#but 7.5k of it exists now so

[wisteriagoesvroom]

uhhhh does anyone want a tag when the lando gets railed in a dress by ojp fic goes up? (feel free to dm or comment if so)

i talked about it here before and it only took me like 7 months to write it but. we ball

[nahoney22]

By the Willow

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❀ Secret Princess Series

❀ Tech X Female Princess

❀ word count: 7.5k

♔ Plot: When you meet a stranger at your spot of respite, you didn’t anticipate the connection the two of you have and to discover what you have been missing all your life.

♔ Warnings: Princess female reader, safe for work, strangers to friends to lovers, isolated reader, reader hides her identity, first kiss, fluff, light angst, reader wears dresses, small argument between reader and Tech.

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Peace, calmness, and an escape from reality was just what you needed right now.

The breeze was soft against your skin, playing with your loose hair. Your fingers drifted through the tall grass, petals of wildflowers brushing against your dress as you walked, the meadow offering you a brief moment of respite. Because out here, you could just be yourself.

In the distance, the familiar weeping willow came into view and a small smile touched your lips. This was your sanctuary, a place you would run away to when times got too tough; even as a child.

Though now it seemed even more of a safe haven as you could shed the weight of responsibility of being a Princess, if only for a little while. With the shade beneath its light green leaves that offered both protection and solitude, the sound of the stream nearby always helps calm your mind. Even if there was nothing to calm.

You approach with a small spring in your step, clutching a book that you decided to bring along with you by your side. But as you brush the dropping branches and long slender sleeves to the side, your heart stops when you find someone already there. In your spot.

"Who are you?" The words slipped out sharper than you intended, a flicker of alarm creeping into your tone.

All your life, it had been one of constant vigilance—surrounded by guards, attendants, and protocols. Even in the moments when you’d insisted on doing something yourself, there was always someone hovering nearby. And beyond the palace walls, you’d been taught to be wary of strangers, told that your position made you a target.

Luckily, they hadn’t clicked onto how you leave the Palace without anyone noticing just yet. And you hadn’t had a problem either, until now.

Yet, as you watched the man before you, your panic began to fade. He didn’t exude danger. Well, not in the way you’d been warned about.

The man glanced up from his seated position, his fingers adjusting the yellow-tinted goggles perched on his nose. He lowered the datapad in his lap, his gaze sweeping over as if analysing you. "I’m just exercising my mind," he said, his voice simple, almost disinterested. "I didn’t realise this spot was spoken for."

His nonchalance catches you off guard a touch but then you realised—he didn’t even recognise you or know who you were. What you are. There were no stiff formalities that made you feel awkward, no over-exaggerated bows. He just... existed. And so did you.

This was perfect. Kind of.

"I usually sit there," you replied, gesturing to where he was after you snap out of thoughts.

Your eyes began taking in his unusual appearance. His armour was unlike anything you’d seen before, and his features, though sharp, were somehow soft in the dappled light filtering through the leaves. His skin was speckled with sunlight, his wide eyes focused yet distant, as though his mind was always working, always calculating.

"I wasn’t planning on staying long," he said, his tone still casual, "but I can leave if you prefer."

A smile tugged at your lips, maybe some quiet company wouldn’t be too bad. "Actually, it's a warm day... I think I'll just sit over here, in the shade." You gestured to the other side of the tree.

He gave no response, simply returning to whatever task he had been doing before you arrived.

You watch him a moment more before you move round the large tree, resting on the ground with your legs spread outwards and your back perched comfortably against the bark.

For a moment, you listened for any movement from the man, but he remained quiet, absorbed in his own thoughts. With a soft sigh, you opened your book, allowing yourself to be drawn into its pages.

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As the hours passed, the golden light of the afternoon began to soften, and you decided it was time to head back. Closing your book, you rose to your feet, brushing the stray bits of grass and dirt from your dress.

You paused before leaving, glancing over at the man who hadn’t moved from his spot. He was still focused on his datapad, absorbed in whatever consumed him. For a moment, you debated whether to say goodbye. It felt odd—after all, you were little more than strangers who had shared barely a few words.

But something in his presence made you hesitate. Just as you were about to slip away, he lifted his head, meeting your gaze with a subtle nod. "I will be here tomorrow, too," he said, his voice steady but casual, before returning to his work.

His words caught you off guard, but not unpleasantly. There was an ease to his statement that felt more like an invitation than an expectation. You hadn’t planned on returning to the willow so soon—it was a retreat you visited only occasionally, once in a while when things got too much. But now, the thought of returning tomorrow seemed appealing.

"I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then," you replied, a quiet smile pulling at your lips.

As you walked back through the meadow, a sense of unease crept in. It was dangerous, speaking so casually with a stranger, especially someone who didn’t know who you really were. But the more you thought about it, the more you realised that perhaps, like you, he was just looking for a place to escape.

True to his word, he was there the next day, in the same spot, just as you arrived. It was oddly comforting to see him again.

"Hello again," you said softly as you approached, your book from the day before tucked under your arm.

He looked up from his datapad, and this time, there was the faintest hint of a smile on his face. It softened his otherwise serious demeanor. "I’m surprised you came."

Raising a brow, you took a small step closer, closer than you had been yesterday. "Why’s that?"

He paused, his expression thoughtful before he cleared his throat. "I didn’t expect you to, I suppose."

"Well, I see you're in my spot again," you teased lightly, the playful tone slipping easily into the air between you.

He responded with a deadpan expression. "I don’t believe this spot belongs to anyone, except perhaps the royalty who owns this land."

"And yet you’re trespassing," you countered with a grin.

"As are you," he said smoothly, his gaze steady on you. "It seems."

"Actually, this is my—" You cut yourself off abruptly, the words catching in your throat. You hadn’t meant to reveal your true identity, especially since he seemed blissfully unaware of it. The less he knew, the better.

His eyes narrowed slightly, as if sensing the sudden shift in your tone. "Continue," he said, his voice calm but edged with curiosity. He studied you, his gaze patient yet expectant.

You shifted on your feet, feeling the damp earth beneath your shoes. "I just... work at the palace," you said, trying to keep your voice casual. "I come here for a break sometimes."

He raised a brow, clearly not entirely convinced by your vague answer. "Are you allowed to do that?"

"Yep," you replied quickly, eager to change the subject. Without waiting for him to question you further, you gestured toward the space beside him. "May I sit?"

For a moment, he didn’t respond, simply watching you with that same unreadable expression. Then, with a slight nod, he shifted, making room for you under the tree.

As you settled beside him, the quiet between you felt oddly comfortable. But curiosity got the better of you. "So... what’s your name?" you asked, glancing at him.

He looked up from his datapad what appears to be glued to his hand, barely lifting his head. "Tech," he replied flatly, as if the answer was self-explanatory.

A small laugh escaped you, catching him off guard. "Tech? That’s your name?"

"Yes, that is correct," he said, not bothering to look up this time. "Why do you find that amusing?"

"I’ve just never heard a name like that before," you explained, smiling. "What’s the origin of it?"

He finally shifted his full attention to you, adjusting his goggles with one hand. "It’s not particularly unusual if you understand the context. I am a Clone, part of a genetically engineered unit created for the Republic.” He explains, knowledge rolling off his tongue.

“Each of us was given a designation based on our individual enhancements. Mine happens to be… technical aptitude. So to speak. Hence, Tech."

You blinked, trying to process the flood of information. "Wait—clone?"

"Yes," he said as if it was obvious. Surely you’ve heard of the Clone Wars?"

"I—" you started, but the words got tangled. "No, actually… I haven’t. I’m not sure I understand."

Tech paused, clearly surprised, though his expression remained neutral. "You haven’t heard of the Clone Wars? Or clones? That’s... highly unusual. We were a critical part of the galaxy’s military efforts for years. We were created on Kamino, a planet known for its advanced cloning technology. You must be familiar with Kamino at least."

"Kamino?" you repeated, frowning slightly. "No, that doesn’t sound familiar either." Slowly, you start to feel a creeping embarrassment as you suddenly feel stupid for not knowing something that clearly is a large part of the galaxy. Then again, you were taught about your own secluded planet only and its history. Not anywhere else.

Tech blinked behind his goggles, staring at you for a beat too long. "You’ve never heard of Kamino either?" His voice was tinged with disbelief, as though the concept was nearly impossible for him to fathom. He continued with a brief description with the importance of this ‘Kamino’ and if you didn’t feel stupid before, you did now.

Embarrassed, you shook your head. "No, I really haven’t heard of it."

"Interesting," he said, more to himself than to you. "You live in a remarkably isolated environment if you’ve never encountered such basic galactic knowledge." His gaze then sharpened, scanning you almost analytically. "Have you ever even left this planet?"

You hesitated, then shook your head sheepishly. "No. But... I’d like to. One day."

"Hmm," he muttered, as if filing away that piece of information. "That explains your lack of familiarity with broader galactic events. This planet is extremely remote, sparsely populated, and largely irrelevant to the major political structures in place."

Was he always so blunt? You felt a slight pang of defensiveness at the description of your homeworld but quickly pushed it aside. "So, what is it you do?"

“I am a Soldier.”

“How come you are here?" You probe with a smile, already assuming as much that he was a soldier of some kind.

"We’re on a diplomatic mission," Tech continued, in the same detached tone, not quite meeting your enthusiasm. "We’ve been tasked with upgrading security systems at the palace. The assignment begins in a week or so."

You stiffened at the mention of the palace, your mind racing. "The palace?" you echoed, trying to keep your voice steady. "You’ll be working there?"

"Yes," he confirmed, missing the tension in your voice. "We’re to conduct a thorough analysis and enhancement of their current security protocols. Apparently, there’s a concern regarding the safety of someone of importance residing there."

Your heart skipped a beat, hands feeling a little clammy. "Have you—uh, you know— researched the royal family?"

"There isn’t much information available," he replied, adjusting his goggles again as he shows you information in his datapad. "And as I stated before, this placed is sparsely populated—fewer than a few hundred inhabitants, by my estimates. It’s not significant enough to warrant much attention in the galactic records. The royalty here is of little interest beyond local matters."

Relief and anxiety swirled inside you in equal measure. For now, it seemed your identity was still safe. "I see."

Tech glanced at you again, his gaze lingering in a way that made you feel slightly exposed. "You still haven’t told me your name," he pointed out, almost as if it were a loose end he needed to tie up.

You froze for a second, then quickly recovered, forcing a smile. "Willow," you said, the lie slipping out before you could second-guess it.

"Willow," he repeated, tilting his head slightly. "That’s an uncommon name. Does it have any particular significance?"

"It’s... just a name," you replied, keeping your tone light.

"Fascinating," he muttered, though whether he was genuinely intrigued or simply acknowledging the information, you couldn’t tell. “Also fitting.”

The conversation drifted on, with Tech providing details about his work, his unit, and the missions they’d carried out. You laughed at moments that he didn’t realise were quite amusing but you had clearly relaxed him enough to allow him to open up. And he talked… a lot. It was quite cute.

As the sky deepened into evening, you realised how much time had passed. "I should probably get going," you said, standing up and brushing off your dress. "I’ve enjoyed talking with you."

Tech glanced up, and for a brief moment, there was a flicker of something like hesitation in his eyes. "Will you be here again tomorrow?"

His question caught both of you by surprise, and his expression shifted slightly, as if he was recalibrating his own boldness.

You hesitated, then smiled softly. "We’ll see," you replied, knowing full well that you would be.

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And you did go see him.

That day, the next day, and the day after.

Each time, you found yourself more drawn to the odd charm of the man who barely glanced your way but still seemed to notice everything.

You couldn’t help but smile to yourself each time you visited. You had noticed (that although his focus rarely strayed from his datapad) the subtle shift in the air whenever you appeared—the way his posture changed, his shoulders relaxing ever so slightly as if he had been waiting for you. It was a good feeling.

Sitting beside him had become your routine, almost like breathing and the book you brought along served more as a prop than something to read. Your attention was inevitably pulled towards Tech and whatever he was tinkering with.

Truthfully, You were completely enamored by him. His mannerisms, the unintentional gentleness in his hands when he handled something delicate, and the way he occasionally muttered to himself, lost in his own thoughts.

Though the times he’d briefly look up, his eyes were soft with a look that felt almost... affectionate.

You didn’t want to overthink his gaze, but it gave you butterflies every time.

This day was no different. You’d settled in next to him, your book open on your lap. After several minutes of peaceful silence, your curiosity perks. You leaned slightly closer, peering at the array of circuits and small mechanical pieces strewn around him. “What are you working on today?”

Of course, he didn’t look up, but his tone warmed a fraction as he replied. “A calibrator. These,” he then gestured to the smaller parts in front of him, “are relays that modulate signal strength. It’s critical that they are adjusted to the correct tolerances—any deviation would result in unstable transmissions, or worse, complete signal loss.”

You blinked, absorbing what you could of the information, though most of it flew over your head. The palace didn’t hold such instruments and so everything he told you was brand new. “Doesn’t seem like it would fit with anything we use here,” you say.

“It doesn’t. This is from a planet called Ord Mantell. I happened upon it during a mission and kept it for study. I often collect such artifacts if they’re of unique construction.” He reached into one of his pouches of his beltand pulled out another small item—a hexagonal metal device with an intricate pattern carved into it. “For example, this is a fragment of a data chip from Naboo. It’s outdated, obsolete even, but I’m fascinated by its design and the potential for historical data retrieval.”

You stared at it, the weight of his words sinking in. He’d seen so many places you could only dream of, held pieces of those planets, moons and stars in his hands.

You smile gently, watching him with a mixture of awe and fondness as he spoke.

It did strike you how much he wanted to share all of this with you, how patient he was with his explanations, even if he sometimes forgot to ask if you understood. There was something grounding about his presence, something that made you want to listen, to learn.

Lost in thought, you didn’t realise how long you’d been staring until he glanced over, brows furrowing slightly behind his goggles. “I have a question,” he said suddenly, snapping you out of your reverie.

You blinked, then nodded eagerly. “Go ahead.”

“I’ve observed that you’ve been on the same page of your book for the past four consecutive days,” he noted bluntly. “Is there a reason for this behaviour, or have you simply found something within the text that holds your interest?”

Heat rushed to your cheeks, embarrassment flaring up as you glanced down at the page in question. It was a silly romance novel, and you hadn’t even realised you hadn’t turned the page once. “I—um, no,” you stammered, looking away. “It’s just... hard to focus on the story when I’m with you, I guess.”

Tech blinked, clearly taken aback. He tilted his head, studying you with the same clinical curiosity he reserved for complicated puzzles. “You... read the same page repeatedly so you can spend time here?”

Swallowing your nerves, you nodded, your fingers brushing over the edges of the book. “It gives me a reason to be here and see you.” Your voice was small, the admission much braver than you felt. “Otherwise, I’m not sure if I’d have the courage.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly processing. “You don’t need to bring a book if your primary intention is to converse with me,” he said after a pause, his tone as blunt and matter-of-fact as ever. “I don’t mind your presence. In fact, I’ve grown accustomed to it.”

A soft laugh escaped you, the corners of your mouth lifting. “You’re really something, you know that?”

He frowned, seeming unsure of how to interpret your reaction. “Is that meant to be complimentary?”

“Absolutely,” you said, smiling. “I like being here with you. I like talking with you, you make me feel normal.”

“Do you often not feel normal?”

You pause but quietly shake your head, “Not usually.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken thoughts and a hint of something unnameable. For the first time, you found him staring at you, his gaze lingering as if trying to read you, to decode something unfamiliar. The air felt warmer, more intimate somehow, and you couldn’t help but notice how much closer you were than when you’d first sat down.

Tech cleared his throat abruptly, breaking the moment. “You’ve mentioned you enjoy our discussions,” he began, his voice a touch quieter. “But I still know very little about you. Your name, for instance—‘Willow.’ It doesn’t seem to align with any of the traditional names or designations I’ve encountered in my data banks.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, the question you’d been dreading surfacing at last. “Like I said, it is just a name,” you murmured, guilt gnawing at you. He still didn’t know the truth, the title you carried, or your real name. And with each passing day, the prospect of him finding out grew more daunting.

“Tech,” you started, then hesitated. You needed to tell him. Before everything got too complicated. “There’s something you should know.”

“Yes?”

The words caught in your throat, your resolve faltering the longer you looked at him. The words are on the tip of your tongue but they don’t leave. Instead, your mind completely diverts and you blurt out the next unexpected and unexplainable statement:

“I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

His eyes widened, genuine surprise flashing across his face as he dropped the gadget in his hand. It clattered to the ground, the sound startling both of you. “Ah—neither have I,” he admitted, clearing his throat as he picks it back up and dusting off the dirt. “It’s not something I’ve had much opportunity to… experiment with.”

You both sat there, frozen in the tension of the moment. You felt your pulse hammering, the soft breeze in the air suddenly chilling.

Supposedly, the thought of kissing him had slipped into your mind at some point. It was so innocent, so impossibly daring. But the moment felt right. And never had you been so certain of anything.

“Maybe…” you ventured softly, almost shyly. “Maybe we could try it together?”

For the first time, you saw Tech falter, a faint heat warming his cheeks. He blinked rapidly, as if recalibrating. “You want me to—?”

“If you’d like to,” you murmured, eyes flickering from his lips to his astonished gaze, “only if you want.”

He lets go of the gadget again, his hand reaching out tentatively, brushing against your cheek in the softest of touches and then down to your shoulder.

You held your breath as he leaned closer, his expression still unreadable but his gaze locked onto yours. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he closed the distance, lips hovering a fraction of an inch from yours before finally, gently, he kissed you.

The moment was brief, delicate and tentative, as if testing the waters. When he pulled back, his eyes were wide behind his goggles, his fingers still ghosting against your skin.

“That was… different,” he murmured, his voice almost breathless.

You couldn’t help but smile, “Different in a good way?”

Tech’s lips twitched, a faint smile forming as he nodded. “Yes, in a good way. Very much so.”

You watch as he lingered for a moment, his gaze unwavering, still clearly processing what had just happened. His lips parted slightly, as if tasting the memory of your touch before he finally spoke. “I believe I would… like to do that again.”

Your heart fluttered, warmth flooding your chest. Without another word, you leaned closer, letting your eyes flutter shut as you pressed your lips to his once more. This time, the kiss was different—bolder, more sure. Tech’s hands, trembling ever so slightly, slid down from your shoulders to rest at your waist. His touch was cautious but steady, pulling you closer, encouraging you to deepen the kiss.

You responded eagerly, feeling yourself melt into him, losing yourself. His lips, surprisingly soft and gentle, moved in time with yours, and his breath hitched when your fingers traced the lines of his jaw. There was a sweetness to his inexperience, a hesitancy that made your heart swell. It felt innocent, pure, and you couldn’t help but be drawn in even more by the way his hands tightened slightly at your waist, anchoring you to him beneath the willow’s cascading branches.

The world seemed to fade away, the only sound the soft rustling of leaves and the quiet, shared breaths between the two of you. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and a soft gasp escaped you as the intensity grew. There was something impossibly addictive about the way he kissed you—clumsy yet deliberate.

But then, the guilt struck.

Like a sudden, icy wave, the reality of it all crashed over you. You were lying to him—deceiving him with a false name and a false identity, all while he kissed you so earnestly, so honestly. He didn’t know who you truly were, didn’t know that the girl he thought was just a mere palace worker was actually the princess of this very land.

You broke away, breathless and shaken, your heart thudding loudly in your chest. “I— I’m sorry,” you stammered, forcing yourself to pull back from his embrace, ignoring the bewildered look that flashed across his face. “I— I have to go.”

“Go?” he echoed, brows drawing together in confusion. “But—”

“I just remembered, I have… something to attend to.” The excuse tumbled from your lips as you stood, weak and unconvincing even to your own ears, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at him properly. Couldn’t bear to see the confusion, the hurt that might start to form as he tried to piece together why you were suddenly pulling away.

“Are you sure?” he asked, his voice slow, as if trying to make sense of the sudden change. “I had presumed you were comfortable.”

“I was. I mean, I am!” You stumbled over your words, taking a step back and placing a shaky hand against your forehead. “But I just— I need some time to think.”

Tech tilted his head, eyes narrowing in that analytical way of his. “Have I misstepped?” he asked, his voice carefully neutral, but the underlying uncertainty made your chest tighten. “If I have done something to make you uncomfortable, you need only inform me, and I shall correct it.”

“No, no, it’s not you,” you interrupted hastily, guilt twisting deeper inside you. “You’ve been… perfect, Tech. Really. It’s just… me.”

As you go to retreat, his voice stops you one more time: “Wait.”

You froze mid-step, eyes widening as he suddenly pushed himself to his feet. The abrupt movement caught you off guard as he had never once stood up when you were around, always preferring to remain seated.

Now, seeing him like this—standing, back straight and shoulders squared—you truly took in the stranger you’d been growing so fond of these past few days.

He was tall, no denying that. noticed was his height as he towered over you, lean and built in a way that spoke of quiet strength. “Are you,” His brow furrowed, mouth twisting into a slight frown as he searched for the right words. “Are you going to return later? Or perhaps… tomorrow?”

You blinked up at him, still processing the sight of him standing there “I…” You hesitated, the lie teetering on your lips, but it felt almost impossible to say it now, not when he was looking at you with those clear, curious eyes. “I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

A flicker of confusion passed over his face, and his head tilted ever so slightly. “Why not?” he asked, straightforward as ever, without any hint of reproach or accusation—just a genuine desire to understand. “Have I done something wrong? If there was an error in my conduct—”

“No, Tech,” you interjected, shaking your head vigorously. “It’s not that. It’s not you.” You repeat. “I’ve just—” Your voice faltered as you struggled to find the right words.

You looked up at him again, properly taking in every detail of his face. The way his lips were slightly parted in thought, the sharp line of his jaw, the soft brown of his eyes, which were surprisingly gentle despite their constant, calculating focus.

“I’ve just been dishonest,” you finally confessed, the words spilling out before you could stop them. His brows furrowed further, confusion deepening.

“Dishonest?” he echoed, voice almost clipped, like he was analysing the word itself. “In what capacity?”

Your heart ached. There was no way you could tell him the full truth—not now, not after everything. “I… I can’t really explain right now.” You took a shaky breath, feeling the familiar pressure of tears pricking at your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time, a flash of something like concern crossed his features, and he took a tentative step closer, his gloved hand lifting as if to reach out to you but then faltering, dropping back to his side. “Then when will you be able to explain?” he asked softly. “I would like to understand.”

His sincerity made your chest tighten painfully. You bit your lip, willing yourself to keep it together. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “But I— I have to go.”

You turned away before he could respond, afraid of what you might see if you looked back—afraid of the confusion, the hurt, or worse, the acceptance that you were walking away from him for good.

But you hadn’t even taken two steps when his voice called out again, halting you in your tracks. “You will return, correct?”

It wasn’t really a question, more like a statement of fact, as if he couldn’t conceive of an outcome where you wouldn’t. He stood there, looking almost vulnerable in his rigid stance, the datapad long forgotten at his feet.

Your mouth opened and closed, the lie so easy, so simple, yet your heart rebelled against it. “Yes,” you breathed out, hating yourself for it. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The words were a bitter promise on your tongue, and you forced yourself to keep moving before you could take them back. You didn’t dare look back, even as you felt the weight of his gaze lingering on you.

Tech stayed where he was, feet firmly planted on the ground as he processed your departure. But he didn’t call after you again. Instead, he remained still, watching you leave, the ghost of your warm kiss still lingering on his lips.

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“Are you feeling well, Your Majesty? You have been awfully quiet this morning.”

The voice of your handmaiden gently pulled you from your wandering thoughts. You gasped softly as she tightened your corset, the constricting garment pulling you uncomfortably upright. “I’m fine, just a little queasy, is all,” you replied half-heartedly.

In the mirror, you caught her frown, concern evident as your eyes met. “Would you like me to fetch the Royal Doctor?”

“No, no,” you answered quickly with a short, forced laugh. “That won’t be necessary. I am fine.” But truthfully, you were anything but fine.

For days, you had avoided seeing Tech, despite telling him you would. Guilt gnawed at you, eating away at every moment you spent replaying your last encounter. Kissing him and running away without an explanation had been cowardly, and you knew it. But you couldn’t face him—couldn’t face the confusion or possible disappointment that would come after your revelation.

Everything with Tech was new, unfamiliar but exciting. He made you feel things you never had before, things that made you want to escape from the world you’d always known. But you lied, and now the consequences of that deception were about to catch up to you.

The clones were coming. The same group Tech had mentioned, sent to assess the palace’s security. You had been informed by your advisors the night before at dinner that almost had you choking on your desert

How would he react? What would you even say to him? You’d barely slept, tossing and turning in the night, your thoughts spinning uncontrollably. To which, another handmaiden had discreetly suggested extra concealer that morning, noting the dark circles under your eyes.

You sighed softly as you clipped in a pair of jewel-encrusted earrings, slipping on an array of rings that glinted in the sunlight streaming through the curtains. Your fingers lightly touched your painted lips, the memory of his kiss still lingering.

The gown you wore was one of your more extravagant ones, designed to impress and restrict your breathing and you adorn a tiara to your head, setting it straight with slightly shaken hands.

“Have you been in the gardens lately, ma’am?” your handmaiden asked as she picked up one of your simpler dresses, the one you had worn during your secret outings. The fabric was stained with grass and dirt.

“Oh… yes, I apologise,” you muttered, glancing at the dress. “It might be tough to get that out.”

Your handmaiden, thankfully, said nothing more, simply nodding and continuing with her work. But your thoughts remained tangled. You had been careless.

Before you knew it, the time had come. Tech and his squad were arriving soon, and you were expected to greet them. Your heart pounded in your chest as you descended the grand staircase, each step feeling heavier than the last. Your gaze remained firmly planted on the polished marble floor, unwilling to look up.

The squad had already arrived by the time you reached the grand hall. They were being formally greeted by the palace guards and your advisors, who stood in a stiff line, watching the group with hawkish eyes. Your steps faltered, but you pressed on, shoulders square, as one of your advisors stepped forward and introduced you to them.

“Her Royal Highness, the Princess Royal,” your advisor’s voice rang out, the weight of your title hanging in the air as they spoke your name.

Finally, you lifted your gaze, and your eyes locked immediately with Tech’s.

He stiffened, almost dropping his helmet that he had tucked under his arm. His usually calculating expression narrows into something unreadable. His intense gaze bore into you, unblinking, analysing. He looked… almost surprised, but the emotion flickered so quickly across his face you couldn’t be sure.

“This is interesting,” Tech said aloud and to your advisors and guards, out of turn.

Hunter gave Tech a sharp look, clearly catching the undercurrent in his tone. But it wasn’t just Hunter’s attention that had been caught—your advisors were staring at you now, suspicion quickly creeping into their eyes. “What do you mean by that?” one of them demanded, their voice tight with irritation.

You could feel the panic rising in your chest, your pulse quickening as words become stuck in your throat. Your advisors were already displeased, and now Tech’s cryptic statement had put you directly in the spotlight. You swallowed hard as all eyes turned to you.

“We’ve met before,” Tech said plainly before you could come up with a lie, a bad habit you find yourself repeating.

A ripple of surprise passed through the gathered group, as well as an odd glance between the rest of his squad between one another.

Your advisors exchanged sharp, incredulous looks. “You’ve… met before?” one of them asked, their tone laced with disapproval as they now look to you. “Where?”

“By the Willow Tree,” you admitted quietly. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room as you said it as steam almost blew out of their ears.

“What were you doing there?” another advisor snapped, their gaze narrowing with judgment. “Meeting with strangers outside the palace grounds? You could have put yourself in danger!”

The blame was quick, sharp, and unyielding, and you shrank beneath the weight of their accusations.

But before things could escalate further, Hunter stepped forward, raising a hand. “We weren’t aware that Tech had already met the Princess,” he said evenly, his voice calm and authoritative as he looks to you with a kind gaze and then to the ones reprimanding you, “But there was no harm intended. I can assure you of that.”

His words seemed to take some of the heat out of the situation, but the tension still lingered. Time stretched on, and as much as you wanted to say something, anything, to diffuse the situation further, you couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you managed to murmur, “Excuse me,” before turning and walking away, the pressure of the room suffocating.

And as you moved swiftly down the palace corridors toward the library, you risked a glance back at the clones. Your heart stops when you spot that his gaze was the only one that lingered. Your eyes silently pleaded with him for understanding, for forgiveness. But he turned away, leaving you alone with the ache of unspoken words. It was going to be a long, unbearable day.

Hours passed, the sun slowly going down, and yet you could not shake the need to speak with him. There had been moments, small chances when you crossed paths in the palace, but each time either your royal duties or his own tasks pulled you apart. Once, you almost approached him in the hallway, but one of your advisors immediately demanded your attention. Another time, Tech had been speaking with Hunter, and just as you gathered the courage to interrupt, Crosshair called him away.

It wasn’t until evening, as the clones prepared to head back to their ship, that you finally found your opportunity.

You were on your balcony, watching as the squad began walking towards the landing pad, their silhouettes growing smaller in the fading twilight. And then, without thinking, you called out his name. "Tech!"

Wrecker and Crosshair turned first, exchanging amused glances. Crosshair smirked. "Looks like you’ve got company, Tech."

Wrecker chuckled deeply. "Don’t keep her waiting!" he boomed, nudging Tech forward.

Hunter gave Tech a pointed look. "Don’t be long."

Tech blinked, adjusting his goggles, as though processing the sudden turn of events. He glanced up at your balcony, then back at his brothers. "How am I supposed to get back inside after the guards have secured the palace?" he asked.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, while Wrecker stifled another laugh. "I’m sure you’ll figure it out," Hunter said, his tone suggesting there was no real problem to be solved.

Tech looked up again, spotting a set of vines climbing up the side of the palace wall. You saw him eye them thoughtfully before he gave a small nod to himself. In one smooth motion, he started climbing.

You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. Heat rose to your cheeks as you watched him ascend, the scene very familiar from the pages of a romance novel you had read far too many times. By the time he reached your balcony, your face was flushed, and your heart was racing.

When he finally stood in front of you, his expression was as composed as ever, though there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Your words tangled in your throat, your heart pounding as you tried to find the right thing to say whilst twiddling your thumbs

Tech however broke the silence. "Should I bow or kneel before you, now that I know who you are?" he asked, his tone serious but laced with dry humour.

The question took you by surprise, and before you could stop yourself, you let out a soft laugh, rolling your eyes. "I feel that if you knew who I was before, you wouldn’t do that anyway.”

Tech adjusted his goggles again, his head tilting slightly as he considered your response. "You may be right."

You smiled, though the weight of your earlier deceit still lingered between you. "Tech, I’m sorry for lying," you began, turning toward the edge of the balcony and leaning against the railing. You stared out at the sprawling palace gardens in bloom. "I didn’t mean to deceive you."

He stood beside you, hands clasped behind his back, his gaze analytical as ever. "I’m uncertain why you felt the need to lie in the first place."

You sighed, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the stone railing. "At first, I didn’t. It just happened. When I saw that you didn’t recognise me, it felt… perfect. For once, I didn’t have to hide behind a title or a mask. I could just be myself."

Tech was silent for a moment, processing your words. His eyes drifted over the gardens before returning to you. "I see. You valued anonymity."

You nodded, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. "It was freeing, in a way. But now… I feel like I’ve ruined everything by not telling you sooner."

He adjusted his goggles again, a familiar gesture you had come to associate with his thoughtfulness. "I don’t believe the delay in revealing your identity changes the nature of our interactions. You were still ‘yourself,’ as you put it, regardless of what title you carry."

You turn to him, surprised by the ease with which he accepted your explanation. There was no judgment in his tone, no reproach—just the simple, matter-of-fact logic that was so quintessentially him.

"I appreciate that, Tech," you said softly, feeling the tension in your chest begin to ease. But there was still a heaviness lingering. "It’s just that… with you heading back to your ship and what we…” you trailed off, unsure whether or not to address the kiss you both shared but after weighing it up, you decided not to. For now. “Well, I will miss the company. Greatly.”

"I see no reason why we cannot continue conversing, if that is what you desire. Your title changes nothing in that regard." He states, stepping closer to you.

You smile but it’s weak. To him, it was all so straightforward. But to you, it was far more complicated.

"Maybe," you murmured, though a part of you knew that your advisors would be very much against you keeping contact with him; and it’s not like you had a commlink at hand either.

You stood there for a long while in silence, watching the last of the evening light fade from the sky. It was peaceful, but at the same time, you could feel something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

“Can I ask you a question?” Tech’s voice broke the stillness.

You turned to him, nodding. “Of course.”

“Why do you allow your advisors to speak to you that way?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly behind his goggles. “They are not exactly the friendliest people I have come across. I thought you would have more authority being royal.”

His words hit you like a stone in the chest. He was right—completely right. You had never really thought about it before, not in such blunt terms, anyway.

It was just the way things were, the way you had been raised. You had no family to lean on, nobody close to guide you through the tasks of royal duties. All you had were your advisors, and over time, they had come to control much of your life. You didn’t feel like royalty; you felt more like a figurehead, a pawn they could move as they pleased.

Your silence was enough of an answer for him. Tech’s gaze softened slightly as he realised he may have hit a nerve. “I apologise if I’ve upset you,” he said, his voice quieter.

You shrugged, brushing it off with a small smile. “It’s fine, you’re right. I don’t know why I let them.” The admission felt heavier than you expected, like a truth you had been avoiding for too long.

