, made you burst into laughter. “I mean, you’ve met Grim, right? The standards here are subterranean.”

Rollo’s expression softened again when he saw how amused you were. “Even so,” he said, taking your hands in his with surprising gentleness, “you should never feel as though you’re asking for too much when you expect kindness or respect. It’s what you’re owed.”

Your heart did a little somersault, and you couldn’t help but giggle, ridiculously touched. “Stop, you’re going to make me cry,” you teased, though the slight quiver in your voice betrayed how close you were to actually tearing up.

He smiled faintly, leaning closer until his forehead nearly touched yours. “If you cry, I’ll simply have to dry your tears,” he said, his voice low and earnest. “Though I’d rather see you smiling.”

You let out another helpless laugh, pulling your hands free so you could lightly swat at his arm. “Stop being so romantic! I can’t handle this!”

Rollo chuckled softly, pleased with your reaction. “If it makes you happy, then I’ll consider it a worthwhile effort.”

And he meant it. He was genuinely, utterly content to see you so touched, so happy. Yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, a quiet but fierce determination grew. The villains and miscreants of NRC may not have treated you with the respect you deserved, but he would make it his mission to ensure you never doubted your worth again.

Masterlist

[stxrvel]

injustice (3)

series summary. the holy grail of the seven men who ruled the country's entertainment used to be your friends at school. now, ten years later and between successes and failures, what reason would they have to want to come back into your life? pairing. eventually ot7 x f!reader. content. first of all, english is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes! a lot of curse words, a lot of self-deprecation and low self esteem. no proofread. this is nawt silly writing, we're diving right into the aNgSt. jumpscare? iykyk a/n. hi guys! this was a rollercoaster for me to write, but i hope it doesn't come as harsh as i think it is. pls let me know what you think in the comments!! see you next week!!

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You had gone through a scenario like that in your head several times. A variety of moments, conversations and looks that always ended in the same unpleasant, inevitable and demoralizing way: you were forgotten by the people you loved most in the world. Only when you reached 18 would you realize how heartbreaking the dull thud of the silence of indifference was, how sharp and icy the loneliness was, how it penetrated and paralyzed your bones; but at that time, at 16, you could still convince yourself that all those things were only in your head and would always be there.

“Now that you're the last to go, you guys are much more likely to forget about me.”

“Of course not! In fact, as soon as I start earning money I'll save up to take you with us.”

Jungkook shook his head, his narrowed eyes judging you as if having insecurities was a sin. You believed his words at that moment, because being the last one still with you, 'cause you were going to graduate from school in the same year, it was the only thing you could do. Hold on to the idea that you really weren't going to be forgotten, because the mere conception of a future without your best friends was inconceivable.

“Jimin-hyung said he was going to try to call more often,” your friend went on, his eyes fixed on the bass on his lap and his important task of leaving it neat before returning it to its holy post in the school's music room. “I haven't talked to them in about three days.”

Jimin and Taehyung had left just a couple of months ago, but thanks to the opportunities opened to them with their incredible willingness, discipline and some string twitching on Namjoon's part, they had managed to get into a great academy to train and fulfill their dreams.

That also brought with it, as irreversible side effects, that your communication with them was drastically reduced. You had to constantly remind yourself and Jungkook that it was out of their control. With their future at stake, there was something for which they had to exert extreme effort and for which to sacrifice some other things.

“It's normal that they don't have as much time as they used to, Kookie.” You lowered your head, noticing the way his hands delicately handled the instrument on his legs. Since Jimin and Taehyung had left there was no time of day when you could tear yourself away from Jungkook, which is why you accompanied him to his extracurricular music lessons when you really should have been studying for the college entrance exam. “Life after school gets really hectic.”

“I've heard that college life is quieter.” Jungkook twisted his lips, wiping between the strings and his fingerprints left on the bass every time he moved it back and forth to clean it. It was an almost irresistible cycle.

“The only one at college right now is Seokjin and even about him we haven't heard much.” You leaned back against the piano, noticing Jungkook's movements pause for a moment as he surely reminisced about the few times he had been able to talk to Jin that month.

It had been two years since Seokjin had graduated and traveled all the way to the capital to study medicine. Needless to say, it was more than clear that communication with Jin would be almost nil from then on, but Jungkook always used to pout about it.

“It's just that Jin-hyung also chose a rather demanding career.” Jungkook twisted his lips, as if suppressing Jin in his head, waving the microfiber towel over the edges of the bass.

“And the others are trying too hard to carve their way through. It can be as complicated as going out to look for a job right after graduating.”

Jungkook nodded, admiring his cleaning job with a frown. He looked so focused that it caught you by surprise when he spoke again.

“You already know if you're going to college, noona? We're graduating this year.”

You blinked once, twice, three times. His nonchalant self went back to waving the towel over nonexistent smudges as you breathed in and decided not to go that route. “Will you?”

Jungkook raised his head, pausing his movements for a moment to try to analyze your gaze. With a sigh, he let out your poorly disguised way of shifting the focus of the conversation to get up and hang the instrument, glowing, on the wall of the music room.

“I don't know yet… Namjoon-hyung says he can help me.”

“Isn't it your dream, why do you doubt it?”

“I'm not sure, noona. What if I don't measure up? What if I fail?”

When your friend turned away, the mirror to his soul showed his vulnerability dancing on the edge of his eyelids. His distrust constricted your heart, a hand closing around your throat at the inner conflicts you knew Jungkook used to have and in the face of which you often couldn't do anything about because he didn't usually share such things.

“Then you try again.”

“Noona…” Jungkook wanted to grumble, it was obvious from the way his eyes moved to the ceiling, his head cocking as if he was about to give you a big life lesson on why you can't survive on motivational phrases.

But Jungkook was a softie about such things, even if he tried to hide it.

“Jungkook, you are literally a golden promise. No process is ever easy, especially in the industry you want to get into, but don't think for a second that you're going to outgrow it. You're one of the most capable people I've ever met.”

Your friend stopped his steps, when after hanging up the bass he was returning to your post in front of you, raising his head as if caught committing a prank. But the vulnerability in his eyes remained, and by the way they shone in the dim light of the room, still blinking to try to contain the emotion, you knew your words had tugged at just that thorn in his heart you were trying to pull out.

“Thank you, noona.”

“I'm just telling the truth.” You lifted a shoulder, shaking your head nonchalantly like it was no big deal, and Jungkook just let out an amused chuckle.

“You do know we'd never forget about you, right? How could we?”

-

“How could we?”

Yuna shook her head, frowning at her phone, oblivious to the way you cringed at her choice of words.

“She's bringing celebrities into the store and she want us to leave? Don't we work so well that we always take the top employee of the month spot even though it should only be held by one person? Don't we deserve that gift?”

You watched her, marveling at how after just a few seconds so many emotions could build up into an overwhelming knot in your chest. The old notes of an old piano played in the back of your head, bringing to the surface memories of when life was easier; when you thought you had it all and nothing would ever be better than that; when you thought you were enough.

“So what do you plan to do about it?” you blinked, focusing on the notation of bills in your notebook with an invisible hand squeezing your heart.

There was no use thinking about such things after so long.

Yuna pursed her lips, her expression serious and forceful. “I think we should have a sit-in.”

“We should? That sounds like more than one person.”

“Do you disagree with me?”

“I'm happy with going home early, especially on a Friday, you know?”

“y/n,” Yuna came up to your face over the cash register display case, her forearms resting on the glass and her eyes so bright with determination you were sure her head could light the whole store on fire the way she was scheming and scheming, running around like her life depended on it, “we could be close to meeting the seven gods of Olympus, and you think the best thing to do is go home?”

“Just in case you forgot, I have a business to run now.” You reminded her, moving to poke her with your middle finger all over her forehead and push her away from the cash register now that a new customer had come in.

“What business should a business matter when you could meet the reason for existence itself?”

Yuna dropped onto the display case, her body sliding like jelly until only her head was left on the glass. You and the new customer watched her, her arms limp at her sides and her gaze lost. A lone tear running down the bridge of her nose.

“God, you're so dramatic.”

“Does that mean yes?” Her head snapped up like a spring, a big smile scaring the soul out of the customer who ducked behind your friend to run for their order.

“No and stop acting like that, you're going to scare away customers.”

Yuna whined, her exaggerated tantrum leading you to wiggle your feet all the way to the cellar.

“I'm offering you the holy grail, and this is how you pay me?”

The sound of her feet shuffling behind you kept your head sane. Even though his insinuations were baseless, your heart was pounding so hard you felt your ribs throbbing through your muscles and skin.

Your boss had written to Yuna that you two could leave the store early today because she had a private meeting to attend. She asked them to leave everything to Patrick, including clearing the store of customers and not to worry about paying for the shift, because there would be no discount at the end of the month. Yuna was faithfully and blindly convinced that your boss really wanted you to stay, because she spent almost ten minutes with her eyes glued to the screen almost without blinking, watching the 'typing…' appear and disappear under your boss's contact name. 'I'm sure she's debating how much confidence she has in us…', she said as her red eyes missed no detail of that important chat and that primordial moment, ending in an offended 'none!' when her last message came through.

In the same way, Yuna convinced herself that the meeting that would take place in the same place where your feet were planted was going to be attended by the seven entertainment kings of the country. The unmentionables, for all practical purposes. Where had she come to that conclusion? There was no foundation. Had your boss given any hints? None. Yuna had her head in the clouds believing she could meet her idols if she insisted a little longer.

“Would you really prefer to stand your friend up to meet seven men you don't even know for sure will show up here?”

“Well…if you put it that way it sounds like I'm doing something wrong.”

“Mmm, you just figured that out?”

Yuna dropped her shoulders as you took off your apron. Her tactics weren't going to work and it was time to give up. She half-heartedly opened her locker and stood looking at you with puppy dog eyes. You felt as guilty as if you had stepped on her tail by accident.

“Look, if I'm being honest, I doubt gigantically that Sol will tell you that you can stay if you ask her.”

“Not even for everything we've been through together?”

“She's still our boss, Yuna.”

Your friend mimicked your actions with a slower speed, her emotion draining away little by little. When her head cocked to the side, halfway through taking off her apron, you only sighed.

“The worst that can happen is I get fired, right?”

You weren't surprised that she was nevertheless willing to cross that line.

“That doesn't sound like much to you?”

“I can always write her a 'ha, ha, just joking' afterwards and get out of harm's way.”

You didn't contain the irresistible urge to roll your eyes and Yuna took that as her own signal or green light. Next thing you knew she was pulling out her phone and typing animatedly on the screen.

“I really don't think you should do that.”

“I have to try! Can I call myself a good fan if I don't do even the impossible?”

“You don't even know if they'll come.”

“I have a hunch.”

With her hand over her heart, Yuna sent the message and you feared for her life. While Sol was not at all close to the idea and conceptualization of a crazy and ruthlessly demanding boss, she did draw the line at several specific situations that they had both learned to respect. One of those was, of course, private meetings at her place. You and Yuna had set up the place countless times for Sol to sit quietly and chat with her most famous acquaintances, because her office was too formal to deal with them there, but her own home was extremely informal for the same purpose. The cafeteria served as a middle ground, the perfect place to be comfortable when talking business.