Tech didn’t push further. He simply nodded, and for a moment, you were grateful for his straightforwardness. He wasn’t the type to overanalyse emotions or linger on feelings. He just saw things as they were, with clarity and logic.

For a while, the two of you spoke about lighter things—small talk about the palace, the gardens, and the clones' mission. But as the conversation meandered, you both became aware that time was slipping away.

“I should be going,” Tech finally said, glancing down at his wrist device. “I have some tasks to complete before we leave tomorrow.”

Your chest tightened at the thought of him leaving. You tried to hide it, forcing yourself to smile as though it didn’t bother you. But before he could turn to leave, you reached out, your hand finding his. The gesture was sudden, and you felt a wave of heat rush to your face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and you could see the brief flash of surprise in his eyes as he looked down at your intertwined hands.

“Thank you,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “For the time we shared by the willow tree… for everything.”

Tech blinked, clearly flustered by the contact. He opened his mouth to respond but quickly fell into one of his usual rambling explanations. “Well, it wasn’t entirely a planned event, but I suppose I could say it was… pleasant, or at least an efficient use of—”

You smiled and gently pulled him toward you, cutting off his words with a kiss. It was softer than before, but deeper, more certain. His hands instinctively moved to your waist, holding you close, and for a moment, neither of you wanted to pull away.

When you finally did, your breath was shaky, but your resolve had never been stronger. You looked up at him, your eyes searching his as a wave of determination washed over you. “Take me with you,” you whispered.

Tech blinked, visibly caught off guard. “Take you with me? To the ship?”

“To the stars,” you corrected, your voice filled with a yearning you had never felt so deeply before. “I want to see them. With you.”

He frowned, clearly uncertain. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Your advisors—”

“I don’t care about them,” you said firmly, stepping closer. “I just want to go. For once in my life, I want to see what’s out there. And I trust you.”

Tech hesitated, his mind undoubtedly running through all the potential consequences. But there was something in your eyes, something raw and sincere, that seemed to sway him. His grip on your waist tightened slightly, his expression softening as he looked at you.

“If you’re certain,” he smiles.

“I’ve never been more certain of anything,”

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼　 ҉ ✼

Reblog to support writers and artists 💛

♔ Part One Tech - By the Willow

♔ Part Two Crosshair - Stranger, Saviour

♔ Part Three Echo - When Stars Collide (WIP)

♔ Part Four Fives - Masquerade (WIP)

♔ Part Five Hunter - Sparks of Nobility (WIP)

♔ Part Six Wrecker - Speeding Into Love (WIP)

♔ More Clones to Follow…

Tags and those I think may be interested 🩵: @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @jesseeka @theroguesully @ladykatakuri @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet t @dangraccoon n @plushymiku-blog @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets s @sleepycreativewriter @erellenora @zippingstars87 @ezras-left-thumb @the-rain-on-kamino @lamiliani @tentakelspektakel @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia a @thesith h @raevulsix @cw80831 @knightprincess @crosshairlovebot @imalovernotahater @sithstrings @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder @yunggoblin @photogirl894 @the-bad-batch-baroness @lulalovez @vodika-vibes @seaofsunberries @99tech99

[sonotpattismith]

i'm still your girl (satoru gojo x reader)

if you have to leave— I wish that you would just leave because your presence still lingers here, and it won’t leave me alone.

word count: 7.5k inspired by: dancing with your ghost by sasha alex sloan & my immortal by evanescence warnings: angst, mentions of death, mourning, depression, smut, 18+ a/n: AHHH I LOVED THIS ONE SO MUCH! I really wanted to do something a little spooky for Halloween, even if it wasn't officially halloween themed :( I can't wait to hear everyone's thoughts! ILY!

You tried to ignore him at first. He would stare back at you through your reflection in the mirror, just as he once did when the two of you would get ready for bed. He used to smile at you over his foamed toothbrush when he’d catch you staring at him, mumbling unintelligibly with his mouth full of suds. It made you laugh nonetheless, and he would lean over to spit into the sink before repeating himself with a teasing glint in his sparkling eyes. 

Why stare at my reflection when you’ve got the real thing here, sweetcheeks?

But Satoru had been dead for two months, and he no longer had anything to say about the way you stared blankly back at his reflection. 

You cried the first time you had seen him. It was just in your peripheral as you climbed into what was once his side of the bed. His dominating presence loomed in the doorframe, as if awaiting an invitation to come join you. In the haze of your mourning, having only been back at you and Satoru’s shared home for three days since he’d been gone, you thought perhaps your mind was playing tricks on you. Still, there was no mistaking those glowing eyes and their tendency to follow you across whatever room you were in. 

That night, you could only pull the covers over your head, too afraid of the fragility of your own sanity to dare take another look. His presence lingered though, the waves of his energy enough to leave you trembling underneath the comforter, tears spilling onto the plush pillow that still held his scent. You never peaked out, but a part of you knew he never left that night, lingering in the doorway and haunting you once you’d successfully cried yourself to sleep. 

It went on like that for a while. You believing your sanity was simply waning in his absence, him believing you simply didn’t see him. So, he watched as you trudged through life— if that’s what you could call your melancholy existence holed up in what once was a shared space— trapped behind the perceived veil of life and death that his abrupt departure had left the two of you in. 

There wasn’t a definitive moment when he determined that you could in fact see his silent figure observing you and feel his energy weighing down the air around the house. It came in waves; Satoru would notice how your sidelong glances toward the corner of the room lingered too long to be considered just a sweep around the room. He took note of the way you’d avoid facing the door at night when you’d pretend to be sleeping. 

One night, as you laid on the sofa, dark-rimmed eyes mindlessly fluttering across the television screen, perhaps your grief had simply outweighed the logical part of your mind that said giving into delusions— no—hallucinations, was not a good call for your already declining mental state. Your feeling conscious enough to turn on the television was a new development, one that Satoru was grateful for. He wasn’t sure how long he could watch you stare stiffly up at the ceiling, only an occasional sigh or sniffle that told him you were still breathing. 

Your thumb ticked over title after title, not even bothering to read descriptions or watch trailers before you passed them up. The gentle clicking noise was beginning to scratch at his ears, and, if he could still bleed, he was sure it’d be covering his jaw and neck by now. But then it stopped. Glancing up from his unwavering gaze on your slumped figure, his cerulean eyes landed on the sight of what once was your favorite Halloween movie to watch together. It had become a tradition, every year around this time, the two of you would pull out the matching pajama pants he’d bought for you on your first fall together just for the viewing occasion. 

You would always pretend to be irritated with him as he leaned into your ear and dramatically recited every line as they were being acted out. Delicate hands would push at his face as you repressed an amused smile. He’d only turn his theatrics up a notch, letting out a blood-curdling scream in tandem with the main actresses— so loud it made you glad you two had moved out of your apartment and into a house just two years into your relationship. Your boisterous laughter would fill the room as he tackled you into his lap, shaking your shoulders dramatically. 

The memory hung in the space between you. On the screen before you, the title lingered, taunting the both of you with broken promises of what would have been your fifth year watching it together. The man’s gaze was pulled from the screen when he saw your head tilt out of the corner of his eye. Your cheek was still smushed against the cushion, but you had angled it just so, and he could swear you were staring at him from your peripheral— waiting, inviting. 

Satoru stepped forward, eyes never leaving your face as he sank down into the spot by your feet. It was the first time the both of you had acknowledged the arrangement fate had thrust upon you. Your eyes, now brimmed with tears, returned to the screen as you pressed play on the movie. 

You didn’t understand what he was. The first thought was a hallucination, but as his energy lingered, and you felt the warmth of his thighs against your feet as the film shot bursts of color and sound throughout the morose living room, you began to think that perhaps he was more real than you were giving your psyche credit for. 

The second theory was a curse, conjured up from the macabre sense of loss and void that had tunneled within your chest since his death. How fitting, you thought, to have your love haunt you in the very form of what brought him to his end. As you pretended to watch the movie, keeping a watchful peripheral eye on the man at the end of the couch, you decided you didn’t care enough to find out. If you did, you weren’t sure you’d be strong enough to exorcize him should your theory be correct. It felt nice to have him here with you, soulbound or not. 

Your subtle acknowledgement of him did nothing to shift the silent stares and subtle invitations into something more— both of you too fearful of what it would mean if you did. So, he still stalked behind you as you brushed your teeth every night, and he awaited your subtle nod as you picked out your nightly cinematic reminder of what you two once were. 

It began eating away at him. He’d watch your phone light up with messages, ring with calls, all from your friends begging to know how you were doing, if there was anything they could do for you. Each time though, you’d barely glance at the device before sighing softly. It felt as though the phone weighed a ton, and it would surely take all your energy to simply acknowledge them. You would get back to them tomorrow, you thought to yourself yesterday, as well as the day before that. 

It was becoming too much— watching the shell of the woman he loved— loves— wither away at the hands of his own demise. Satoru wondered if it would have been easier on you had you been given a proper goodbye, but at the time, he was too cowardly to face you with the notion of it. Although the sorcerer had been prepared to go toe to toe with the king of curses, he couldn’t find it in him to prepare you for the possibility of his own death. 

He wanted to grab you by the shoulders and shake you out of your trance— to tell him it wasn’t all because of him. You couldn’t have tossed away your soul because of him. 

The credits of the movie you’d been idly watching rolled to completion, and your eyes remained glued to the screen as though reading each name as it slowly dragged down. The television screen faded to black before the film restarted from the beginning. Satoru watched, waiting for you to grab the remote, change it, move, blink, cry— anything. Lights flashed across your blank face as the familiar title card played, and he couldn’t take it anymore. 

Although he wanted to shout, scream at you to snap out of it, nothing would come out. As he attempted to push the breaths up his chest and out his throat with some semblance of a plea, it was as if an imaginary force had its fingers wrapped around his neck, halting any wish he had to get through to you. 

His chest rose and fell dramatically, snowy brows furrowing in frustration, and he kicked at the coffee table, sending it rumbling across the living room to hit the entertainment center with a deafening crack. The television shook but steadied after just a moment. Those gleaming eyes remained transfixed on you though— you hadn’t even flinched. Blinking slowly once, and then a second time, and your head slowly turned to meet his eyes straight on for the first time since his death. 

It caught him off guard. Of course, there were countless moments when your sidelong glances and hitched breaths let him know that you sensed something was amiss. Still, you had never dared look into his eyes— never made him feel as though he was really still with you. 

“Stop it, Satoru.” 

It was a flat demand— a test. Would he listen to you? Could he hear you? Did he care? 

Straightening his back against the couch, he stared unblinkingly at you for a moment before slowly standing up from his spot. His eyes didn’t leave yours once as he crouched down to grab the leg of the table and pull it back to its respective spot. He stood still facing you for what felt like hours. With each second that passed, your lip would slowly twitch, and your eyes would soften— because fuck, was he really there?

And then he held his hand out to you with a barely noticeable hesitance, and you didn’t seem to care any longer if he was just in your mind, or if he was a curse, or a ghost, because your fingers were trembling as they traced across his palm— and he was warm, and he was your Satoru. For that moment, his body hadn’t been torn to pieces because it was pulling yours off the couch. His lips weren’t cold and blue, because they were pressing against your forehead as your tears began to fall in salty, stinging waves down your cheeks. Satoru wasn’t dead, because he was right here, and your arms were twisted around the very torso that had been sliced clean off of him. 

Trembling sobs racked your frame as you pulled yourself up with desperate hands on his shoulders, wanting nothing more than to crawl inside of him and hide from the heinous idea that your lover was dead. His hands grasped at your thighs to pull you up, and you cried into his collarbone, tears and snot mixing grotesquely against him so much so that you didn’t notice the pulse you used to press kisses to was no longer there. 

“You said goodbye to everyone!” You cried pounding at his back as he carried you silently toward your bedroom. “I didn’t get anything. You knew— you knew, Satoru!”

Despite his not being able to speak, he still bit his tongue at your accusations. Slowly, he settled down on his side of the bed, clutching you close to his chest as you fought to pull away in order to glare down at him, venom and grief mixing arbitrarily in your veins. You weren’t sure it was him, if he could speak or even understand what you were saying anymore, but you had so much anger in you for how he left things. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? Warn me?” Your words were being muffled behind your gritted teeth as he finally released the firm grip he had on the back of your head. Balled up fists beat weakly against his chest, though they never hurt him when he was breathing, so they certainly couldn’t hurt him now. “Why didn’t you say goodbye to me?”

He couldn’t speak to explain to you his cowardice and talk you through that crack in your voice. So, he sat up and pulled you into him, pressing his lips against yours as your salty tears seeped into the crevices of his mouth and coated his tongue with your grief. Those familiar fingers creeped up your neck to grasp at your jaw, prying your mouth open as though he could breathe into you every regret he’d left behind. 

Your cries slowly died out against his open mouthed kisses, and you found yourself messily reciprocating, desperate for any distraction from the reality you’d been living in for weeks. His thumbs wiped roughly at each tear that slipped down your cheek, having had his fill of being the cause of them for so long. 

“I love you.” You cried against his tongue, raking your nails through his feathery hair and inhaling deeply through your nose. He didn’t smell like himself anymore— he didn’t smell like anything. Any supplement of him would do though, and your hands dipped down to pull his tshirt off. Those enrapturing eyes stared back at you longingly once the fabric was yanked over his head, and he wanted nothing more than to say it back to you. For now though, you were okay to fill that void in his unwilling silence. “I still love you, Toru. Please— stay.”

Satoru wasn’t sure the morality of his decision, but he knew it had been weeks of aching to reach out to you, and now you were here in his arms, arching against his wandering hands and forgetting that his body was being eaten away at by worms and vermin. Perhaps, he thought as he slid his old shirt over your head and buried his face into your chest, this is exactly why he had been barred from whatever afterlife had been awaiting him. He’d always heard that old expression, the superstition that no one soul can pass on with unfinished business to attend to. Had he barricaded his own soul to the land of the living when he failed to prepare you for his death? Was your grief keeping him here?

If so, he selfishly hoped you’d never recover, because the man who was once the strongest wasn’t sure he was strong enough to leave you— not with how your soul seemed to mesh with his as he settled you over his aching length, hoping to fill the void your mourning for him had created. If Satoru was bound for Heaven, he wasn’t sure that whatever was promised would come close to the holiness of your sweet moans against his ears and your nails’ stinging purchase of his shoulders. 

He’d never leave again, the phantom thought as he watched you sleep that night, curled around his arm as though he might ascend before you woke. There was a serenity in your soft features that had been noticeably missing in his absence, but it was there in your parted lips and gently settled brows as his fingers continued to rake through your hair. You hummed quietly in the midst of your slumber and tucked your face into the crook of his neck, and Satoru vowed he’d haunt you to your grave if it meant you’d never be apart again. 

You woke with a start the next morning, a gasp of your lover’s name tumbling from your lips as you shot up in bed. Tears were already threatening to pierce your eyes at the thought that what you had experienced last night was simply a dream— placed torturously into your psyche to feed the black hole of your grief. Whipping your head to the side, you were met with Satoru’s awaiting gaze as he sat against the headboard. Despite your startled state, his lips still curled up at the sight of your barely conscious appearance.

Your hair clung to your cheeks and swayed into your bleary eyes as you attempted to blink away the sleep. It almost gave an energy of a bear that had just risen from a week long hibernation, but he couldn’t blame you as he’d lain witness to the sleepless nights that had plagued you the past few weeks. The comforter slipped from your shoulders, bearing your silken skin and plush chest to him. Acting on a carnal instinct the sight of you seemed so expert at pulling from him, he grasped at the small of your back to pull you into him. 

Your contented hum drifted into his ears as you settled against him once again, your skin still warm with sleep as it pressed against his own. Satoru didn’t realize how much he had been missing when he was still alive and had the weight of the world on his shoulders— rarely ever having gotten the privilege of lazing beside you as you awoke in the mornings. Most of the time, he was still working when you laid your head down to sleep, and he was already gone by the time you woke up. He’d only steal gentle kisses against your temple and wanton brushes of his palms up your thighs and waist as you slept before he’d slip into bed beside you. Now, he was quickly realizing as you pressed lazy kisses against his chest, trailing up his neck and jaw, that those stolen intimacies and rushed affections were never enough. He’d haunt you forever, the ghost vowed once again. 

Your since somber days were filled with something comforting, and, despite the five years you two had spent together prior to his death, this connection was new and warm— exciting. At one point you had even joked with him that you never saw him this much when he was alive, and he could only smile teasingly at you as he watched you devour your breakfast. You ate with an urgency he hadn’t seen in you the last few weeks, and it settled the guilt in his stomach. No, Satoru wasn’t being selfish in holding onto you, this was for you. 

The two of you welcomed the days that followed with open arms. No matter how morbid the circumstances, it was a relief compared to the atrocities you’d faced when he was still the strongest. You watched the list of movies the two of you had always put off, stayed in bed until the late hours of the morning just to make love to each other, lounged pressed up against the other in the steaming bathtub until your fingers wrinkled and the water was as cold as his corpse. 

Satoru’s lips curled into an easy smile as you shivered against him. His large hands created a soft splash as he lifted them from the water to run them down your trembling shoulders. You tilted your head back against his chest to look up at him with pleading eyes. 

“C’mon, Toru, I need to get under the covers asap.” You laughed eagerly, moving to push yourself up. His brows furrowed, and he pulled you back against him. It was another little moment that he wished he could say he missed from his time of living, but it was an intimacy he rarely had the time to share with you. He curled his fingers around the plush flesh of your arms and pressed a soft kiss against the nape of your neck as if to coax you to stay just like this for a moment longer. You sighed softly, tilting your head forward to allow him more access to the delicate skin you prayed he’d continue to explore. “You’re not cold?”

This gave his ministrations pause. Attempting to erase the distraction of your scent from his senses, he tried to concentrate on how the water felt against his skin. Upon feeling his hesitation, you glanced back at him. His incandescent eyes peered down at you, and he could only meekly shake his head at your question. It was a stark reminder of what he was and what he wasn’t— one you’d gladly forgotten about in place of his presence. 

It was after this instance that you began to notice all the little changes, the parts of Satoru that were no longer there. His typical, overwhelming sweet tooth was eradicated, and it felt almost unnatural the way he watched you eat the chocolate chip pancakes that were once his favorite of your dishes, not once trying to steal an extra bite from your plate as was his norm, much less grabbing any for himself. You chewed uncomfortably, switching the mush of pancake from one cheek to another as he leaned his chin on his fist and watched you with a contented smile. Still, it was better than forcing food down your throat in his absence, so you swallowed your breakfast with a soft smile and accepted the kiss he pressed against the knuckle of your free hand. 

You tried to not think about what all these things meant. The way he didn’t eat, how his usually racing mouth was now always shut, how you’d awake in the middle of the night to find him simply staring down at you; it made your blood run cold. It was better than being alone, you told yourself. It was better than being without him. 

His looming gaze burned holes in your back as you searched through your cabinets for the ingredients to make the festive cookies you typically prepared each year when Halloween was approaching. Usually, Satoru would be hovering over your shoulder, dipping his fingers into the batter as you swatted him away. He’d hang his long frame over the kitchen island as if it were a hammock, head dangling over the side as he shouted random numbers at you in an attempt to throw off your measurements. Those glistening lips would curl up into a mischievous smile each time you’d turn around to glare half-heartedly at him— pleased that he’d stolen your attention back just as he wanted. 

It was silent now though as you turned around to meet his gaze. You puffed out some air, blowing your bangs from your face as you closed the cabinet. 

“I guess stepping out of this place for a little bit wouldn’t hurt.” You commented with a soft sigh. 

It had been months since you’ve seen another human being— much less left the house. Since Satoru’s sudden reemergence, and, truthfully, you didn’t feel you had a reason to ever leave again. There was only so long you could live with what you had at the house though. Looking down at your pajama-clad figure, you stood up to begin your trek to the room to change into something more presentable. Behind you, hurried footsteps followed after you. Just as you were about to shed your tank top, a quick hand caught your wrist. 

The frantic look in Satoru’s blue eyes unsettled you for the smallest fraction of a second— the way his snowy brows furrowed, nose scrunched up as if you’d just told him a joke of the poorest taste. A small gulp forced its way down your throat, but you managed a forced smile. 

“I’ve gotta get some groceries, Toru.” You laughed meekly, tugging your arm from his grasp. He blinked a few times at you as you fished out an old sweater of his to pull on. “Some of us around here still eat, you know.” 

He didn’t like the way you reminded him of his own mortality status. For the first time since his dominating haunting of you, he felt disconnected from you. It was the first time he thought about the fact that there was an entire world outside this house awaiting your return. The people and stories lying behind these four walls were vibrant, loud, alive. Satoru suddenly wondered if your days turned weeks of quiet, domestic tranquility would be enough. 

His feet seemed to move on their own accord as he followed you to the front door, wishing with everything in him that he could yell at you to stop, to not leave him behind. Reaching out in a haze, he slammed the front door that you had opened back shut. You flinched back with a start, turning to blink up at him in astonishment. There was barely a hint of anger or hostility left in his expression though. In its place was fear, desperation, and an eagerness to keep you anchored to the very place he himself was doomed to. There was only one thing that the world outside you and Satoru’s home didn’t have, and it was the only thing his spirit could offer you in exchange for your blind loyalty— himself. 

Easily pushing you back against the door, Satoru kissed you as he kept his own tears and doubts hidden— doubts about what his selfishness made him and what it would do to you, what it was already doing to you. He could feel it as his hands roamed down your waist and hips in their desperate pursuit to your thighs, that you were smaller than he last remembered you being. There was a hesitation in your reciprocating, but it was as if you could still hear him now, whispering to you through the wet smacks of your lips and the clashing of your teeth— 

Don’t leave me. He longed to beg of you as he sank down onto his knees before you. As his white lashes fluttered up and his glittering eyes peered up at you from his place, dragging anguished kisses up the exposed skin of your thighs, Satoru could only smile against your clothed heat. 

It was always his favorite thing to do— something he was so skilled at— drawing your attention right back to him. It was so clear in your wanton gaze down at him, with your brows drawn softly together as your chest rose and fell in tandem with his teasing kisses, that he had drawn you in once again, even if just for a moment longer. 

Your head bumped against the front door you were trying to leave through just moments ago as Satoru peeled the layers from your hips. Despite your angled head, your eyes strained to meet his gaze that had not once left yours since his descent down your body. There was a certain betrayal in them and a daringness that asked you how could you think to leave me behind? 

In the midst of your pleasured gasp as his fingers circled your entrance lovingly before plunging in with gusto, you didn’t notice the way his free hand crept up to lock the door once again before trailing down your arm and locking his fingers between yours. 

“I’m sorry, Satoru.” The apology spilled from your lips with a shaking gasp, eyes finally falling shut as his lips circled your clit in tandem with his digits’ massages against your walls. You weren’t sure why you had felt the need to apologize— it was your right, after all, wasn’t it? To continue living? To not die along with him? Still, the hungered whines that were pulled from him and fell against you told a different story, one that ended in a happily ever after even if that meant opening his casket to lay beside him. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry—”

They continued to fall from your lips as your high crept over you and molded you against the offending door. Just as you were about to slip past the final layer of sanity that grasped at you by the thinnest of threads, a sharp rap at the door had the waves of your release crashing unceremoniously to a halt in the depths of your stomach. With a startled, choked gasp, you fell forward, hands steadying you atop Satoru’s broad shoulders.

 His lips pried off you with a wet smack, and he tilted his head back to look at you— eyes wide and startled as if just reminded that it wasn’t just you two left in the world. Your chest heaved as you two stared at one another silently, and he shook his head— that familiar feeling of doubt creeping up in his chest. Your attention was drawn from him for the second time that day though as another knock sounded against the wood door, this one more urgent than the last.

Fighting against the guilt in your stomach at Satoru’s betrayed expression, you pushed off of him and quickly adjusted your clothes back over you. Wiping at your face as if it would give away your most recent escapades, you took an anxious breath in as you cracked the door open. 

The familiar sight of a tall, raven haired boy crashed against your anxiety with waves of relief— and it was slowly taken over by guilt with the reminder of the hundreds of texts and calls you’d avoided for so long. His fist was raised as if prepared to knock again, but it fell slowly upon seeing you through the crack of the door. The tension in his shoulders seemed to fall in tandem with the breath he released, his scarred face melting in relief before hardening once again. 

“Megumi—” Your meek greeting was cut off when he abruptly opened the door of your house fully and stepped in without another word. 

Unbridled fear gripped you as, for the first time since the start of your morbid affair, someone else stepped into the sacred space you and Satoru had carved out for yourselves in the past weeks. There were so many reasons you had left your loved ones in the dark— no answers about your wellbeing or needs in your time of grieving, but the most notable was the fact that you still didn’t know just what Satoru was now. Bringing someone else in posed the threat of losing him once again should your least desirable hypothesis be proven true— that he was merely a curse manifested in the wake of your grief. 

Watching with bated breath, Megumi closed the door behind him, and he was only inches from your lover. The phantom loomed over his shoulder with furrowed brows, but the boy made no indication that he had seen his dearly departed mentor standing a mere inches away from him, but, just for a moment, you thought you saw his lanky frame shake with the tiniest of shivers. If he suspected anything of the sudden intrusion, he didn’t mention it, instead casting his dark eyes around the house before settling on you once again. You released a quiet breath of relief. 

“You haven’t—” It was clear in his harsh tone that he was prepared to lecture you on your radio silence, but he stopped himself, forcing his hard features to soften a bit before looking back up at you. “I just— are you okay? Everyone’s been worried about you.”

You remained silent, watching the concern pool in his eyes as he assessed you up and down. Since the last time he’d seen you, you certainly appeared smaller, your cheeks sunken in and your collarbones more pronounced. Your eyes, the ones that once gazed at him with such fierce doting and concern for his own wellbeing were rimmed with dark circles that were more apparent against the way your skin had paled over the past weeks. In your silence, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“I’m worried about you.” Megumi finally admitted gruffly. “When was the last time you left the house? Talked to someone?” 

Your mouth opened and closed, eyes drifted over his shoulder to meet Satoru’s awaiting gaze. The boy in front of him followed your gaze, snapping back to you when he was met by nothing but air. 

“I-I’m fine, Megs.” You reassured with an unconvincing smile, reaching out to ruffle his hair affectionately. 

“Don’t give me that bullshit.” He spat as his expression hardened once again. His lashes fluttered angrily across his cheekbones as he blinked away the traitorous tears that threatened to burn at his eyes. 

It was his every intent to come here and be the strong one for you in Gojo’s absence. At the end of the day though, it wasn’t just you that had lost him. Megumi had lost his mentor, the only father figure he ever had. He figured the two of you would be grieving together— as doting on and endlessly embarrassing the boy had quickly become a team effort when you and Satoru got together. You filled the spaces that the six eyes couldn’t, lending an ear to problems your boyfriend never had the tact or grace to help out with himself. 

When Gojo died, Megumi never expected to lose you too. 

“You can’t expect me to go back to normal.” You explained, wanting nothing more than for him to leave. The reminder of how sickly you’d been coping with your loss was eating away at you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to be confronted by it any longer. “I lost my—”

“I lost him too, okay? Now don’t make me have to grieve you too— because I can’t.” Megumi was no longer looking you in the eyes, instead pretending that the various magnets on the fridge were far more interesting than your conversation. Slipping quickly down the side of his cheek though, you caught a glimpse of a rare tear before he furiously swiped it away. 

Suddenly, the guilt you were feeling was not for Satoru, or the pathetic means by which you’ve been holding onto him, but instead you felt an overwhelming contrition for the life you left behind in the midst of your coping, the people you left behind. You pushed past Satoru, paying no mind to the constricted expression on his face and pulled Megumi into a tight embrace. In his typical, nonchalant fashion though, his arms remained stiffly at his sides. Still, he buried his face into your shoulder for a brief second, allowing the grief to wash over the both of you, reminding each other that neither were ever alone in these uncharted waters. 

With a quick sniff, he pulled away from you in an attempt to collect himself. 

“Come on, let’s get lunch or something.” Megumi’s tone bordered on begging, but the man keeping you tied to this house had you biting your lip in contemplation. The boy sighed lowly at your apprehension. “Please, Gojo would have killed me if he knew I was letting you waste away like this. Come with me.” 

This revelation sliced through Satoru’s chest deeper than his fatal blow ever could have reached. For the first time since his mysterious return in your life, he looked past his need to be someone in your life, past the desire to keep you well past the time fate had allotted for the two of you, and he saw only a shell of the woman he loved. Now, you were shackled with one leg in his grave and the other tethered to your home— never able to stray too far. 

Without a care of how bizarre you appeared you peered right into Satoru’s awaiting eyes to find the stinging acceptance that you had been searching for. As if he could speak, the ghost gulped down any venomous words that threatened to spill out, as he turned on his heel and left you to make your decision. You watched the back of his head as he disappeared into the hallway, your bottom lip trembling in fear. If you walked out those doors, would he still be here when you got back? 

“Hey,” Megumi’s voice sounded distant, but the subtle desperation laced in it snapped you from your contemplative state. A tear raced down your cheek as you looked back at the boy. In his wide eyes, you saw the young boy who was blindly following Gojo into the world of jujutsu— the one who was too proud and scared of growing attached to admit that he was so grateful that above all else, you never pushed him to prove himself. There was never a conversation about how strong he had become, in its place were soft questions of if Gojo had given him a break that day, or if he had eaten. You were a rock to him for so long, and he recognized that look in your eye— the one that said you weren’t sure what was worth fighting for anymore. “Come on, I haven’t eaten today.”

Through the blur of your tears, you smiled wobbly at him, laughing tearfully as you reached up to smooth his hair down. This— you decided as you followed Megumi out the door for the first time in two months with your bag slung over your shoulder— was worth accepting grief for. 

Despite your coming to terms with the fact that reintroducing yourself into the life you’d built for yourself might mean truly letting go of Satoru in the process— fear gripped every nerve in your body as you returned home that night. You bid Megumi goodbye with a tight embrace once he’d helped you put your groceries away, and, with a promise that you’d answer your phone every once and a while, he left you alone in the house still haunted by your lover. 

Sweeping your gaze across the living room and kitchen— Satoru was nowhere to be found. A deep dread settled into the pits of your stomach, and you had to remind yourself that you weren’t at fault for choosing to continue living. No matter how many pep talks you gave yourself though, and how fulfilling it felt to have a purpose once again, even if just for a few hours, there was an undeniable feeling of loss that accompanied the fact that you and Satoru were left with no closure. 

“Toru?” You called out, your careful footsteps being the only, subtle noise echoing through the eerily silent house. The door of your bedroom creeked open under your palm’s hesitant push, but it too was barren. A familiar feeling of helplessness began to rise within your chest. It was the sensation that the very essence of what seemed to hold your world together was slipping past your fingers as though grains of sand in perilous tides. No matter how hard or desperately you squeezed your fists together— it was leaving you to be washed away by a greater power. “Satoru, this isn’t funny!”

The stinging tears that flowed down your cheeks were angry— offended that he’d leave you behind once again like this. Just like the first time, he’d left no warning, no explanation or preparation for his abrupt departure. It was a betrayal like no other, and you kicked open the door of the bathroom with all the anger it burned within you. The knob slammed against the wall, undoubtedly leaving an ugly hole in its wake, but the sight of the empty restroom was a far more grueling vision to behold. 

“Please, I’m sorry I left.” You cried into the empty space as you walked in further to rip the curtain of the shower back as if he would pop out from his hiding spot at any moment. Your knees buckled underneath you, and you curled into yourself against the cold tile flooring. There was a persistent pounding in your skull as your sobs shook your body, and, for a moment, you considered calling Megumi back to take you Jujutsu High— fearing what your mind may whisper to you in the midst of your breakdown. Your nails dug crescent shaped marks into your arms as you tried to grasp onto any sense of reality. “Come back. Please come back.”

There was a pregnant silence behind your shaking sobs that blanketed over the frigid bathroom for just a moment longer before the shattering of glass let you know you weren’t alone. You jolted up with a strangled scream at the sound, your arms coming up to shield you from the shards of broken glass the richocheted from the wall. Once it had finally settled, you slowly lowered your arms, eyes focusing on the larger shard that had fallen in front of you. From its reflection, Satoru’s piercing eyes stared back at you— a certain peace in them that wasn’t there when you’d last seen them. 

You quickly lifted your head, mouth agape at the sight of the phantom, still there, still with you. With your legs moving on their own accord, shards of glass pierced through your knees as you moved to pull yourself up, the unmistakable sensation of blood seeping onto your skin. Satoru squatted down, silently halting your movements. His eyes never left yours as he picked up a small envelope from the pile of glass. You hadn’t noticed it before— too transfixed on his still being there. 

Any words you wished to spew out to him died in your throat as he handed the envelope to you, and after a moment, you finally broke the intense eye contact you had been maintaining with him to look down at it. It had your name scribbled across the front. Without a doubt, you instantly recognized it as Satoru’s familiar penmanship. Your brows furrowed as your trembling fingers grasped onto the paper in confusion. The man before you could only watch, his stillness inviting you to rip open the damned paper, so you did.

You can’t tell anyone that I was too scared to say goodbye to you in person— I’m still supposed to be the strongest, you know (even if I went out like a total LOSER). I’m sorry to have left like this, but I think if you had asked me not to go, I might have actually listened. Quite the accomplishment, sweetcheeks, being the one person Gojo Satoru ever truly feared.

I’ll always love you and the life we were working to build, even if I won’t be around to see how you make it your own.

Please don’t waste the rest of your life looking at my reflection. 

(Seriously, don’t make me haunt you)

Your Toru.

The black ink before you smudged as your tears fell onto the page. You read it over and over again, unsure if the feeling crashing into you was still grief, or if the hint of relief washing over your system was real. Had your closure been here all along— hidden behind the damned mirror you stared mindlessly into for weeks?

“I didn’t want you to let me go.” 

You were sure you had begun hallucinating as Satoru’s melodic voice swam into your ears, filling you with a comfort you had been missing for far too long. Finally tearing your gaze from the letter, you looked up at him, mouth agape. As he stared back at you, there was a certain lightness that seemed to fill the air around him, and he knew his time with you was limited. 

“I figured you’d find it eventually. I just… I wanted you to hold onto me for a little longer.” He admitted before staring up at the now barren wall that once held that damned mirror. With a humorless laugh, he rolled his eyes at his own selfishness. “So much for the strongest, am I right?”

“Toru,” You whispered, fiercely blinking back the tears that dared blur your vision of him. He caught you as you threw your arms around his neck and cried into his shoulder. “I never needed you to be the strongest. I just wanted to know you were there— that what you left behind meant something to you.”

“It meant everything. You meant everything to me.” Satoru reassured, and as he opened his eyes, he could no longer see the sink, or the tub, the tiles; he only saw your trembling figure crouched beside him. Closure—  he knew what it would mean, but he was now willing to be left behind if it meant you got to move forward. 

“Are you leaving?” You asked, though you already knew the answer. 

“Afraid so—  but do me a favor, yeah?” He pulled back to smile fondly down at you, wiping at the tears under your eyes. You nodded dumbly at him as he brushed your hair behind your ears. “Get a new mirror, and stop looking for me in it, okay?”

Despite the heaviness in your chest, you laughed breathlessly at his words.

“Okay.” You choked out in agreement, closing your eyes as he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. A sly smile spread across his lips as he looked down at you one last time. 

“It was never as good as the real thing anyway.”

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[auspicioustidings]

Kiss in Payment

Summary: Continuation of Services/Goods of Equivalent Value. You have opened a teashop near an off record military base and this is a bunch of snippets of your life there.

Words: 7.5k (HOW?!)

You hadn't slept in a real bed in so long and you were not prepared to get out of it. It smelled good and it was warm and you were tired right down to your bones from all the work of the past 6 months finally culminating in the busiest and happiest evening you had possibly ever had. Only half awake you nuzzled into the pillow with a happy little sigh of contented comfort.

"Feels better than sleeping in a chair doesn't it?"

At first you smiled sleepily and made a sound of agreement. And then your brain caught up and you shot up, eyes opening and darting around madly to find you were in a small, simple bedroom and Simon was sat in the chair in the corner, book in hand being dogeared and set on a little table now that you were awake.

You had seen most of his face before when he was drinking or eating so seeing the whole thing wasn't any more of a shock than the situation you had found yourself in. It was a little strange seeing the skin around his eyes cleaned and bright, no smudges of black. He looked softer like this you thought.

"I um, I don't um… ah ha I must have fallen asleep in the chair right? Must have just been so tired! You didn't have to move me, but thanks, it wouldn't have been good for me to sleep there right? Ha ha."

God you were adorable when you tried to lie. Heart was far too prominent on your sleeve for it to ever work. You were clearly flustered way more from trying to lie than from waking up in his bed and such a fondness settled in him knowing that you trusted him so easily. You trusted that he had carried you here to help, that he would never have done anything to hurt you. 

"Gaz would have carried you to your bed, but come to think of it there doesn't seem like any sort of bedroom in your shop."

Was he teasing to watch you scramble to try and explain yourself? Maybe a little, sue him.

"Oh right! It's in… the basement, it's in the basement."

You had a nanosecond of being relieved you had thought up a lie so quickly before being horrified at what a bad lie it was. What if they wanted to go into the non-existent basement now? But you had gotten away with it for now and you relaxed as Simon just nodded with an "Ah, of course, the basement". 

Maybe you were good at this whole lying thing!

When it was time to get up and get a ride back home to the shop Simon got the little tub of eye black to smear on. You took it from him and started dabbing it on with your fingers for him since he had let you sleep in his bed. 

"It's like finger painting" you grinned, sitting back to admire your work.

He took your hand in his before you could fully withdraw it, pressing a kiss to your knuckles that had the tips of your ears on fire. You gave him a wide eyed stare in question.

"Services/goods of equivalent value remember? This one was worth at least a few days of moving furniture."

You smiled shyly, thinking he meant applying the eye black for him. Simon let you think that, knowing himself that the payment he was taking was being able to press his lips to your skin.

-

You felt your lie was under attack when, after being driven back to your shop by Price with Soap in tow, they started talking about your basement as they helped you with all the dishes from the night before.

"Didn't you help with a lot of the building Soap? Going to have to give you extra observation training, missing a whole basement."

"Och Captain dinnae, ye know that training is the worst! I'll do better next time, ye'r spot on that it's unacceptable for me to miss something like that."

Oh the way you went dead silent while you scrubbed at a plate, clearly being eaten alive by guilt. It was cute up until you genuinely seemed in distress, and although it was fun to tease Johnny was thankful when Price laid off.

"Ah I'm only taking the piss Sergeant, easy thing to miss in an old place like this."

Some of the tension bled from your shoulders and oh if Soap didn't suddenly remember the little shy kiss you pressed to his cheek the night before. Such a sweet thing, genuinely getting upset at the idea he might have to do training because of a lie you told to protect yourself. As if him and Gaz didn't lie all the time to try and get one another in trouble just for the hell of it.

"Opening is in an hour aye? Think we could get a wee out of hours tea?" Soap asked.

You dried off your hands, smiling brightly now. Making tea always made you forget all your worries and you were wildly delighted that confessed coffee person Soap was the one asking. You went straight to work, grabbing and typing off your apron and throwing your hair up. 

Price and Soap shared a conspiring look as they watched you work. They had gotten good at speaking without words. Right now their look was saying "isn't she just the loveliest thing you ever saw? I think I might scream if she does one more cute thing."

With the tea steeping you sighed in contentment, jumping a little when Price's hand found the small of your back. You hadn't even realised he was so close, for such a big man he was so light on his feet! He tapped a finger to his cheek.

"Think helping wash one load of dishes works as equivalent value."

You popped onto your tip toes and planted a soft peck to his cheek and as Soap bounded forward for the same Price shoved him away with a grin.

"Got payment in advance last night if I recall Soap, can't have our favourite girl overpaying."

-

Price and Soap left just as you officially opened for the day, but to your soft delight already Horangi and Farah were waiting outside for the sign to be flipped. They were bundled up, must have walked over. Now that you knew the distance from here to the base it made you swell with pride to know they had made the trip on foot. 

"Two of ye are here awful early naw?"

"Is there a problem with that MacTavish?" Horangi asked with a smirk, suspecting that the problem was Soap was about to leave you alone with him and Farah.

He had thought it would only be him, everyone else using their morning to work out and get fed. Obviously Farah had the same idea though, both of them feeling a sense of challenge from the other. He was sure you would like learning to make his Korean sweets over her Urzik ones. 

"Course naw, always happy tae see paying customers for my girl here" he responded, clearly proud of himself for managing to find a subtle way to tell Horangi and Farah to back off because you were his.

Farah raised an eyebrow at Price when he smirked at Soap's little claim and his lip twitched slightly. The exchange was barely noticeable and yet the unspoken conversation had went something like this:

"Really John? She's a little young for you is she not?"

"Really Farah, what would Alex say?"

"Me and Alex have always been very good at sharing, ask Gaz."

"Don't remember you being this much of a brat Karim."

Farah thought it was a shame you had been subject to all these boorish men for so long. Soft, sweet thing like you deserved some soft and sweet companionship. She had hoped that she could get to know you while teaching you how to make the halva she had fed you bites of last night any time you had paused in your hectic running about to pour her tea.

You had been very complimentary of the simple sweet, wanting to know all about the cultural history of it. Farah was no stranger to the uncomfortable looks she got when she would pour her heart out about her passion for her home country. She had half expected you to nod politely and excuse yourself. Only you hadn't, you had been genuinely and unabashedly happy at how passionate she was about her home, eyes sparkling with interest as you made her promise that she'd visit again and tell you more.

Of course Hong-jin would be equally as fond of you, she had spied how he had made you try a bite of bukkumi and how he had cried laughing when it was chewier than you expected and you had bitten your tongue. That giant beside him had acted as if you were mortally wounded until you had calmed him down and Farah was observant if nothing else, she had seen how your easy way with the larger man had Hong-jin simmering with fondness. 

Price and Soap realised they couldn't very well stay without it being obvious they were only doing so to stop Farah and Horangi from being left to work their charms on you, so with a grumble they departed.

You were honestly a little nervous about your first real customers after opening day, but you thought you did a great job of hiding it and welcoming them inside.

Farah and Horangi could both tell you were nervous, it was glaringly obvious, so an unspoken pact was made that they would only compete with each other in ways that you wouldn't notice so wouldn't make you anxious.

An hour later and you were so delighted that they had been kind enough and patient enough to teach you how to make the sweets they had bought the night before, oblivious to the amount of sabotage and subterfuge in the silent war between your two customers. 

Still they did eventually have to admit defeat, they were due in meetings and couldn't stay forever. You squeaked and shook your head rapidly when they tried to pay for their drinks.

"Oh no please, you were both so wonderful to have shared your recipes with me! Think of this as payment for that."

"I already said I would teach you did I not? Of course I have to pay properly for the tea you made me."

“It would be very rude not to, I can pay for both of our teas.”

“No no, I can pay for both. After all you are technically a guest with the 141 aren't you?”

“As are you.”

“Oh I would say more a long distance member. Actually since this is so near the 141 base and you've been so good to the team, I'd say that makes you basically an honorary member!”

“Oh! That's such an honour for you to say Farah, it's more that the team has been good to me though” you explained in a rush, a pretty flush of colour dusting your cheeks.

“Ah but you also have adopted the little cat with us, so it makes you more a member of Kortac than anything else.”

“I think Herzogin adopted me, she just came in one day and decided to make herself at home and I couldn't say no” you said, now feeling so flustered there must be steam coming out of your ears.

There was something so touching about what they were saying even if it was light hearted and meant more as a joke you thought. Even the thought of somehow being a part of their lives, some little silly civilian branch of their teams, made your hummingbird heart flutter.

It was also very sweet how they both wanted to cover each others bill even though you really could not let them go unrewarded for teaching you their recipes. They must be quite close these two teams. Definitely not two people who had only properly met last night and were now locked in a bitter rivalry over you or anything.

“But regardless I need to repay you somehow for the lessons! Don't make me start pulling out a contract again” you laughed.

When they asked you explained about your hastily written contract with Soap, how it had kept expanding after that. You even showed them the copy as messy as it was.

“I, the undersigned, agree that I will pay in full Mr John MacTavish* for works carried out either in monetary value or services/goods of equivalent value**** as soon as I have the means to do so. 

*& Mr Rudolpho Parra**

**and any members of the Los Vaqueros team*** 

***who are to be superceded in priority by any members of TF141

****as defined in value by the party being reimbursed”

It didn't feel much like a contract anymore what with Simon's messy scrawl and the massive pen stroke from when Soap had shoved Rudy as he was trying to add his addendum. But it always made you smile to look at.

You thought your heart might burst when they both very reverently take turns adding their own addendums on.

“I, the undersigned, agree that I will pay in full Mr John MacTavish* for works carried out either in monetary value or services/goods of equivalent value**** as soon as I have the means to do so.******

*& Mr Rudolpho Parra**

**along with any members of the Los Vaqueros team*** 

***who are to be superceded in priority by any members of TF141*****

****as defined in value by the party being reimbursed

*****including Farah Karim and Alex Keller who shall be deemed members TF141 for the purposes of this contract.******

*****Any works or services carried out by members of Kortac PMC (inclusive of Herzogin) are to be subject to the same terms of payment as above.”

After that they both paid in full for all the tea meaning you were left blustering about the double payment. And when before they left they pressed a kiss to your cheek, sandwiching you between them for a moment, you were sure you have melted right into the floor.

“That's your debt settled for the recipe” Farah teased as her and Horangi left.

–

You spent the day warmed by the smattering of visitors. Some drove out, some made the trip on foot, Gaz stopped by in the middle of his run and the sight of him shirtless and sweaty made you scald yourself when you accidentally overpoured and splashed hot tea over your hand.

“Ouch luv, c'mere and let me see” he said, immediately taking your hand delicately in both of his strong ones to do a quick inspection and then leading you over to the sink to run it under cold water.

“It's not that bad” you hissed as the water hit, it was freezing and you were really just trying to get out of having to hold it there for 10 minutes.

“Hush, don't know how deep it's went so need to make sure it cools down properly.”

You didn't feel like you were cooling down with his naked torso right there beside you, one hand still holding yours and the other resting absentmindedly on your waist. All of these customers of yours really would be the death of you.

You huffed a little and stuck your tongue out at him, knowing he was right but not liking it one bit. He laughed at you and gave you a light little headbutt into your hair, the easy affection making you smile despite yourself. You smiling made him smile and it was as always like looking at the sun when this man smiled. So much so you did not even hear the door go until you were crowded by another body, the new arrival slotting against your other side in a mirror of Gaz and sighing.

“What happened here then princess?” 

Gaz narrowed his eyes at Alex albeit playfully at the pet name, feeling his pinky brush again his hand now also settling in on you.

“Ah just clumsy! Not a very good omen to be spilling tea on the second day huh?”

“You know Ghost and Soap once got so drunk they passed out on the sofa and we found them all tangled up the next morning, said they must have moved in their sleep.”

You nearly choked on your own saliva at that, blinking up at Alex who was only grinning back at you.

“There now, we've both spilled tea, so I can take all the bad omens off of you.”

Goddamnit, Kyle always forgot how stupidly handsome and charming Keller was. Even being right in your space shirtless, having been meticulous in his work out this morning to ensure his body would look just right to get you flustered, you weren't even looking at him anymore. Too busy giving a soft smile to the American playboy. Well if you can't beat them…

You jumped when you felt Kyle's breath right at your ear. He had leaned over a little to join the conversation but it meant he was even closer than before and it was suddenly very, very warm. 

“Just to make sure though, Keller here will deny it ever happened but he once kissed a man right in front of his girlfriend! Right scandalous if you ask me. How's that for tea?”

“i-in front of your girlfriend?!” you asked, somewhat in shock that this man who had been nothing but sweet to you was a cheater. 

“As I recall, my girlfriend was the one that put in the request” he laughed, seeing your look of suspicion and softening. “I promise she was happy about it princess, we've always been open to sharing.”

Him and Gaz shared a look then, both obviously noticing that you were probably about to faint from the no doubt tame (scandalous in your head) images the idea of sharing was conjuring. While it was very endearing the way you reacted, the thump thump thumping of your heart almost perceptible, they couldn't find it within themselves to tease you more. Sweet little thing like you deserved better.

“Come on luv, let's get it dried off and wrapped up.”

Kyle lifted your hand away from the cold water and you realised they had completely distracted you from the discomfort. You wondered if it had been on purpose as he took you over to one of the stools and made you sit while Alex fished out the first aid box.

“Oh, how did you know where that was?”

“Military princess, reckon about everyone scoped out the exits, fire extinguisher and first aid kit last night. Laswell had me order some safety signs for express delivery, should arrive today actually.”

“Oh I didn't even think! How much did it cost? I’ll pay you for them straight away.”

Kyle sighed as he wrapped your hand, knowing exactly what was about to happen and not able to think of one reason to stop it. Besides, it's not like he didn't think you and Alex looked cute together and he didn't even bother to hide his grin of disbelief at how outrageous Keller was when he caressed your face.

“Farah said we could get a kiss in payment as long as it was an equivalent value. Would a kiss be OK princess?”

You didn't really remember nodding even though you had, but you were pretty sure you'd remember Alex Keller pressing a heart achingly soft kiss to your lips as long as you lived. You felt like your brain was flowing with syrup when he laughed lightly and fondly after kissing you, like he was happy he got to do it. 

“Medical fees as well luv, yeah?”

And then you were nodding and Kyle Garrick was kissing you while Alex still had one hand on your cheek and everything was a little too hot and overwhelming. 

Thankfully both men were merciful and didn't mention it when you blinked back into consciousness from fainting onto the counter. If Gaz had had to scream into Alex's shoulder because of how adorable he found it, well they didn't mention that either.

–

You were in trouble now. Kate Laswell was giving you a look that you were sure meant she could read your mind. 

“You're not in trouble, but you need to tell me the truth. Why were you staying at the base last night?”

Of course Laswell knew, she knew everything about everyone. You were the kind of soft she knew it was easy for hard soldiers to love, but if she thought for a second that one of the 141 had taken you to bed last night she was inclined to use them for shooting practice. You had been dead on your feet after opening day, not in any fit state for clandestine meetings.

Plus she felt protective over you, maybe a little possessive. You reminded her fiercely of her wife and she had already called her last night to tell her about you, suggesting they make the time to visit together when work was less hectic for her.

“Oh I-” you paused, desperately hoping you were not going to get anyone into trouble but itching to tell this woman the truth, “they found me asleep in one of the chairs so instead of waking me they let me use one of the beds. It was my fault for falling asleep where I did! They were just being kind.”

“Why didn’t the move you to your own bed?” Kate asked with a long suffering sigh. It would be just like the 141 to jump to the extreme option.

“It's um, they didn't know where it was.”

Kate had scoped out the place last night without crossing a line into snooping, but she had thought the door next to the stove would be a bedroom. The boys would have known that though, Price said Riley and MacTavish had helped a lot with construction and moving furniture. So either she was really going to have to leather them for taking you back to base when your bed was right there, or the room was a storage space.

“And where is that?”

“Hm?”

“Where do you sleep?”

“Oh hang on, I'll get you another cup!”

Kate watched you stumble away with the poor excuse of getting the pot to pour another cup of tea for her. Her teacup was still half full. And she was indeed going to have to skin the 141 alive. How did it take them so long to figure out that you didn’t have a proper place to sleep? The quiet fury she felt at thinking how long you had been curling up on one of the chairs surprised her for only a moment before she let it settle in. Kate Laswell had always been very good at quickly identifying who she considered her people and her knack of it hadn’t let her down yet. 

“How long have you been sleeping here?”

You froze as you were reaching for the teapot. 

“I-i the basement? Since I got the place.”

Kate was well aware there was not a basement, not unless there was a magical hidden hatch to it. Even if she hadn’t been 99% certain, the fact that you were the worst liar she had ever encountered and the look of alarm she saw on Alejandro’s face as he slid through the door gave her assurance she was right. The question at this point was how to gentle you into telling her what was going on and why you didn’t have somewhere to sleep. She wished her wife were here, between the two of them she was more the people person. 

“Try again cariño, there is no basement in this building.”

Your ruse was rapidly falling apart with Alejandro now here as well. You had been so sure you had gotten away with it as well, and you were just stuck to the spot gaping trying to get your brain to come up with some sort of excuse. 

“Well um, I know I said basement but I- the thing is maybe it’s just a plan to have a basement. Right. That’s what I meant, that I’m going to put in a basement and have a bed there. Yeah. And that means that right now I don’t have one. A basement I mean, or uh, yeah a bed. But it’s totally fine, that chair by the fire is super comfortable and it’s not that bad for my back and Herzogin likes being able to curl in my lap anyway and actually I really like it because the blanket would be a little too small if I was all stretched out anyway and-”

Alejandro had known you long enough to see when your brain was absolutely catching fire. It was one of the things he loved because he knew he was always able to calm you down and it made him feel overwhelmingly content whenever he did. Right now though he at least wished your brain was catching fire over something small like offering him a new type of tea or short circuiting when Rudy had poured water over himself to cool down in the summer (Ale had nearly throttled him, little shit had known what he was doing) and not over something that made him want to smuggle you home to Mexico and make sure you never wanted for anything ever again. 

He could put aside his own feelings right now though, walking over and enveloping you in a warm hug, squeezing just the right amount to make your words trail off and your brain slow down now that it felt safe and comfortable. You clung to him almost instantly, burying your head in his chest and fighting tears. You were so embarrassed to be caught, it made you feel like you couldn’t look after yourself at all.

It wasn’t that you had meant for it to all work out this way, but you were chasing a dream and you sort of came second to that. Last night you had finally made it and it had been better than you ever dared hope, it had been beyond perfect. You hadn’t even thought to include your own comfort in that dream of yours, and now when you really thought about how you had been living it all caught up and made you feel awful and exhausted. 

“There come on now, it’s ok” Alejandro said softly, leaning a cheek against your hair and sharing a look with Kate, “we’re going to make sure you’re looked after ok? Just until we can sort something a little more permanent out for you.”

“I couldn’t, I don’t… I just need a little time to save up and I can get stuff” you sniffled, doing your best to keep it together.

You were fully out of money, last night had made a small fortune but that needed to go towards overdue bills and restocking. It was enough that you would be in the clear at least, and then you could actually start saving if you managed to make any profit. You wanted to say you could survive a few more cold nights, but now that it had finally hit you, that you had spent a night in a warm, cosy bed, you didn’t know that you could. 

Alejandro just hushed soothingly at you, petting your hair and letting you cry it out. He knew for a fact Kate was taking advantage of knowing he would not do anything right now that was not solely with the purpose of your comfort in mind, he could see her typing away on her phone and glancing at him as if to say “I’m going to make sure she’s looked after, but it’s nice that you can distract her while I do that I suppose.”

Would he say he was happy when Nikolai showed up to whisk you off to a B&B for the night? Mixed feelings really. He was happy that you would spend the night safe and warm nearby. He was furious it wasn’t going to be with him. And then that vanished when he melted fully to a puddle as you darted quickly back after locking up and saying goodbye to them to nervously press a kiss to his cheek.

“It’s in the contract that I should repay you for things. I hope this works to repay you for being so kind to me.”

If Kate’s snort of amusement at his scream into his hands after you had left was anything to go by, it worked far too well.

–

“We only have a double room left, will that be ok sir?”

Nikolai had taken one look at you all cried out and sniffling outside that tea shop and decided there and then that he was going to feed you the largest meal of your life and then tuck you into a nice, warm bed and let you sleep for as long as you wanted. If he had known when he got the message from Price about the tea shop opening that you were the little thing behind the Captain and Gaz calling in all their favours he would have told the general he was flying to a critical mission to walk so he could attend. 

As it was he had been on his way to visit and apologise for not making it when he had gotten the message from Kate that she was giving him a new assignment. He didn’t know the full background, he did know that the 141 was in big trouble whatever had happened. Not his problem, he was focused on you. 

He had teased that he was going to fly you out of there at first and you had about passed away on the spot before he scrambled to tell you he was joking. The B&B wasn’t too far, it was in the nearest little village an hours walk from the teashop in the opposite direction of the base. You told him you were ok to walk and he had scooped you onto his back anyway, let you wrap your arms around his neck and rest your head on his shoulder as you chatted away about anything and everything.

Your attempts at learning some Russian was adorable, trying to wrap your tongue around the words he would give you before even asking what they meant (he had gotten you to say ‘I am very cute’ perfectly and then told you it meant ‘thank you’, so delighted when you said it frequently that it overrode the guilt at being so duplicitous about it. He’d tell you one day. Maybe).  

“Of course, double is perfect.”

Not that you would protest given that you were fast asleep on his back now, the weight of your head on his shoulder comforting. You deserved the rest he imagined, he had gotten pictures from Price of the opening. It wasn’t easy to have so many big personalities in one place, much less have them all vying for your attention. He took great glee knowing that every single one would be chewing glass when they found out he had you all to himself right now.

You woke up when you were put down onto the bed, blearily blinking as you tried to work out your new surroundings. It was a cosy little room, the bed you were on was like a marshmallow with the perfect firm to squishy ratio and Nikolai who you had come to like very much in the last hour was laying out a frankly disgusting amount of room service onto the little table, so much of it that you could see some had already needed to be put on the vanity.

It was wonderful to exist in a sleepy, happy haze as you ate your weight in comforting pub food, soaked in the bath he had run for you and then fell into bed. Only there was only one bed. And he was already settling himself in the armchair and putting on reading glasses that made him look adorable to start one of the little romcoms from the tiny library in the foyer. In truth Nikolai was more inclined to share, but he knew that even the act of asking you would put pressure on you. He knew a people pleaser when he saw one. 

“...the bed is big enough for you as well. Would it be ok if we shared?”

Well he hadn’t expected you to be the one asking him and it took him by surprise enough that he put down his book and just blinked at you for a moment, brain short circuiting and answering in Russian instead with a heartfelt speech about how he did not want you to feel you had to offer and how he would love to hold you if you’d let him because you seemed like you should always be held and if he got to be the one to do that for only one night he would be so grateful for the trust you had given him.

You had no clue what this handsome man was saying, but it sounded nice. You hoped you hadn’t overstepped.

“I’m sorry I didn’t understand. I… have a bit of a contract with the 141. It’s for services and goods of equivalent value when they help me out. And you’ve helped me out a lot tonight so I know sharing the bed isn’t exactly, well I mean it’s really your bed, so I should be the one in the chair really, so it’s not me repaying you at all to share it” you rambled, very sleepy from the abundance of food and the warm bath.

“Oh lapposhychka, it is no wonder I got such warm messages from the Captain” Nikolai sighed, seeing how a light blush dusted across your nose when you got yourself worked up about a problem. “I do not want you to make yourself uncomfortable because you think to repay me with it.”

You brought the blankets right up to the bridge of your nose to hide your little shy smile, feeling somehow like you could tell him the truth that you could never say out loud to anyone else.

“It doesn’t make me uncomfortable. I was the one who wrote it down to be vague just incase… people wanted to be creative with interpretation.”

Nikolai took a moment to understand and then laughed so loudly that you could hear the neighbours laughing at his boisterous laugh. He was happy to slide into bed beside you then and you were using his chest as a pillow and listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. When you tried to thank him in Russian he only laughed lightly and hugged you as you drifted off to a peaceful sleep.

–

“Open bonnie.”

You automatically opened your mouth to let Soap feed you another bite of pastry, eyes not leaving the accounts you were pouring over. Johnny wasn’t complaining at how concentrated you were, not when it meant you had let yourself be hand fed by him after being manoeuvred into Simon’s lap. It was almost enough to make up for his plans being ruined to offer you his bedroom after Kate and Alejandro (and then very swiftly via Rudy’s big mouth everyone) had found out about your sleeping arrangements. 

You had been back to open the next morning and were going over what it would cost to stay in the B&B and build an extension versus the cost of just renting or getting a mortgage on a place in the village. Him and Simon had shared several looks to the tune of “we are going to need to get it into her pretty head somehow that we can pay for everything and actually wouldn’t it be easier for her to always have access to everything she needed if she married one of us?” and then getting into an argument about who that should be. 

It was idyllic and wonderful and then of course Simon had to be Simon and have an admirer who was jealousy pawing at the beautiful thing in his lap.

“Oh! Ah Herzogin, I’m so sorry, I’ve taken your space haven’t I?” you said with a little scritch behind her ears as you stood and stretched. 

Immediately the cat was up in Simon’s lap and purring aggressively, making biscuits into his thigh. The look between him and Johnny then was more to the tune of:

“Jesus Si dae ye have tae be such a bloody cat magnet?”

“Well what do you want me to do Johnny? Shove König’s cat onto the floor?”

“Wait… wait we need tae steal König’s cat.”

“I’m listening.”

“Well if we want tae have her pick us…”

The unspoken conversation did not make it much further because you were asking if they wanted a drink. Johnny ordered an Irish coffee, Simon ordered an earl grey tea with steamed milk, vanilla and a touch of honey. 

“Oh, you mean a L-” you started, Simon looking at you like he may commit homicide if you said the words ‘London Fog’ to refer to his drink order. 

“Llllllarge earl grey tea with steamed milk, vanilla and a touch of honey,” you finally said, desperately improvising. 

“A large, yes sweetheart” he said with a grin that nearly knocked you unconscious anytime you saw it on his unmasked face. “Although I’ll take payment for looking after the cat just now.”

While one hand was scritching at said cat he used the other to grab your waist and pull you closer, tilting his head up and smirking. Honestly he had mostly expected you to blush brightly and if he was very lucky kiss his cheek, so when you leaned down and pressed your lips to his beautifully gently the scariest solider the SAS had ever seen was reduced to blushing brightly himself.

Soap was only too eager to remind you of his services of feeding you bites of food so you wouldn’t simply waste away while you were working and your bravery only stretched so far to give him a quick peck before fleeing to the kitchen absolutely ablaze to make the coffee and London Fogarge earl grey tea with steamed milk, vanilla and a touch of honey.

–

It had been less of a fight than you thought for you to stay in the shop. Price had insisted they get you an air mattress and a proper duvet at least, but they had all been respectful of your wishes even if not happy about it when you had said you really would be ok. They were already doing so much now that you had decided to build an extension instead of renting or buying somewhere else (you loved this place so much, you didn’t want to be so far away). Already they were grumbling about contractors and how they’d do a bad job so you may as well let them do it and honestly? A little part of you felt like this was as much their baby as it was yours, so you were warmed that they wanted to help.

And you were also warmed by how they had listened. They hadn’t overruled you like you were worried they might, they had just made sure that you were safe and as comfortable as possible. Mind you their idea of safe was overkill (the locks on the door they had installed in record time were something out of a sci-fi movie and more often than not the past few weeks you had not been alone on that air mattress in the shop), but you still felt so listened to and respected in your own right.

This was the first evening in the last 5 you had spent just you and Herzogin. Well just you since she had slinked out to go cause mischief somewhere no doubt. You were honestly a little relieved when there was a knock at the door, feeling a little strange being alone now as you got up, jumped through hoops to unlock all the security protocols and opened the door.

“I didn’t know where else to go.”

You did not know the American on your doorstep in the torn skull balaclava, but you could see he had been beaten badly. 

“Who did this to you?” was spilling out of you as you reached out your arms to him to try to take some of his weight since he was slumped against the doorway.

“If I told you that I’d have to kill you sweetheart” he said, somehow managing to sound condescending even though he was hissing the words through gritted teeth.

It was probably a strange thing to think, but he reminded you of Simon. Something about the way he held himself, the way he handled this situation. The pet name. Maybe it was some transferred fondness that had you taking as much of his weight as you could handle and stumbling inside with him, dropping him on the sofa (a new addition thanks to Nik) and rushing over to get the first aid box that thankfully had been upgraded to a full military grade mini medic bay by Kate and Farah. 

“I mean you could try, but you’re not looking so hot” you said, bringing the kit over and kneeling by the sofa to try and figure out the worst of the damage.

“Ouch sweetheart, never had anyone tell me I don’t look hot on a first date.”

Oh this man was ridiculous, but at least if he was flirting he was probably not dying. 

“What can I say, high standards.”

You felt his eyes scrutinising you as you checked him over. You had trained in first aid before you had even bought this place, knowing that it would be legally required but also that morally you could not have people in your premises without knowing you could look after them. Not that your customers generally needed looking after. Even the ancient book club that had started coming in from the village on Sunday afternoons were tough as old nails.

“You’ve not called anyone.”

“Well I’m assuming you don’t want an ambulance involved, and I wanted to at least be able to say how bad you were before calling someone else.”

“Who are you gonna call?”

“Ghostbusters.”

He laughed and you hissed at him to stop when it clearly put him in more pain to do so. Poor Nik had been so proud when he had arrived with this sofa, had really been gloating to everyone about how you had reacted by launching yourself at him in a hug, and the chances of the blood stains ever coming out were very slim. 

“And if I asked you not to?”

You looked at his eyes to find them staring back at you, almost in challenge. This guy sure was a piece of work, but you really wanted him to be ok. As you tried to pack the stab wound (you thought at least) with gauze, you mused that maybe this time somebody might owe you and not the other way around. 

“Then I’d wait until you passed out and then call him when you couldn’t say no if I asked.”

“Good girl.”

Oh. Oh. That was not something you were going to be exploring while your hands were covered in blood. You just levelled him with a glare that very much screamed ‘behave yourself’ and grabbed your phone to call Simon. He answered on the second ring.

–

You know when you really sat down to reflect, your life had gotten so strange. Fake dating König because some wildly charming man called Graves had called you “little darlin’” and that was apparently a security threat, having to smack Soap with one of those squeaky toy hammers any time he scratched at his stitches after coming back fully banged up from a mission, having to referee a tricycle race between Ale and Valeria (your first time meeting her had been wild in and of itself), mediating the all out war between the book club made up of 80+ year olds and the 141. 

One thing you could say for sure though when Price took your blind fold off to reveal the brand new extension finished with the absolute cosiest living space you could ever have wanted is that you were incredibly happy. It was a strange family that you found yourself in, but with that now almost illegible from all the additions contract proudly on the wall of your teashop, you found that it suited you just fine.

[changbunnies]

All About You (18+)

♡ Pairing: Royal Knight/Bodyguard!Minho x Princess!Reader

♡ Genre: age gap, royal au, historical au, arranged marriage au (reader only), angst, kind of forbidden love? (maybe more than kind of), basically porn with plot

♡ Word Count: 7.5k

♡ Summary: You, the princess who ran away from the castle after finding out your father, the king, has finalized your arranged marriage. Minho, your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, tasked with bringing you back home at all costs. When found, you hit Minho with a very interesting proposition- for him to be the one you share all your "firsts" with, instead of your inevitable husband.