“Patrick is coming.” Yuna spoke again and by the way her eyes didn't leave the screen you could tell Sol hadn't responded yet.

“I wish you the best of luck, Yuna.”

“Thank you! Coming from you it's a blessing, indeed.”

“And why's that?”

You finally stood up, closing your locker with your strap bag over your right shoulder. You were ready to leave while your friend was still biting her index fingernail waiting for an almost impossible and inconceivable message from her boss.

“What else can I expect from the writer who blew up overnight and is soon going to be one of the New York Times bestsellers and famous worldwide?”

“Ah,” you turned your head, unable to contain inwardly the way a warmth settled in your chest; you still had a hard time accepting how things had turned out, but as long as you couldn't control the influx of orders that had to take a back seat, “smooth.”

Yuna smiled and when her eyes met yours you swore she was about to tell you one more time how proud she was of you, but her phone vibrated in her hands and the last thing you saw her eyes widen exaggeratedly before her scream shook the foundations of the store and almost the entire city.

“SHE SAID YES!!!!”

-

Arriving home unleashed immeasurable chaos.

As soon as you opened the front door, a river of books fell like dominoes, with your father's groans and your mother's screams in the background, the sound of your work echoing in your head like lightning as stomping echoed through the house.

“Seojun, I told you to be careful walking…!”The angry expression on your mother's face disappeared the moment she recognized your face, her features softening as she knew it was her daughter. “Honey. What are you doing here so early?”

“Is that y/n?” your dad's exclamation rang out from the kitchen.

“Yes!” your mom yelled back.

The welcome was nice, but things only got more and more tedious from then on. On the one hand, you had your father telling you about accounts, numbers and multiplications of how much you had to take out of your pocket to pay for the prints, how much you would make if you sold all the books you had printed and how much you would get back, and on the other hand you had your mother telling you about the countless publishers who had written to your dm's seeking to sponsor the sale of your books, taking advantage of the boom that had been generated by the phenomenon that was Kim Taehyung.

Seojun, who had decided to move back home for the weekend to help with whatever was needed, was telling you that they had had to hire five different deliverymen -three of them trucks- to be able to deliver as many orders a day as possible, while vehemently hitting your father's forearm to remind him to include that in the accounts.

Your father was in charge of everything related to money, your mother of the direct communication with customers and Seojun of the orders; everything was done by them, with Yuna's help when she was not working, with the excuse that after so many years you just had to sit down and enjoy the fruit of your sowing without any worries.

But at that moment, when they had just let go and thrown all their worries at your feet, they stared at you expectantly.

"We need a loan."

Your mother jumped in her chair. "That's what I said!"

"That's not necessary." Your father shook his head, as he surely would have done when your mother suggested the idea judging by the expression that had planted itself on her face. "Take a loan from my wallet, but don't do business with those bankers. They'll gouge your eyes out with interest."

"Or take a publisher's offer. They'll take care of all this." Seojun pointed out, his long black hair brushing his eyebrows even though he shook it nonchalantly so he could get a good look at the three of them.

"Publishers can be freeloaders too." Your mother counter-argued, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, yeah? How many publishers have you signed on with to assert that?"

"Wow, careful with that tone, Mr. Lawyer." Your father pointed at your brother, while your mother only raised an eyebrow at him in response. Seojun sank into the chair, barely dragging an apology through his teeth.

"It's not a bad idea either, Dad."

His brown eyes returned to meet your gaze and you noticed the hesitation in them.

"Well, ultimately, it's your decision, honey."

Your mother squeezed your shoulder.

"I say we should listen to the lawyer."

"Hey!" Seojun frowned, straightening up on the chair. "Don't put such a big responsibility on me!"

Your father snorted. "But then weren't you comfortable a while ago giving orders and saying that I don't know what thing you had already seen it in class and that's why you knew what we had to do?"

"Dad…" Seojun elongated.

"Are you ready for such a position or not, Seojun? Tell me to start looking for another lawyer."

Your mother barely contained her laughter, only because of the offended sideways glance her own son sent her way. Laughter blossomed in your chest, too, like a big breath of fresh air in a field of flowers. You didn't know you needed that moment so badly until the tension disappeared from your shoulders as you laughed with your parents and your brother grumbled with his arms crossed.

-

A new batch of orders just went out - thank you so much for your purchases!

You looked at the story your mom had uploaded to Instagram in the solitude of your bedroom. The rest of the day was spent strategizing and planning marketing ideas that would likely lead you to ruin. In a defeated silence, you admitted that Yuna was really needed.

You had texted your friend a while ago, as the sunset was beginning to paint the sky with colors, but she still hadn't even checked her phone. Her last connection was a few minutes after you left at noon. You decided not to insist, even though you were a little curious about who had finally shown up at the store.

The best thing about that busy rest of the afternoon was that you'd been able to keep yourself busy enough to completely ignore the way you'd been whipped up by a few memories that morning in Yuna's company. A simple question had caused all that. And of course, with a heart as weak as a chick's and willpower almost non-existent, you let yourself be pulled right in that moment of loneliness into the well of memories.

“Jungkookie?”

Your voice pierced the silence and a shiver ran through your body as the darkness greeted you back. A few minutes passed after you plunged into the completely darkened room, walking tentatively and slowly inside, you heard a movement just outside the door you had just entered.

“Noona…”

You couldn't see him, but you didn't need to. The sobs that filled the room were enough to be able to guide you through that darkness, as indistinguishable as coal, and wrap your arms around his hunched figure on the floor beside the door.

The house was alone and as dark as that room the last night Jungkook would be there. Passing through the empty corridors of his house was a torment, but you could only imagine how your friend would feel in his place, unable to stop time as it slipped through his fingers.

Several times he had already told you that he didn't want to leave. You didn't think he meant it.

“They're waiting for you downstairs.”

“I know. I don't want to go, noona.” Jungkook moved his arms to wrap around your waist in a desperate grip, his erratic breathing against your neck breaking your heart. “I want to stay. It doesn't matter if I never become an idol. That's not important.”

“Jungkook…”

“I don't want to leave you…”

His halting voice was barely understandable, trying to be muffled by the jacket you were wearing that night when you went to see him off and didn't find him in the car with his parents. The heater seemed not to be a worthy opponent for that cold night.

“Jungkook, you're not going to leave me. We'll keep in touch. Why do you worry so much?”

“I don't want to be like them,” his pained voice pierced your chest; the movement of his body from the way the sobs were attacking him was almost uncontainable. “I don't want this distance.”

“Change is always hard, Jungkookie, but I promise you we'll be in touch always. I'll do my best to make it so.”

“Really?”

“Of course. I'll even come visit you as soon as I can.”

“No. I said I was going to pay for your trip.”

“See? You're not going to leave me.”

“Still I'm scared, noona. What if I'm not enough for them? What if I can't raise enough for you to come live with us?”

“You are enough, Jungkook. From the tips of your fingers to the tips of your hair, there's nothing about you that won't allow you to achieve your dreams, understand? You are destined to be a star. I know it's hard to leave behind everything you know in life, but believe me it will all be worth it. You will come out on top and you will succeed.”

“Noona…” Jungkook cried again, burying his face in your neck once more, clinging to you like the anchor that carried him to the surface of the ocean; the ocean shaped by his own tears. “I… don't… want… to… go…”

The hiccups that attacked him from his intense crying made it difficult for him to speak and you hadn't felt such pain even when the other boys left. There were tears shared, promises whispered and hugs that lasted longer than they should have, but no one had clung to your body as if they feared you were going to disappear at any moment and wanted to seize every second before the impending end.

“It's okay, Jungkookie,” you ran your hands up and down his back trying to calm his crying, trying to control your own as treacherous tears rolled down your cheeks with the darkness as your witness. “We'll meet again. You can wait for me. Then we can melt into another embrace and say how much we miss each other.”

Your phone vibrated on the bed, the notification startling you with its aggressiveness. Another vibration followed that one and then another. Turning on the screen, you found that half an hour had passed since you'd last seen the clock, and in passing you came across Yuna's name on the caller ID. You sighed, remembering the effusiveness with which she said goodbye in the afternoon and mentally preparing yourself for what was to come.

"Hey," you greeted, mildly surprised that her exclamations hadn't reached your ear first to interrupt your greeting.

"y/n, how were sales today?" her calm voice filled your hearing and a slight wrinkle implanted itself between your brows.

"Mmm, it was all good. We have several domiciliary and the prints are coming out with the deadlines arranged. With Seojun we considered that maybe taking on a publisher wouldn't be so bad, but I'm not sure yet."

You narrowed your eyes at the ceiling, shallowly biting your nails, waiting for the moment when Yuna would burst out, but it didn't come.

"Oh, yeah. We'll have to consider that. I'll go early tomorrow morning to seize the day." Yuna answered quietly, with the faint sound of things stirring in the background of the call. Surely she had just arrived at her apartment.

"Yuna?"

"Mhm?"

"How was the afternoon?"

"Oh, it was normal, really," she replied, her voice flat, as if the thought had barely crossed her mind since the moment she'd left the coffee shop. "I didn't see anyone memorable."

"Ah, so your knights in shining armor didn't attend?"

"Sadly, no." Yuna sighed, her unchanging attitude finding a little more sense in your head. She sounded more tired than anything.

You talked a bit more with Yuna before she excused herself to go about her evening routine and finally get some rest, specifically stressing to you how boring the whole afternoon had been and how every second she only thought about going home. You also told her a bit more about the ideas you and your father had half-heartedly spun as marketing strategies, but very earnestly your friend asked you not to do anything until she was there.

When her name disappeared from your caller ID, an Instagram notification popped up at the top of your home screen. The vibration felt like the pounding of a sledgehammer against wood, your sentence handed down with no chance of appeal, the blood in your veins freezing and an endless emptiness in the pit of your stomach.

jeonjungkook97 just followed you!

It was followed by the notification of a message from Yuna.

Unnie | 19:01 holy shit. jungkook just followed you on ig, right?

No fucking way. Another fucking account to block.

-

It wasn't like you couldn't deal with them. You had been doing it for about ten years. But now they just seemed to want to throw themselves in front of your face one by one and you weren't strong enough to handle that. Maybe your resolve needed to be more forceful; maybe you should be sure you hated them instead of feeling like your body was shaking and you could melt like jelly in the sun every time you felt they were one step closer to you. For a while, that was all you wanted; to find them; to be found. But now…?

The weekend was spent in a hodgepodge of managing your book sales and the seesaw of emotions you had in the face of the estranged but impactful actions of your old friends. You tried not to think about it too much; you really tried, but it was very difficult. It was easier to let the memories wash over you instead of diligently packing up the books on which you had squandered your blood and tears.

Your books, yes, that was the most important thing.

From the posts and hashtags, even though it had only been a couple of days, you could see that some people -those who had actually read the books- were already posting their opinions and reviews and you knew you had had plenty of time to prepare for that moment, but you really weren't ready to face it. You didn't know what it was; whether it was the pollen, the aligned planets, PMS, mercury retrograde… but all of those things were weighing you down too much recently and you weren't ready to hear the opinions.