♡ Warnings: age gap !! reader is ~23 while minho is in his 40s, please don't read if this makes you uncomfortable!, uneven power dynamics, outdated traditions and views on women to suit the setting, brief reference to death by guillotine and death in general, mentions of injury and swordfighting

♡ Smut Warnings (contains spoilers): lowkey corruption kink, loss of virginity (reader), pet names (princess (mostly as a title), good girl), slight sub + dom dynamics, soft dom minho, a lot of kissing (should be expected from me atp), nipple play, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving), slight overstim, unprotected piv, multiple orgasms, creampie

♡ Notes: at this point i am determined to write a royal au fic for every member, and my newest offering to you is minho <3 i was literally possessed writing this like once the idea hit my brain i had to get it out asap

♡ Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked.

In recent years, he had one job, and one job only, and that was to take care of the princess. Make sure she’s safe, escort her to where she needs to be and watch over her at all times– that’s all. Not always an easy job, but one of vital importance that Minho took with utmost seriousness. In the 3 years it’s been since becoming your royal knight and glorified bodyguard, he never messed up this critically. 

You always had a rebellious streak and challenged authority, everyone in the castle knew that. And part of Minho’s job, apart from keeping you safe, was keeping you in check– and the king made it extremely clear that failing to do so was not an option.

He lost track of the amount of times he uttered the words “Princess, please think rationally,” or “please consider your responsibility to the kingdom, don’t do this,” in a near desperate attempt to get you to listen to reason. 

And today, he fucked up the worst he ever had. He knew you were upset tonight, but he was under the impression he successfully calmed you down, and that you wouldn’t do anything rash. He turned his back to you, thinking the storm had been quelled, and that you’d listen to your father, even if doing so felt like pulling teeth. He underestimated however, just how deep your sadness and anger truly ran, and the very moment you saw an opening, you took it. 

You fled from the castle with blind determination, nowhere to go and with little of value in your hands, fueled purely by the desire to escape your unfair circumstances, and live your own life by your own means. You may not believe it, but Minho understood, and felt for you– he really did. But that didn’t change what his duty was, and even if it made you hate him, he had to do his job to the best of his ability. 

So now here he was, roaming the streets looking for you, the hours passing in a blur. You must’ve done a good job of concealing your identity, because no one he asked had seen a young woman matching the princess' description. And as the minutes ticked by, and sunset turned to midnight, he was at a complete loss of what to do.

He made record time combing the entire bustling town, stopping into places full to the brim with people in the hopes he’d catch a glimpse of you in the crowd, and yet there seemed to be no trace of you anywhere. It was easy for someone to hide their presence in a crowd, or in the rowdy environment of a tavern, and you were more than intelligent enough to blend into a crowd and divert attention away from yourself.

It was entirely possible that Minho had seen you at some point, and simply didn’t realize it, though he liked to believe he’d recognize you anywhere, no matter what you wore. Minho scowled, clenching his teeth as he scanned the dark horizon of the treeline; should he check the outer walls of the town for a clue, or double back and check the streets again?

He doubts you made it out of the town easily, considering you likely had no money on your person and little experience with the realities of the world. You were intelligent, yes, but sheltered; he could easily imagine you quickly getting in over your head, thinking you could make it to the next town without issue, only to end up lost and in need of help, with no one for miles to hear your desperate cries. 

Fuck. If he couldn’t find you, his head would most certainly be meeting the cold steel of a guillotine. He had no family who would mourn his loss, but still, he wasn’t ready to face his mortality. And the king, despite being someone he could call a close friend, would spare no mercy if he failed to keep his one and only daughter safe.

But really, there was more to it than just the threat of death that kept him searching for you. Believe it or not, he genuinely wanted you safe and well, and he'd do anything to ensure you made it back home, even if it made you curse him for the rest of his days. 

As if God himself heard his prayers and decided to grant him a miracle, Minho sees you– there, on the outskirts of town, holding your cold hands up to your face and letting your breath warm them. It’s dark, the street barely even illuminated enough to discern your recognizable features, but he knows without a doubt that it's you standing there in the cold street, because truly, he knows you anywhere. 

By the time you realize you’ve been spotted and recognized, it’s already much too late to flee. Minho approached you with utmost haste, reaching out and grabbing your arm, lest you make the foolish decision to try to escape again. His hold, while not rough enough to hurt you, is firm, and it only takes one attempt at pulling your arm from his hold to know this is it; your escape attempt has failed, and you’ll be dragged back to the castle and reprimanded for your “temper tantrum.” 

Your father never listens to you, no matter how hard you try to make him understand and see your point of view. Maybe if you were born a boy, your opinions would be important to him, and he’d see you are more than an object to pawn off to whatever man gave him the most political power.

“Princess–” “I’m not going home,” you interject before he even has a chance, though you already know it’s in vain. There is no avoiding returning to your glorified prison now that Sir Minho has you in his grasp. 

He sighs, but his face changes to one of sympathy, his grip on your arm loosening ever so slightly. “Can we at least go to an inn room? It’s not safe for a young lady to be on the streets at night,” he reasons with you, as gently as he can manage.

Normally Minho is quite stern with you, but you get the impression that he feels being stern isn’t the right approach tonight. You’re known for expressing yourself very vocally, even when doing so is extremely ill-advised, and he is well aware of how opinionated and fiery you are. 

But treating this display as anything other than a genuine act of desperation, a culmination of years of perceived disrespect and conformity, would be another critical error– one he can’t afford to make. So he will be firm, yes, but gentle in his approach.

You frown as you look at him; you’re stubborn by nature, and part of you wants to fight against him until the bitter end, but he’s not wrong about the streets being unsafe for you at night. You know he won’t let you escape again come morning, but that’ll have to be a problem for later; for right now, you really should heed his advice and go to an inn for the night. 

“Fine,” you concede, much to Minho’s relief. He could’ve forced you to go with him if he really needed to, but he’d rather avoid doing something so unpleasant. He leads you to a nearby tavern, which is still bustling with activity even at the late hour.

He keeps you close as he pushes through the crowd of rowdy drunks to the dual innkeep-bartender, hoping that there is still a room available. The man departs, coming back with a key dangling in hand, “You’re in luck. Last room’s all yours.” 

Minho thanks the man and pulls out his satchel to pay him, leaving a few extra coins as a tip before stashing it back in his pocket, along with the key he was given, and the two of you go up the stairs together.

“There’s only one bed,” you comment as you step inside the room, though Minho doesn’t seem to care much about that fact. “That’s fine, don’t plan on sleeping anyways,” he says as he removes his leather scabbard from his back, resting it against the back of the chair in the corner of the room. 

You frown as you sit on the bed and watch him; he must’ve been in a hurry when he received word you fled from the castle, as he wasn’t wearing any of his armor, strictly in casual wear you’d very rarely seen him in. Probably for the best, you think, because if anyone saw a royal knight desperately searching the streets, multiple alarms would be raised.

He lights the fireplace, hoping to quickly spread some heat throughout the cold room, before he sits in the chair, crossing his arms and watching you carefully. Deserved, you suppose. How is he supposed to trust you’re not going to flee at the first available moment just as before?

You certainly don’t make his job easy for him; he can’t take his eyes off you for a second. The silence between you lingers for some time, the crackling of the fire the only sound either of you hear, apart from the muffled patrons enjoying their drinks downstairs. Minho, despite his relaxed posture, looks like he’d be ready to jump up at a moment's notice should he need to. 

You sigh; should you just try to sleep? It’d feel awkward and uncomfortable to try to fall asleep with someone's eyes boring holes into you, but you really didn’t give him much of a choice. “Do you want to tell me why you ran away from the castle?” Minho asks suddenly, breaking the tempered silence between you. “You already know the answer to that,” you respond, crossing your own arms now. 

“Is marrying Sir Jin really so bad?” he asks, and you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Yes, obviously. I don’t want to. Not that you or my father care about me or anything I think.”

Minho’s brow furrows, the frown on his face growing. “Princess, you know that’s not true. I do care about you.”

“Do you? I haven’t been able to tell in the slightest,” you counter a bit harshly, “and you could help me if you wanted to, you know. I’d be fine out there if I was with you.”

Okay, maybe you’re not being fair to Minho right now. You do know he cares, but realistically, what is he supposed to do? If he disobeyed your fathers orders, he’d be lucky if his only punishment was a swift death.

He was assigned to you because your father trusts him to do the right thing and follow orders dutifully, a trust that is usually not misplaced. But he has to admit, the more and more time he spends with you, the more he feels for you. 

Minho never knew your father, the king, to be an unreasonable or cruel man, but in your eyes, he might as well be the devil himself. And maybe he is cruel– because how do you strip someone of their freedom and choices for your own gain, and not see the harm it causes, the wrong in it?

You are more than a pawn, more than a subject, more than his daughter– you are a person. A person with thoughts, feelings, and opinions as real as any mans, who did not deserve to be treated lesser than for the simple crime of being born a girl. 

But what is Minho if not an upholder of the status quo? He was just a single man, and even if he recognized how unfairly you were treated in comparison to the golden child that was your elder brother, what was he supposed to do? He always performed his tasks dutifully and without question, and it wasn’t until he met you that he began to struggle with what he should do, and what he wants to do.

And maybe he could get you out of this town, help you live a quiet, modest life somewhere new, away from the watchful eye of your father. Where he could be your protector, same as now, but without the guilt, burden, or threats.

You know you shouldn’t take your frustrations about your life out on Minho, but he’s really all you have. You trust him with your life, and he’s shown you multiple times that he cares about you beyond the duty he has to you, or to your father. He's your only confidant, the only person in the world you can rely on. 

Your eyes linger on the scar across his nose– he got it protecting you, the other man’s sword barely missing his eyes and cutting just across his face, and it was only one of many scars he obtained in his service to you. He’d pick you up and run with you in his arms when you were injured, he’d fight off attackers without breaking a sweat, sustain injury after injury all to make sure you were safe.

You’d watch his back, always stunned and mesmerized at the ease at which he cut down your enemies, as if they were nothing but paper. When he’d turn back to you, breathing heavy and sweat only just starting to trickle on his brow, his eyes would turn from the harshest winter chill to the gentle warmth of a spring morning.

He was quiet, stern, but his care ran far deeper than one would think just by looking at him, and all you had to do to see the true depth of his feelings was look in his eyes. So you knew it was unfair to accuse him of not caring about you, to expect him to go above and beyond for you, to ask that he go against your father to give you what you want. But you were just so sad, frustrated, angry, that you couldn’t stop yourself.

“Maybe you’ll grow to love him if you give him a chance,” Minho suggests; you both know that’s never going to happen, but what else can he say? He never married, and had no children, dedicated to his duty as he was; he had no real advice to offer someone when it came to love, romance, and the like, but he imagined it wasn’t impossible to fall in love if you just met Sir Jin with an open mind.

But as stated, that’s never going to happen. You’re stubborn to a fault, and once you’ve decided something, there’s no changing it. The best Minho can ever manage to do is get you to reconsider, but even then, you’re still likely to go about things the way you originally wanted to, with no regard for consequences or keeping up appearances. You’re a fiery woman, there was no doubt about it, and you don’t let go of things easily. 

“The mere thought of giving that man all my firsts makes me sick, it’s vile,” you scrunch up your nose, making your distaste for the man very clear. Minho doesn’t even think you’ve actually met the man yet, but you’ve already decided you hate him– you don’t want to marry him, and so you’ll be firmly stuck in your opinion, no matter what anyone says. 

“Maybe this isn’t advice I should be giving you, but.. You don’t necessarily have to. To give him your firsts, or love him. Find someone you do love, even if you have to keep it a secret, and hold him with all you’ve got. It still wouldn’t be ideal, of course, but.. Well, it’d be something, at least.” Really, Minho is supposed to encourage you to be an obedient daughter and listen to your father without question, but he knows you well enough to know that’s a fool's errand. 

You’re never going to listen, never going to be obedient, never going to stop being opinionated. So what’s the next, most realistic piece of advice he can give? Lie, of course. Make your father and inevitable husband believe you’re a good, obedient wife and daughter, and then go live the life you really want behind their backs.

It's dishonest as all hell, and there would be consequences if you got caught, but if you’re going to be miserable no matter what you do, you might as well try, right? It’s what Minho thinks he would do if he were you, anyways. 

“What about you?” you ask and Minho raises a brow in question. “What about me?” he asks, and what you respond with makes him feel like the air has been punched out of his lungs. “What if I gave my firsts to you?”

Did he hear you right? There must be some mistake with his ears, there’s absolutely no way you said what he thinks you did. “You– what?” Surely you can’t be serious about this. You’re the princess, and he’s just the man who happens to be your guard; a man who is your fathers age at that. But the way you look at him, he can tell you’re not joking in the slightest.

“Princess, I couldn’t possibly accept that,” Minho says sternly, his arms no longer crossed but instead resting on the arms of the chair, hands beginning to grip tightly so he can ground himself and try to make sense of this insane situation.

“Why not? I’d be happier if I gave it to someone like you. I trust you,” you say so nonchalantly it makes his head reel. What the fuck is happening right now? 

And truly, Minho was the ideal man; at least in your opinion. He was handsome, mature, realistic and practical, knew how to reel you in without disregarding the root of what you feel or being disrespectful to you.

He never dismissed how you felt, made you feel over emotional or like a fool who overreacts; he’d ask you to see reason, sure, urge you to think more before acting, but he never, never made you feel like your feelings were invalid. And he genuinely cared about you, and you liked him, were attracted to him, so if the opportunity presented itself then.. Why not take the chance? 

Fuck. Minho was absolutely fucked.

You were just freshly 20 when Minho first met you and became your guard, and hard as he tried to never see you beyond the platonic, he’s always viewed you as an attractive young woman. He liked your fiery spirit, liked how you had the bravery and gall to challenge authority, a skill that in recent months he felt he was sorely lacking. Your attitude was refreshing, and despite your circumstances, you never acted like a damsel in need of his help. 

In a different life, in another world, maybe you two could have met as equals, not painfully stuck to the rules of an unfair, unforgiving reality. You’d be each other's foil; you, the impassioned dreamer with as many thoughts and ideas as there were stars in the sky, and he the realist, who didn’t dim your light but tempered it into a steady, sustainable flame.

You’d take him out on adventures, out of the strict box of his comfort zone, and he’d ground you more firmly to reality, never discouraging your dreams but making sure you took the necessary steps in the right way, responsibly. You'd match one another perfectly, complementary and meant for each other. 

But that’s not your reality, and you both know it. There would never be any coming back from this if you go through with it, and there’s no ideal, happy future for you two to share. “I’m not so disillusioned to think this would be anything other than sex for you,” you continue, and he swallows, mind still racing impossibly, “but it’d be much more meaningful for me with you than some bastard I don’t like in the slightest.” 

You’re wrong. So wrong, and you don’t even know it. It would never be “just sex” with you. You mean much, much more to him than you even realize. “You won’t regret asking a man like me? There’d be no taking it back once it’s done,” Minho can’t help but ask, rationality and reason desperately trying to gain control. 

Despite what your father may believe, you’re a grown woman capable of making your own decisions. And this is a decision you make with full knowledge of what it means for you, more than willing to accept whatever consequences may arise for committing such a sin.

In an ideal world, you’d be allowed to love who you wish, live where you wish, do what you wish. But this isn’t an ideal world, and if there is only one thing you can ever be granted in this life that feels as if it isn’t even your own, it would be this– to have one night, just one night, where you can be the person you want to be, with Minho by your side.

“You’re free to reject me if you’re not attracted to me, but.. My only regret would have been not trying. So I ask, are you not attracted to me?” He looks you over carefully following your question, grip on the armrests tightening.

Admitting that he’s attracted to you may as well be a death sentence. But he can’t lie to you, completely at your mercy. Fuck the king, it’s you he’s really loyal to. All he’s ever done, all he ever will do, it’s always for you. He’s always tried to act in your best interest, to do the right thing, to keep you safe and protected. But does keeping you safe even matter if you’re miserable? 

“I am,” Minho swallows, answering honestly despite his better judgment, “You have no idea how attracted to you I am.”

“So why hesitate?” you ask, fingers trail down your lap, over your knees, to where the very bottom of your dress lies. He watches you, eyes darting from your hands back to your face. You’re watching him too, carefully, considering his every reaction before you make your next move, impressively calculated. 

You take the hem of your dress in your hands, pulling it up leisurely, getting it halfway up your thighs before Minho rises from his chair. He's is in front of you in an instant, his hands grabbing your wrists and stopping you from lifting it any further.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, Princess,” he breathes, voice low and strained; he can’t lose control of his desires, but fuck, you’re making it so hard. You look up at him, meeting his gaze with the same fiery determination you always have, but there’s more there than just that this time. Desire, want, need– all for him.

Fuck it. He’s going to get burned, but maybe it’s worth it. You’ll be his funeral pyre, engulfing him in your flame until all that remains are the ashes of the man he was supposed to be. And what a beautiful way to end his life it will be, lost between your thighs, feeling your nails dig and claw at his skin.

He lets go of your wrists, one of his hands coming to cup your face, thumb tracing over your bottom lip. “Has anyone ever kissed you, Princess?” he asks and you give a slight shake of the head, breathing a soft “No..”

He hums, and there’s a twisted sort of pleasure he derives from knowing he’ll be your first in every conceivable way. You’re not “innocent,” he knows you’re not, but there’s something about being your first kiss, your first cock, your first everything that makes him crazy. 

“And you want me to be the first one to kiss you?” he follows up with another question, corners of his mouth threatening to twist into a smile when you nod, a soft, honest “yes” leaving your lips effortlessly. He leans down towards you, keeping your head tilted up so he can easily meet your lips.

He does so softly, treating you with care. His lips are softer than you expected, and the feeling of them against your own fills you with butterflies. He carefully tilts you back, and you let your body fall back onto the mattress, head hitting the surprisingly soft pillows.

Minho crawls over you, spreading your legs apart just enough to get between them, your dress now hiked all the way up your thighs. He’s hovering over you, looking down at you with so much love and lust and that it leaves you speechless. “I’ll need you to listen to me tonight. Can you do that for me?” he asks, pressing light kisses to your jaw, under your ear, your neck. 

You can, because it’s Minho. He’d never hurt you, never try to control you, never make you feel lesser than. So you can listen to him, because you trust him with your care; he’ll take good care of you, you know he will. He smiles when you nod, and you see him smile so rarely that it makes your heart skip a beat; his role always requires him to be so stern and straight faced, that seeing him smile down at you like this is enough to melt you into a puddle. 

“You’re a good girl when you want to be, hmm?” he hums against your neck, resuming his trail of kisses against your skin, and you can’t explain why, but the words and tone he says them in makes your stomach flip.

If you were in a different world, and didn’t have to return home to the castle tomorrow, he’d take his time marking your neck, filling it with pretty shades of blue, purple, and red, sinking his teeth into your soft, supple skin. He just knows you’d look so pretty like that, and the way you react when his breath tickles your skin and his lips linger, tells him you’d like it too.

His fingers trail down your body, finding the hem of your dress and pulling it up over your chest. You lift your back off the bed when he separates from your neck, pulling your dress off the rest of the way and discarding it to the floor. He kisses you as he fiddles with the straps of your bra, effortlessly unhooking it in the back and pulling it down your arms and off your body. 

He may have never married, but he’s no stranger to being with and pleasuring women. And he’ll make sure he makes this a night you’ll always remember for all the right reasons. Capturing your lips in another kiss, his hands take in your now bare breasts, gently kneading and squeezing.

You try to squeeze your legs together, but his place between your thighs stops the act from happening, and he chuckles against your lips when he realizes what you’re doing. “Be patient, Princess, I’ll take good care of you,” he whispers before kissing you again, and you let out a small whine, not knowing exactly what you want but knowing you want something.

You gasp when he takes your nipples between your fingers and pinches them, not too hard of course, but enough to give him the chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. Your body shudders, you feel dizzy with pleasure and excitement, and the feeling of his tongue circling yours is impossibly intoxicating. 

One of his hands travels down, over your stomach, coming between your bodies to feel your heat over your panties. He’s barely even begun and you’re already soaking the fabric, your eager anticipation for more of his touch palpable beyond all else. He nips at your bottom lip, gently tugging it between his teeth before soothing the sting with kitten licks, his hand slipping inside your panties to feel how slick you’ve gotten directly. 

Your body jolts when his fingers run between your folds, and he barely has to move them at all to get his fingers completely coated in your arousal. He pulls back to look at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face and swollen lips, pretty and perfect.

You’re panting, breathless, overwhelmed in the best way possible. You keen when his fingers rub over your clit in circles, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you lift your head from the pillows to watch. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, suppressing a grin when you whine and quickly nod your head.

“Want more, want you,” you mutter, the most timid you’ve ever been in regards to a man. He coos, giving you a sweet kiss as he continues his stimulation to your sensitive spot. “Remember what I said? Patience, Princess, you’ll get what you want. We can’t rush and have you getting hurt, can we?” 

You pout as you concede, and God, he finds that so cute; he’s never seen you actually act shy and pouty before, and it makes him want to give you the entire world. He’ll give you everything you want, anything you ask for, but he’ll have to remember to tease you first so he can see that cute expression on your face before he gives in to your whims.

“I’ll make sure you’re nice and ready for my cock, so just be a good girl and follow my lead until then. You can do that for me easily, can’t you?”Another shy nod, another adorable flushed look that makes his cock throb in his trousers.

It was a little intimidating for you, knowing how experienced Minho must be due to his age, and feeling like you must fall short in comparison to other women– women who knew what they were doing. But really, that was just your own insecurity talking. He didn’t mind at all that you were inexperienced; in fact, it excited him for reasons he didn’t entirely understand. 

Maybe it was the knowledge that he was the first to touch your skin, or maybe that someone as determined and fiery as you are is allowing yourself to concede control, to let him be in charge of your pleasure, trusting him to bring you to utmost bliss. What bigger display of trust could you ever show him? Your glassy, pleading eyes, begging him for more but still waiting for it just as he asked– you’re too good for him. He’s going to ruin you. 

He takes his fingers away, and you have to physically stop yourself from whining at the lack of contact, lest he remind you again about “being patient.” “Open your mouth for me,” Minho requests, and though you are a bit confused, you do as he asks immediately, obeying without question.

Fuck, that’s hot; the image of you, mouth open, tongue slightly sticking out and waiting to receive whatever he gives you is something he never wants to forget. Minho slides two of his fingers into your mouth, instructing you to lick, to get his fingers nice and wet.

Truthfully, you were more than lubricated enough to take his fingers without this step, but he couldn’t resist the urge to see you this way. He pushes his fingers in your mouth down to the knuckle, and you persist with coating them in your saliva even as you gag and tears prick the corners of your eyes. 

He showers you with praise, slipping his fingers out of your mouth when he feels satisfied with the work you’ve done on them, kissing your cheeks, feeling the heat of your face on his lips. Slipping his hand back inside your panties, he presses the tips of his wet fingers to your hole, and you instinctively suck in a breath, body unconsciously tensing from the anticipation.

“You have to relax, Princess, it won’t feel good if you’re tense,” he explains sweetly, shaking his head when you mutter a soft apology. “Don’t be sorry, not for that. Just focus on me, hmm? On this,” he whispers, his lips lingering on yours in a deep, impassioned kiss.

His fingers stay completely still until he feels your body start to release its tension, heeding his advice to focus more on his kisses than the motion of his fingers. He keeps kissing you even as the first of his fingers finally starts to push inside you, and you moan into his mouth, hot pleasure licking your skin. 

He moves his finger in and out slowly, making sure you’re well adjusted before he pushes in another one, hooking his fingers to find that delicious sweet spot he knows will have you crying his name in no time. You gasp loudly when he finds it, your hands twisting the sheets beneath you between your fingers, your entire body trembling.

It feels so good you almost can’t breathe, and when he picks up his pace, hitting your spot over and over as he brings his thumb to your clit, you know you won’t last long at all. “M-Minho, I’m– 'm gonna–” you try to warn him, but the words die in your throat, the pleasure too overwhelming to continue to try and form a sentence.

He simply hums, continuing his motions until your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, sharp, shuddery gasps and moans tumbling from your lips as your orgasm takes you. “That’s it, just let go, just like that, I’ve got you,” he praises, pressing kisses to your hot skin, helping you ride out your high.

Before you can even fully recollect your breath and get your racing heart back under control, he’s pushing a third finger inside, the trembling in your body intensifying from the addition. “You need more to get ready for me,” he tells you, and in your fucked out state all you can do is nod, taking his word as gospel truth, “need to stretch you good to make sure my cock fits.”

All you can do is lay there and take the onslaught of pleasure, unable to think of about anything other than how full and good his fingers make you feel. You don’t even register that he’s moved your down your body and tugged your panties to the side until his tongue is meeting your clit, swirling around it in expertly practiced circles, making you desperately cry out his name.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging harshly as your hips buck up to keep feeling the delicious sensation his tongue provides you. He flattens his tongue and lets you grind against it as you want, the motions of his fingers not stuttering or ceasing despite the movement of your hips. 

You feel the familiar heat pooling your stomach, another orgasm approaching quickly, the sounds you release turning into desperate whines and whimpers as you chase the feeling. It only takes a few more rolls of your hips and thrusts of his fingers to have you releasing all over his face and gushing around his fingers.

He sits up and pulls his fingers out when your body falls limp, chest heaving and ears ringing as you try to recover from the mind-blowing experience you just had. Your eyes are closed, and you can feel his weight shift, can hear the soft clink of his belt unbuckling, followed by the rustling of clothes.

You open your eyes to see Minho’s cock is now out, his hand lazily pumping it and spreading the pre-cum that accumulated and dripped over his time focusing on you. You reach a hand out to touch it, to replace his hand with your own, but he grabs your hand before you can, instead making you intertwine your fingers. 

“Tonight’s all about you, Princess. Don’t worry about taking care of me,” he says, kissing the back of your hand and then holding it down right above your head. You’re not quite pinned, easily able to snake your hand out of his hold if you wanted to, but you have to admit, you like the feeling of his hand keeping yours held down.

He rubs his cock between your folds before he lines himself up with your entrance, though you didn’t miss the subtle smirk on his face when you whined from the feeling of his tip rubbing against your clit. “Squeeze my hand if you need to,” Minho tells you before taking your free hand and bringing it up to his shoulder, “and hold onto me.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest; the hidden romantic in you yearns to tell him you love him, to thank him for taking such good care of you, to express how you never want this night to end, but you know that would be a mistake. Neither of you can afford to let your emotions spill out, so you swallow them down the best you can, deciding to just live in this moment, to experience it for all that it is and all that it means for you.

The initial push is slow, and thanks to his diligent preparation, there is little physical pain or discomfort you experience from the stretch of his cock. A slight sting, sure, but nothing you can’t easily handle, and it’s barely even recognizable when compared to the pleasant fullness you feel. So when you squeeze his hand, and your eyes well with tears, it’s not because you are pained; it’s because you finally have something you want, a happiness you thought would forever elude you.

He takes his free hand and wipes away the tears from your eyes, a soft look of concern on his face. “Hurts?” he asks, but you shake your head quickly.

“Feels good, I just– I..” you struggle with the words, knowing you can’t express how you actually feel about him even if you felt you could. “I know. You don’t have to say it, I know,” Minho speaks to you softly, and the kiss he gives you very nearly makes you sob.

There’s still a few inches left before he’s fully inside you, and he pushes the remainder in slowly as he continues to kiss you, his free hand now rubbing soothing circles on your hip with his thumb. Minho does well at maintaining composure, staying firmly in control of himself and his body despite the way your walls squeeze and suck him in, despite the way you whimper when you feel him throb, or cry out against his lips when his tip kisses your deepest spots.

“That’s a good girl, taking all I give you, doing so well,” he praises you some more, and you love when he tells you how good you’re doing if the way you clench around him is any indicator. “Fuck, Princess–” he groans when he finally starts to move, pulling out and pressing back in much more slowly than he normally would, but the wet friction you provide him is delicious.

“Minho, I–” you start, interrupted by a sharp gasp when he finds your sweet spot with his cock.He looks at you as he stills his hips, patiently waiting for you to continue in case what you have to say is important, or a request for him to stop.

You swallow, face heating up but determined to get out what you want to say. “J-Just this once, I don’t want to be the princess. Call me by name, please–” Oh, that’s what you want? He can do that, easily; he’s already groaned your name countless times in the privacy of his room, stroking his cock to the thought of you.

The sound of your name falling from his lips as he resumes the thrust of his hips has you clenching hard, stars erupting in your vision as he picks up his pace, beginning to quickly and mercilessly hit your spot, over and over again. He takes one of your legs and props it up over his shoulder, allowing more of his cock to fill you up, the creaking of the bed and the sound of skin slapping beginning to overpower the noise from downstairs.

Taking his other hand away from yours, you’ll have to forgive him, he licks his fingers and then brings them to your clit, wanting nothing more than to see and feel you release on his cock. It only takes a few more thrusts and circles from his fingers to have you crying out his name as you cum, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you as your body shakes and legs tremble.

But Minho hasn’t cum yet, so he’s not quite done with you– not that you mind in the slightest. You’ll let him chase his pleasure as long as he wishes, even if it leaves you a drooling, fucked out mess in the end.

He pulls out of you, just long enough to sit against the headboard, and then he’s pulling you on top of him, guiding you to sink back down on his cock and sit fully in his lap. The new position has you rolling your eyes to the back of your head, Minho guiding the movement of your hips with his hands as he thrusts up into you.

He’s quite literally doing all the work, but that’s perfectly fine; this night is supposed to be about you, after all, and he doesn’t want you to lift a pretty little finger. Just let him use you a little until he cums, that’s all he needs.

You’re panting against his neck, head laid on his shoulder and nails digging into the skin of his back beneath his shoulder blades. The sting of your nails in his skin is just how he imagined it to be, and his head is falling back against the headboard, low grunts and groans of your name leaving freely as his cock throbs and twitches, getting closer and closer to his release.

He uses one of his hands to grab your face and lift it up to his, crashing his lips to yours in a desperate, impassioned display of love and lust. A few more snaps of his hips and you feel his cum spurting inside you in long, thick ropes, the sensation sending you forward into yet another orgasm of your own, your desperate sounds muffled only by Minho’s mouth on yours.

Your body collapses against his when the moment slows to a stop, both of your chests heaving and breaths heavy as you lie against him. His arms wrap around you snuggly, and keep you upright against his chest. You can hear the quick, erratic beating of his heart as he catches his breath, looking up at him to see his eyes closed and sweat trailing down his brow towards his cheek.

He looks beautiful like this, you think; you hope he thought the same of you. Even as his cock starts to soften, neither of you move, and though your legs protest and beg to be stretched out, you refuse to leave your spot on Minho’s lap.

“Are you alright, Princess?” he asks once he’s collected himself, pushing your hair from your face and wiping the sweat from your brow.

“Mhm, just want to stay like this,” you reply, and Minho smiles softly, rubbing over your shoulders and down your back in a sweet gesture of comfort. You’re silent like this for some time, just simply enjoying the feeling of him, the sound of the crackling fire, the warmth he and this room provides you.

“Does my happiness really have to end here?” you can’t help but quietly ask, and Minho is quiet for a moment, carefully considering before he speaks.

In a different world, in a different time, in a different place, maybe the two of you are meant to be. There’s comfort in imagining yourself there, truly happy with Minho, letting him care for you while not snuffing out the flame that is your pride, ambition, and spirit.

It’s not meant to be, you both know that to be true. To be with each other required great risk, sacrifice, hardship. But again he has to wonder, is being safe worth the cost of happiness? Would you even truly be “alive” if your every moment was spent miserably?

He doesn’t want to see the very core of what makes you you be snuffed out by selfish, idiotic men and their expectations of what you should be. You’re much younger than him, and it would be impossible for him to be there for you for the rest of your life, but he can be for the rest of his, at least.

“Maybe not,” he answers, unsure of what the future holds for the two of you, but not entirely ready to give up so easily. He could accept his fate, accept that love is something out of his reach, but it’s your happiness on the line that makes him want to fight for it. 

There’s a lot he could lose by helping you escape this life you feel trapped in, but he’d rather see you happy than wasting your days away in the castle, subservient to a man you loathe. Your love isn’t meant to be, but that’s okay; he’ll help you all the same.

He’s loyal to you, and only you, he’s decided– so if you make your future husband, your father, or even the entire kingdom your enemy, then they’ll be his enemy too. And it’ll all be worth it just to see you smile for a little bit longer.

[arcanarix]

Make That Double, Ch6 - Yan!SatoSugu X Fem!Reader [AO3]

Word Count: 7.5K

Warnings: non-con, blowjobs (with gojo), piv sex (protectd, with gojo), vibrators (with geto), overstim (with geto)

In spite of Geto’s adamant displeasure—a warning that feels like it’s been sewn with silken barbs—Gojo still returns for visits. He’s come here far too often, Geto has told you (and him), his voice a chilling undertone and thick with a hint of disdain, not necessarily toward Gojo himself. Not really.

And what can he possibly mean by this? You still are at a loss from his cryptic mumblings about some war between jujutsu sorcerers and humans, and the world of sorcery is an invisible force which exists just beyond the realm of your own understanding. Whatever it means, it shouldn’t concern you, and they both like to reiterate that fact to you on multiple occasions. These matters are well out of your scope, they both say, matters which are distant and incomprehensible to a mere human.

Yet you still can’t help but be curious.

Can they honestly blame you?

Gojo has returned to the temple at least three times this week, maybe more, slipping in between missions to join in on Geto’s shenanigans and his torment. The two certainly are a match made in Hell, the perfect power couple. Gojo always enters with that cheery, dark laugh and a touch laced too heavy with desire and much darker, sinister intent.

While he may be here for the thrill and doesn’t have that many strings attached to you, you fear the twisted pleasure that glows like lightning bugs in those sharp blue eyes of his. You suspect something running far deeper than some sick, twisted pleasure. He insists he just enjoys being around for Geto’s sake, but you doubt it.

A light gasp escapes your parted lips—an unintended slip of sound—as an arm snakes around your shoulders, slithering around them like a serpent, each finger that digs into your skin like a cold weight.

Ah, it’s just Tweedledum, drawing in close to you, his breath a teasing whisper against the nape of your neck that has chills dancing down your spine that sinks itself deep, settling like frost in your bones.

Your teeth clench, hiding behind the sweet mask you’ve worked so hard to build since you’ve been dragged here against your will. It feels like it can slip and fall at any moment like fragile porcelain.

“Hello there, Satoru,” you greet with your voice laden in that syrupy sweet warmth. God, do you long for the silence you used to just embrace back in your lonely days in your studio apartment between work and classes. Those moments of embracing that sweet solitude which, you have come to realize the longer you’re here, you have taken completely for granted. Now it’s a rarity to find time to yourself, solo moments slipping through your fingers like sand, much rarer like a jewel buried in the earth.

Silence is a gift you’re no longer permitted to own yourself, isn’t it? Neither is solitude.

It’s a foolish concept to consider humoring at this point.

He buries his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, sharply, letting the scent—faintly sweet, a faint note of fruit, a faint note of floral—consuming him like an addictive drug. “Missed you so much, Princess. Did you miss me?”

His words seep into the air, saccharine and venomous, laced with a dangerous edge, surrounding you like smoke from a dying candle made of black wax.

“Far, far too much, Satoru,” you reply, each word heavily enunciated and forced between your clenched teeth…the lie is cloying on your tongue. Betrayal. You feel betrayed by your own words.

Across the room, Geto observes you both, his gaze pressing onto your skin like scorching iron, silent yet all knowing. You know best not to test his patience, to toy with any chance he may disapprove of something. His very glance is a ball and chain tightening around your wrists, securing you in place.

You can’t say what you truly feel. You realize that.

Not now, at least. Not yet.

“I missed you far too much, Satoru,” you add just to fluff them up some more, laying it on so thick like buttercream slathered across a yellow cake. The words taste of poison rather than that sweet concoction, the poison sinking onto your tongue and contaminating your mouth with sweet, sweet lies that can only make them happy and pleased with you.

The bitterness of it all coils deep within your core, like a twisting knot of distaste, something you have come to wear well, the way an actress wears their character well. After all, you know how this all plays out—the lies all woven together with the threads which form their intricate web.

Every word you allow yourself to utter is just part of your plan—a way out, a possible fracture in their foundation.

A string of chuckles escapes Gojo’s glossed lips, low, soft, like the distant, ominous rumble of thunder. It’s far from comforting to you.

“You know,” he begins, his hand on your shoulder no sliding to your neck, fingers pressing into the delicate hollow just beneath your jaw, twisting you around to face his soft glowy eyes. “I’ve been thinking far too much about how good your mouth’s going to feel.”

His gaze dips to your lips, a dark twinkle sparking in his eyes. “Suguru said I could guide you, since you’re still new to this.”

Your entire body stiffens, muscles tensing under his vice grip. Of course he senses it—that little glimmer of resistance that ignites before you can suppress it, and he tuts at you softly, the mockery in his gaze sharpening as his lips curl into a petulant little pout.

“Come on, Princess,” he chortles, his voice dark, thick with derision, desire, and deeply condescending, as he guides you to kneel. Impatient hands move with surprising grace, as he unbuckles his belt, the click of metal against metal reverberating like the bell has tolled for you. You swallow hard on a lump that feels like a large chunk of coal, still possessing an air of defiance, but he only grins at you in something close to triumph. “Did you really think I could keep my hands off of you? I only did because Suguru told me I needed to go easy on you, and even he breaks his own rules like the damn hypocrite he is.”

“Satoru!” Geto’s voice cuts through, authoritative and cold. He’s now sprawled across the sofa, still maintaining a watchful eye, a faint frown creasing his face. A whole expression of displeasure etching his features like a master’s disapproving gaze. “Play nice, or I’ll have to restrain you.”

Gojo’s sharp blue eyes glowy with amusement, and he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

“I am being nice,” he quips, his voice laden with a feigned innocence as his hand wraps around himself.

“Actually nice, Satoru,” Geto reprimands, his voice a low warning that hums through the room like the whirring of a machine.

“Oh, Suguru, you’re killing me here. Fine.” There’s still that petulant edge to his voice but he still surrenders, his gaze fixed on you, smirking as he observes that little flicker of fear and defiance in your gorgeous eyes.

While they’re bickering, you can’t help cowering over the idea of that in your mouth. You have no idea how good you’ll be, and you know well enough to understand that no man likes to feel teeth during a blowjob and your teeth surely will scrape and you don’t want to think about what kind of consequences could follow.

“I…I don’t think it can fit,” you squeak, and you hear the sickening cackles from both men.

“We’ll accommodate,” Gojo drawls, groaning as he brushes his stiff tip across your lips. You flinch. Geto soon approaches you from behind, cooing at you while patting your cheek.

“Open up, little dove,” he commands, his voice softer than what you’re used to—almost laden with a bit of jealousy? “Don’t make Satoru wait.”

With that, he grips onto your hair tight, and whimpering you pry your mouth open as much as you can, inching the head of Gojo’s cock inside. The salty tang of the skin hits your tongue, and you don’t know what to make of it. It tastes almost…zingy, like the taste of a battery.

“Oh fuuuuck yeah,” Gojo groans, eager, desperate, his blue eyes seemingly emitting a soft glow in the barely there lighting of the dungeon. “That’s it, Princess. Fuck, your mouth feels better than I imagined.”

You can’t speak, obviously. Not when you have this fuck’s dick in your mouth. You’re impressed you don’t gag.

And Geto pushes your head further until you engulf nearly half of Gojo’s impressive length. You kind of doubt you’ll be good at this, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

And Gojo clearly isn’t as patient as Geto.

The click! and whir! of a phone camera hits your ears and of course, of course they’re going to take a bunch of humiliating pictures like before, just to rub your nose into the dirt. You hate them both so much.

“Come on, little dove, a little more and you’ve got it all,” Geto instructs as he watches you inch the rest of Gojo’s length into your mouth. You can control your gag reflexes, thank God. A part of you wishes you can rip his dick clean off with your teeth, but you know that won’t bode well.

Just smile and bear it, you tell yourself like a mantra. Just smile and bear it…

“Oh my God,” Gojo gasps, his mouth hanging open slightly. “How does your mouth feel tight like your pussy?”

Geto hums, and you feel him guide you to bob your head. “Someone’s enjoying themselves. What do we say, Satoru?”

“Fuck, Suguru. Thank you,” he groans, his eyes fluttering a bit. “Th-thank you. It feels so good.”

Geto grins at his lover, ignoring the jealousy twisting in his gut.

“Use your tongue, little dove,” Geto tells you while peering down, and you fearfully meet his eyes, as they darken with something like lust and envy. “Breathe through your nose.”

You don’t know how, but you try. Each time you’re guided down his cock you lap your tongue along his sensitive skin and Gojo seems to like that, groaning and moaning. Geto seems pleased with your efforts, but it’s not always easy to tell.

“Suguru…” he moans, his eyes half mast and his face flushed. “Can I fuck her mouth?”

Your eyes widen at that, no way are you ready for it, and catching onto your reluctance, Geto shakes his head.

“We have to ease her into this,” he reminds him sternly, speaking as if he doesn’t fuck you in wild positions when Gojo’s not around. “Almost there, Satoru?”

He whines in affirmation, his lower lip quivering a bit. Geto chuckles at the sight.

“Good,” he says, as he kneels to your level. “Finish him off, little dove. Remember to breathe through your nose. Help him come. You’re doing so good.”

“Please, I wanna come so bad,” he begs, and Geto coos at him. He helps you pick up the pace, but one of his hands moves to fiddle with his balls, squeezing and teasing them.

“Need more,” he whines, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. His dick twitches in your mouth and you know what that means. The squelching of your mouth with each guided bob of your head is fucking disgusting. Gojo’s a chorus of wimpy pathetic little moans until finally, you feel his arousal spill onto your tongue. Quite a heavy load, and you’re not surprised at your next command.

“Swallow,” Geto whispers darkly into your hair and you manage, grimacing as you do. You don’t enjoy the taste. Zingy. Salty. Awful.

Gojo’s dick slips out from your mouth, leaking and limp and spent. Geto peppers approving kisses all over your face, helping you to your feet.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, pulling you close. “Thank you for letting Satoru do that. I know that was your first time.”

Gojo’s eyes are still half-mast and a little hazy. His face is so red, sweat glistening on his forehead.

“It felt so good, Princess,” he praises, breathless. “You’ll get better with more practice, as with anything.”

Your jaw throbs, completely sore and you didn’t even get him fucking your throat like he wanted to. You can only imagine how much worse it’s going to get.

Your hand reaches up to massage your jaw, and Geto frowns, shooting a glare at Gojo.

“We should have held off,” he scolds, and Gojo’s eyes flash with worry. “You ought to be pleased she was willing to do that.”

“I-I’m sorry?” Gojo replies, casting a judgy look to Geto. “What’s got you all riled up?”

Geto studies Gojo for a moment before sighing.

“Nothing.” Geto returns his attention to you. “You did well, my dear.”

He moves in to kiss you, and the kiss feels soft, gentle. Like…

Like he’s worried about you?

This side of him catches you off-guard. When he pulls away, he cups your cheeks, gazing down at you with those violet eyes shining with something akin to affection.

How odd.

Gojo clears his throat, and Geto flits his gaze to him.

“Aren’t you forgetting something else, Suguru?” he asks, as his eyes land on you. Geto keeps a protective hold on your waist.

“I’m aware,” Geto sighs, and casting an apologetic (apologetic?!) look to you, he hands you to Gojo. “Play nice, Satoru. You can fuck her today, but I’m watching.”

“Duh,” Gojo scoffs with a roll of his eyes as he pulls you flush against him, and you gasp as eager hands yank off your robe. “I’ve been thinking about your pussy for ages.”

He hoists you up and carries you to the couch. At the very least they’re not chaining you, but it’s not like you have anywhere to run, anyway. Geto approaches the both of you, seating himself on the edge of the couch as Gojo pulls off your panties, tucking them into his pocket.

“Just another to add to my growing collection,” he purrs, and you don’t know how to react, your gut twisting in disgust. He runs his tongue between his lips as his head dips, his nose barely grazing the sensitive skin of your core.

“Fuck, what an adorable pussy,” he praises, licking a line between your folds, eliciting a whine out of you as you lean into Geto.

Geto silences your sounds with a kiss, shoving his tongue past your teeth and twirling his against yours. All the while Gojo’s digging his tongue into your pussy, making all kinds of lewd noises that makes you want to throw up in your mouth a little. Compared to Geto, he’s sloppier, less coordinated, but he’s softer in some ways. Each swipe of his tongue feels like little kitten licks while Geto prefers to absolutely devour every inch of you. Gojo seems to like to savor you, to tease you.

The foreplay feels more like torture.

Well, everything about this is torture, but you almost much rather they take what they want from you without much preamble. That feels far more merciful.

But these men aren’t known to be merciful.

Geto draws his tongue around your lips before pulling away, his eyes downcast.

“Watch him, little dove,” he murmurs, kissing your temple. “He looks so happy between your legs.”

“This would the best way to go,” Gojo growls in agreement, plunging his tongue into your hole, making your legs twitch and jerk. His hands rest on your thighs to keep you in place. “Let’s get you nice and wet enough to take my cock, baby. I know Suguru’s already fucked you plenty, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to make sure you’re well taken care of, so just relax while I enjoy this perfect pussy.”

What a fucking shit show.

“Relax, my love,” Geto reassures you with a sultry purr. “He’s great with his mouth. Trust me.”

“Awww, look at you, fueling me while I feast on this pussy you get to fuck whenever you want,” Gojo remarks, twisting his tongue up your folds, making you keen. “God, you’re so fucking selfish, you know that? Getting to have something as perfect as this forever.”

“Bet you can still taste me in there,” Geto chuckles, and you wince.

Disgusting that they use you like this, to get each other off.

“I actually do kinda,” Gojo affirms, laving his tongue between your outer lips. “but you’re not overpowering her amazing taste. She tastes so fucking sweet; do you have any idea how lucky you are to get to have this whenever you fucking want?”

Gojo’s tongue lapping at your slick makes your body tremble. Even if he is sloppy, it feels so fucking good—

“—S-Satoru…!” you cry out, your orgasm splattering a bit onto his face, and when you peer up at him his face is glistening in not just sweat but your arousal, too.

He licks his lips, smirking, content with his work.

But far from satisfied.

“Good girl,” Gojo praises with a purr as he fiddles around his pockets for a condom. Ah. Geto’s very strict on the ‘no breeding’ bit, isn’t he? You really are the exception here. Just for kicks. Just for laughs.

Just a new pretty pet.

After he’s wrapped himself up, the tip of his cock brushes against your folds before catching at your hole. He doesn’t waste another second, pushing himself inside and groaning out through clenched teeth.

“Oh fuuuuuck yes,” he says, as his cock fills you to the brim. “Fuck, your pussy feels so good. Suguru’s been hogging you waaaay too much. But now it’s my turn.”

He bucks his hips, and you thrash in place, his size is comparable to Geto’s but at least he’s not as girthy. One hand grips the top of the couch while the other reaches for Geto, yanking him in for a heated kiss as he spears his cock into you with a deadly precision. So unlike how sloppy he is with his tongue.

“Satoru,” Geto mumbles against his lips before nipping them, hard enough to leave a mark on his lower lip. “What do we say?”

“Thank you, Suguru,” he pants as he picks up a harder rhythm. “Fuck, thank you, baby. So good. She feels so good.”

Gojo doesn’t last long compared to Geto, his whole body shaking as he comes, and he pulls out, tossing the used condom into the trash before slipping on another one.

Of fucking course it isn’t over.

“Sorry, Princess,” he doesn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “Suguru here promised me a few more rounds.”

A few?!

“After all,” he goes on, pushing his dick back in. “I’m not going to be back for a while. Gotta make it count, right? You understand, don’t you, Princess?”

“Satoru,” Geto says in a warning tone. “Be nice.”

“I’m nice enough,” he quips, “But I’m still wrecking this pussy.”

You know how this is going to end, so you bury your face into Geto’s lap, while these horrid men continue to take from you.

As Geto excuses himself a bit earlier to tend to some clients, Gojo remains behind with you while drawing a bath. The bathwater steams a bit, casting a fine mist into the air, curling around the edges of the tub like ghostly little wisps. Gojo watches you as he wraps a towel around his midsection.

“Obviously Suguru would be here longer if not for that stuff,” he murmurs, voice low and edged with a hint of resentment for some reason? “It’s just you and me now, Princess.”

He attempts a trace of affection in his gaze, yet there’s always something darker beneath them.

He settles beside you at the edge of the tub, reclinging with a sigh that seems almost a bit wistful. His hands grip the rim, trailing his fingers through the steam like a child would.

“Suguru’s driving me crazy,” he starts, tone laden in bitterness. “It’s always ‘you’ve gotta prioritize something beyond me, Satoru’ as if he’s not the most important man in the world to me.”

Your eyebrows quirk at that, fighting the urge to laugh at the absurdity of all of this. Well, truthfully this situation has gone far past the point of absurdity and you can’t even properly name how you feel anymore. Here, with the weight of his world and its demands spiraling into chaos all around him as if he’s not the solution to it all, Satoru Gojo is choosing to be vulnerable with you.

“That sounds hard really hard, Satoru,” you respond in a little purr for good measure, and even you surprise yourself by the softness of your tone. You tentatively reach out, resting a hand against his chest, feeling the slow, steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. He lets out a dreamy sigh as he leans into your touch, his posture loosening.

“He’s just worried about you, that’s all,” you offer some kind of comfort, voice barely above a whisper, and then he shifts, seeming uncomfortable at your observation. Like he’s being put on the spot or something.

“I know,” he replies almost too quickly, his gaze flickering elsewhere. His fingers tighten against the tub’s edge. “I just don’t like being the reason for it. I’m really, really trying here. Trying to understand why he did what he did and why he left it all behind, to fix the damage he’s caused.” His voice peters out, dipping into a low murmur, deep in sorrow. “But he won’t return to that part of himself… not with me.”

Your curiosity piques at more of the cryptic shit he’s been spewing, and feigning that innocence, you tilt your head as if merely a curious little girl in this tangled web of chaos. “Is this, um, about, what did you call it? Jujutsu sorcery?”

You find you wear your character well on your shoulders, the feigned naïveté coating your words like honey. Gojo’s gaze sharpens, glinting with something unreadable before they soften, and he actually chuckles at you. Not so much in a mocking way—more amusement at your attempt to understand him and the burdens he carries.

“God, you’re so fucking adorable,” he mumbles, reaching out to brush your cheek. “But yes, it’s just pretty complicated. We don’t exactly see eye to eye, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want what’s best for him. I always have, you know? I love him. He’s not just my lover, he’s my best friend, too.”

“I understand,” you reply, slipping into the bath, sighing as you embrace the warmth of the bath water. You gesture for him to join you, and, without hesitation, he slides into the water, pulling you close until you’re nestled against him.

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he whispers against your neck in a reverent tone, his liips brushing your skin with a feather light touch. “Suguru really couldn’t have picked anyone better.” He trails kisses along your jaw, his touch shockingly tender yet there’s still that underlying sense of possession. “You may not be able to tell, since he’s so closed off and guarded all the time. But you really did mellow him out. He really needs that, you know?”

You tilt your head up a little at that, peering up at him with a curiosity that isn’t feigned for once.

“Huh? What makes you say that?” you ask.

He sighs, running a slender finger along your collarbone, trailing down until it circles lazily around one of your nipples, drawing a sharp inhale from your lips.

“He’s always had trouble opening up,” he babbles, as a finger moves to twist one of your nipples beneath the water, making you hiss. “And he still does, don’t get me wrong. I mean, that’s part of the whole reason why there’s this big mess in our world that he kind of caused. He just won’t ask for help! He’s got this issue with being a little too righteous about his morals, whatever they are now. We carry a huge burden and he’s over here like he’s completely over it, and now I have to carry that burden alone which is really kind of pissing me off…”

Oh. He’s venting to you. And spilling more vulnerabilities? Now this is good… he just has to keep going. The bitterness in his tone is raw, indeed. There’s actually a glimpse of the man behind a mask he’s wearing for Geto too, apparently.

And you can use whatever vague shit he keeps spewing later.

“…I just want him to, you know, trust me a little more. I know I can be kinda dense sometimes hut can’t he just tell me how he really feels sometimes? You know?”

“That sounds like it’s lonely,” you reply, stroking his cheek with your thumb. “You just want to show him you do see and hear him, right?”

“Exactly!” Gojo exclaims, a flicker of relief softening his gaze. “I guess I’m just bad at expressing my feelings too…and we’re both too old to be dropping hints.”

You hum thoughtfully, resting your hand on his cheek and he presses a kiss to the palm of your hand. “So…what are you going to do?”

Another soft sigh leaves his lips.

“I don’t know,” he admits, holding you closer, the water sloshing a bit as he moves. “I just want him to talk to me. Actually talk to me. Things don’t feel the same anymore. I mean, they haven’t for a long time and…sorry, I guess I’m spewing all of this shit and you have virtually no context, right?”

You manage a little smile as a subtle sign of reassurance. “That’s okay. I guess you have no one to talk to about this, right?”

“Yeah, especially since I go to Suguru for everything,” he retorts, resting his forehead against yours, grinning a bit. “And it won’t be wise to go to Suguru about Suguru.”

A giggle escapes your lips, and his face lights up at the sound, his eyes softening even more.

“You’ve got a beautiful laugh,” he comments, his gaze twinkling with childlike wonder. “Let us hear it some more.”

If only this situation is worth being light and happy about.

You can’t believe it slips out, but…

“I would,” you say, your voice barely audible. “If I was happy here.”

“Is Suguru not taking care of you?” he accuses, frowning in disapproval. “I can have a nice, friendly chat with him you know.”

“He’s not nice like you,” you go on, the irony of your words absolutely laughable. Gojo, nice? The man is no better than Suguru in the slightest, but you suppose there is some softness in him somewhere. “He’s…scary. Really scary. And a lot.”

“He can be,” he agrees, kissing your cheek. “But he just cares a lot, you know? He cares a lot more than I ever did about a whole lot of stuff. He’s passionate. Just give him some time to show you that. He also just really needs someone to care for him too. Not just me.”

“Is that why…he chose me?” you ask, your voice soft, almost like there’s a hint of wistful longing that you don’t fully understand yourself. You feel nothing toward either of them. They have taken you away from everything and they don’t care.

“Yeah,” he says, “You’re nice. To have around, I mean. You’re kind. Attentive. He needs someone more like that. Someone who can steady him, in ways I never could before.”

“And you don’t think you’re like that?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it, and his laughter rings through the air like wind chimes, but the sound is dark, hollow, more like a warning.

Gojo chuckles. You don’t like how it sounds. Off, like the rest of him. Off, like this entire situation because you definitely don’t belong here. You feel like you’re wedged into a world where you have no place, no room, but they bring you here because they want you to be here for their own amusement. It makes you so angry.

“Far from it,” he tells you as he keeps fondling your breasts, using them like they're stress balls while he babbles on and on and on. You wince but you don’t stop him. You know better than to try. “I’m a monster. More of a monster than he is.”

You absolutely agree with him, but likely not for the reasons he thinks.

For a myriad of reasons you don’t care to dig into, Geto has been showering you with more affection.

It begins, as these progressions often do, with the smaller gestures. Sometimes it’s just an umbrella held just a moment longer while he strolls with you through a rainy day. Or his voice lingers just a tad longer at the end of a seemingly ordinary question, as if he cares for your opinion on trivial matters. You have come to find that he now considers your presence first, insists on it with the twins backing him up. During outings with the little family, on one occasion, he buys you a Chanel jacket, its leather soft as butter against your skin, custom made to suit only you. A lot of these gestures feel almost comical, just another way to lull you into a sense of security in a role you never wanted to play.

Yet, while you don’t think much of it, he still continues, trying and trying to continue to peel back those layers of resistance but you just keep slapping them back on. You refuse to give into him. And yet… he keeps going. He doesn’t stop.

Whenever you crave an escape from the temple, he knows just where to take you and how to indulge your tastes without truly granting you the freedom you sorely craved. Whenever you yearn for a sense of newness or novelty, be it in a new café or bakery or in a public park, he whisks you there like a knight in shining armor without hesitation, as if he truly bends to your wishes.

It all feels like a mockery. A joke.

He gets more and more spontaneous. More and more romantic. Sometimes dinners are just between you and him while the twins are dining in another room with some of their servants. Those dinners complete with soft lighting from candles and an extravagant bouquet of roses he bought for you during one of your recent outings. You don’t realize they’re ‘forever’ roses, ‘everlong’ roses, and you know what that symbolizes in romance, but you’re not going to entertain those thoughts. That isn’t possible between the two of you, and you have a feeling he definitely knows it.

You understand his motives all too well, so well, that you refuse to yield to it. Every attempt at bending to your will is just another way to charm you into compliance, into obedience.

Sure, he wants you to be more obedient, more submissive, but nothing beyond that, right? Surely he can’t possibly expect you to fall for anything he does. Everything he does is always laced with a darker intention.

Still, Geto’s efforts do not falter. During moments where you insist you cannot follow through on his desires, he simply listens and relents rather than pushing you to comply. Even his restraint feels like a mockery.

Sometimes, in the slower moments, Geto likes to find other ways to appeal to you. Whatever that means to him. Whatever he thinks is ‘flattering’ to you. As long as it means he doesn’t have to touch you in intimate areas, then you’re not going to complain. You’re given some time to actually breathe.

You just hope this lasts. Even if you know he expects you to return his grand gestures of kindness, you won’t, because that’s just not who you are.

Tonight, as per tradition now, he draws you a bath, his hands steady as he pours oils into the water, cooing praises and sweet nothings to you, as if to comfort you.

As he sponges your skin, you hold yourself still, all too knowing of the true intentions hiding just beneath these seemingly kind, thoughtful gestures. You know the last thing he wishes to be is tender, yet tonight, this is the closest he has ever come to it, dangerously so. You almost find yourself being yanked into the illusion if only for a nanosecond. You have remembered, reminded yourself not to fall for any of these tricks, any of his deception.

Once you emerge from the bath, he treats you to yet another bountiful feast as per his tradition now, presenting you with an array of different cuisines that make your mouth water. He has been hospitable. Kind, like you have said, even more so since Gojo has been absent for the time being. He’s standing behind you as you scarf down some of the freshly seasoned veggies and tear off a leg from one of the rotisserie chickens to enjoy all to yourself.

Why not take advantage of this? After all, these moments aren’t too bad.

A slender finger brushes under your chin and lifts your head up to meet his violet gaze. Your heart drops to your stomach. What is that look in his eyes? Surely it can’t be…

“I might be moving too fast…” he starts. No fucking kidding! As if the forcing you into this weird shit isn’t already moving too fast?! Is he fucking SERIOUS right now? “But I’ve had time to sit with my feelings for a while, and I need to address something to you.”

You dare not to tear your gaze away from his, because you know that he would see that as an offense—something you can’t afford now or ever here. But he can’t be serious. This can’t be real. He can’t truly expect you to believe anything he ever says is true.

“I don’t expect you to return my feelings, but it’s true: I’ve come to feel some kind of affection for you. Perhaps the closest thing I can come to affection for someone I usually deem lesser than someone like me,” Geto starts in a low voice, there’s almost an edge to it as he speaks, twirling a strand of your hair as his gaze drifts elsewhere, lost in a daydream of sorts. He can’t be serious. He really, really can’t be serious—right? “I might even go as far as to say that you are the closest thing to a mother the girls will have, and I must thank you for being so cooperative and willing to bond with them. They do truly adore you. They’re right, after all. We do make an excellent pair.”

You have no idea whether you should laugh or cry; this is absolutely out of left field for you. This must be another one of his tricks. It must be!

You have come to that conclusion a long, long, loooong time ago, but he keeps filling in all the blanks for you. He’s absolutely bonkers. Insane. Must be thrown into an asylum if they can hold sorcerers. They must have something akin to Arkham Asylum in their world, right? If sorcerers are as powerful as they claim to be?

And cooperative? Oh god, of course you have to be cooperative! Do you have a choice? You either cooperate or you turn up dead somewhere in a ditch, and at this point, the latter sounds like the more merciful option, don’t you think?

“I…” you gulp. How do you react to this? How can you react to this? If you have a stronger backbone--which the longer you stay here, the more you realize you definitely aren’t as strong-willed as you initially believed—you would have told him what for, you would have spat in his face, you would have kicked, screamed, bitten, punched, anything else other than…

“I’m…I’m so glad you think so,” you opt to say in spite of your insides telling you to protest! To fight! To give him a taste of what it means to have everything taken away from you and hurled back out! Why are you just accepting it? Have you given up? No, you haven’t, you just don’t know what else to do right now. “I’m so glad I make you happy, darling.”

“You make me the happiest,” Geto drawls as he tugs on that stray strand of your hair a bit before his finger ghosts over your cheekbone. Your breath catches, and it’s never for a good reason. You know what to expect from here. You can’t remember the last time you had any true agency. “The happiest I’ve ever felt in years, little dove. I don’t think you understand how much you’ve come to matter to me.”

Why does your heart skip a beat from that? Why does it, when you know all he says are pretty lies? He knows how to make anyone feel on top of the world, a sweet talker; he has to be, with a title like his and the fact that he’s a cult leader should give off enough of those warning sirens and yet you still find yourself drawn to his false promises. Why? Why’s that? Is it because in spite of everything, you’re still a woman who desires connection and to be desired like anyone else?

Even if it’s from someone like Geto?

“It’s like I’ve just told you, I don’t expect you to return my affections. That’s ultimately not important,” he adds, “What is important is that you’re here now. And maybe you’ll come to feel something for me in time. I only hope you grow to like Satoru too.”

You wince at the mention of his name.

“Speaking of Satoru…” You know you should keep this to yourself, yet the question leaves your lips, completely uncontrolled. “He’s been feeling like you’ve been shutting him out. Why’s that?”

A shadow crosses Geto’s face and his expression hardens before softening a bit. His gaze drifts away as though your question has struck too close to the truth, like it truly just struck a chord with him.

You don’t like this at all. Have you crossed a line?

“What goes on between Satoru and me,” he murmurs, “is none of your concern, little dove.”

“Please, Suguru, darling,” you plea, gathering some courage, but trying to keep your voice soft, meek. “I just want to understand. Maybe I can—!”

His gaze snaps back to you, his eyes narrowing into slits as his lips twitch into a cold smile.

You freeze.

“No,” he growls, his voice low, dangerous. “Once you’re finished here, meet me in the bedroom.”

You make your way to the bedroom in silence once you finish dinner, the floorboards creaking beneath your feet. Chills dance down your spine as your hand finds the doorknob. Twisting it, you push the door open just enough to slip inside, shutting the door behind you.

There he is, lying in wait as he’s settled himself on the foot of the bed.

“Disrobe,” is all he tells you, at first. Hesitant hands still comply, and you stand before him fully exposed as he desires.

“Come to me. Kneel,” he continues, his eyes not leaving yours.

You obey, not daring to meet his eyes as they remain fixed on you while you sink down to your knees.

“Look up at me, Mamma,” he instructs, his tone soft but laden with an edge of darkness. With a bit of effort, you dare to raise your head, timid eyes meeting his piercing violet.

He sighs, “Why are you questioning about things that shouldn’t matter to you?”

“I…” you stammer, feeling your mouth dry and your throat tighten. “I just want to h-help.”

The laugh that escapes his lips is bitter, mocking, condescending like he always is.

“Do you?” he growls, tone sharp. You jump from shock. “I told you numerous times what happens between Satoru and me, stays between Satoru and me.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose as he rises from his seat on the bed, and gestures for you to take his place. You sink onto the bed, fearing the worst. You feel the dread twist in your heart.

“Lay on your back,” he says, and you don’t hesitate, sinking into the mattress immediately. You don’t protest when he pulls your panties off, flinging it aside. He pries your legs apart, hooking them to either corner of the bed with a tight rope. He does the same to your wrists to the headboard.

“Suguru, please, I…please, I didn’t mean any harm by what I asked, I just…”

“Be quiet,” he growls as he draws closer to your face, and as you peer up at him, your heart drops at the sight. You haven’t seen his face like that since the day he and Gojo took you.

He circles the bed until he’s looming over you. He seems beyond displeased and it’s terrifying you more than it should. Still, even after something like this, you plan to hold your ground. You aren’t going to let him discourage you.

“You shouldn’t have upset me like that, Mamma. Prying into business that isn’t yours. Taking advantage of Satoru’s vulnerability. That takes a lot out of him, you know. He prides himself on being the strongest person he knows,” he scoffs at that notion while tightening the knots to where your ankles and wrists have been secured onto the bed. “And that is something about him you can’t take lightly. I’m unhappy with you right now, and we can’t have that. I have to punish you.”

“Please…darling, I’m so sorry, I just…I just wanted to understand his side to things, and he opened up to me willingly and…” you beg, babbling on and on, attempting to struggle but when he glares at you, you cease immediately. What a sight. He’s so upset.

He shuffles through the side table drawer and finds a vibrator wand, and you feel dread coil in the pit of your stomach. You know what he’s going to do and it’s not going to be good, it’s not going to feel good at all.

“I told you it was nothing of your concern, Mamma,” he yells, making you cower, as he switches the vibrator wand on. Your legs begin to tremble before the device even reaches between your legs.

“Suguru…” you murmur, your eyes giving him a pleading look.

“Shush,” he snaps, resting the wand on your pussy, the high vibrations making you thrash about in your confines.

OhmyfuckingGod I can’t—

“Please! I can’t!” you gasp, the whirring of the vibrator in combination of the sloshing of your juices drive you absolutely mad. Yes, you have done this before on yourself but not like this. You understand your own limits. Geto doesn’t care about your limits. He cares about setting an example.

He coaxes one out of you in mere seconds, something you’re surprised is possible, but he doesn’t remove the vibrator from your pussy, instead angling it against your clit as a dangerous, nihilistic grin spreads across his face.

“I’ve been far too lenient with you,” he tsks, “I should have reminded you of why you’re here. You’re here for me. Not just for the girls. For me. That’s why Satoru’s okay with this. He shouldn’t be the one benefitting from your companionship.”