And you couldn't help but keep asking yourself why? Having spent so much time, between so many experiences and so many personal changes, why now they decided that they would come back into your life? How dare they after ruining your life by completely abandoning you? Many times you wondered what was missing in you; what was never enough for them… sometimes you believed that this was how it was meant to be; just the seven of them, before you came along. It was always them seven first, then you.

Between lows and highs, between sadness and joy, you still had to keep working.

"Get rid of that face if you're not going to tell me what's wrong with you." Yuna crossed the cafeteria in front of you, picking up some glasses and plates on the table as lunchtime approached.

"I don't have any face."

"You've been in a somber mood since Saturday. You look dead."

You clicked your tongue, taking advantage of the fact that the store was nearly empty to do the math. "Don't be over the top."

"I'm just being honest and genuinely concerned about my friend, can you blame me?" Yuna reached the sink and simply left the dishes there to approach the cash register. Your eyes refused to meet hers, unsheathing a strange annoyance in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm fine," you moved the money automatically, doing the math in the back of your head as second nature, "don't worry so much."

"Ok, if you don't want to tell me about it at least try to distract yourself a little, why don't you take an extra half hour for lunch?"

"You know I can't do that."

"Sol would never know."

"I'm not going to do that."

Yuna pouted, dropping her chin onto the back of her hand. You knew she was about to fly you out of that chair the moment all the bills were safeguarded.

A whiplash of pain shot through your chest at the alternative of having to leave the cafeteria, alone, hovering with your thoughts once again, as you tried to shove the food down your throat. But Yuna happily dragged you out of the cafeteria, leaving you in the middle of the street with your little bag and lunch money, wishing you a happy break as she wandered off once more to deal with the sparse crowd of customers alone.

Maybe you should have told her you'd rather not eat than be alone, but…

That was the story of your life.

So you walked to that restaurant a couple of blocks away, where they sold the cheapest food in the area, and waited patiently while answering Yuna's messages to clear your mind.

Going through your social networks, you once again came across the cover of your books in the pre-viewing of a video and felt the bile in your throat. Let's see, you were happy. Or well, you were trying to convince yourself because you still had that bitter feeling in the pit of your stomach that wouldn't let you enjoy this blast like you should and it had a first and last name of its own. But, generally speaking, it was great that your books were selling, forgetting all the other circumstances that led to that happening.

So, standing in front of those videos, you were tormented by not being able to watch them. A self-published author should be prepared for that kind of thing. No, any author should be. Sharing your art with the world implicitly entailed confronting the world's expression in front of it. It was inevitable, of course, and it was also the energy that could start an engine or the fingers that put out the match. At that precise moment, you still didn't want to know what your destiny was.

You hated that. You hated feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. Why was life so heavy if you had just begun to live it?

Ah, too much pondering for one lunch.

And to think this all started with an Instagram story.

Having an existential crisis because you couldn't stand dealing with the stress and pressure of the extreme demand you were having and because of mixed feelings for a bunch of idiots resurfacing after so many years was one of the last things you thought you'd have to go through that year. Fuck, or ever in your entire life.

Taehyung might have done you a favor as well as a disservice.

But that's how you spent a while longer, as you walked back to the coffee shop, the noise of the city not being enough to quell the bustle of thoughts crashing against each other in your head.

Being in the eye of the hurricane, however, didn't mean you were safe. You barely had a breath of fresh air before the eyewall hit you hard once again.

"Noona…?"

You froze a few steps away from the cafeteria. You feared not only the way you immediately recognized the voice, but the way your body froze, fear, panic and uncertainty clouding your sense.

You were in the alley behind the coffee shop. You didn't usually go in that way, but you had taken a slightly longer way back, only because you were too busy thinking about whether or not your body was up to a longer walk.

You were so close to the door that you could almost hear Yuna's voice on the other side, barely muffled by the beeping that echoed in your ears as panic took over your body.

You didn't want to turn around. Your body was having every possible negative reaction, as if it was fighting an infection, the lunch you had just shoved down your throat seeking to make its way back into your mouth and the feeling of dizziness momentarily clouded you.

Was this how you planned to react if you ever saw them again? Was this how you acted out the scenarios you imagined in your head at night when your memories went back to the last time you saw them?

The only difference between those imaginings and what was happening at that moment was that before you could prepare yourself; you knew what was coming; you had control. Now? Your legs were about to give out, the weight of your body too much to bear.

And you wanted to mock the pathetic behavior you were engaging in. You should turn around, slap him and scream at him that you never wanted to see him again. But your heart was beating and feeling and… how could you deny it anything after so many years of being neglected?

But maybe you were imagining it. The little sleep you had this weekend and all the memories you dragged from the trunk since you saw that Instagram notification must have made you crazy enough that you heard voices, his voice, anywhere… you were still near a busy street, it could be anyone-

"y/n."

And, yet…

You didn't turn around knowing what it would entail to give his voice a face, even though you could madly and frankly recall every line of its length, and you spoke harshly through your teeth even though your labored breathing made your chest heave.

"What are you doing here?"

"Noona… you're really here."

You cringed as you heard his footsteps and clutched with inhuman speed at the lock on the door in front of you.

"I asked you a fucking question: what the fuck do you think you're doing here?"

The silence didn't give you an answer, but you could glimpse it. With your patience on edge and years of emotional repression it was impossible for you to deduce how you would react in such a case, but it didn't seem too far-fetched, even if Jungkook's surprised inspiration said he didn't expect you to be so harsh and rude.

As if you cared.

—Yes you did care, in fact, that's why your heart was beating wildly against your ribs, the choking sensation increasing, the nerves on edge and the tears all over the corners of your eyes, but you had to stand your ground. After so, so long… why, why, why, why?—

"I… I…" Jungkook seemed to be having trouble finding his voice, even though in his profession the words came melodiously and easily out of his mouth. If you turned to look at him, you might have noticed that his face went from happiness to anguish with the speed a bullet goes through a field, "I wanted to see you…"

He sounded so small. The five-foot-ten-plus man, who you're sure was almost a head and a half taller than you, might as well have been a badly wounded puppy behind you. You knew from the way he spoke that he was holding back tears, but you didn't let that sway you. He didn't deserve it.

"Who gave you the right to come here?"

You didn't let him answer, not knowing if he was even going to, tightening the lock on the door you were about to walk through at any moment, bile in your throat making you fear the fall as if you were at the top of a skyscraper.

"How the fuck did you even find me?"

"Well, I-"

"I don't fucking want to know!"

You cut him off, the dryness and venom in your voice making you tremble. You were so sad, so distraught and so angry at the same time.

"And I don't want to see you. So leave."

"Noona…"

"Fucking leave, Jeon, for fuck's sake!"

You moved, almost as if by inertia, opening the door and slamming it behind you, the noise so deafening that it echoed in your ears for several seconds until you heard Yuna's footsteps approaching you and felt her arms wrap around your body.

You didn't know what she was saying, you just leaned against the door and let yourself fall, your body shaking in cry after uncontrollable cry, truly wondering how everything had gone so far; wondering how, after so many years, you still allowed them to have that power over you; a power they didn't deserve and shouldn't have.

You felt shattered in that moment, every piece of you scattered in the hold, every moment of your life replaying on its glassy, sharp edges. Even with half of you staying afloat, Yuna held you until the tears stopped flowing and with renewed resolve you promised yourself that this was never going to happen again.

Jungkook had taken you by surprise, but from now on none of them would ever catch you off guard.

-

a/n: i dont really know what to think about this chap. sometimes i like it sometimes i dont. i guess thats just how it works. pls letme know what you think! thank u for all the support! <3

tag: @rinkud @futuristicenemychaos @pastelpeachess @parapiop7 @kokoandkookie @midiplier @thunderg @lizzymizzy-blogg @ladymorrie @butnotmontana @lovelgirl22 @jjeonjjk7 @aurorathi @ot7stansthings @kunacat @borahaetelevision @mylovingstars @ghostlyworld @talyaaas-blog @slowlyshycomputer @jjk174 @maynina @saintomie @damn-u-min-yoongi @juju-227592 @yoongznme @queenbloody @leeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesworld @zippaur @v4ksk4tz @kookierry @idk179634 @canarystwin @elliott-calls @devilzliaison

[fazedlight]

Limbo (Lena & Alex, when Kara is in the Phantom Zone)

She thought she had been alone in the Tower.

She knew she had had too much to drink. But it hadn’t mattered - she’d be sober by the time the team returned to the Tower tomorrow afternoon, to try yet again to devise a way to find Kara and bring her home. A mission that seemed increasingly hopeless…

All she wanted to do was drown and numb her fears for a night, but she didn’t anticipate Alex coming back. “Brought you Belly Burger,” the former agent said.

Lena tried to keep the exasperation and drunkenness out of her voice. But, frankly, Alex’s actions didn’t make a lot of sense. “You should hate me,” Lena muttered.

Alex shrugged. “I kind of do.”

“Then why are you bringing me food?”

“Because we’re going to get Kara back,” Alex said matter-of-factly, “And she’d kick my ass if I didn’t look after you in the meantime.”

Lena let her eyes raise up to Alex’s face - noting the stress in every line, the grim determination staring back at her. Somewhere in Lena’s grief and anger, she felt a flare of jealousy. You have someone to go home to, she thought.

Slowly, she reached for the bag of food.

---

Their attempt the next day failed. Lena thought she was safe getting drunk at home.

But Alex, annoyingly, showed up at her door, carrying containers of Chinese food. This is embarrassing, Lena thought, letting her in, watching as she unpacked the food in the kitchen. “Why are you really here?”

Alex grinned to herself, pausing to pull another takeout box before she answered. “Kelly is making me.”

It drew a laugh from Lena. As much as Alex might be noble about what Kara would’ve wanted, her second answer made far more sense.

Lena took out her scotch, pouring the two a drink. She wondered for a moment if Alex might push back - Lena was drunk enough as it was - but it seemed Alex was smart enough to let it go. So they ate their food and sipped their alcohol in relative silence. 

Neither could touch the potstickers.

Her mind flit between mental images of the blonde - smiling, or weeping, or with her arm thrown comfortably around Lena’s shoulder. It brought back the twisting pain, aching for Kara to really be there, for this to be a game night or a movie night rather than a solemn mourning between her and Kara’s sister.

Lena glanced up, taking Alex in again. Her mind wandered to the incident in the Fortress - words that made her realize that she didn’t understand everything when it came to Kara’s identity.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Alex asked.

“You didn’t tell Kelly,” Lena said, “I thought I was the only one who didn’t know.”

Alex frowned, leaning forward to grab another box. “Turns out Kelly had figured it out before I told her. I don’t know which of you knew first.”

Lena felt her jaw tense, though she tried to relax it again, taking a centering breath. “Why didn’t you tell her?”

Alex shrugged. “The fewer people that knew, the better.”

---

This time, it was on purpose. Lena invited both Kelly and Alex over, and remained decidedly undrunk for the evening.

Kelly arrived first, after work, noting that Alex would be there soon with the Indian takeout that they had ordered. “Sorry I keep stealing your wife in the evenings,” Lena said.

“I think she needs this as much as you do,” Kelly replied honestly, “It’s hard, not having Kara here.”

Lena laughed sardonically, feeling the craving of the liquor in her cabinet. Kara would be here if I weren’t.

“Lena?” Kelly nudged.

It was in Lena’s nature to bury things seven layers deep. It was in her nature to hide, and lick her wounds, and keep her thoughts to herself until they were needed.

But something about Kelly’s gentleness - and knowing that Kelly hadn’t been invited to the party either, so to speak - was somehow disarming. “If Alex had killed me at Mount Norquay,” Lena said, struggling to hide her overwhelming guilt, “We wouldn’t be in this mess.”

Kelly shook her head. “She didn’t want to kill you.”

“She should’ve,” Lena scoffed, feeling the self-hatred bubble within her. For all that she blamed the superfriends for so much, she could only feel guilt for this. “I was trying to brainwash the world. It was the greater good.” I wasn’t worth saving.

Kelly reached over, giving Lena’s hand a tight squeeze. “It would have killed you. It would’ve destroyed her. It would’ve destroyed Kara, too.”

Lena bit at her lip, fighting the tears that were starting to threaten her vision. I don’t want to feel this, she thought, thinking again to the liquor in her cabinet.

But she remained seated, breathing in slow breaths as she regained her composure, Kelly sitting patiently next to her. Kelly’s warm hand was still on her own. Somewhere, the thought bubbled up: While she didn’t have Kara back… she was starting to realize she wasn’t alone.

A knock came at the door, and Kelly gave Lena’s hand one last squeeze, before rising up to let Alex in.

---

Alex came alone the next night. Lena only poured them each one drink.

Truth be told, she thought she’d need more liquor to ask the question that had been itching at her mind for months. But it was surprisingly easy that night - in a time when she could no longer summon the biting betrayal that had once consumed her. “When we were working on the harun-el together,” Lena asked quietly, not sure if she actually cared about the answer, “Why did you act so suspicious of Supergirl? Was it just to gain my trust?”

Alex turned to her with wide eyes, before leaning back into the seat. “Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I never thought- I didn’t think-” Alex turned again to Lena, her eyes darting around Lena’s face with a twisted sadness. “Colonel Haley was trying to find out who Kara was,” Alex said, “So I had J’onn erase my memory, to keep her out of danger.”

Lena’s eyes widened. “You didn’t know?”

“I didn’t know.”

---

Sometimes, there was laughter - sometimes, there were the lopsided grins and the aggravating disbelief of how the blonde held the secret all these years.

“I miss this,” Alex said, “I miss her. Without the superhero stuff.”

“Without the superhero stuff?” Lena asked.

“Just her,” Alex said, “So few people know her as just her.”

Alex’s words tugged at Lena’s heart. Just her, Lena mulled. What had the kryptonian said on Pulitzer night? “But you still loved Kara. I just kept thinking, if I could be Kara, just Kara…”

Where once she had assumed she knew only the mask, she was slowly realizing that perhaps it was the other way around. “I tried so hard to stay away from her,” Lena murmured.

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

“Supergirl,” Lena explained, “I didn’t want to be my brother. I wanted to show her that we could work together without me trying to find out anything about her. That I knew her identity wasn’t my business…”

Alex sighed. “You didn’t know you were getting close to her anyway.”

“I was trying to do everything right,” Lena said quietly, “And then…”

“And then?” Alex asked softly, though she already knew the answer.

“And then I fell in love with her,” Lena confessed.

---

The Tower was abuzz that morning as everyone made their final preparations. Gone were the thoughts of the simple mission to transport Kara back in moments. This would be a voyage - into the phantom zone, facing nightmares unknown, hours in a fight to get Kara back.

Hope bloomed in Lena’s chest, watching as the team ran through checklists, making final preparations. This is really happening, Lena thought, this is our chance.

She wasn’t alone. “We’re going to see her today,” Alex affirmed, “I can feel it.”

Lena swallowed, feeling the tinge of nerves in her excitement - both for what lay ahead, and for what Alex knew. “Are you going to tell her?” Lena asked quietly, “What I said?”

Alex shook her head. “That’s your secret. When you’re ready.”

Lena smiled softly. “You think I should tell her.”

“Yup,” Alex agreed, “But I know you guys have a lot of other shit to work out first.”

Lena let out a small breath, glancing over to the station that she would take for the flight, turning back to Alex. A warm hand landed on her shoulder, giving a firm squeeze. “C’mon,” Alex said, stepping towards the mainroom, “Let’s get my sister back.”

Lena smiled. “Right behind you.”

[h8ani]

In which a silly thought of teasing Rindou for a month would be fun, but after a simple week he would surely snap and make you remember why you should never play games with him

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: fem!reader, dacryphilia, edging/orgasm control, rough sex, reader is alluded to squirting, mean!rindou, potential dubcon, choking, established relationship, masturbation (male)

Here is my submission for @wakashawty NNN collab! This is my first collab ever and was so so so fun to do!

Something about Rindou is, don’t test him. He isn’t one for jokes and there will be consequences even if it’s meant as a joke.

You thought it would be funny, a comical lil thing to do. If you were smart and had even an ounce of self-preservation, this thought wouldn’t have crossed your mind, the thought being discarded as you went on with your day. But yet here you were. Wanting to participate in No Nut November was supposed to be a little joke, you must’ve taken it too far because now you found yourself bent over the back of the couch, hands pinned behind your back, and being edged for what seems to have been hours. You never meant for it to go this far yet here you are.

Rindou’s thrusts are rough and unrelenting as he fucks up into you, his grip on both of your wrists keeping you in place draped over the couch. The sound of skin slapping skin is all you can hear, constantly ringing in your ears as your pussy continues to take the abuse. You felt the wetness drip down your thighs followed by the sickly squelching sound your pussy started to make, you wince once you felt Rindou’s cock still from within you. Embarrassment wasn’t the word you felt while you were powerless over the couch, you were mortified. Rindou pulls his cock out of you and you feel a quick ‘slap’ against your pussy. His fingers gather up your slick before pushing two of his digits in knuckle deep eliciting a choked out moan from you. Rindou kneels down so he’s eye level with your dripping core now, a proud smirk appearing on his face. “Oh? What’s this? Are you enjoying yourself?” He curls his fingers hitting your gspot perfectly, your legs tremble as he starts finger fucking you. “You’re not meant to enjoy this.” He tsk’s from behind you, fingers slamming against your pussy allowing the wetness to drip down your legs.

You try to twist your wrists free, the feeling of being defenseless was something you weren’t particularly fond of, you hated it really, preferring to hold him close to you and have your hands roam across his body— he knew that of course. He knew everything about you, from the way you loved having your hair played with when you had a long day and were sleepy down to what you loathe, but you weren’t meant to like this; this was a punishment for a stupid idea that was brought to fruition.

You hear him groan suddenly, thrusts slowing down and a sigh slips past your lips as you think it’s all over now.

Oh, you stupid, stupid girl.

“I’m not done with you yet.” He says, voice ever so present in your ears.

Rindou sees you tense up, your body stiffening once you hear him. He has to fight back another groan once you involuntarily clench around him.

Rindou doesn’t particularly care to be like this with you, never a fan of “punishing” you if that’s what this even is. He fucking hates being teased, but you knew this, so why did you even try?

“Babe!” Rindou hears you call, your footsteps heard climbing up the stairs. “Babe! Babe! Babe!” You rush into his room with a smile coming across your face. He raises an eyebrow, curious as to what you were so excited about.

“What?”

“Guess what we’re going to do together this month?” Your smile only gets bigger as you speak to him.

“Thanksgiving?”

“Wha? No! Well yes, but not the answer!” Tired of guessing already, he gives you a bored look and waits for you to continue, hands motioning you to finish what you wanted to tell him. “We’re gonna do No Nut November!”

“Absolutely not,” Rindou says quickly which only leads to the most devious smile you could muster.

“Too bad! If I’m playing then you have to play!” You exclaimed before slipping out of his bedroom before he could interject again. You were serious about playing the game too, he knew you were. What he didn’t know was just how dirty you would play it. He could deal with you purposefully grinding your ass into him at night, that was nothing new to him. What he didn’t expect was the tease of a century of you sending lewd photos of yourself while he was at work.

Once his phone vibrates against his desk he thinks nothing of it when he sees your name pop up with a notification of a text, you always send texts while he’s at work. Clicking in his password he clicks the notification only to slam his phone hard against his desk. The photos sent were of you, in a short mini skirt bent over with no panties on, he could see only from the waist down but he noticed your fingers gathering your own slick, slim fingers prodding your entrance like you were teasing yourself. Rindou picks his phone back up to see multiple photos sent that he couldn’t look away from, another text comes in from you ‘ Wish you were the one touching me:( ’ His face now the shade of a tomato and cock pressing hard against his slacks he stands up abruptly and marches down to the single stall men’s restroom. Fingers lock the door quickly and tug his pants down even faster until he finally fists his cock. A low guttural groan leaving him while he thinks of fucking you in that mini skirt, how he wouldn’t even let you touch yourself one bit and allow him and only him to touch you. He strokes himself faster while his thoughts run rampant, precum leaking past his tip until he spills the rest of his seed all over his hand. Rindou curses internally once he looks down to see the mess, head falling back against the stalls door. Once he got home, your little game was going to be over.

To his surprise, he had more restraint than that. In your eyes that was a green light to keep going, you continued, and continued, and continued to tease him. Until one day, you wore that dress, that one fucking dress. The one that you wore on your birthday that brought back so many memories to his mind, specifically memories of him stripping the dress off of you. The dress you were wearing drove him up the wall. You couldn’t plan to wear that and expect him to keep his composure like he did the past week, you just couldn’t.

He knew that you knew what that dress did to him, how the satin snug around your curves in the most perfect way that he went crazy for. So you coming downstairs acting as if you were going out, that didn’t fly with him.

“Y/n” the tone in his voice was enough to send shivers down your spine, you dared to glance over your shoulder to see him standing up. “Come here.” He says simply. You may like to tease and play games but you knew better than to argue, especially with the way Rindou was looking at you.

You made your way over to him, the only sound that could be heard was of your heels against the floor. Once you made it in front of him, his presence seemed more threatening than it was when you were a few feet away. Slowly looking up at him you’re met with his cool lavender eyes, staring so emotionless back down at you.

“I’m only going to say this once. Bend over, before I bend you over myself.”

You were tired yet you needed more, you needed to cum. Constantly being brought to the edge only to be pulled back was a pain you never knew before.

A gasp escapes from your lips once you feel his arm slip in front of you and press two cold silver ringed fingers to your clit. The pressure is enough to bring you back to a high so quickly and make your legs shake. “Please…” you whimper while pushing your plush hips back into his own. Instantly his fingers still against you, hot wet tears beginning to well up in your eyes. The frustration and growing pain in between your legs reaching a new all time high.

“Please what?” His head tilts to the side although you couldn’t see it.