“I’m sorry,” the apology spills from your mouth like word vomit. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just…”

“Shush,” he snarls again, his tone sharper than even you’re used to as he massages the vibrator along your pussy folds, licking his lips as he observes how your slick builds up, sticky and gooey between his fingers when he dips them into your pussy. You thrash about in your confines and his frown deepens, his forehead wrinkling. “I’m not interested in your apologies.”

No fucking kidding.

He pushes the vibrator against your clit, and you keen, your next orgasm washing through you sharper and wetter than the first. It doesn’t stop at the second one. He doesn’t stop circling your clit, rubbing between your folds, the lewd squelching getting wetter and wetter with each pass of the vibrator.

He coaxes another. And another. You know better than to keep count.

“Suguru, please, it’s too much!” you plea again, trying to find a way to back away but you can’t, not with how tight those knots around your ankles are. You’re completely defenseless, just like he wants, and you hate it, you hate that you make him angry, you hate that you can’t fight back the way you wish you can. You hate being powerless, anyone does, but like this? In such a humiliating way? This isn’t fair. This just isn’t fucking fair and you’ve done nothing to deserve this except be adjacent to the wrong people and you can’t change this.

Finally, it all stops.

The sheets beneath you are soaked in your arousal, and Geto grins in amusement.

“You didn’t put up that much of a fight, Mamma. If you swear not to meddle into business that isn’t yours, we can stop for the rest of the evening. We were doing so well and I’d hate to spoil the mood with something like this.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you cough, your body still shaking, still oversensitive. “I-I won’t do it again. I’m s-so sorry.”

“Good, Mamma,” he says after a period of consideration. “I believe you.”

You almost sigh in relief. But then you hear the vibrator click back on again.

“But I have to just ensure that this doesn’t happen again.”

[cait-with-luv]

ʜᴇᴀʟ ᴍᴇ, ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ.

❝All you wanted was to help your best friend get over his ex girlfriend. How did you manage to end up confessing your feelings?❞

Header Credit: Me

・❥ Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Reader

・❥ Genre: Best Friends To Lovers; Fluff; Humour; Smut; Angst (if you squint)

・❥ Rating: 18+ (Minors DNI), NOT SAFE FOR RAMADAN

・❥ Word Count: 7.5K

・❥ Warnings: Swearing, alcohol consumption/intoxication, little fight between his ex and Y/N, Jungkook can be a bit senseless but can't we all?, sexual tension, heavy makeout, explicit consensual sex, dirty talk, pet names, oral (Female and Male receiving), dom!JK, sub!Reader, hair pulling, unprotected sex, mentions of birth control, spanking, praise kink, rough sex, marking (hickeys, biting)

Jungkook didn't know how he ended up here. He just remembers exiting his shared apartment in a fit of rage, anxiety, and hurt, wandering the streets of Seoul blindly, his mind racing with thoughts that he wanted to be rid of. So how he managed to end up at his best friend's apartment complex without realizing was baffling to him. It was almost like his heart knew who he needed right now. The one person who will sit and listen to him without interrupting or pretending to listen. The one person who would make him laugh when he needed to be cheered up. The person who undoubtedly cared for him no matter what bullshit they go through together or wouldn’t get annoyed at the dumb shit he says. That person was his best friend, the girl he grew up with. You.

He absolutely knew you'd tear him a new one for showing up at three in the morning without warning. You liked your sleep. No, loved your sleep, he always teases you about how you love it more than your own best friend. And now, he was about to disturb it. You were a force to be reckoned with when your beauty sleep is broken. The only time Jungkook will admit he's terrified of you.

He lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding before raising his hand and knocking on your door a few times knowing it would take a few more to awaken you. He almost grimaces, almost, as he hears you stomping and your muffled yells of insults for the intrusion on your sleep. 

Incoming in 3, 2, 1-

“I swear to god whoever woke me at three in the morning, you are getting castrate- woah, you look like shit dude.”

“Well hello to you too, Bug,” Jungkook says sarcastically, stuffing his hands in his pockets, shaking his head to fix his bangs, and staring at you with tears in his eyes as he finally lets them out now that he was standing in front of his safe person. But somehow you always managed to make him laugh. You had never been good with people crying, it always amused him and right now it did too, watching the reaction you always seem to have. Sheer panic and awkwardness.

“Shi-no! Don’t you dare cry on me, dude! I can do anything but tears Jeon! In! Get in now! Sit and wipe them tears with a tissue, or a blanket I don’t care just get rid of them! I’ll get the wine!” You ramble in panic, grabbing his arm and practically yanking the poor heartbroken boy into your apartment, shutting the door before rushing to your kitchen to get said items. It was clear he could use a glass. Or five.

Jungkook sniffles and plops down onto your couch, swiping his tears with his shirt and letting out a little laugh as you shuffle into the living room with your arms filled with snacks and a wine bottle and glasses in your hand which he takes an effort to prevent you from smashing them, watching as you sit next to him and release all the snacks into both your laps.

“I will never understand how you are able to carry so much. I would have dropped it all before I even left the kitchen.” Jungkook mumbles, tilting his head as you scoff opening the wine and flicking the lid off, grabbing his glass.

“That’s because I’m a woman and over the many years of our existence we have evolved to have velociraptor hands to carry multiple things at once, now take your pick on snacks and tell me what’s caused you to show up at my door at this time of the night? What’s wrong, Honey Bun?” You pout as you hand him the drink and ruffle his hair playfully earning a whine and a glare from him.

“I told you to stop doing that.” He grumbles before plucking a bag of chips from your lap and opening them and sighing. He really didn’t know where to begin. Does he just rip the bandaid off or not? Eventually, he decided that yes, he just need to rip the bandaid off. He needed to come to terms with it too. 

“Hyun-Ae and I broke up.” He says dejectedly, munching on his chips, raising an eyebrow as you choke on your wine and look at him in disbelief, putting the glass down on the coffee table and turning your body to look at him fully.

“What?! Why? You two were literally on a date earlier!” You say in shock. You were confused, Jungkook had face timed you that morning talking about the date he planned for her. He had seemed so proud of himself and the big smile on his face talking about it had made your heart flutter. His smile always did but he didn’t have to know that.

“I know. It went so great too Y/N, we were happy but by the end of it, her mood had changed. I thought I did something wrong, she ignored me for the rest of the day until before when I got fed up and wanted to know what was wrong if I had messed up and she just blew up at me. She thought I was proposing and got mad that I didn’t. So you know I told her just because I didn’t propose doesn’t mean that I didn’t want to at all. I mean, Bug we hadn’t been together for a year yet.” He remarks and snags his wine off the table and takes a big gulp of it. 

You blink at him, in complete disbelief at what you were hearing. You didn’t know what to say but he wasn’t finished yet, there was more to this so you allowed him to carry on. To vent and get everything he needed off his chest. So you sat. You listened, nodding your head and humming in acknowledgment so he knew you were paying attention to every single word he uttered, taking his hand in yours when he holds his out wanting some comfort from you. By the time he had finished, you were annoyed at her, angry. And Jungkook? Well, he was now three bottles in and hiccuping, swaying slightly in his place. He was definitely gonna have a hangover tomorrow.

“So…basically, she got mad that you didn’t propose to her when you’ve only been together for what? Ten months? You told her one day in the future you would just not right now and she got even angrier and gaslit you saying that you didn’t love her and that she wasn’t good enough for you and asking if you were cheating on her? Then tried to get you to get on one knee right then and there to propose to show you loved her or it was over?” You sum up, carefully taking the glass out of his hand that he was beginning to lose grip on. That was enough alcohol for one night.

“Y-Yup! I-I told her I just wasn’t ready for that commitment y-you know? It didn’t mean I was n-never going to. I-It’s a big step in a r-relationship.” He hiccups, throwing himself back on the couch and pouting, running a hand through his hair. 

“Yeah, I know that, Honey Bun. I know. It’s gonna be okay alright? There’s plenty of fish in the sea dude.” You sigh patting his leg that he had sprawled over your lap, raising an eyebrow as he lifts his head up and frowns.

“F-Fish? B-But I’m a human dumbass. I c-can’t date a fish. That’s fucked up.” He slurs, poking you. You slap his hand away and roll your eyes at him. He really did concern you sometimes. Drunk Jungkook was another level of senseless.

"Sometimes I wish I could IV some sense into your bloodstream. Seriously, you are so dense. It’s a figure of speech, not literal Jungkook." You grumble, pushing his head to lay back again, chuckling at the sound of realization he makes.

“Ahhh, I get it now.”

“Do you?”

“No.”

“Of course not. I think you should get some sleep Kook and then when you’re sober we’ll talk about it more tomorrow okay? I’ll go get you a blanket and a pillow.” You say softly, moving his legs to get up, an amused look on your face as he huffs and shakes his head.

"I’ll go home. I can stand..." Jungkook slurred drunkenly; attempting to lift himself up off the couch, a snicker leaving your lips at his poor attempt, shaking your head.

"No, you can't dumbass, lay down you can sleep here, I’m not carrying your heavy ass anywhere." You say with a small smile. And for once Jungkook doesn't disagree.

—

"Truly Amazing." 

"Thank you.”  

"Not that. I was referring to what an idiot you are." You scoff, crossing your arms and glaring at the sheepish-looking Jungkook as he grins at you and places his arm around your shoulder, which you nudge off and roll your eyes at him. 

"Ah, but Idiocy is the first step toward Genius!" He remarks proudly. You facepalm and sigh shaking your head. He was unbelievable. You two were completely opposite to each other when it came to common sense.

“Fuck sake, I am fully convinced you never graduated kindergarten” You grumble looking around, holding your phone up in hopes to get at least a single bar of signal. Jungkook had decided he wanted to take an early morning hike and dragged you along with him. Saying it was good for the body and mind. But being the cocky guy he is, he wanted to stray from the trail and go his own way. Saying he knew where he was going. How wrong he was. 

“Ouch, hurtful.” He pouts, tilting his head as he watches you stand on a rock, phone up in your stretched-out hand.

 “Good it was meant to hurt bitch now focus!” You hiss, groaning when you don’t get a single ounce of signal. You couldn’t believe this was happening. You knew you should have never left the comfort of your bed but Jungkook can be too convincing and stubborn. You would have ended up here no matter what. You were lost in the middle of nowhere. No way to contact anyone or use your maps. No sign of civilization.

"Sooo what's the plan?" Jungkook says sheepishly, inching closer to the rock you were on. He just had a gut feeling that your clumsy self would take a misstep on it and hurt yourself. So he stayed close. Just in case.

"I don't have a plan." You sigh, pocketing your phone and looking around once more before inevitably giving up. You were gonna find nothing. It was just trees for miles. You were both screwed.

"But you're the smart one here, you must have a plan." He says, grinning nervously as you snap your head over to look at him with a death stare, hands on your hips, foot tapping waiting for him to retract his statement but he didn’t. If looks could kill. He would most certainly be dead. 

"Being the 'smart one' does not mean I come with a lifetime supply of plans in my fucking pocket Jeon! You got us into this situation, you figure this one out!" You sneer before sighing and rubbing your temples. You hadn’t meant to snap, you were stressed. The one thing you hated was not being in control of a situation and being lost with no idea where to go was definitely stress-inducing. 

“I know, I know I’m sorry, just get down before you hurt yourself and we’ll figure this out together okay?” He sighs and holds his hand out for you to take, staring up at you in awe. He had always thought you were pretty, but stood on the rock, the breeze following through your hair, the early morning sunlight that reflected off the trees, perfectly onto your face, highlighting your features, eyes shining, the pout on your lips. You looked ethereal.  

“Fine, yeah okay.” You murmur reaching down for his hand eyes widening as you slip on a ridge of the rock, squeezing your eyes shut waiting for the impact of the hard leave-covered floor, but it never came. All you felt was a warm body, the subtle scent of lavender and chamomile. A scent you recognize as Jungkook. You slowly open your eyes and blink realizing that you were wrapped up in Jungkook’s arms. He had caught you before you could fall. 

“I got you, I got you. Are you alright? Are you hurt?” He asks worriedly as he places you down,  checking you over, his chest practically pressed against yours, pausing as you carefully push him away to create some distance, your cheeks burning as you shake your head, holding your breath. Having him so close made your heart race. You could feel breath fanning over your face.

“I-I’m fine, I’m not hurt. Thanks, Kook.” You whisper, nervously playing with your hands as he sighs in relief and waves you off, oblivious to your nervous reaction to him. 

“You’re welcome. Just be careful, Bug, you could have seriously hurt yourself. We gotta find our way back in one piece right?” He smiles, holding your hand beginning to walk in a direction. You had to at least try and find your way back right? You’d get nowhere just in one spot.

“Yeah yeah I know. I’m a danger to myself.”  You huff making him laugh and shake his head.

“Damn right you are, what’d you do without me?” He grins and you look at him with an amused look. A look that told him you were about to make a smart remark.

“I wouldn’t be lost in the middle of nowhere that’s for sure. Why did you want to go a hike anyway?” You tease, stepping over a log, watching your every step. You did not want to fall. Not again. He’d never let you live it down. He always reminded you of how clumsy you were, he did not need another reason in one day to remind you.

“I wanted to clear my head, think about the break-up and try and see the full picture you know? See if there was something I genuinely did do wrong. You know maybe I should have just proposed? I know it’s been a few weeks but it just plays on my mind sometimes.” He says shrugging his shoulders, hissing as you smack the back of his head, a glare on your face.

“Fool. You did nothing wrong. You listened to her. Explained why you didn’t want to propose yet and she didn’t like that. She tried to force you Jungkook. Something you weren’t ready for and she didn’t take no for an answer. Why should you have to sacrifice your happiness and feelings for something she wanted right then and there and you didn’t? You never said it wasn’t on the table just that it wasn’t something you personally were ready for at that period of time. You both wanted different things and unfortunately, that’s what happens to a lot of people. Yeah, it’s been a few weeks but that doesn’t mean you still can’t feel shit about it Kook. People all heal differently.” You reassure him as he nods slowly. You were right. He couldn’t force himself to do something he wasn’t ready for. A commitment that honestly, kind of terrified him. 

“I just thought I could have done something different, but yeah you’re right, I couldn’t put myself in that situation. I would have really regretted it. I couldn’t have compromised with her. This is why I brought you with me because you always know what to say.” He smiles, pulling you into a side hug as you strolled through the unleveled terrain. 

“You know, I thought you’d be a lot harsher about her when I told you about the break-up but you have surprised me. You hated the girl from the minute you met her.” Jungkook chuckles, whining as you poke his side, rolling your eyes.

“I never said I hate her just that I wasn’t keen on her, but I wasn’t gonna be bitch when you were clearly upset. I wasn’t gonna go ‘I told you so’ and invalidate your emotions and feelings, Kook. Yes, I told you I wasn’t keen on her and that there was something about her that I just couldn’t put my finger on. I wasn’t gonna go ���Don’t date her, I don’t like her.’ I told you that if you’re gonna date her and be serious about it that you just be careful and that you are really sure and happy. I wasn’t gonna try and ruin your happiness because of a feeling I had on her. Your happiness was all that mattered to me.” You explain looking up at him and pouting at the look on his face. You couldn’t tell what it was but it looked sincere. A look you wanted him to have every time he looked at you.

But what you didn’t know was he did look at you with that same look a lot. Awe, care, hope. Love. It was love. Jungkook loved you. More than you could ever imagine. You weren’t just his best friend. You were someone he wanted to call his. Someone he imagined himself with. Someone he definitely wanted to grow old with. Jungkook can’t pinpoint when he started feeling this way for you. But it was definitely sometime in high school. It hurt him every time he’d see you with another guy. The dates you went on but failed. The boyfriends. It all practically killed him. 

But he was scared to confess. Scared to ruin your friendship. So he buried them. Tried to forget them and date others but it never felt right. Until he met Hyun-Ae. For a short period of time, she had made him ‘forget’ his feelings for you. But they came back in a blink of an eye when she broke up with him. The night you let him into your apartment and listened to him and validated his emotions. Like right now, you didn’t like Hyun-Ae but just wanted him to be happy so accepted it. ‘Your happiness was all that mattered to me’. Yeah, he was utterly and undoubtedly in love with you and he’d never stop loving you. 

But he didn’t know that you loved him unconditionally too. That it also hurt you to see him with other girls that weren’t you, that you were scared to confess to and ruin your friendship. The both of you were so oblivious to your feelings for each other that it was so painful for your friends to watch. But they weren’t going to interfere. If you were going to end up together, it’d happen naturally they told each other. That was four years ago.

“Thanks, Bug. That really does mean a lot. Sorry for bringing you on a hike gone wrong. We should have done something else. Like let loose, we haven’t done that in a while. Other than when I showed up at your apartment but that doesn’t count, I was a mess.” Jungkook laughs, kicking a pebble in his way, jumping as you gasp and stop in your place.

“Oh hey, we made it back out! How’d you know to go this way?” You say enthusiastically bouncing your heels as you realize you had made your way back onto the trail, turning to look at Jungkook, your grin dropping seeing the amused smirk on his face. Oh no.

“What if…I told you that maybe I knew we weren’t lost and I just wanted to prank you?”

“Jeon Jungkook I swear to fucking god I’m gonna kill you!”

In reality, he had no idea where he was going or how he navigated his way back but you didn’t have to know that. He loved to tease you.

—

"Why are we here again?" 

"Because you said we needed to let loose the other day, why else would we be here?" 

"When I said to let loose I meant in the comforts of our own homes. Not a random club that will end up with us kicked out like usual. We established we do not mix well with other people." Jungkook huffs rolling his eyes before downing the drink he cradled in his hands. 

"Well shit dude, how was I supposed to know that? When you say let loose I'm gonna assume you mean in a club. Use specifics next time dumbass." You scoff, flicking his forehead earning a hiss from him, and glare at you, rubbing his forehead, grumbling under his breath.

He was right though, since college you two couldn't be trusted to be in a club without supervision from your friends. The pair of you were partners in crime. It didn't matter what the situation was, you'd always be there for each other. When it came to clubs you'd either be kicked out from dancing on tables or from getting in a fight. It didn't matter, it always happened. It was only a matter of time until you were kicked out. 

"Wanna bet on the reason we end up kicked out this time?" Jungkook says in amusement, waving the bartender over to order another drink.

You raise an eyebrow before grinning and shrugging. It really could be anything at this point. 

"Hmm, I think it's gonna be a fight. I'm feeling...violent tonight. You gonna have my back?" You tease taking a sip of your drink as he shakes his head. 

"You know I always have your back Bug, you're my ride or die." He affirms, patting your bare shoulder before ordering you both another drink. You shudder from the contact of his warm slender hand on your shoulder, placing a hand on your racing heart, taking a deep breath. You hated how he had this effect on you, he was your best friend. You couldn't have him. You'd never have him. He didn't see you how you saw him. Well, so you thought. 

"Ditto, Honey Bun, ditto." 

"Here, now let's go find somewhere to sit in this god-forsaken place." He groans, handing you your drink before wrapping his arm around your shoulders to keep you close as he pushes through the waves of bodies to find a seat until he finally finds one and plops down. 

"We're so boring. What happened to us two little party animals?" You laugh, nodding your head to the music. Jungkook practically snorts, shaking his head, 

"We grew up and got bored of the partying." 

You sit in a comforting silence, dancing along to the music and continuing to down drinks to the point where you both could feel the slight buzz of intoxication, confidence, and mischief. You were both beginning to enjoy yourselves, that was until your reason to get kicked out waltzed in. Hyun-Ae was unashamedly hanging off a clearly well-off man's arm, rolling your eyes and nudging Jungkook, shamelessly pointing behind him. 

"Hey Kook, looks like your ex moved on pretty quick for someone pressuring you to marry them." You sneer, letting out a laugh of disbelief. You really despised the woman. She used Jungkook purely for her own leisure, she didn't deserve him, he was a gentleman, caring, loyal. You hate how she broke his heart. 

Jungkook peers over before looking back at you and shrugs nonchalantly a teasing smile on his face. With the alcohol in his system, he felt like he had the courage of ten men. If he didn't do this now, he never would. He couldn’t carry on and pretend his feelings aren’t there. Like they’d just suddenly disappear.

"Yeah well so have I." He smirks, leaning back in his seat and taking a swig of his drink. You tilt your head in confusion. Your heart sank a little. You hadn't been told that he was interested in someone else. You really needed to get over your feelings for him. You had no chance with him. You were just best friends after all. All you were doing was hurting yourself.

"Oh really? You got proof of that, Honey Bun?" You tease trying to keep your composure, leaning forward and resting your chin on your hand, playfully wiggling your eyebrows. He snorts and places his drink down before leaning forward too, licking his lips to wet them, tilting his head, a smug smile on his face before blurting out, 

"Well, the proof...would ruin our friendship." 

Your breath hitches, your cheeks flushing as you begin to get flustered, your heart racing as you look down to the table to break eye contact with him. He couldn't be insinuating what you thought right? Maybe you were misunderstanding? Right?

He chuckles, a smirk playing on his lips, he could see the doubt and the inner monologue you were practically having as he gently grabs your chin and lifts your head up to look at him and coos, 

"We don't want to ruin it now do we, pretty girl?"

Your heart was racing. Your lips were parted, the words you wanted to say on the tip of your tongue but couldn’t see to vocalize them. You had waited what felt like an eternity for this moment. A moment you had fanaticized for the longest time. But back then they were dreams and this was reality. This was really happening. It was like music to your ears. A rush of adrenaline. You weren’t going to let this moment slip through your fingers. You may never get another chance to do this.

“What if I want to ruin our friendship? What if I want to be more than just your best friend?” You whisper, breath hitching as he tugs your chair closer to him, your hands shaking as you place one on his cheek, closing your eyes as he nudges his nose against yours, foreheads pressed against each other.

“Yeah? You want to be my girl?” He breathes out, lips grazing against yours, his own heart pounding in anticipation. He wanted to so badly claim you as his own. Be able to tell everyone that you were his girl, no one else's. He so badly wanted to feel your lips against his. To have your body against his. 

“She’s watching Kook.” You murmur, peering over his shoulder when you got the feeling of someone staring. Her jaw was clenched, and her eyes narrowed as she eyed you both angrily. You could see her fists were clenched beside her. She wasn’t impressed.

“So? Let her watch pretty girl, let's give her a show. Let her know who I belong to now.” He smirks and without a moment of hesitation, his lips were against yours. It was nothing like you had imagined it would be. It was even better. It was euphoric. His lips were soft, his lip ring cold in contrast to his warmth. In that kiss was the sweetness of passion, a million loving thoughts condensed into a moment. It was bruising, and dizzying. A small moan left your lips as he sucks your bottom lip into his mouth before letting it go with a pop, a teasing smirk on his swollen lips, you were sure yours were too. The both of you panting, arousal pooling in the pit of your stomach, almost shaking with excitement, you knew where this was going, and you had never wanted it more. He opens his mouth to speak but a figure towering over you halts his actions, the both of you looking up and sighing seeing the very irritated Hyun-Ae. Yeah, this was it, you were about to get kicked out.

“Ah Hyun-Ae what an unpleasant surprise, how can we help you on this fine night?” You smile fakely leaning back in your seat in amusement waiting to hear her spew nonsense.

“So this is who you downgraded to? You skanky ‘best friend’, I always knew she wanted to get her grubby hands on you.” She seethes crossing her arms. Jungkook rolls his eyes, now he can see why you disliked her.

“I’m too sober for this bullshit…” You mumble to yourself, her voice practically causing you a headache.

“I think I got an upgrade thank you very much. She’s far more of a better person than you.” Jungkook snarks, glaring at his ex-girlfriend.

“I see you had downgrade though, you know for a bitch wanting to force him to marry her, you sure have moved on quickly, very materialistic aren’t you? Going for the rich guys, I think all you want is the lavish life, the money, not the love and comfort.” You say in amusement, a harsh grin on your lips as she gasps and retracts slightly at your insult.

“Why you vile, piece of-”

“Woah woah, I'm sensing…some hostility. Maybe you should take up meditation?” You say sweetly only angering the woman more and bringing you more entertainment.

“I could never stand you!” She exclaims making you laugh and stand up so you were level with her, tilting your head at her,

“Then sit down no one asked you to stand. You know, if there was a prize for having the world's most punchable face, I'm sure you'd win." You sneer, watching as she raises her hand to slap you but it never reaches you, thanks to Jungkook’s quick reflexes grabbing her wrist.

“I think that’s enough. Hyun-Ae leave us alone. We’re over. You don’t get to criticize me for who I date when you are seeing some stuck-up, self-absorbed man. I mean look, he doesn’t even care that you’ve wandered off. Hope you become a better person. Now excuse us, we have something much more fun to do.” Jungkook huffs, letting go of her wrist before tugging you out of the club. He needed to get out of here.

“How do you always end up with the psychos?” You laugh as you both climb into a cab, a noise of surprise leaving your lips as he pulls you close to him, a playful smile on his lips,

“Are you insinuating that you’re psycho too pretty girl?”

“I never denied it, Honey Bun. You should know that I can be a bit psycho by now.” You tease and press your lips onto his, his tongue swirling with yours, hand in your hair to keep you close. As soon as you reached your apartment things got intense. In a split second his touch awakened every nerve in your body and brain, electrifying them. It's the anticipation of being together in a way that's more than words, in a way that's so completely tangible. You both barely make it to the bedroom, hands trying to touch every bit of each others body, clothes being thrown all over the floor, the only things left on your body was your bra and pants and Jungkook in his boxers. Jungkook pulls away from the kiss to admire you, eyes filled with love and lust.

In the room that is twilight and shadow Jungkook stands close enough for you to breathe in his scent. His arms wrap around your back and in one gentle pull your skin touches. You feel his hand in your hair, how he loves the softness, watching it tumble as he releases it. Then his hand moves down your cheekbones to your lips. That's when the kissing starts again and you start to move like partners in a dance that is written in your DNA. Your bodies fit together as if you were made just for this, to fall into one another, to feel this natural rhythm. With a laugh he lifts you right off your feet, carrying you towards the bed, letting you fall with a soft bounce on the mattress. You lock eyes for just a moment, just enough for you to feel safe with one another. Then he's all business, undoing your jeans, pulling them off, kissing from your toes upward, slowly, his hands on your legs, always just a little higher than the kisses. You feel your back arch in anticipation, knowing where his fingers will soon reach. Your head rocks back against the pillow as he does, the first moan escaping your lips. 

But as quick as it happened his fingers were gone, a teasing smile on his face, “You think I’d give you everything you want so quickly? No way baby, you need to use your big girl words. Talk to me.” 

“Jungkook you cannot be serious, I do not do teasing, you better do something quick.” You groan, glaring at his laugh before flipping the two of you over so that you were on top.

“Shit, pretty girl,” he hisses as you roll your hips, grinding your core against his. He can feel how wet you are through where your cunt drags against his underwear soaking them. You were burning from arousal and anticipation, gasping as he flips you back over.

“I want to taste you. Can I?” 

The question makes your legs shiver and you nod. He nudges your legs open with his knee, hands pressing into the mattress beside your shoulder and head locking you in under his form. He leans down and kisses you with the same urgency he had in the cab. Your head swims with excitement and you can feel yourself growing more wet as you feel his toned stomach press to yours. A moan pushes its way out of you and into his mouth as you feel his nipples graze yours. 

“Fuck.” 

He smirks into the kiss before he breaks it and then he’s kissing your cheek, jaw, neck, clavicle, between your breasts and then your nipple is in his mouth and you arch into it as his tongue swirls and his lips encase and tug. 

“Jungkook —” you moan. 

He looks up at you, his bangs obscuring his vision but he does nothing except continue his way down your body. His hands following. You’ve never felt so safe, so secure, and so sexy under a man before. Then suddenly he’s standing again, his hands on your thighs and he tugs you down with a force that surprises you. Your eyes wide meet his, equally as wide and dark. He smiles and shakes his head, looking down at your legs. 

“What?” you ask and he looks back up at you. 

“You’re just fucking beautiful.” he rasps, taking in every inch of your body as if he’d forget what it looked like. 

“Kiss me?”

He nods but instead of crawling back up your body to meet your lips, he bends down and kisses your stomach.You close your eyes and slip your hand into his hair and tugging. He moans against your skin and your breath hitches.Your hips twitch as he kisses your hipbone and then licks your skin, biting and marking it, he wanted to claim you, paint you in arrays of purple and red bruised flowers. You lift yourself up and watch him as he shifts down, his hand sliding down following the movement of your thigh.

“Oh fuck” you breathe out surprised as you feel his index finger slip down your clit and between your folds. 

“You’re going to taste so good, I just know it,” he says as he gathers some of your arousal on his finger and then looks up at you and licks. His eyes roll back and close as he moans deep,

“Fuck, I knew it.”

You watch him go again but this time you feel his finger press into you, you gasp, hips moving. He leans in and presses the tip of his nose to your clit and licks, lapping up your arousal like a starved man. Your wanton moan fills the room and your hands tighten around his hair instinctively needing to keep him there and to stay there. His tongue works along with his finger for a few moments and then his finger is gone only to be replaced by his tongue. Pushing into you, penetrating you and you practically go limp, a choked moan leaving your mouth as his thumb returns and applies pressure to your clit. You could have came right then and there.

“Jungkook if you don’t stop I’m gonna come.” You pant and he pulls away your arousal glistening on his lips, shuddering as he licks his lips not wanting to waste a single drop of your slick. Leaning back the bulge in his underwear evident of his painful boner. You kneel on your shaking legs, keeping your eyes locked on his as you press wet kisses to his stomach moving lower and lower, his breath getting heavy, his hands gently caressing your skin, your fingers playing with the waistband of his boxers before tugging them down his length springing free, he kicks them off and you stare in awe before starting your teasing, wrapping your fingers around him, squeezing lightly.

“Pretty girl, don’t fucking tease, you’ll get a punishment for it.” He husked, glaring at the playful smile on your face.

“Not so fun when you’re on the receiving end is it baby?” You coo, hand moving off his length, a growl leaving his mouth, placing a hand in your hair opening his mouth to talk but a choked moan leaves his mouth as you swipe your tongue across his head, tasting the tang of his pre-cum.

You wrap your lips around him and take him until he hits your throat, looking up at him through your lashes, then you come up and pause, just holding him in your mouth, your tongue running back and forth across the underside. Jungkook grunts and his eyelids flutter closed.

“Pretty girl, oh fuck…” He groans, strangled, panting and head rocking back, his adams apple bobbing in his throat.

“Mm?” you hum, not taking him from your mouth, and you notice the muscle in his jaw jump as he clenches as you trail sloppy, wet kisses down the length of his hot, smooth cock.  You run your tongue flat across his balls as your hand continues to pump his shaft and he moans,

“Doing such a good job my pretty girl, fuck your mouth is incredible babygirl.”

You hollow your cheeks and suck, your hand and mouth moving as one, eager to impress him more, the praises causing your arousal to drip. Jungkook’s hand in your hair is tight, not directing you, just to have something to hold on to. As you push lower, tipping your head to take him into your throat, he jerks, his abdomen tightening euporhically, close to his release. This was quickest he’s ever needed to cum before from a blowjob.

“Y/N, Y/N stop, our first time is not gonna have me, cumming in your mouth, I wanna be inside you, fuck do you have condoms?” He rasps as he gently pulls you away, groaning as you shake your head.

“No I have the coil and I’m clean you?” You pant, lips swollen and red, leaning your face into his touch as he strokes your cheek, nodding and gulping. Fuck he doesn’t think he’s going to last long going in raw.

“Fuck, yeah, yeah I am, shit baby, I might not last long.” He grunts, softly pushing you back, grinning as you squeal when he flips you over, pulling your ass up and running his hand over your cheek before a smack echoes in the room and a stinging sensation is spreading over your ass, a cry of pleasure escaping your lips.

“Such a perfect ass, wanna mark it all up with my handprint but we can do that another day, right now I need to be inside you before I die.” He groans, aligning his length with your entrance, Your whole body shuddering as he presses into you for the first time. You both moan low and Jungkook pauses at the bottom to regain his composure. It was like you were made for each other, the way your bodies moulded together perfectly. You were addicted already.

He drags himself backwards before thrusting in again. Your walls are spasming already; you’re so tight and he’s stretching you just right, filling you up like you’ve not been filled before. You were wrecked for any other man, not that you wanted anyone else.

“Oh fuck Kookie, feels so fucking good, don’t stop.” You babble, a complete mess as he picks gains rhythm, picking up his pace and ruthlessly pounding into you, your fists tight in the sheets, your head dropping muffling your moans, gasping as one of his hands grabs your hair and pulls you up, growling,

“Don’t you fucking dare hide those pretty moans. I wanna hear every single one. I want everyone to know who’s making you feel this good, who you belong to, do you understand pretty girl?” 

“Yes! Yes I understand! Jungkook fuck!” You practically scream out, eyes rolling back, the pleasure so intense, your body felt like it was on fire. 

He watches closely as he pushes into the tight, wet slip of your core, watching himself disappear into you with each thrust, moans leaving his throat. You loved how vocal he was. It excited you more, your pride soaring that you were able to make him feel good too. You really do feel drunk, giddy, hysterical. You feel tears prick in your eyes at the relief of it, the pressure, the pleasure. 

“Shit, I can’t wait to fill you up, stuff you fucking full. Can you take it, baby?” He rasps 

“I can take it,” you reply, voice high and tight. 

“Give it to me, Kookie- fuck.” 