“Wanna cum, ‘m sorry.” You try to grind down into his fingers to alleviate yourself, you expected this not to work in your favor, what you didn’t expect was for Rindou to let your wrists go that he held, the dead weight of your arms falling forward ached from how long they were pinned behind your back, you rubbed your wrists, moving them around in the process.

You’re pulled up by his strong and steady hands, spun around to face him, suddenly making eye contact with him brought a suffocating tension in the air you didn’t feel when your back was the only thing that faced him. The air around you is so weak and brittle, feeling as if it would snap at any moment if given the chance. Your eyes met his with an alertness as he stared through you, the stress from the situation you put yourself in was evident even to him. His stare was uncomfortable, it was meant to be, making you squirm just from a single look from him. Your breath felt constricted as you finally spoke. “Baby…” you say, eyes stinging and rimmed red. You blink and let the stray tears fall, hand quickly wiping them away as you utter, “Please.”

His face softens, arms dipping and hooking around your legs so you can sit on top of the couch, instinctively you wrap your legs around him. “Tell me, love,” he positions himself at your entrance while he speaks. “What month is it again?”

“November?” You say confused, legs spreading to allow him in further. “Why are you asking? What are you getting at?”

“What was that little thing you wanted to do called again? No Nut what?”

“November…” you glare at him, irritation running high now. You begin to close your legs but his hand that was holding onto your waist stops you, causing you to hold yourself up on the couch now. His grip on your thigh is rough as he pushes your legs open further.

“You wanted this, didn’t you? It’s the name of the game sweetheart.” He smiles, a deep chuckle erupting from him. “You’re not cumming, end of story.” With that he pushes in, burying himself to the hilt. A sob rips out of you once he starts fucking you at a brutal pace, the way he still has any energy to continue, his pace unwavering was unbeknownst to you because you were tired, drained even. He was so deep and it was sending your mind into a frenzy making you dizzy with each thrust, your own body wanting to give out and let Rin take you as he pleases.

Tears rolled down your cheeks with every slam of his hips against yours, Rindou just laughs, grabbing your cheeks with one hand simultaneously squishing them, you muster enough strength to glare with the tears blurring your vision. “Don’t you look cute crying, you mad at me now? ‘s that it?” He angles his hips in a way that has you crying his name out, thrusting upward he hits the spongey spot within you that sends your legs into a spasm. You feel your stomach tightening up for the nth time tonight. Your hands reach up to grip his shoulder as you feel yourself so, so close to your orgasm.

Please, please, please.

You were ruined. Silent sobs were let out as you hooked your ankles together, a desperate move for him to stay inside of you. Rindou watches the way you blink more tears away, the hopeless look you had as you stare up at him, silently begging him to allow you to cum. “You gonna quit it with these games?” He brings his hand to your cheek, thumb wiping away whatever tears that continue to fall. You nod almost before he can finish, a slight peek of hope appearing on your face. “You pro-”

“I promise! P-Please, please I wanna cum, I need to cum Rin.” You shakily blurt, pulling him in even closer, feeling him even deeper than before.

“You pull this shit on me again and I won’t be so nice next time.” He says before slipping a hand in between you two, you feel his fingers press against your clit, moving in quick circular motions.

It should embarrass you how quickly the knot in your stomach tightened up, you should be even more embarrassed with the sounds you were making, how pathetic you sounded, but you didn’t care, all you cared about was your impending orgasm and how it will be the best damn orgasm of your life.

Rindou thrusted up into you roughly, now pulling away his hand which elicited a desperate whine from you which he quickly shut down. He wraps his hand around your throat squeezing ever so slightly, your attention now centered on him. “You cum from my cock, understood?” Nodding as well as you could, his grip tightens around your throat, fingers pressing in just the right spot that makes your head tingle. His pace quickens, thrusts still rough and hitting you just right. You were breathless, eyes glazed over and head spinning from the lack of oxygen, but who needed to breathe when all you wanted to do was cum.

Unperceived to you, you clenched tighter the longer you were without any air in your lungs. Rindou groans while watching you with lidded eyes as he feels himself nearing his nth orgasm of the night, thrusts becoming rougher, more erratic. A strangled gasp leaves you as you suddenly feel the coil inside snap, your body overcome by the pleasure consuming you and the mess you were making. Your body shook against his and Rindou releases his grip on your throat. His hands now hold your waist as he finishes inside of you with a grunt, his hot cum pumping inside you, painting your insides white as he rides out his high.

Your mind was spinning, unsure if it was from the sudden oxygen rushing to your head or from the intense orgasm. You slump against him with an exhausted huff, Rindou runs his hand through your hair as you both calm down, the heavy breaths from you both are the only sound that can be heard.

“Learn anything today?” His voice suddenly heard, barely having any energy you lazily nod, head tilting up from against his chest.

“Yeah, November is for Thanksgiving and Thanksgiving alone.”

@bitchcraftinc @enchantedforest-network

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader Pt. 9

AN: How have we come this far omg- Anyway, I recently hit 100 followers!!! SO I wanted to thank you all so much for your support on this journey! It's been such an amazing ride and I've loved every second. Being a part of this fandom is so fun, even if it's a jail sometimes (Looking at you Tiktok) and I just- I hope to repay the joy you guys have all given me.

This is a request! BUT I combined two requests because I had a really good idea for it! Twisted! Reader makes an appearance again!

Now, I know y'all love Teagan, and I do too! But their mains pmo so for the sake of the story they're the villain for now. Unless you main them, you're cool. This is just based on my experience and since I can't draw them pregnant this is what I need to do.

Part One -> Part Two -> Part Three -> Part Four -> Part Five -> Part Six -> Part Six 1/2 -> Part Seven -> Part Eight

Warning: Teagan gets a bad rep here, some physical violence (People get slapped), and Sl*t shaming (Reader doesn't let that shit slide though).

☁ You were ecstatic. That much was plain to see. You were practically jumping off the walls as you ran from toon to toon, each asking them the same, excited question. "Aren't you excited?!"

☁ The other three could only watch in exasperated awe as you cheered and bounced from foot to foot, trinkets bouncing off your hip. You were like a kid on Christmas, waiting at the elevator for the others willing to do a run to show up.

☁ You had finally, finally, gotten the all clear to return to distracting, even if the other three lowkey dreaded it, and were practically vibrating to return to your work.

☁ You had agreed to start at a normal run, no hunt for Dandy's twisted, and with all three of them with no pleading, which eased them just a bit. They'd be there should worst comes to worst and monitor how you were doing. If at any point you were unwell, they'd pull you from the run and work back up to what you normally were used to doing.

☁ You took what you could get in all honesty, just excited to be back, catching Pebble when he excitedly yipped up at you, his little tail wagging wildly. He was coming along as a back up. Just in case.

☁ Admittedly, the other three dragged their feet when it came to entering the elevator, even as you ran circles around them, yanking and pulling at them, urging them to hurry up.

☁ Pushing against Sprout, you groaned as he let his weight fall back, giving some grand show as to how "Gravity was increasing!", making you screech at him.

☁ You did surprise him when instead of crumbling under his weight, you stayed upright, pushing him up straight with a call for him to "Stop dragging your clown feet!"

☁ It was the four of you, Pebble, Teagan, Shelly and Glisten. Shelly too was excited as this would be her own first run as well, her own tail wagging happily behind her as you and her cheered in excitement. It was an adorable sight, really, there was a fond eye roll as the lever was pulled and the elevator brought you all to the first floor.

☁ While Sprout was trying to find common ground with Teagan about the tape situation, which she was being rather flippant about, Cosmo had cornered you with Astro's help, ticking off a number of things the keep in mind with your return to the field. You nodded along, even if they were sure you weren't listening as much as you tried to portray.

☁ "Additionally," Astro spoke up after Cosmo stopped to take a breath, the sudden glum loon on his face making you perk your attention up as you turned to him. "Your twisted is bound to be more active. We've noticed that more recently someone was turned, the more likely their twisted is to show up. If you need to, take a floor, let Pebble do it."

☁ His eyes shined with a domineering spirit you very rarely saw in the celestial, making you swallow tightly as you nodded. "I will."

☁ His eyes scanned your own before a star shard was ruffling your fur, making you yelp as you swatted at it. It made Astro chuckle as Cosmo tried not to laugh, making you squeal out a number of curses at the cake roll and celestial. The elevator opens just as the star shard retreats and Astro's gentle hand cups your cheek, pressing a hand to your lips. "Stay safe, starlight."

☁ "I will." You nod, standing and smoothing yourself out. Cosmo doesn't let you go far, wrapping his arms around you and smacking a hearty kiss onto your lips. "Just remember who's bed you sleep in, Pudding! Don't get hurt!"

☁ The unsaid threat makes a shiver spin down your spine as you turn, even if the happy fuzzies from the affections make your entire body buzz. You glance around for the final individual, making your way over to where Sprout looks ready to tear his leaves out.

☁ Teagen carried on anyway, passing you even as Glisten warned her to give you a minute. You let her go though, knowing that if they could last as long as they did without you, they'd last a few more minutes. You focused on Sprout, who took a long, deep breath before giving you a soft, tired smile. "Go get 'em, bud." He hums, setting his hands on your hips as you hold his cheeks to press a kiss to his lips. You nod happily before taking off at last, ears pricked for the twisteds.

☁ You find them quick enough, with Pebble staying nearby just in case. He's chasing his tail, you note, finishing another circle around the large boxes near broken. It seems to be a easy enough first floor, tranquil and calm with a number of fallbacks. It makes things fall into place that much easier as the machines are completed one by one.

☁ From there, floor by floor is completed each one a more welcomed reprieve than the last. There are some tensions, you note, as Sprout grows increasingly frustrated with Teagan, bringing up his concerns several times- more of you piping in as you went. Alas, she remained flippant, scoffing at each of you as if exhausted by your mere presence.

☁ You weren't sure if something had happened during your time as a twisted and subsequent recovery, but you knew Teagan always had some sort of...attitude. You tried to remain as accommodating as possible, but sometimes you just couldn't please everyone.

☁ When the elevator door opened and footsteps echoed in the hall, you tilted your head at the sound, not recognizing them right away. Looking behind you, you frowned at the faces you were faced with. Oh.

☁ "Pebble," You say, breaking the tense silence. "Stay close, buddy. I doubt this twisted is gonna like us very much." Not that any of them did, but still.

☁ You waved at your boys, who evidently didn't look thrilled at the prospect but let you go, nodding slowly as you began to take off. Your Twisted spotted you almost immediately and you felt your blood run cold at the sight.

☁ Their side oozed ichor, eyes beady and red and locked right onto you. It made you swallow as you picked up the pace, looking back at the sound of their hands hitting the floor. The development made your eyes widen as they took off much faster, claws outreached and ready to strike.

☁ You nearly tripped over your own feet, Pebble looking ready to jump in as he whines only for you to quickly recover, taking off to where you knew a good distracting spot was. You picked up a twisted Coal as well, which Pebble took so you could focus on the other twisted, even if he stayed nearby- which you appreciated.

☁ A part of you knew that he would though, as you have grown rather close with the pet rock, who slept in your bed with Blu more often than not these days. (Thats right y'all. Blu and Pebble friendship. Pebble sleeps in your bed. Coal sleeps on the floor.)

☁ So you continue, making sure you were distracting around a metal shelf, that managed to hold strong against your twisted's charging. It clanged everytime it rocked against the shelf, but you continued your little song and dance with the twisted. It was like distracting Goob or Scraps.

☁ Still, seeing your own face look like that makes your gut churn bitterly at the thought of being that at any point in time. You regret turning greatly, but if that was the only way to save Vee, you'd do it again in a heartbeat.

☁ You almost debate zoning out like you used to do, but that hope is quickly dashed at the sound of an air horn. It makes you skid to a stop as the Twisted you immediately turns tail to the other direction.

☁ You try yelling and using your ability to get them back, but they've already focused on someone else and you can't get them back until you get between them and the toon they're locked onto. Which, with your twisted, is a challenge.

☁ Anger boils in your gut as you take off once more, Pebble debating leaving the other twisted or following you. You call out a command for him to stay, which he does with a whine.

☁ You can't even help the growl of anger that slips out as you spot Teagan running, the version of you hot on her trail. You take off after her, even if your joints make their distaste known. This would be the final floor for you, you decided a while ago, promising to power through this one in the very least.

☁ You're not sure where Teagan is going, but you can't catch up. You're low on Stamina and without Astro nearby, you unfortunately just have to hope that Teagan has a trick up her sleeve.

☁ Speaking of Astro, you're practically gutted as you follow Teagan around a corner, the teacup making a beeline for the machine he was working on. You yell out for him to be aware, but have no real worry as even you've missed him a few times. He looks up, noting the situation with a nod, only to immediately gape as Teagan throws down a smoke bomb and the Twisted version of you locks onto him instead.

☁ He's trapped in a corner even as you take off once more, the version of you pouncing. It's claws dig into Astro's shoulders, making him cry out as you reactivate your ability. The twisted version of you immediately turns to you, screeching, but you pay it no mind, running in the opposite direction. Anger positively boils in your stomach as you curse and snap, acting more like a beacon than any airhorn could.

☁ You call for Pebble, making the rock run over, barking to call your Twisted's attention to him as you turned back to Astro. He was standing now, if a little woozy as you ran up to him.

☁ "Oh my GOD- I am so, so sorry. I tried catching up, but I couldn't and I didn't know you were here-" You began to babble, reaching into your inventory bag to grab...anything that could help really. You come up empty, but not for long as you see Sprout jogging down the nearby hall. You call to him and he whips his head over, eyes widening as he sees the ichor on your hands, dashing over.

☁ "We told you to be careful-" He's mid-scold when you stop him, shaking your head. "It wasn't me! Astro was hit!"

☁ Sprout pauses, face immediately taking a new tone. "Astro?" He turns and sees the claw marks on his shoulders, staining his blanket as the celestial groans. "Oh shit- Okay, yeah, let's get you to elevator, honey bun." Sprout bends down to scoop up the other main, making him groan. He goes to tell you to follow, not having the mental capacity to track both you and an injured partner, but you're following anyway.

☁ "I don't have any meds." You mutter forlorn, immediately looking defeated. Sprout frowns at that, giving a sigh. "I don't have enough tapes. I told Teagan there would be enough for both of us, but does she listen? No."

☁ "I'm sor-" Astro begins to groan, but you cut him off with a barked "Don't." Sprout raises a brow at your sudden temper, never knowing you to be one to act so...aggresively? You've always been a happy go-lucky angel of a being, never failing to light up the room with a smile.

☁ But to see you? Snarling with anger and sharp teeth on display, leftover from your time as a newly turned twisted? It makes his skin bristle. "What happened?"

☁ "That airhorn?" You practically spit. "Teagan blew it. Took the twisted from me and led them right to Astro! Then smoke bombed and let him take the hit!" You're seething and Sprout blinks in surprise at this, looking down at Astro. The Celestial's eyes are wide, looking between you and Sprout himself, as if uncertain how to go from there.

☁ Sprout wasn't sure either, simply taking you both to the elevator. Glisten and Cosmo are already there, hiding behind a box. Just as Sprout's about to call to Glisten the directions to the last machine, it goes off and the Elevator opens.

☁ Sprout quickly ducks inside, calling Cosmo over. The cake roll immediately gets to work, digging into his inventory for a first aid kit, getting to work on Astro's wounds. The celestial pouts, but sits, having seen first hand what Cosmo's glare is like when you dared disobeying.

☁ Admittedly, Sprout's still watching you. You're standing at the brink of the elevator, positively livid, but waiting. Like a predator would wait for its prey. You're poised, muscles tight and ready to strike the first chance you loosen your iron clad will just the tiniest bit.

☁ If nothing else, he's excited. To see you? The peachy keen, bushy-tailed, absolutely beaming beacon of hope and sunshines and rainbows and everything nice in the world absolutely let lose? Oh he's buzzing. Even if it's quelled a bit as Astro squeezes his hand, cursing at the sudden infectant on his wound.

☁ Glisten himself steps inside, with Shelly jogging in soon after. Pebble makes his appearance with a yip, immediately running to Astro's side with a wag in his tail, even if he whines at the main.

☁ Then, you're prey arrives. She's panting as she turns the corner, the elevator slamming down behind her as she bends down to lay her hands on her knees.

☁ Everyone is watching you, and your boys are sure you know it. Sprout swears on his life that your eyes flash red as you stalk over to her, growling as you do with a sneer on your lips.

☁ "Where were you so-called-distractors?!" Teagan snaps, turning to you with an indignant scowl on her face. "I nearly got hit!"

☁ "Oh. did you?" The snarl on your face falls for a second, replaced with a grin so sweet even Cosmo avoids looking over too long, cleaning the last of Astro's wound before pressing a bandage to it and a parting kiss. It makes Astro grin before he's gently pressing his own peck to Cosmo's head, immediately turning his attention back to you.

☁ Astro debates stopping you, but figures she's more than earned it with the attitude she's been giving Sprout all day.

☁ "That's funny." You continue, stepping close enough that every step forward makes Teagan take one back before she's pressed against a wall. Faster than any of them can react, your hand snaps out, claws digging into the metal of the wall, and this time Sprout's sure there's a flicker of red. "Because you know who did get hurt? Huh? After someone blew an airhorn? Then led the twisted right to him? Then smokebombed to ensure they saw him? Because I do."

☁ Teagan tries looking for an escape, but you're domineering in every aspect of the word. You're not even focused on them and Sprout wants to bow his head in shame.

☁ It's in your stance, the tone of your voice and your general aura around you. You're enraged and everyone in the elevator knows it.

☁ Everyone, but apparently Teagan. After realizing she doesn't have one, she rolls her shoulder and stands straight, getting in your face despite the snarl on your features. "If he would've moved, it wouldn't have happened! He's as much to blame. In fact, if anyone is to blame, it's you!"

☁ Pebble barks at this angrily, running up to your side, but he's momentarily ignored as whatever patience you had snapped. "MY FAULT?! You blew an airhorn for no reason. We had it under control. You've been a selfish, greedy bitch this entire time with no regards for anyone but yourself! You refuse to share tapes with Sprout, constantly get in mine and Pebble's way and damn near took a medkit from Cosmo! You're snotty at the best of times and too righteous for what I know you've done at the worst. I get your family system has a metric fuck-ton of drama going on, most of it self-inflicted by the way, but that does not give you the excuse to take that out on us, especially not my family."

☁ Teagan gapes as the elevator moves to return to the Lobby, Glisten standing by the lever with a grimace on his face as he stared at Teagan. Shelly is avoiding looking at either you or Teagan, making sure Astro is okay while Cosmo finishes up. Pebble is dashing between you and Sprout, whimpering up a storm.

☁ Sprout himself is watching carefully, torn between stepping between you two and letting you handle yourself. You're on a thin fuse and it's been snipped from her accusations. But Teagan has been a pain for awhile, the drama between her and Rodger reaching several boiling points which she takes out on the rest of the toons. It makes Sprout snarl to himself at the thought, keeping to his spot beside the other two. Astro, at least, looks thoroughly entertained and Cosmo seems neutral about the whole ordeal.

☁ There's a crack in the elevator and Sprout's immediately looking over. Your head is snapped to the left, cheek already looking swollen as Teagen's raised hand quivers. There are tears in her eyes, but she's just as angry as you're slowly looking.

☁ Sprout steps forward to intervene, but Astro's tail swipes against his knees, pulling his attention to the celestial, who shakes his head. So Sprout stills an watches as you move your jaw.

☁ "You have no idea what I've been through! You have no right to mention that! It's not my fault you- you sell yourself out! You're cheap and a dime-a-dozen toon! You should stay in your lane before I force you back into it!" Teagan snaps, clenching her hands.

☁ You look back at her, almost stunned but you quickly recover. "Let me make this one thing explicitly clear to you." You begin, tone chilling the air in the elevator. "Everyone knows what happened between you and Rodger. How? We've heard your screaming matches for weeks. Either break-up or don't. Just figure it the fuck out, if nothing else but Toodle's sake. Second," You hold up a second finger, eyes narrowing. "If you think for one ounce of a second that your relationship is anything comparable to mine, I have some bad news for you. There is nothing even remotely similar between our relationships. Ours is healthy, but you wouldn't know anything about that now would you. And third," You pause.

☁ Then there's another crack and Teagan is backed against the wall. "If you ever lay your hands on me again, I'll feed you to a twisted." You glower just as the elevator opens. You look at it then at your boys, grinning like normal.

☁ "C'mon, lets get Astro to bed. He's injured so he loses rights to complain about getting babied."

☁ "I do not!"

☁ Sprout's already laughing as he carries Astro to your room, Cosmo coming up behind you with an arm around your waist. He waits until you're out of earshot of the others before nudging you. "That was pretty hot, you know, pudding."

☁ You flush before laughing, pushing him away by his face. "Yeah, yeah, keep it to yourself. Don't you have a celestial to heal?"

☁ Cosmo snickers, pressing a kiss to your lips under the guise of healing you just as Pebble runs up to join you guys, beating you to your own room where he sits with Blueberry cake against Astro.

☁ Pebble isn't sure what really went on, but watching you laugh again makes it all seem alright.

☁ Even if it was at the expense of Teagan.

☁ She seemed like a cat lady anyway.

[kaneaken]

content notes; Natlan AQ spoilers, spoilers for Capitano's real name & backstory, grief, anger (reader), depictions of a nightmare, angst, gn!reader, can be seen as a continuation of my previous capitano drabble

author's note: Please, if you're going to read this, make sure you checked all the content notes! This one is pretty heavy, so please read with caution. I did my best to take from my own experiences as well as some research to make this accurate. I'd hate to write something that was insensitive to people who have gone through these experiences as well. Of course, grief is different for everyone, so I will most likely not be accurate to everyone's experience, but I did my best!

You hate the quiet. Despite its emptiness, you feel closed in. For a nation known for its heat, you feel undeniably cold as you sit, looking out at the blazing sun.