He grabs the hair at the back of your head again and pulls it back, your back pressed to his chest as he fucks up into you, keeping your neck so he can kiss you, lick you, bite you there, moaning against your skin as you whimper and stutter, a silent scream leaving your lips as he reaches deeper into you from the new position,

“Kookie, shit, please. I need you to fuck me forever. God, don’t stop. Don’t stop.” 

“Never,” he grunts. “Shit, won’t stop. I’m yours baby.”

Jungkook is so rough you loved it, his grip on your waist painfully tight that you knew it would leave marks.You felt so sensitive, you’re at an almost constant spasm around him; your limbs tingling from adrenaline. Jungkook sucks at that one spot on your neck that makes you melt and you swear, voice wavering and breaking. He knew you were close and so was he, his stomach so tight, desperate for his release, but he wouldn’t come. Not yet. He needed to make sure you came first. Your pleasure came first to him.

“You gonna come pretty girl? I want you to come all over me, be a good girl and come.” He coos darkly into your ear, his hand slipping between your legs, his pace never faltering. His touch is gentle, but it’s enough to have your vision burning white, your blood roaring, your ears ringing as you come. You hold him tight, your hand digging into his hair as you splutter and pant, your head laying back on his shoulder, feeling his chest vibrate from his husky groans and growls as he comes too, fucking you both through your orgasms, filling you up with his cum. 

The room is filled with your pants and heavy breathing as you both come down from your orgasm, nothing but gentle touches shared between you both to keep you both grounded, a gasp leaving you both as Jungkook gently slips out of you and guiding you to lay down before flopping down next to you and pulling you into his arms.

“You still with me, Bug?” Jungkook chuckles tiredly, seeing the fucked out look in your eyes, stroking hair back from your face and peppering kisses to your face moving his hand to stroke up and down your spine.

“Mhmm, still here, just regrouping, Honey Bun.” You whisper, a tired smile on your face. You were in sheer bliss, pure happiness. You finally got the guy. A man you loved so dearly for years. 

“That’s good. You did so good pretty girl. Such a good girl for me. I love you.” He utters, nuzzling his nose against yours, grinning as you pout your lips for a kiss, giggling as he presses multiple pecks onto them.

“I love you too. That was everything and more than I could have ever imagined.” You sigh, nuzzling your head into his chest, a yawn leaving your lips as he kisses the top of your head.

“That’s good to hear. I’m so glad I get to call you mine finally, I’ve loved you for so long. I couldn’t hide it no more.”

“I’m glad you didn’t, I’ve loved you since fucking high school. It was killing me.” You laugh, stopping when he tenses and sits up causing you to sit up as well.

“Wait…you’ve loved me since high school?” He says in shock, cursing at himself as you nod slowly and frown.

“Yeah why? What’s wrong with that?” You say hesitantly, slightly amused as he groans and face palms. Yeah you two really were that oblivious.

“I’ve loved you since high school too…” He muffles out and your eyes widen in realization. You felt like an idiot. He felt like an idiot. 

“Wait so that means-”

“Yeah we could have been together a long time ago if we weren’t so dumb.”

“Oh my fucking god.”

Guys I'm so sorry for how late this is, I am a dumbass and totally forgot to switch from draft to post so I thought I had posted this ages ago, I'm so dumb so I sincerely apologize for making you guys wait and I hope you guys enjoyed 😅♥

Taglist

@sophiaj650 @bbgniecyy @littlebaby-bunbun @driftapart @kalala22 @pb-n-juju @sugarrush-blush @cryingpages @avadakadabra93 @jeongukkieeeeeeee @withluvjm @bangtans-momma @wobblewobble822 @jkslaugh97 @sharkipoonis @notchia @hrndez2008 @kiylasstuff @poopiedookieballz @hoseokteardrop

[thoughtsfromlayla]

My Dearest Defiance

Summary:  Equal as an Endless, more than a human, yet less than a god. Where did you even belong? The question has haunted you since you first saw humanity rise into power. Now your brother has been kidnapped and you can't do anything to help him.

Notes: ~7.5k words, This fic is a follow-up to this post sent in by the lovely @kpopgirlbtssvt, thank you so much for the idea! I took a few liberties with the plot and I hope that's okay with you!

Warnings: Platonic! Big Brother x little sister! Reader, *side eyes* a lot of angst, violence, physical abuse, heavy mentions of cancer, implied alcohol consumption, minor Dreaming mind-fuckery, death of Reader (you come back...ish), death of characters, comfort in the end :)

Masterlist

Mother Night and Father Time, the first lovers, the everlasting lovers. And it was through their love that the Endless were born. Your eldest brother Destiny came first, birthed in dark cloaks and the book that was named after him. He is in charge of the fate of every being to live. 

Every being who has lived must follow the path of this fate and fate always ends in Death, your eldest sister. When Mother and Father realized that the humans must do something while waiting for Death, they birthed your favorite brother, Dream. He is hope, the one who gives the humans courage to stand up for themselves and make do with their lives. Soon, humans wanted more and in succession, the rest of your siblings were born: Destruction, Desire, Despair, and sweet Delight soon to be Delierum. 

While every Endless was busy tending to their own realms and their own duties, you were born. Endless in name but not in power. You were the runt of the family, with no realm to call your own, and no responsibilities of your own. Yet here you stood amongst the humans that soon called you Defiance, the human spirit, the resilience to continue despite all odds. 

You’re sure your siblings knew of you, certainly enough to be invited to family dinner once every 100 years. Yet you could never shake the feeling of inadequacy when you were sat at the far end, only to be over-talked by everyone. They were discussing important matters, after all, nothing that you had to concern yourself with. 

You only find solace in Dream, where no matter how difficult the days get, you may always find a home in his realm. While he is adamant about letting you stay in the castle, you find it more comfortable to live in a cottage at the edge of the realm where the forest meets with the vast unknown and you grow vegetables from the soil you tow. It also allows you to escape to the waking world without Dream knowing.

You love humans, their lives fascinate you to no end. They know of you, just as they know of all of your Endless siblings, but sometimes it just takes a little more for them to realize. You would never push them to admit to your existence and somewhere along the millions of years of existence, you have given up trying to be the center of attention. 

To understand humans is to live like them, talk like them, and love like them. Unfortunately, humans are more than that and often succumb to feelings of anger, depression, righteousness, and violence. You try not to associate yourself with those emotions, but it’s innate. 

It’s been a few weeks since you stepped foot in Dream’s castle, and who could blame you? The village in which you reside is much more fun than the dreary castle your brother tends to enjoy more. The thick castle wall blocks out the sunlight, it’s filled with dust and smells of wet stones and old books. Not to mention, when Dream was busy, there was no one to talk to. Lucienne was always busy, picking up after her King, and you don’t even want to get started on Mervin. 

He’s only nice to you cause you gave him his pumpkin head when his original turnip head started going out of style. Otherwise, it’s cigar smoke being blown into your face and sassy remarks. 

You’re out in the market square when you feel the presence of your Endless Sibling. You turn from the flower vendor with a big smile and wave at Dream as he makes his way towards you. The dreams that he created step to the side in the presence of their sovereign.

“Brother!” You exclaim when he gets close enough for you, wrapping one of your arms around his while the woven basket hangs in the other. 

The basket was filled with a few apples and a fresh loaf of bread. You were just about to buy a few glass snowdrop flowers before you were pleasantly surprised by Dream. 

“How do you do this afternoon, dear sister?” He speaks, leaning into your face to tease you. 

You giggle at him as the two of you walk the main road, passing dreams and nightmares alike, a few waving at you in greeting that you return.

“I’m doing great. I was thinking of going to the waking world later today and spending some time with Death, actually.” You respond, your arm leaves Dream’s as a different vendor catches your eyes. They were selling acrylic paints in colors that you haven’t seen since half a century ago. 

“Here, hold this,” You say as you hand off your basket to Dream. He does as he’s told and holds the basket, the white paint offputting to his otherwise completely black outfit. 

You grab a few jars of paint and can already think of the wonderful things to draw when you get back into your cottage. There was a specific lake nearby that you haven’t been able to do justice to, but you think you finally can with the new color. 

A brief conversation of exchange happens between you and the vendor before you turn around. You burst out laughing at the sight before you. Dream stood in the middle of the road where you had first told him to hold your basket and hadn’t moved an inch. His shoulders were stiff and taught as he held your basket as far away from his body as possible. 

“It’s not going to bite you, you know!” You practically cackle at him. Your giggles follow you as you carefully place the jars of paint into your basket. You think that you will paint some flowers and ivy onto your basket later tonight. 

You go to take the basket back from him but he’s quick to move it away from your grabby hands. 

“You specified that I should hold it, so hold it I shall,” He says and holds the basket higher, just out of your reach, when you go to grab at it again. 

You huff at his rather stubborn behavior, but he’s been like this since the beginning. He always looks after you and takes care of you. You’re always grateful for it, but you can carry your own basket. You resolve the conversation with a roll of your eyes but the smile on your face stays in place when you turn your back to him. 

Dream walks you home, basket now significantly heavier and full of things you didn’t really need. Well, except maybe the paint, it’s good to splurge every once in a while. Your cottage is basked in a warm light as the Dreaming’s sun slowly disappears beyond the horizon to rise in another universe. The pie you had baked this morning had long since cooled and you brought it inside with a hum, your brother still following you. 

He set the basket on the simple kitchen table before taking a seat and watching you slice up the pie with a smile. You set the pastry down in front of him and another plate for yourself. The savory apple flavoring takes over the senses when you take the first delicious bite. 

“I would like you to come back to the castle soon,” Your brother says as you take another bite. 

“Whatever for?” You question, a little bit of apple filling falling out of your mouth. “The cottage is my home.”

Dream sighs but answers anyway. “I will be gone for a moment, I need to take care of a rouge nightmare,  and would like you to be cared for while I am away from the Dreaming.”

“How long will you be gone for you to want me to live in that dreadful place?” You make a face as you think about the boring days ahead of you. Well, maybe you can escape to the castle garden if Mervin isn’t paying attention. 

“I cannot tell you for I do not know.” 

You purse your lips as you think about his request. “Fine,” You groan. 

“Best not see Sister Death today.” When you don’t bother with a response he speaks against “Farwell, sister. I will be back soon,” He promises you before standing. You didn’t get the chance to follow him to the door before he leaves, his apple pie still untouched. 

“Ugh, how wasteful.” You joke to yourself. 

You spend the rest of your evening painting your basket as you had wanted before packing up a few items for the castle. Your basket was a gift from your brother and had an infinite amount of storage. So you managed to shove an extensive amount of your wardrobe, the paints, and some of the freshly baked pastries into the small wooden thing. You set off when the moon was high in the sky and the stars came down from their afternoon nap and danced in the village square. 

Their stardust shoes clink like pure jade against the cobblestone road, illuminating the otherwise quiet and sleeping town. A few wave  at you, shimmering particles following their movements before they return to their waltz. You wave back to them before continuing on your journey, mindful of where you stepped. 

When stars come down to the Dreaming they become transparent and more gaseous than solid but that doesn’t stop them from burning hot. And unless you wanted to recounter that one time you stepped through one and started sneezing and coughing stardust for the next 10 years, you’ll keep your distance - only allowing for their natural light to guide your way out of the village and towards the castle. 

By the time you reach the castle, Dream is nowhere to be found and you assume he went out to do what he mentioned earlier that day. Your room was set up for you,  Dream obviously had some palace staff tidy up the room as you took a look around the clean environment. Otherwise, everything was in the same place you had left it since the last time you were at the castle. You yawn as you set your basket down by the door. First a good night’s rest, then you can go to the waking world to do your own things. 

You sneak out of the castle a few minutes before dawn, the soft bed and good night’s rest giving you the energy you need to do so. You grimace when the door creaks loudly as you slowly open it, smelling the early morning dew on the grass and the warming dawn wind. 

“Where are you headed, my dear?” A voice stops you in your tracks. You suck your lips into your mouth as you soon recognize the voice. 

“Good morning, Lucienne,” You greet curtly, holding, or rather, hiding, your basket behind your black skirt. 

Lucienne gives you a pointed look. “Yes, good morning.” 

You give her a smile before stepping back out the door, only to be stopped when she purposefully clears her throat. 

“The question?” She presses.

You feign innocence and bat your eyelashes, not that it would work. “What question?”

“Lady Defiance, my Lord specifically states that I keep my eyes on you.” Lucienne holds her hands behind her back as she takes her stance. 

“By all means, keep your eyes - hey what’s that?!” You gawk as you point behind Lucienne. 

Lucienne snaps her head around to look at what you were so surprised by. She doesn’t see or sense anything when she does. It’s about two seconds of her searching before she realizes that she has been duped. When she turns around the door is swinging shut and you are nowhere to be seen. She slams the door open and only sees the last of your figure disappearing on the horizon.

You’re still giggling to yourself about pulling off that little trick when you reach the ocean of the Dreaming. The little wooden dock creaks under your weight as you skip across it. Having done this traveling before, you jump right in with a squeal, holding your nose close so you don’t get any water in. 

The water pushes and pulls but you don’t fight the current knowing that it will take you where you wanted to go. When you emerge, you cough once and the water falls off your body, leaving you dry in cloudy 1916 England. You wrap your blazer closer to your body as the wind picks up and leave the alleyway. The familiar smell of roasted peanuts from street vendors and car fumes tickles your nose when you turn the corner to walk into the hospital. 

“Hi, I’m here to visit Genny, uh, Geniveve, Geniveve Colemen,” You correct yourself to the receptionist. The woman nods and looks down at her computer. 

“She’s in the same room, 443. Here’s your visitor’s pass.” She hands you a laminated badge on a lanyard. 

You thank her before wearing the lanyard and going towards the nearest elevator. The elevator smelled of shoe polish and disinfectant spray and it made your nose crinkle. You just hope the smell doesn’t transfer onto your clothes. 

When you reach your destination, you knock on Genny’s door before entering. She wears her hospital gown and was reading a book when she looks up. A smile pasters onto her face when she sees you.

“Y/N!” She drops her book and sits up straighter. 

“Genny!” You exclaim back with the same amount of excitement. You place your basket by her bed before pulling out a fresh vase of flowers and setting it by her bedside table. 

“I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever, what have you been up to?” She asks.

“Yeah, my mother took me to some private tutor to help me study for my tests,” You lie through your teeth as you fluff the flowers to make them look more appealing. 

You tuck your school skirt underneath you when you sit down next to Genny and reach for your basket again. “I brought you some homebaked goods. I know this hospital’s food has got to be horrendous.” 

You bring out the baked loaf of bread you bought the day before and rip off a slice for her. She takes the loaf and inhales the scent. 

“Gosh, Y/N, I don’t know how you make such good baked goods. Your husband will be a lucky one if you stop trying to chase them off.” She giggles and muffles through her full mouth. 

You laugh with her, sparing her the details of your actual life. You bring forth the lie you had carefully planted yourself as instead. A straight-A student that goes to the same school as Genny before she was diagnosed with cancer, how you were her best friend that visited her when you got the chance, how you had gotten onto the school council and despite all of her poking and prodding, she would not get to know what the school formal’s dance theme is going to be unless she went with you tomorrow to the dance. You try not to think about how frail she has gotten since the first time you’ve met her. Her collarbones were poking out and you can see how hard it was for her to take even breaths. 

When she asks you again later in the visit about the school dance you rebuttal quickly. 

“Are you going to come to the dance with me?” You laugh. “Speaking of which, I got you a dress, too!” You go back to your basket, pulling out a formal dress, and setting it in front of Genny. 

“Wow! Look at the bead stitching,” She says, running a delicate finger over the beading and gems then over the lacing. 

“I’ve got a good eye, don’t I?” You sit back down with a smile and a tilt of the head. “It matches my dress, too.”

“What about your own date?”

“Oh, please, I don’t have time for boys!” You giggle again, hiding behind the lie that you don’t actually go to her school. 

“Oh alright, I suppose I must go to the dance with you so you won’t be lonely.” Genny surrenders. 

You smile at her, happy she finally agreed. “You’re a great friend.” 

Genny coughs after your compliment and you’re quick to reach for the water and hand it over to her. When she sits up to drink you go to fluff her pillow. Genny lays back down with a sigh and all of the warmth that was in the room leaves through the window. She looks like she’s aged when she looks at you again, another cough crawling its way past her throat. 

“I’ll leave you to rest,” You say, turning around to grab your things. 

“No,” Genny refuses. “Can you stay for a little bit longer?” She coughs again and holds your hand weakly. “I want to feel like a normal girl for a little while longer.”

“Okay,” You whisper and sit back down, feeling the chill of the hospital around your ankles. 

You watch over her as she falls asleep, the conversation taking the last of her energy. You begin to stare off into space, thinking about your life. You did your best with the gift of immortality, but as you stare at Genny’s tense face, you wish you could do more. Equal as an Endless, more than a human, yet less than a god. Where did you even belong? The question has haunted you since you first saw humanity rise into power. 

Your thoughts leave you when you feel the beating of wings and a flush of wind from the door. Your head snaps and you see your sister standing there in her black tank top and the same combats boots you wore. 

“Sister Death,” You greet with a small smile, previous thoughts disappearing. “What brings you here today?” 

Your sister only smiles at you. Your excitement of seeing your sister again is soon taken over by dread. You look between your sister and your friend and the dots connect. 

“Oh... what? No!” You stand abruptly between your sister and Genny. “No! She still has so much to do in life!” You try to reason with her. 

“You cannot bargain with me, Defiance. You know that,” She says in her soft voice. 

“I don’t care,” Your lips form into a line. “At least let her go to the dance with me?” You try one more time. 

Death sighs with exaggeration. “Fine, but not an hour more.” 

“Thanks…” You’re not entirely sure how you managed to pull that off, unbeknownst to you that your sister has a soft spot for you much like Dream. 

Your sister looks you up and down before she leans on the door. “So how are you doing, then?” 

You look off to the side when you answer. “Fine,” You grumble out. 

She lets out a huff, or perhaps a laugh, you can’t really tell. “Would you like to go on a walk with me?”

It was a tempting offer, after all, you haven’t spent time with your sister in a while. You thought about it for a little while longer. “No,” You end up refusing. 

“Genny asked me to stay a little while longer, so I shall.” You turn away from your sister and sit back down in the uncomfortable hospital chair. You keep your head straight, looking after Genny, and don’t take your eyes off her even when you hear your sister departing. 

When she does, a tremble runs over your body. You feel tears prick at your lashline as you come to terms with the fact that your friend will be dying soon. You did your best to prevent the inevitable, but with no powers of your own, it’s only a waiting game now. 

You leave when visiting hours are over, Genny has yet to wake up from her nap. You leave the rest of the loaf on her bedside table, and a slice of your apple pie. You decide to tidy up the room as quietly as you can and hang her dress on the hook that was nailed to the wall. With one final look at her, you leave, only hoping that your sister doesn’t go back on her word and take her before her allotted time. 

You spend the rest of the evening in the waking world, catching up on new things the humans have done with their time. You end your day on a park bench, illuminated only by a single street lamp. The park was quiet, you’re only accompanied by the sound of crickets and the wind along the trees. You take in a deep breath of fresh air. Oh, how you have missed this. If only it was closer to summer vacation, you would’ve taken Genny to the beach and had some sun time with her. 

When you are done relaxing you go to the pond at the center of the park, the fountain in the middle still squirting out water and creating magnificent shapes and splashes along the surface. You could see the stars' reflection rippling as you peer at the lake over a bridge. The wind blows and you close your eyes to savor the moment. 

“I wouldn’t jump if that’s what you’re thinking,” Someone says next to you. 

You open your eyes and turn to see a man standing next to you, no older than 20. He takes off his hat when you speak. 

“I wasn’t, but thank you,” You reply simply and go back to looking out towards the expanding city. He doesn’t leave your side despite your answer and it gets a bit awkward.

“Are you thinking of jumping? Because I would also not recommend that, sir,” You turn to him again and see him laughing. 

“No,” He says. “I am just here to think.”

“Just like me then. What bothers your mortal mind?” You ask. 

“Many things… I’m afraid I have let my family down.” 

“How so?”

“We came here on a boat from the motherland, nothing to our name but a few pennies. I was supposed to go to college and finally put our family on the map. But I failed and now here I am, talking to a stranger on a bridge in the middle of the night.”

You laugh along with him. You knew of him and saw his dreams a few times when you went out exploring in the Dreaming. He wanted to be a doctor, specifically an athletic injuries doctor but failed out of medical school before he even got the chance. You rack your brain to think of his name, and when it comes to you, you speak. 

“Do not worry, Albert Brocken, I’m sure there are many opportunities that will come alight in the near horizon. Perhaps you should take the entrance exam again, and see where it takes you.” You yawn and you realize that you should probably start heading home. 

“Yeah… maybe I should,” He concludes with a sigh. “I think I might go into somnology,” He says more to himself than you. 

“Somnology sounds fascinating,” You agree. “I must go home now, but best of luck to you!” You walk away, your shoes barely audible on the stone bridge over the gushing fountain. Albert doesn’t look your way when you depart, too focused on his new goal in life. 

You find yourself standing before an old winding cottonwood tree in the same park. It’s been here for years, growing into the magnificent tree it is today. It’s passed by thousands of England residents almost every day, yet none of them are willing to stare at it hard enough to realize that the bark of the tree isn’t real. 

You take one last look around the park to make sure no one else sees you before walking straight into the tree, the danging leaves caressing you like a gentle mother’s touch. The trunk of the tree turns into a curtain of falling sand and you pass through with no problems. When you emerge on the other side, the bright moon of the Dreaming greets you, illuminating and basking you in a soft welcome. When you come back into the castle, Lucienne is on top of you like a hot iron. 

“Thank the Gods you are well,” She panics as she holds your arms. After taking a good overall look at you, she wraps her arms around your body and brings you into a hug. 

“Lucienne?” Your question muffled against her crisp uniform. “What’s going on?”

“Oh, my dear, you hadn’t come back all day. I thought perhaps…” She trails off before she takes a breath. “Lord Morpheus hasn’t returned, and neither had you, so I presumed the worst.”

“Morpheus hasn’t returned?”

“No, but you are here. Tell me, did you see him while you were in the waking world today?” Lucienne holds hope in her eyes and you resent the next word you say.

“No,” Your thoughts trailed off. “Morpheus hasn’t returned?” You ask again.

“I am sure there is nothing to worry about. I may just be overthinking is all.” Lucienne reassures you. 

“Okay…” You don’t completely believe her, somewhere deep inside you you can feel that Morpheus is in danger. As the King of Dreams and Nightmares, a rouge nightmare shouldn’t be anything to be worried about. He should be home by now. 

Your eyes close as soon as your head hits the pillow, but thoughts consume you. After the dance tomorrow night with Genny, you will go searching for your brother. The following day came quickly and you paced back and forth in the castle hall, the formal dress you had on jingling with your movements. Your thoughts were in overdrive, there was Morpheus of course, but you also knew that tonight was going to be Genny’s last day. And knowing that puts a weight on your shoulders. You have to make sure that tonight is going to be the best night of her life. 

When the time came, you went to the waking world feeling dolled up and in an antique car with the roof down. Your hair had enough hairspray to survive a storm from Zeus himself. You pull up to the hospital in a screech, Genny already waiting for you in the lobby. You check your lipstick in the mirror one last time before Genny reaches your car. 

“You know how to drive?!” Genny says with a smile and excitement that you found contagious. 

You resecure the silk scarf that protected your hair from the wind and open a pair of sunglasses to put over your eyes. You look at her over the bridge of your nose, your eyes shining past the sunglasses before stepping on the gas pedal.

“I know how to do many things, sweet Genny!” You shout over the wind, pushing the glasses back to their original position. 

Each time you looked over at Genny, her smile still hadn’t faltered and the last bits of the sun’s rays caught on the embroidery of her dress. Her softness brings a smile to your face and for a moment you forget about your brother. 

You pull into the gravel driveway of the school formal’s destination. You had managed to weasel your way into the school council and they were able to get help from the local people. The theme for this year's dance was “A Magical Night” and a local citizen opened his manor to the students for the night. He called himself a mage, something that you rolled your eyes at as magic has been rare in this world since the faeries left it half a century ago. But you kept that to yourself, if he wanted to play make-believe, then so let him. 

Students were already lining up outside the decorated manor when the two of you arrived. You hand your keys off to a valet and walk towards the door, hand in hand with Genny. Her excitement buzzed through her like a shot of tequila. 

When you cross over the threshold of the manor you are genuinely surprised at the decorations of the place. The ballroom had been cleared out and a live band was playing music for students to dance to. There was a bar on the far end of the ballroom serving drinks and small snacks. A doorman takes your jacket away from you before you grab Genny’s hand and head to the dance floor. 

Many of Genny’s old friends soon recognize her and start to surround you two, the night is still young and the sound of laughter soon fills the air. You and Genny danced the night away until you both were sweaty and out of breath. Your make-up had gone a bit smudged but you didn’t mind. It was nearing midnight when most of the students started to leave and you pulled Genny away for one last surprise. 

Genny started to slow down a bit, the exercise of the dance sapping away her energy. She pulls through though and follows you to a winding staircase that leads to one of the roofs of the manor. The spring air chills you to your bone, but it is well received after the sweat you have built up. You help Genny sit down before you sit down next to her, the shingles of the roof poking through your dress in an uncomfortable way. 

A satisfied sigh leaves your lips when you look out to the vast countryside behind the manor. The stars twinkle as far as the eyes can see and from your advantage point, no trees are blocking the view either. Genny pants beside you as she calms herself down from the climb and leans her head against your shoulder. 

“I am so glad you made me come to this dance,” She whispers as she looks out to the stars. 

“Me too,” You agree, you begin the absentmindedly swing your legs back and forth. Your heels come loose and slip from your feet and both you and Genny laugh at it. 

“Gosh, I hope that didn’t hit anyone,” She continues to laugh as she cautiously peers over the side. 

“Or else they’d have to smell my stinky feet, ewww!” You continue her joke. 

Her laugh turns into a cough and your mood shifts to melancholy. 

A shift in the winds tells you that her time will soon be up. “Genny,” You start. “My sister is going to be here soon.”

“Oh, really? I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“Yes, I have a huge family actually.”

“Well, tell me about your sister,” She smiles, head feeling heavier as she puts her full weight on your shoulder. 

“She is really sweet, and a soft, kind-hearted soul. Just like you, I suppose.” You say. 

Genny doesn’t reply and tears prick your eyes. When you turn your head you see Genny standing up with a smile, yet her body still remains on your shoulder. Behind her stands your sister, a reassuring smile and a gentle hand rest around Genny in a side hug. 

“Your sister says that she’ll take great care of me,” She starts and looks at Death with a solemn smile. “Will she?” 

“Yeah, she’s one of the best…” Your voice dips into a murmur as you feel your lips tremble. 

Your answer is enough for her and she turns to leave. She seems to have remembered something as she turns back around and wraps her hands around your shoulders, her ghostly figure slightly falling through your physical form. 

“I’ll see you again, right?” Genny asks, hope lines her figure and you can’t bear to see it fade. 

“Yes,” You lie through your teeth. “Good-bye.” 

She turns to leave with your sister, blissfully unaware of your last farewell. The sound of Death’s beating wings was the last thing you heard before it was just the barren countryside again. Genny’s body grows cold by your side as you pet her hair for the last time. 

The manor staff came soon when you faked a scream and soon ambulances came and went with her body. You’re left in the aftermath of a romantic dream of confection and ribbons alone in the middle of the dance floor feeling numb. 

“Hey, lady, if you’re going to stand here moping you can at least help out,” A staff member calls out and you snap out of your thoughts. 

He hands you a few foldable chairs and tells you to put them up. You nodded along, not really having much else to do. You meander through the halls when you realize that he didn’t tell you where to put the chairs. It’s when you find yourself at a set of stairs that lead down towards the basement. And to you, it made all logical sense for humans to store their things in the basement. 

You open the heavy double doors and descend further into the musky basement. Candles were lit on the stairs and its melted wax coats the edges as it lightens the path. When you get to the bottom, you’re greeted by the host of the party that you met earlier in the night. 

“What are you doing here, girl!” He scolds. 

You hold up the chairs, unaware of his tone. “Hi, Mr. Burgess. I’m helping with clearing up after the dan…” Your final word trails off as your eyes wander past his figure. 

Behind him sits your brother and your jaw drops. Mr. Burgess tries to stand between you and him when he notices that your attention is no longer on him. Dream stands fully in his glass prison and you would have made fun of the fact that he was fully rocking out in his birthday suit if not for the situation at hand. 

“Oh, what the fuck,” You whisper, dropping the chairs.

You breeze past Mr. Burgess and stand before Morpheus. Golden runes that surround his prison stop you short as if there was some sort of invisible force field. Your head whips around and faces your host again. He stands tall as he stares back. 

“Why do you have my brother in a-a… fucking FISH BOWL!” Your words stumble out at the utter audacity of the situation, your hands moving around expressively. 

Realization dawns on him and you realize that you made a mistake. “So, you are one of his family. That man warned me about your kind. Which one are you.” He seethes as he walks towards you. 

“You face Defiance of the Endless,” You spit back at him.

You were in no mood to play, first, your friend dies in your arms and then you learn that Lucienne’s suspicions were right and that something did happen to your brother. This whole time he had been here under your feet while you were having fun. His clothes, tools, and dignity stripped from him as you drank enough sparkling cocktails to make Dionysus jealous. 

The man scoffs at you and spits at your feet. “Oh please, and I thought that it was going to be hard. I’ve heard of you, little girl. They told me that you are nothing, a nobody. You have no realm, no powers, you are barely a god.”

You stay silent as he speaks, rage flushes through your body and your muscles tremble. His words rang true, but here you shall stand for your brother. He advances on you and you find that you have nowhere to go. A sharp pain burns across your cheek as his pierced cane comes into contact with your skin. 

Your body follows the force as it throws you off balance. Your head cracks against the stone floor of the basement and a gasp leaves you. Your vision blurs from the hit and you feel warm blood sliding down your cheek like an unshed tear. In the distance of your mind, you hear Dream slamming his fist against his glass prison. You stand again, determined to not be bested by a mere mortal. 

His cane comes down again like a whip, hitting your shins and then once again on the back of your knees. The blow forces you to kneel before him, and your cries of pain echo in your head. The coarse floor scratches at your palm but you keep your breath as even as you can. 

“Is that all you got?” You sneer as you look up at him through your eyelashes. 

His foot comes towards your face and you squeeze your eyes shut right before the impact follows. Your body tumbles further away from Dream, but his slamming continues. You feel the wall behind you, its surface cooling down your heating body. 

“Stop, I command you to stop!” Morpheus shouts, command muffled.

“Dream of the Endless commands you to stop,” You repeat your brother's words. You use the wall to brace yourself to stand on wobbling legs.

Iron fills your mouth and you spit it out back at Burgess’ feet, much like he did to you before. You grin when you see him grimace at the act. You wipe your mouth clean with the back of your hand, very unladylike, but between the three of you, who is going to judge? 

A backhanded slap snaps your head to the side and another painful scream follows. 

“Stop! Cease yourself or face my wrath!” Dream continues to scream as your vision blurs again. 

“No, I can take it,” Your voice is coarse but the message is heard loud and clear. 

“Oh, you can take it, hmm?” Burgess taunts and his cane jabs into your abdomen. 

You feel like you couldn’t breathe, that no matter how much your mouth gaped open, oxygen didn’t fill in your lungs as you needed it to. 

“I can take it,” You wheeze out again, another hit forces you back down and this time you don’t have the strength to get up again. 

“I suppose one step higher than capturing an Endless is to kill one,” Burgess laughs on top of you. His heavy body straddles you and you feel his hands wrap around your neck. 

Black dots swarm your vision like the expanding universe. Your nails claw at his hands, drawing blood, as your body tries its best to fight back. Burgess picks you up by the neck and slams your back down, stars waltz behind your eyelids and a brief vision of home comforts you. A ragged breath crawls through your throat before another slam into the ground silences you. Despite your efforts, your hands grow limp and you feel your body start to break down. It flakes away like spring cherry blossom petals as you take your last breath. 

“No!” Dream’s scream is the last thing you hear. 

Your consciousness fades to black and it is quiet for once. It’s odd to think that an immortal being can die, but it’s true. The only thing that differentiates it is that you could be reborn. Immortality is a fickle thing. 

When you come back into consciousness, you can feel the Dreaming heal your soul. It wraps its warmth around you like a soft blanket and you finally feel safe enough to stop everything that ran through your mind. When you stretch out your limbs you realize that you weren’t in your human form anymore. 

Your perception spans further and you can see new angles you haven’t seen before through your eyes. You wiggle your toes, or what you thought were your toes and feel soft and fertilizing soil below you. When you look down you notice that your legs have turned into the soft bark of a willow tree. Your arms shake and the reaching leaves of the tree shake from the action. You sigh and your bark groans and creeks under your deflation. 

You soon become a welcomed resident in Fiddler’s Green, providing shade for the decreasing amount of dreamers that come to visit you. As the years pass, the Dreaming starts to die around you as Morpheus stays entrapped under the Burgess Manor. You stay as a tree, unable to move and help. Guilt eats you alive, leaving your core to rot from the inside out. 

Lucienne comes to visit now and then, but as the castle starts to fall apart, she can’t find the time to come by anymore. Your days grow lonelier as Fiddler’s Green decides to leave the Dreaming as well. You stand on dry soil in a barren wasteland. Your inaction keeping you hostage like a ladybug in a spiderweb. The more you struggled, the harder you found it to keep your human consciousness. 