It mocks you. Its bright rays remind you of the life prior to all of this. Your beautiful home. Your love. Everything.

There's a knock. You don't flinch. It was common for the soldiers to check up on you constantly, especially after what happened. However, the soft tone that calls out to you is unexpected.

"Sorry to disturb you. Oh, it's Ororon, by the way. Do you remember me? I brought you some carrots last week. Were they good? They were from my garden, so I can guarantee that they were fresh."

You remembered him. The child from the Masters of the Night Wind. You grew to have quite the connection when he agreed to help the Fatui. The soldiers had told you about him coming by to drop off vegetables. He hadn't stayed long, especially since the soldiers had told him you weren't taking visitors.

You sigh. You wonder what he would say in a moment like this. You should get up. Get up. Get up. Get up already.

You get to your feet, dragging yourself to the door. You must look like a mess as you crack the door open. Ororon's facial expression shifts. Pity. It's always pity when it comes to you. Pity. Pity.

You force a pleasant expression, but you know it looks strange. Your eyes are puffy and red, which help distract from the lack of light in them. Your skin has lost its color. You look pathetic. Extremely so.

"I just wanted to check in again. They actually let me through today, so are you feeling a bit better? I brought some spinach. Granny says they're good for you. Oh, and she asked me to bring you one of her wind chimes for your nightmares."

He hands you a basket with said items. You stare. Your heart felt... warm for a second, but then, the thought that had been haunting you comes back. Were you allowed to accept this? Were you allowed to be happy again? No, not without him. It wasn't fair.

"Oh, one more thing. If you're up to it, the Archon is holding a ceremony tomorrow. It's to unveil the monument to the fallen heroes."

Heroes. Was he a hero? Perhaps to the Natlanese he was. To you, he was a fool. Tied to duty all his life. He left you because his duty to his people came before you.

"I could come by, and we could go together if that would help you feel comfortable. I'm sure Granny won't mind passing by. She hasn't seen you in a while."

Could you stand to see such a thing? A monument to fallen heroes. Could you stand to stare at their immortalization of his honor? Did you owe it to him to try to attend even if the idea causes your heart to twist?

Ultimately, you nod despite the jumbling thoughts in your mind. You needed to make the first step forward, but did you deserve to take that step without him?

It begins happy. You are staring at the cloudy sky with him by your side. You are smiling, and so is he. It almost seems unreal. You've dreamt of this before. It's a memory of when he proposed to you. It was a day you hadn't expected. He always found a way to surprise you, whether it be through gestures or gifts. That day had been no exception.

"You're stiff. Is something the matter?"

"Ah, I suppose I am nervous."

"Nervous? About what?"

"The future. Our future."

He turns to you. You see his smile soften before his face becomes a blur. Again. Just like every night since he left.

When would be the next time you'd see his face? The one hidden behind the mask? Did you even remember what he looked like? Is that why this kept happening? Were you forgetting?

"Did I frighten you?" You let out a breath you hadn't known you were holding as you stared at him. His robes changed. His face became obscured.

"It's me, my love. Do not cry. I am right here."

Liar. Liar. Liar.

There are tears in your eyes again. However, unlike your first nightmare, they don't startle you. You simply wipe your cheeks and sit up. You were sure you wouldn't get any more sleep, so you got ready for the day.

For the past week, you had been in bed, refusing to come out of the room. The soldiers didn't mind you. They brought you food and water and reminded you of your return trip home. You couldn't stand being in Natlan any longer. Not when they threw you glances of pity.

The first knock at your door is a soldier delivering your breakfast. They seemed startled to see you out of bed, almost dropping the tray in their hands.

"It's nice to see you again." Is all they say before they exit.

The second knock at your door is the duo of Ororon and Citlali. They also seemed startled with a hint of relief amongst it. Although, you notice the crease between Citlali's eyebrows as she stares at you. Regardless, she greets you with a smile.

"Thank you for agreeing to come along. I'm sure it isn't easy for you at the moment. If you need anything, we'd be happy to assist in any way," She reminds you to which you nod.

"Granny's right. We're happy to help," Ororon adds.

"Let's get going. I'm sure the ceremony will be starting soon."

You can feel their stares. No matter how much you look away, you feel their stares. Their pity. Stop. Stop it. Don't look. Please.

You are grateful for Ororon's tall stature. Once he notices your discomfort, he does his best to keep your figure hidden. Despite this, you continue to stare at the ground.

You don't lift your gaze as you hear Mauvika take her place in front of the monument. You didn't want to look at her. You didn't want to look at him. You didn't want to look. You were fearful of it coming down on you again. The fear. The dread. The knowledge that he was gone.

"I would also like to take the time to recognize a Fatui Harbinger who sacrificed his life for our cause."

You can't stand it. You feel your heart clench, and your eyes squeeze shut.

"You don't owe them anything! What have they done for you? They treat us as threats!"

"... he defeated his fated foe and protected me in the process."

"My duty is to my people as well as those who fight alongside me."

"But, on this occasion, we honor him as one of our own. In Natlan, all heroes are worthy are celebration."

"What about your duty to me?"

You feel a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up for the first time since you arrived. Mauvika stands before you, her hand planted on your shoulder.

"I know there are no words that will erase your pain."

"I want to be the one to hold you and love you through it all."

"But I want you to know--"

"Will you marry me?"

"He was a hero."

Hero. Hero. He was a hero to them. What was he to you? A duty bound fool.

"The Captain saved us, all of us. He will always be remembered--"

A fool, but he was your love. He still is. He always will be. Thrain. Thrain, why did you leave me?

"Thrain," you mutter. Your voice cracks. You look into Mauvika's eyes. Her confident stare is a contrast to your shaky gaze. "His name is Thrain."

Thrain. Your strength gives out. You feel your legs buckle under you, and you fall to the ground in tears. You look pathetic. You're sure of it, but you couldn't take it anymore.

Not them pitying you. Not them treating him as a hero. Not them acknowledging his strength, not his life. Not them honoring his title, not his name.

"His name is Thrain," you repeat between tears, clutching your hands to your chest. Your ring reflects the bright sun, reminding you of his smile.

"Don't cry, my love. I only wish to make you happy. Will you grant me my wish?"

"I will."

"Even if death rips me from your arms, I shall stay by your side. You will never be alone again."

Liar.

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝.

☀︎︎ || With a long awaited reunion, Jayce finally gathers the courage to do something he should’ve done a long time ago.

C/W || nothing nsfw honestly, just lots of fluff, Reader’s gender isn’t implied here, appearance isn’t descriptive, Jayce is just awkward with feelings.

Word Count || 3,433

Note || I feel I should clarify that my whole driving force behind this was inspired by all the jayvik scenes (however you view them lmao), and the song ‘young and beautiful’. Some other things inspired this but mainly these things.

This is also a first I’m posting a fic about a character from Arcane, or arcane at all honestly so some honest criticism for my writing would be appreciated.

That scream repeated over and over in his mind, again and of course – again. Jayce was becoming tired, worn down. His heart began dulling out the environment around him, causing him to look forward, no baggage weighing in on the astral shoulders of his that bore a weight so greatly, for the reality of the supposed great arcane. He was trapped in it for so long. 

Red, all he saw was red painting the calluses of his hands. His hands grabbing desperately onto yours, feeling the warmth, the sensation of that beloved warmth leaving your body. 

(All he could do was choke out a cry. Silent in the loudness of the world crashing down around the being of you both.)

Another fabric of time, which would have also been his reality. In which you were enemies, Jayce, he wasn’t sure what side to be on. All he knew was to destroy what was necessary, you otherwise wanted to destroy him. Jayce tried to converse with you, yet his growls fell on deaf ears. He was trying to end things, he really was. His want clashed with yours, the need to end things. Jayce just wanted you to not be in pain anymore, and that look in your eyes, the tense stance, pained breathing punishing sharply in the cavity of your chest – that confirmed it for him. 

But what was he becoming this time? (Man, or beast?) 

He couldn’t tell. 

A remaining constant rang true for him each and every time he was chained down in each memory, stone marble cracking in the face of your memory, he was almost beginning to forget what your face looked like. But that scream, it never left him. Your scream was the constant variable of which he experienced each and every time, and you almost always looked at him in fear.

Jayce hated that, he really hated that so much. Looked upon in unease, the sweat on your palms accumulating, and the trepidation rapidly beating in the confines of your ribcage; that heart of yours about ready to jump out, easily because of him. 

On that cobblestone floor, cracked by death and echoes of explosion. 

He couldn’t tell if you loved him–maybe as a friend–yet either way it was, once. He probably missed it, only looking past you right at others, Viktor, Mel, or even the face of the Hextech Gemstone. The way you were always so kind to greet him even if he didn’t remain a figure of importance in certain situations, you had always made an effort to include not only him, everyone else as well. You brought people together in a way he seldom noticed. But now that he was trapped in the belly of the beast, he thought about it more often. 

Jayce truly realized that you had. (But did he ever deserve it? He was beastly toward you often.) 

One step after the other, and he realized harshly–being brought back to the now. Something, or someone was far ahead of him. In this void of darkness, and even the occasion of the beautifully loud rainbow swarms, he had never come across someone real. So he began to rush forward, keeping a vice grip on his hammer. 

He choked out a shout, feeling his esophagus sore and weak. His body creaked, bones clicking against each other softly, and every which way he twisted himself — he could hear it. Jayce could clearly feel the way his joints had sanded, slowly creaking under the weight of herculean effort to press forward. 

The dull ache pressed in his chest, but he couldn't help the youth that springed him forward for a momentary transition in time.

A voice echoes, so strikingly similar to someone he holds dear. And he wonders if that was really the real deal, but he was easily proven wrong once the being speaks; “You must not fail, Jayce.”

Not Fail.

Must, not fail. The accursed organism had repeatedly told him that same mantra over and over again. He was pushed through the time lapse, and forced to relive the gruesome experience of being a human. The poor decisions made, the hope (and the false).

It was easily his driving force as he made it through the dark glowering of magicks that cursed his downfall, and the others around him. Jayce tried not to open his eyes as the sharp pains followed his limbs, intakes of breathing that punished him with every step he took. Yet it was sudden as he felt a ghostly touch impressed into his upper back, causing him to twitch, swerving his head nearly off the hinges as he looked to see whom the cause of the touch was. The crinkles beneath his eyes expressed clear frustration, as he was tricked once again. Jayce cursed himself mentally as he trudged forward, the onslaught of surprises resuming once again when the light gleamed – jarring as can be for a low fluorescent tone. He recapitulated his position, standing firmly into whatever ground there was irrespective of the pain. Jayce’s hands were worn with exhaustion, each and every ache screaming at him to fall down, rest. 

Imaginably he could, but he dared not too. (He couldn’t rest, not again.)

This was his last resort, he was not capable of letting it happen again. He needed to make sure nobody died, he needed to make sure it wasn’t out of bleeding, feeling cold. He knew it far too well, and he was going to make sure he was doing everything in his power to–

Oh wow. 

It was painful–painless–for a few moments, leaving him disoriented as he grunted, trying to accumulate to his new surroundings. He wondered where he was now, what would it show him next?

He blinks for a few moments, struggling to stand up as he supports his weight on the hammer. Inevitably cracking his neck, easing himself of the sore pains that riddled his neck and even the rest of his body. His leg was where it had really hurt for the matter, but no reason to worry, he was ready for whatever was gonna come next. 

“Jayce?” A gasp escapes his throat, ebbing it raw, his eyes blurring into clearness for the first time. He furrows his brow, attempting to get a clearer look at the source. The man was worn from battle–he tenses, fully rising to his height. 

(He heard a voice, and it was yours. Not an illusion, not a past memory. It was really that same cadence that not even the arcane could replicate.)

His throat bobs, churning with a burn that reminds him that he really is here. Where he had first disappeared in the first place, the accursed base of the HexGate facility. Jayce really, really had begun to hate HexTech. His eyes briefly scorn the intricate designs, almost weaved like the stories in tapestries. The stories were wrong, they always had been wrong. He should’ve listened to Heimerdinger, he should've listened to the professor. 

What was he doing?

Oh god.

“Is that you?” His eyes flicker back over to the one other person in the room, right in front of him. Jayce attempted—couldn’t—to look you in the eye, it was a difficult thing to do. His brows furrowed, a headache came to the forefront of his pain, and he closed his eyes. He heaved a heavy sigh–he was ashamed. 

Killing came so easy to him now, so why is this now any different?

Deciding to test the waters he quietly muttered your name, followed by a gentle greeting; “Hey.” Jayce murmurs, his bottom lip quivered for a moment.

You could see how cracked his lips were, and it made you almost worry for him. Of course, you should be. But you didn’t want to rush him, the way he had carried himself, you could see he was still far too tense and on edge. Both of you were thinking the same, worried about the other, still wanting to embrace each other–even so used to the touches of danger. It was in consideration, that made it all too painfully slow in this reunion. You nodded your head, taking a step forward. 

“You’ve been gone quite awhile,” You verbalized with a tilt of your head, gesturing about the length of his absence. “I was… worried.” He gave pause to your comment, a slight widening of his eyes as he lifted his gaze, albeit shortly enough to reach your torso. You looked different from what he remembered, just right there was enough to make him realize the passage of time. 

“How–I, how long have I been gone?” He internally winced at the way his voice sounded, his throat felt so sore. Jayce wasn’t sure himself, he felt it best to ask you. He understood that time had passed extensively, not how much for the matter, he felt it passing entirely differently during his time within the core of the arcane–whatever its physical being is. Something entirely reminiscent of a curse. He despised it so much for leaving you and the others without warning. But yet again, he hadn’t taken a step back to think about his words and actions, and how easily he could hurt others. Jayce knew better than that now, atleast. 

He could almost feel the hesitation radiating off of you, as if answering would be the end of all things. Jayce heaved a mournful breath, letting his eyes close. 

(Maybe it would, he wasn’t sure. Jayce didn’t want you to be afraid of him, is all.)

The room was cold, cold as the winter storm of the day he crossed paths with the arcane, he had almost forgotten that. Yet it was useless when he felt the warmth of something inexplicable touching his cheek, leathery he must feel. Jayce felt the way his skin hardened, the way his body tenses when he’s touched. But–that wasn’t the case here, no. 

A small gentle pad of the thumb swiped over the area, leaving him to open his eyes – inextricably locking gazes. Jayce was left surprised, almost recoiling for a split-moment. You kept a firm hold, your gaze all but gentle. Which was the last thing he expected, he searched any inch of your expression, and not once did your eyes falter in that interval of time. Jayce was tempted to stray away from your touch, every nerve in his being telling him to do so. However, it was something else that let him stay in the same position. That same stance, and he was unable to run away from it. 

Jayce grimaced, holding his head. Another episode, what he’s seen. Far too much of it, you concluded. 

He could see flashes of something unholy, far too close to the sun, or perhaps far too close to the moon. Jayce could see the debilitating deflections of creatures, something supernatural, the coarseness of rainbows. It was the way his lungs squeezed upon itself, twisting in a macabre manner of gestations that left him breathless for a meager few moments. You simply held him through it, and gently murmured, drawing his attention to you once more. Whatever he saw, it was the countless hours of death, it was inescapable. Blurry had it appeared to be once over, as he never wanted to recall the things he experienced. The last thing that had never been blocked out were those memories of you, dying over and over again, especially by his hands. It was in repetition that he blacked out so many times over, constantly finding himself in new arenas. Having to raise his hammer against someone else, seeing their blood splatter against the coldstone of the ground. Jayce wasn’t sure how he hadn’t–broken. 

It always felt far too real to him, he was sure it had. The heavy heart that corones his emotions, the way he acts. Probably in that alone that he had caused the deaths of so many innocents so many times, even for a different fabric in the space-fold of time, it still happened. Jayce didn’t want that to happen to you–not again–to anyone else. 

With the impossible decisions, and the road he had walked so far. There was nothing short of a future, or a dream for him anymore. He had to fight, even if that meant physically. Jayce knew there was something different in this life of his, he just wished this wasn’t the truth of it. He grieved it even, but he couldn’t truly be given time to process that. Life does not slow down for anyone, not even you, and not even him. One is only human after all, and you sure as hell make the most of it, the best you can, even if people may hate you for the smallest thing. It is innately the most human thing that truly makes each and every person kind, despite their supposed repugnant nature that makes mankind so infamous. 

“Jayce,” You murmured, a tone so soft, he didn’t deserve it. “Can you please look at me?” Almost to your whims, he felt so commanded. A rarity in such matters, that he didn’t mind it. Such a simple action, and it seemed so difficult though. But he tried, and succeeded. 

For the second time now, he locked eyes with you. His gaze was colored by bashfulness, leaving you to laugh. A tender touch, revering the inches of encroaching warmth that crawled back into his skin bit by bit. You breathed a puff of air, noting the cold atmosphere. 

‘He must’ve been cold before he came back out.’ You scrutinized the details for a moment, and considered how much time he spent. How long he went without proper warmth, the lack of temperature. Whatever or whomever it may have been that was his captor, you were glad he was finally freed for good, hopefully. You just were relieved that you could finally just see him, and know that he’s truly there (instead of just a delusion). Even if he appeared differently, he was still here. 

“I really did miss you.” You mentioned, seeing the flicker of surprise, surmising the life that brought back the color in his eyes. Less dull now, and far more colorful within the beautiful amber–almost had you wishing you could stay trapped in it forever. Not forever maybe, that would mean you’d never be face to face with him directly, like now, where you stood stronger than ever. As you were more than willing to be a pillar of support for the broken man, who you guess appeared to see so much, it nearly broke his mind. For the brief moment of pause, you could see his jaw tighten, as if he was contemplating something, but wary to air out the thought. 

He held the expectation that you would’ve been more fearful of him. Or at the very least angry, god knows he fully deserves that. 

Your brows tighten, almost wincing at the knot in your forehead. You’ve done that especially way too much lately, even since Jayce’s sudden disappearance. It was a question of your own, nothing short of anger, all it really was confusion. 

Jayce seemed to notice this, drawing you out of your short-lived predicament; “You… alright?” He muttered, somewhat hesitant to draw his hand over yours. He didn’t see himself deserving enough for that yet, not until he knew that it was by all rights okay with you. Only then you nodded to reassure him, biting the inside of your cheek as the moment passed. 

Finally garnering the courage to the breadth of your chest, “How… or why have you been gone so long?” Jayce simply looks at you with a half-unreadable expression, as if he had expected this question. One way or another, he was always going to be faced with such a question. After all, he had been trapped inside the palace of the arcane, a presumably long life-time of experiences; enough to age him noticeably. 

“I'll explain it,” He paused, a waver in his tone. “In time.” Jayce’s reluctance was more than easy to notice, so you nodded, not fully satisfied with the answer. But you had to wait for answers another time, there were reasonably far more important things to deal with right now. Whatever that may be considered. 

So you opted for a hug (entirely and completely out of the blue).

The affectionate gesture, which could mean many things, surprised him. He didn’t count for this happening—it made his knees buckle, the weight hounding you to fall with him. Even with the vice grip he previously held on the handle. He let go of his hammer, wanting and using both arms to just utterly hug you back with the whole of his heart, and he was fulfilled. Nose buried in the crook of your neck, it was filled with your scent. Your own hold on him didn’t vacillate at all–which in retrospect–it gave way to a level of solace he never felt before. 

He tightened his hold on you, a silent way of giving thanks, if nothing else. You were glad, happy even that he accepted your inhibited sudden gesture. 

You leaned back, slowly but surely, just to check that Jayce wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a failure however [as good as you were at reading expressions], there was naught a hint of it at all. You tilted your head, eliciting a soft laugh from the man. 

‘Mission successful!’ 

His soft laughter elicited a pavlovian response from you, leaving you to move your hands, cradling his face with both hands once again. Anything and everything seemed to fall short around you, for the long while you began to realize, lord you were far from attached to the thought however. His brows furrowed with a small grin, still finding it somewhat amusing with your subtle acts of nature. In spite of what preceded, the decedent time of passing made him begin to freeze. 

Color began creeping up against the patches of his skin that crawled from the beginning of his mandible, nape of the neck, and now up to the cheek bones. Expression faltering. (“Hey, uh…”) He tried to muster, but despite that, it fell on deaf ears. Your gaze made him hot, and he was always on the fence on whether or not how he should react. Jayce wasn’t sure how to handle it really, cause you look at him as if he was all that was there in the room. The spark of motivation behind your learning, or even the nights and transitions of time where you listen to him talk about what makes him so inspired. Of course, he always made the effort to do the same, but it had made him wonder if you felt so similarly. 

Yet, when he allowed his overthinking to fester, never bringing it up, he was afraid and just simply decided to not ask about it at all. Jayce was always a bit afraid about these things, but with what he's been through, he fears this may be the first and last time he’s allowed to see you. 

With that being his driving force, how his heart raced, it gave him a burst of confidence. Jayce lowered his left hand to your hip, the other to holding your face. His eyes were soft, brows raised as if he were asking. It was first and foremost, but his heart continued to beat right up against the cavity of his chest. 

There was a flicker of astonishment gleaming in your eyes, but it slowly disappeared, as if you ascertained what he was wanting, and frankly you found it sweet that he had asked for your permission. Nonetheless, you were more than delighted to oblige with his request. 

Warmth blossomed exuberant in his chest, as if fireworks were being set off. The sensation it ignited in him was soulful. A first tentative brush, then a second time, more sure than ever now. Jayce’s breathing almost labored when he pulled back, and he could figure the same for you. In a way, it was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders by such a simple act of love. Even with the moments passing, the two of you leaned against one another, relishing in the feeling that heightened your tension. 

Though it did wear off quickly enough. 

Jayce watched with patience of a thousand men as you leaned back, re-adjusting yourself as you spoke. And wasn’t it ever the truth. 

“If you’ve done that earlier, then i probably wouldn’t even be here right now.” You remarked, causing him to laugh quietly. 

(No shit.)

He should’ve done this sooner.