So, you did the most human you could think of: you cried. Fitting, you thought to yourself, a weeping willow, well, weeping. Your tears came to fruition in the form of vibrant yellow blossoming flowers against the beige and cracking surroundings. 

You stayed like that for the next 106 years. Your roots had grown so long that you could feel each corner of the dreaming, searching high and low for water to drink from. Soon, even that would run out. Another tear runs down your bark, your trunk growing deep grooves where the previous century of tears had carved. Despite all odds, your leaves were still vibrant and your flowers would change colors based on your mood. A trick that took you a few decades to learn. 

The moon rises higher and higher over the horizon. You follow its path, counting the fragments to keep your mind from boredom. It split in half 15 years after Dream’s capture and every five years or so, another fragment separates from the moon. You counted 18 fragments this time around, the same as the day before, and the week before that. You yawn, the bark shaking as you do so and close your eyes to rest.

You wake to a soft hand on your bark just as dawn cracks. Your leaves shake in surprise as someone touches you. It takes a moment to reorientate yourself and when you look down from your height your breath hitches. 

“Sister?” Dream calls out, his hand still on your bark. 

Relief floods your system just as a soft breeze runs its fingers through your thin leaves. Your catkin flowers caress his skin when he smiles at you. Just as fast as relief has found you, guilt consumes you again. Morpheus has escaped, it had taken him 106 years and all you have done is stand here and do nothing. Your branches groan again, more flowers blooming in its wake as you weep again, and the individual petals turn a deep blue color. 

Dream grabs one of your leaves gently as it tries to recede from his touch. “Y/N,” He calls out carefully. “I do not blame you for what happened 106 years ago.”

“I am touched by your sacrifice.” He pauses as he picks his next words carefully. “You were the only one who came to my side when I needed it.” 

You still stay quiet but your petals slowly start to return to their yellow colors. Morpheus takes this as a good sign and continues. 

“I love you, dear sister, I wish for you to never doubt that. If only I could give you a hug for all that you had done for me,” He prods and extends both of his hands outwards. 

You purse your non-existent lips in thought, a very tempting offer. Why not try one more time, to be by your brother’s side? Your bark groans again and you concentrate. You try to remember the details of your human body. How did your hair look? How did you hold yourself? Did you have a mole on this side of your face? 

Your leaves and branches start to shake and shrink in on themselves the more you think. You call in your roots and start to wiggle your toes. You think of your fingers and how they had done so much for you: the paintings you made, the pastries you baked. One last tear escapes down your raw skin and when you open your eyes again, you are looking at Dream through new eyes. 

Morpheus comes into your space and wraps his steadying arms around you. You sob into his jacket until it becomes uncomfortable. Your throat is raw when you’re finally reduced to hiccups. Through it all, Dream is holding onto you, gently caressing your hair the way you have liked since you were born. 

“I like this new hair of yours,” He comments as he pulls at a few strands of your hair. It’s longer this time around and kept the same emotional properties your flowers had. It changes from blue to green as your mood shifts. 

“Great, now I can’t hide my emotions anymore.” You mutter weakly to yourself as it changes to red at your slight annoyance. 

Dream chuckles above you and gives you one final tight squeeze. 

“Welcome home, sister,” He whispers. You take a deep breath, letting it fill your lungs thoroughly. 

“Yes, I am home.” 

I did a surprising amount of research for this fic. Apparently, the first woman to attain a driver's license was like in 1900 so that's why Genny was so surprised you could drive. Also, I would not recommend driving in a 1916 vehicle? Looks like it could explode at any minute.

This was a request! And requests are open, just go to my page and hit that button to submit one.

If you do submit a request, it may take me a bit to get to them just because of the nature of it and my classes are starting to get ready for finals. (Your girl is graduating this semester woohoo!)

I will see you in the next fic!

♡ Yours, Layla

[uvobreakmylegs]

Burst

the fic I wrote for @hypnoswrites's birthday this year, who asked for a fic with Razor💜💜💜

demon!Razor x reader

Warnings: mentions of execution, mentions of torture, blood, death, gore

Word Count: 7.5k

The thin, sharp point of the sewing needle pierced through the soft cloth effortlessly, the thread attached to the end gliding through the small in the fabric until it snagged to a stop, unable to go any further once it had run out. Adjusting your grip on the cloth, the process was then repeated as you pushed the needle back into the fabric to complete the stitch, the thread gliding through once more. And so it went, stitch after stitch while a sleeve slowly began to form in your hands, the long bit of fabric becoming more recognizable as such when your thread pulled the pieces together in a tight seam.

The art of creating should be one that was satisfying. To take a lifeless piece of fabric and give it shape, give it a form that made it useful should be something that would make the creator proud. Not only that they had the skills to create clothing, but to also see the satisfaction of those who wore it once it was complete. The pay was well, yes, but to see someone happy with the work you had created was an added bonus. To see the happy smiles while they twirled around in your clothing, posing in front of the mirror and offering you words of praise. It was nice to know they appreciated your work, and with that, knowing that you offered something of value. While there would always be difficult and ungrateful customers, the ones that you had made happy were what drove you forward.

There was no satisfaction to be had in your work now.

You felt a bead of sweat beginning to run down your forehead, and you lifted up your arm to wipe it away, staying on constant alert so as to not allow anything to stain the fabric you now held as any imperfection would not be tolerated.

Time was growing short.

Day would come soon, and with it, your execution.

You shuddered as you continued to sew, trying to hurry as you continued to sew up the sleeve that lay in your lap. Sitting on the floor of a cold room at the top of a foreboding tower, there was fabric strewn all over the small area, both cut and uncut, all assembled into particular piles so you wouldn't need to go searching for them once you got to the other dresses.

'Other dresses'.

You bit your lip in frustration, knowing there was no way you'd even get that far.

Hours of work since you had been thrown in here, and there wasn't much to show for it: a bodice with one sleeve attached, another sleeve that was only half-finished and the beginnings of a skirt. Outside of the dress you were working on, the six others only existed as cut up pieces and were in no way presentable. And even with what you did have complete, it didn't account for the detail that the dresses were meant to have. Nor for the fact that you were meant to complete seven immaculate dresses before that door was opened again.

Seven gowns for the lordship's wife and their six daughters, to be made in the finest silks, embroidered and adorned with jewelry, all of which had been stuffed into the space you currently occupied. That was the feat that would save your life.

You knew that it was impossible.

No matter what skill you had when it came to your craft, there was no way for you to be able to complete seven gowns of high quality in the span of a single night. But you thought that perhaps if you were to make at least one of good quality, the lady and her daughters would be entranced enough that they would beg for the lord to spare your life so you could complete the rest. At least for a week. That would be all you needed to complete those gowns to their satisfaction, you were sure of it.

If you were granted that mercy, you could then use the time you had in finishing the other six gowns to earn the favor of those seven women and convince them to let you go free, and in that way, you could avoid the agonizing death of being tied up while the flames burned in a pyre beneath your feet.

But that wouldn't happen if you couldn't complete even one of them. If, when the tower door was opened again, they saw that it was only partially complete, you would be hauled off to the town square and set alight for everyone to see and gawk at.

No, that wouldn't be what happened first.

You had heard of what happened to others who had been accused of witchcraft: they were tortured for hours before their executions, regardless of whether they denied the accusation or not. And when they were brought before the public, they were paraded around so they could be abused further by way of the crowd throwing stones, mud and whatever else was on hand and easy to throw. Only then would the execution begin, a slow, painful process that began with heavy smoke that filled up your lungs and ended by being engulfed in flames.

The thought of all of that terrified you, and as you heard the bells of the church ring out the time of one o'clock in the morning, you were spurred to go faster. As fast as you were able to without your work coming out shoddy, at least.

There was some relief that hit you once the second sleeve was finished and you were able to begin stitching it onto the bodice. Once that part was fully finished, you would be able to continue your work on the skirt, and upon the completion of that, you could add in the details that would entrance the women who held your fate in their hands. Hopefully enough so that your failure to produce seven gowns would be forgiven.

It would be forgiven, you assured yourself. As long as you could complete the one, you could save yourself.

So you continued to toil away as the hour grew later and later.

When the second sleeve was firmly attached to the bodice, you were able to turn your attention to the skirt, continuing where you had left off earlier. Once the skirt was finished and attached to the rest, you would need to add in the detailing, you reminded yourself. The embroidery for the accents, as well as the jewels that were expected to complete the gown. All of that detailed work required time and couldn't be rushed.

Was completing even one possible?

You bit your lip again.

It would be fine, you told yourself. You could do this much.

You continued.

Once the skirt was finished and you began to attach it to the bodice, you heard the church bells ring out twice.

Two in the morning.

Dawn would come at six.

It would be fine. After the skirt was attached, you could spend the remaining four hours adding in the details. That was enough time to make the gown a thing of beauty.

You'd never done it in such a short amount of time but you could do it, you told yourself.

At the risk of your life being lost, you could do anything.

You continued stitching fast while doing your best to keep them from being sloppy, and while you did so, you glanced over to the multitude of threads and jewels that had been placed in here alongside the fabric, going over in your head which ones you would use and what design would work best with this particular gown. While you had time, you wished to get this part of the work done with so you could get to those important details. So you sped up just a little bit more.

Your haste was your undoing.

You stabbed your finger with the needle.

Crying out, you dropped the gown while you pulled your hand away, bringing it up to your face to inspect the damage. Already there was blood dripping down your finger, more than you would've expected. And before you could think to pull your hand away further, a single drop of the red liquid fell from your hand and down onto the gown on your lap.

No no no no no no no-!

The blood droplet landed right in the middle of the sleeve, spreading out as it soaked into the fabric. You jumped to your feet, holding the gown with one hand while you looked for something to use to wash the blood out. It was still salvageable.

Except you only realized now that they hadn't given you any food or water when they locked you in here, and you were so focused on completing your task that it hadn't crossed your mind before.

There was nothing you could do.

No, there needed to be something-!

In a move of panic, you rushed forward as you looked for anything, anything that could save the sleeve.

Your state of panic was so great that you didn't notice when the edge of the gown came far too close to a nearby candle. Only when you heard the fabric igniting followed by the unmistakable smell of smoke did you realize the awful blunder.

You could go up in flames before the morning even came.

The next moments were spent frantically as you beat the flames out of the gown with both hands. The fire was determined to spread quickly and the flames were hot against the aching skin of your palms, but the fire ultimately was put out as quickly as it had started. But that meant very little to you in that moment.

You held up the bottom of the dress, falling to your knees once you saw the extent of the damage. There was no salvaging the skirt; the flames had traveled too far, leaving the fabric burnt and curled on the edges. And what hadn't been affected by the flames had managed to get your blood on it, complementing the sleeve which now had a large red blot marring the center of it. You would need to replace both of them completely.

Hours worth of work now meant nothing, and you would need to start over if you wanted a chance of keeping your life. You let out a shaky breath as you went over in your head all that would need to be redone. Only the bodice and second sleeve were usable. You were back to only having a bodice and a sleeve done, and you would need to redo the other parts. That would take time.

Outside, you heard the church bells ring out three times.

Three in the morning.

Three hours until dawn. Only three hours.

You were doomed.

In that moment, you fell into despair.

You were reduced to a sobbing mess in the middle of that room, realizing that your bid to save yourself had failed. It was too late now to start over. You wouldn't be able to get even that single dress done, and when they opened that door to find you in the middle of your half-finished project that was partially burnt, you would burn as well.

The lord had also told you that if you didn't produce the dresses, the punishment you would receive would be harsher than it would have originally, as he had no desire for you to waste either his time or that of his wife and daughters. All of them would be angry.

The horrors of torture would be worse. The pain would be worse. All of it would be worse.

And with you still trapped in that room with no way of getting past that locked door on your own, you found yourself begging for someone to help you. For someone to appear and take you away from this awful place, to save you from that horrific fate.

Please, you thought to yourself while you cried, clutching the ruined dress up to your face while the blood from your injured finger had finally staunched.

Please let someone save me from this.

I'll do anything

That heroic character who saw the truth of the situation and keep you from harm refused to appear, and you stayed where you were, unable to cease your tears at the hopelessness of everything. You were barely able to note when you heard the rain from the outside begin to hit the roof above you, starting out as a drizzle before becoming stronger, pattering against the tile of the roof.

But after a few moments, you noticed the next change faster: inexplicably, the room became cold. All of the heat that had built up from the many candles was gone, and you were suddenly shivering against the stone floor, your clothes and the fabric beneath you offering little protection.

Immediately recognizing that as strange, you pulled your head back up, wiping away a few stray tears as you looked about, uncertain as to what could have caused the change in temperature to be so drastic.

“Am I right in assuming that the pyre outside is meant for you?”

The male voice that spoke into your ear had you screeching as you scurried forward, crawling away on all fours before you reached the wall and turned to see who had managed to sneak up on you.

It turned out to be a man, one who was currently crouching down next to where you had been sitting moments before. A guard? Given his size and his build, he certainly could have been. But no. Based on the slightly tattered clothing he wore, he didn't look like one of them. At the moment it seemed more likely that the purple-haired man sitting before you was a prisoner like yourself. But he hadn't been in here before. You'd been alone for hours now.

You glanced to the door, expecting to see it open. Yet it was still shut tight, and you got the feeling that if you were to try again to push it open, you would be met with a solid resistance, the wood that made up the door far stronger than yourself.

How had he entered without you noticing?

Your attention was brought back to the man when he spoke to you again, a friendly smile on his face as he asked “well? Am I right?”

Despite your confusion as to how he had suddenly appeared, you decided it would be best to answer the man seeing that you were locked in a room with him. So after staying quiet for a few moments, you nodded.

He hummed.

“You must be accused of something awful, then. People aren't burned for just anything,” the man said, settling down on the floor in a seated position.

Instead of elaborating on why you were to be executed, you asked “who are you? How did you get in? Why are you here?”

He didn't give you the courtesy of an answer to any of your questions; instead he chuckled at you. It certainly felt as though he was amused by your frantic state, and that only had you feeling worse about him.

“Why are you here?!” you repeated.

He motioned for you to shush.

“You should keep your voice down,” he told you, “that guard outside is asleep for now, but that might not be the case for long if you keep going like that.”

There was sense in his words, and you quickly glanced back over to the door, worried at the possibility of any movement behind it. Both you and the mystery man would be in trouble should he be discovered in here with you, and no doubt he would suffer for attempting to help you escape.

…. Was that even what he was here to do?

You looked back to the man, uncertain of what to make of him.

You still couldn't fathom how he had gotten in without either you or the guard outside noticing, and you were at a loss as to why he was here at all. But he was right that you should keep your voice down.

Sensing that you were in a calmer state, he spoke again.

“To start with your first question, my name is Razor,” he said, adding “I don't think the answer to your second question is as interesting as you might expect.”

Razor settled himself further, leaning against the wall as he continued with “as for the third, I'm only here because you called for me.”

Called for….?

You realized what he was speaking of. The desperate plea of yours that was going through your head moments ago. Had you been speaking out loud when you said that? How could he have even heard that?

“You heard that?” you asked.

“Barely,” he answered, “you were lucky. You happened to ask at the right time and I happened to be around.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you wondered what the time had to do with anything.

Razor continued before you had the chance to ask, saying “now that I've answered those questions of yours, how about you answer mine?”

“… On if the pyre is meant for me?”

“What else?”

You looked down to the floor, your eyes ending up on the burnt and bloody gown that sat between the two of you as you quietly nodded.

“Yes, it's for me.”

“And why is that?” he asked.

“I've been accused of witchcraft.”

He didn't seem all that surprised by your answer. His eyes went to the gown as well before they examined the rest of the materials in the room. At the sight of him glancing around, you noted something: Razor's eyes were unusually dark. No, not just dark. The irises were pitch-black.

Was Razor even human?

The thought was unexpected but the explanation made sense of certain things if true. Such as how he had appeared out of nowhere, or how he could have heard that desperate plea for help – that when you thought about it more, you were certain you hadn't said that aloud. Though the fear from earlier settled into you once more at this realization. How could you be sure that Razor was benevolent?

Spirits and fae were spoken of in whispers and tall tales, and usually done so with no small amount of fear. It was well known that most otherworldly beings didn't care much for the likes of humans, and most stayed away from the places humans had settled into, keeping to their places in nature that humans couldn't get to. And when an unlucky human did come across the path of one of those beings, the story would usually end in tragedy, with that person disappearing completely or their brutalized remains being discovered some time later.

If you disappeared right now no one would care

The depressing thought that came through was unhelpful and you told yourself to stop.

Then came Razor's next question.

“Why were you accused?”

You sat up more, trying to adjust your posture. He didn't comment on it, but you were worried you might have offended him with the way you ran from him earlier.

“A ship sank during a storm,” you told him.

At that, Razor actually seemed puzzled as he asked “a sunken ship? That's what this is about? Surely the people here would be aware that such things are common. What did the survivors say?”

You lowered your head as you said “there were no survivors.”

“None?”

You shook your head.

“There were witnesses who said they saw the crew trying to swim to shore, but that all eventually vanished beneath the water. Some claimed that they saw white hands pulling them under. The accounts of those witnesses led everyone to believe that the sinking was the work of something evil, and then one of the village women came forward to say she saw me orchestrating the whole thing on a hill near the bay.”

“So you're here because you were careless.”

“No!”

You leaned forward on your hands as you exclaimed “I had nothing to do with any of that! I was just as horrified at what happened as anyone else! My only crime was that I watched the ship as it sank. I had no power at all in that situation!”

It was after your outburst that you remembered to keep your voice down, and you slapped a hand over your mouth as you once again looked to the door.

Mercifully, nothing came from it.

“I'm sorry,” you said a moment later.

Luckily for you, he nodded as he said “it's alright. It's quite understandable why you would react that way, given what you're facing.”

How odd that you felt a tiny bit better just from hearing that. It did nothing to change what you were going through, but just that little bit of empathy gave you a small peace of comfort. The words he said next did as well.

“For what it's worth, I believe you,” Razor said.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” you answered.

“I take it no one else did?”

You shook your head, saying “I only arrived a fortnight ago in search of work. No one here knows me.”

“So you were selected because you were the outsider.”

You nodded.

“Well, that explains what I saw outside,” Razor began. Then he looked about the room as he continued with “but I would like to know what exactly is going on with all of this.”

You sighed.

“A last-ditch effort to save myself,” you answered sadly, explaining as you said “the lord of the castle gave me one night before the execution after I told him I would make his wife and daughters fine gowns in exchange for my freedom.”

“How many?”

“Seven.”

“You set yourself up for failure,” Razor said bluntly.

“I knew that I could never make seven in one night,” you told him, “but I thought that if I could make at least one, they would allow me more time to make the rest, and from there I might secure my freedom.”

Razor said nothing before he looked down at the burnt and bloody dress that lay before him. In particular, he seemed focused on the smears of blood that had marred the fabric, and when he looked back up to you, his gaze went to the finger you had accidentally stabbed with the needle.

“Clearly, that plan failed,” he said.

You hung your head low as you admitted “it probably wasn't going to work at all. Even if I finished that one, it likely wouldn't be acceptable. All of this was just a desperate effort to push off the inevitable for as long as I could.”

Glancing back up at him, you then asked “unless you have some way for all of them to be done by the morning.

Razor gave you a flat look as he said “do I look like I know anything about making dresses?”

“…. I suppose not.”

The cold was beginning to bother you more now, and you wrapped your arms around yourself in an effort to retain some heat. You noted that the rain was coming down harder now, the water striking the roof with more force than the simple drizzle from before. Maybe that would push off your execution, you idly thought. If the wood was too wet to set alight, you might live longer than you anticipated. Though it would likely do nothing to save you from the torture. If anything, it would prolong it. You shuddered.

Razor was quiet, his gaze on you while he seemingly evaluated you.

He came to you because he had heard your cry for help, didn't he? Did he intend to help you, or was he only here to witness your misery up close?

You wouldn't know until you asked.

“I know you said how you got in wouldn't be interesting to me,” you began, “but… Would it be possible for you to take me out the way you got in?”

“No.”

The blunt answer was unexpected, and you looked back up as you blinked in surprise.

“Oh.”

Your voice was shaky now, and you were barely able to breathe out the words “why did you come here, then?”

“I was curious,” he answered.

…. Curious.

That was all. He saw the scene outside in the nearby village and wanted to know what that was all about. Now he knew, and he likely wouldn't stay around for much longer. And unless the rain delayed the execution, by noon tomorrow you would be sent up to the sky in a plume of darkened smoke.

Your fate was sealed.

With that realization, your spirit broke for the second time that night and you began to sob, overcome with grief while you curled into yourself with your head in your hands, tears obscuring your vision. The rain outside was beginning to come down harder, and in one spot of the room, a bit of the water was beginning to drip onto the pile of fabrics, but you were too distraught to notice.

“Why are you crying?”

Razor sounded genuinely confused when he asked that a moment later.

After a few moments of trying to compose yourself, you shakily answered “I-I'm really go-going to die tomorrow.”

“Why are you so certain of that?”

“Because you can't help me,” you answered just as your mind began going wild with many terrible thoughts.

You'll be cut up and stuck like a pig. Burning coals placed in and against you. Whipped until the skin of your back was raw and bloody. Placed inside horrific devices that would make you yearn for death.

The fire will be a mercy

Razor hadn't said anything, and with the way you held your head in your hands, you were too scared to look up, afraid that when you looked over to him again, you would find that he was gone, no longer interested in your particular set of unfortunate circumstances. Or perhaps he had never been there. Perhaps your mind had broken and you had made up a figure you could talk to, one who was willing to believe your side of the story and offer even the smallest bit of comfort but that the delusion was only able to go so far, only last so long before you realized what your mind was doing.

It was bitterly cold in that tower now, the many candles placed around the room doing nothing to keep you warm.

Then, above the sound of the rain, you heard movement in the room. That of someone climbing to their feet.

You didn't look up.

The footsteps you heard after were muffled by the way they stepped on the ruined gown and the other materials still strewn about the floor, but you heard the way someone came closer to you.

That someone then knelt down in front of you.

…. It sounded real. And you could sense that there was a person sitting in front of you, feel just how close they were to you.

Was Razor real? But if he was, why was he still here?

A large form suddenly overtook yours, and you gasped as two strong arms wrapped around your back and pulled you in close. Your head shot back up in time to see that it was Razor; he was still in here with you, and upon feeling his touch, you found that he wasn't any sort of hallucination. Without a word, he pulled you up from where you were curled against the wall and against his chest.

Razor was holding you.

Outside, the rain began to come down even harder, the sounds of the multitude of droplets descending from the heavens far more audible now on the stone tiles.

“Tell me,” Razor said, “what do you want?”

“… What I want? Why does that matter?” you asked.

“Because I'd like to hear.”

“Why?”

“Just tell me,” he said.

It was strange. Why was he interested in any of this? Why did he care enough about you to ask? What did he get out of it?

…. Who really cared if you were going to die soon?

Taking ahold of his shirt, you leaned your head against his chest as you answered “All I want is for them to not hurt me.”

Razor was quick to ask “and by 'them', you mean the inhabitants of this castle and the village beyond?”

You nodded.

“Say it aloud,” he ordered.

“Say what?”

“Say that you want me to save you from those people.”

“Why?”

“Because that's the only way I can save you.”

“….. You want to save me?”

“I do.”

Razor clutched you tighter as he continued with “so say it. Say that you want to be saved from all those who would wish you harm.”

Was that truly all it would take?

You questioned it in your mind for only a moment, as you were quickly reminded of what would happen once the guard came to collect you. Torture and death. Undignified, humiliating and painful. All before an uncaring crowd who only came to your execution so they could have an outlet for their anger at the previous tragedy or simply for the entertainment of watching you die.

You weren't going to go through that. You refused. You had done nothing wrong and you didn't deserve a fate like that.

“Please, Razor,” you whispered, “save me from all of them.”

The unexpected happened once again when Razor leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead. But you were given no chance to question that as you heard when the rain outside manage to come down even harder.

Then came the sound of thunder, a deep rumbling that shook the very foundations of the tower you sat inside. It almost sounded like the growling of an animal. The winds were picking up as well, whistling past the castle and through the buildings of the village beyond, forcing open the doors and shutters that had not been properly bolted shut. In the distance, you could hear a single voice exclaim in surprise.

A lightning bolt struck.

One that was so close and so bright that you could see the light that came from it beneath the door of your cell. The thunder that accompanied it was even louder than the rumbling before, and you pulled your hands away from Razor's shirt to cover your ears while the entire building shook violently.

Even with the protection over your ears, you heard as the guard outside was startled awake as he fell from his seat, calling out in shock.

More voices called out in the distance, sounding less surprised and more frightened.

And then the hail came.

It started off the same way the rain had, falling innocently upon the roof. The small pellets bounced off harmlessly, clinking against the tiles. But just like the rain, they began to come down harder, and the longer they fell, the more of them began to batter against the roof with even more force.

The guard outside left his post, hurriedly running down the stairway.

The hail came down stronger still, and you unintentionally whimpered, the noises from the outside worrying you the longer they went on.

Razor spoke then.

“You'll be fine. Just wait for it to be over,” he told you.

Something crashed into the room.

You snapped your head over to where the sound had come from, only to find that several of the candles had gone out. The howling wind was easier to hear now, as was the ever present thunder. And, while it was harder to make out now, you thought you heard similar crashing noises coming from outside the door, as well as voices that screamed out in response.

More objects crashed into your cell, and within moments all of the candles had been snuffed out. Now you were in the dark, the only bit of light coming from the lighting that raced across the sky above the tower.

You kept your hands over your ears while you cowered against Razor. He continued to hold you, and you felt him shift around you, positioning himself so that he shielded you from the worst of the storm that got in through the holes in the roof.

In the chaos that the storm brought in and around the castle, it took you some time to notice that the figure you were huddling against seemed…. Different. The body positioned above you felt larger, the muscled arms felt stronger than before and at the ends of his fingers, you felt claws that lightly pressed into your skin through the fabric of your clothing.

Even though you knew you would see very little if you tried to look up at what exactly was shielding you, you kept your eyes squeezed shut, too afraid that you would see something you shouldn't.

How you eventually fell asleep during that ordeal you would never know.

Droplets of water landing on your cheek were what roused you from sleep, and while at first you mindlessly brushed them away, once you to fully regained consciousness you shot up into a sitting position, remembering the storm of the previous night while you took in the state of the room.

It was in shambles. Ruined fabric strewn everywhere, jewels and threads scattered about, the door now hanging open on one hinge and a multitude of holes punctured through the ceiling, allowing in the dripping water and small streams of sunlight. Many of the jewels had been broken to pieces, torn apart by some unknown force. And after moving a sheet of fabric that you noticed had a hole in it, you found that whatever had pierced it had also gone straight through the floor beneath it.

Yet you were unharmed, and currently you were laying on top of your unfinished projects, a few of the larger pieces sliding off of you that seemed to have been placed on top of you while you had been asleep.

….. You'd been asleep. And you had been that way for quite a while, judging by what you could see of the sun through the roof.

No one had come for you?

You then looked to the door, and then realized that what you were seeing was wrong. Why had it been left open? Who had wrenched it open in such a way that it had been damaged?

Where was the guard? Where was the lord and his wife?

Where was Razor? Not here, that was certain.

Quietly, you pulled yourself to your feet before you approached the open door, keeping your footsteps light as you tried to listen for anyone who might be coming your way.

You heard no one.

And after exiting your makeshift cell and finding your way to the stairs, you stopped when you came to a small window, looking out at the village beyond. Even with the distance, you could see that the village had sustained just as much damage as the castle, if not more. And perhaps it was only because of that distance, but you couldn't hear any activity coming from there. No sounds of any villagers either attempting repairs or to go on with their workday as best they could. All of it was silent except for the distant sound of the waves from the nearby sea.

You continued going down.

The first person you found was a guard at the bottom of the spiral stairway, stiffly splayed out at the bottom of the steps, weapon still in hand. You didn't need to get close to see that he was dead. When you saw him first you stopped, not wanting to get any closer. The markings you could see on his armor and body worried you. But if you wanted to leave the tower, you needed to step over him. After a few moments of gathering up your courage, you descended again. Once you got closer was when you discovered the cause of his death:

Holes.

Dozens of holes that ranged in size were all over that had punctured through his body. The majority of them had struck him in the back, though when you carefully stepped around him, you saw that there had been a few that had struck him up top through the head and shoulder. He'd been standing when he was first hit, and whatever had pierced him had continued to do so until the storm had ceased. No doubt he had been dead long before then.

The thought of 'what could cause such a thing' was a brief one – you quickly caught sight of the hailstones that still littered the ruined hall, and you noted a few that were colored red, matching the blood that had oozed out of the guard's puncture wounds.

The hail had been strong enough to pierce through the roof, you remembered. If it had no issue with that feat, it had no issue going through human flesh.

How many others had died?

You began to wander the halls, stepping over hailstones and pieces of the castle that had crumbled in the storm's wake. Soon enough you were stepping over bodies as well, all of whom were in a similar condition as the guard you had first seen. You found other guards. Then servants. Then nobles. You recognized two of the lordship's daughters, both huddled together beneath a barely upright table, their desperate attempt at shelter failing miserably as the hailstones slowly melted into the blood around them.

All of them with riddled with holes.

No one had survived. No one other than you.

…. You needed to leave.

If anyone from the outside discovered this scene and found you the sole survivor, you would be questioned as to how you of all people had lived. That ran the risk of receiving more accusations and death sentences if you couldn't come up with a good explanation. No, it was better to take whatever food you could find in the kitchens and then travel as far away as you could for a fresh start.

No one needed to know the truth.

You only payed attention to the structure of the castle from then, limiting your attention to the bodies of the dead to brief glances. Some of the damage to the walls had been extreme enough that you feared parts of them could come crumbling down. Even more reason to leave this place.

The kitchen wasn't hard to find, situated at the lowest level of the building. There were bodies within that room as well, but you kept your focus on the contents of the room, immediately going to scavenging for the food that was still edible. A loaf of bread and a few apples were quickly placed into a bag you found nearby that appeared to be in good shape, and you slung the bag over your shoulder as you began a search for water. You wanted to make as much distance between yourself and the castle, so you wanted enough food and water to last you for a few days. If all went well, you would have found somewhere else to stay by then. Where that would be exactly or what you would be doing, you had no clue, but you would deal with that when the time came.

Catching sight of the closed door of a storage room, you began to make your way there.

Only you noticed the body that lay just before it.

Another servant, this time a man, who had been filled with holes like the rest. Only the state this particular body was in was different from the others you had seen. Parts of him were missing. Specifically one of his arms and pieces of his legs that had been torn away. With the way the meat of his flesh had been torn off, it almost looked as though an animal had gotten to this one.

What sort of animal could devour an entire arm and leave nothing behind?

Something snapped in half behind the storage room door.

You took a few steps back as your attention was now there, listening as a sickening noise echoed within the confines of that room. Another snap like that of a bone, and then the sound of tearing, like tough meat being ripped apart. A loud chewing sound followed, accompanied by unearthly grunting. And then a crunching noise that followed sounded as though whatever was in there had just broken a bone with the strength of it's jaw alone.

…. There very well could have been the remains of some large animal within that room, one that had been hunted the day prior.

But taking another look at the man who lay in the middle of the kitchen floor and the state he was in, the missing arm and the state of his legs, and you found yourself having a hard time believing that whatever was in there was feasting on a mere animal.

Leave now.

Before it turns it's attention on you. The water can wait.

With that, you held tightly onto your bag of food as you turned and swiftly made your way to the door that lead outside. You'd taken hold of the handle and you were about to pull it open when-

Stop

A voice that reverberated in your head made you freeze, and despite your best efforts to break free, you were petrified to that spot, still tightly gripping the handle of the door that lead the way to freedom.

Why couldn't you move?

The door to the storage room creaked open and you felt your blood freeze, your breathing coming in heavy as you were certain that whatever that thing was that was now coming out was going to kill you-!

Instead of a beast-like creature that you anticipated charging at you, footsteps sounded against the floor. They were coming towards you and you felt an odd feeling of deja vu.

“Ready to leave, I see.”

You recognized that voice.

And as soon as those words were spoken, you had control of your body again, allowing you to look over your shoulder to the figure who now stood behind you.

It was Razor.

He smiled at you and placed a comforting hand upon your shoulder as he said “forgive me for leaving you by yourself like that. You seemed like you needed the rest and I thought I'd take a look around before we left.”

“…. Before we left?” you repeated, asking “I'm going with you?”

“It's a fair trade for saving your life, don't you think?” he asked in return.

You looked about the room again, focusing on the hail that had managed to make it's way down there and the bodies within that were just as battered as the ones on the levels above. Everyone within the castle was dead. And then you remembered that the village was in the same state, if not worse. At this point there seemed to be little doubt that anyone there had managed to survive.

“You did all this?” you asked. You felt the horror in your own expression, that Razor was capable of so much destruction.

He raised an eyebrow at you, asking “why do you care? These people would have happily killed you if not for me.”

He misunderstood what you meant, but you weren't given any chance to explain yourself as he wrapped a hand around your shoulder and pulled you close.

“I'll protect you,” Razor said, “and all you need to do in exchange is follow my every order. That doesn't sound bad, does it?”

His black eyes were staring down at you again. Staring at you, daring you to disagree with him.

Do what he wants, your mind told you. And since your voice currently couldn't work, you gave a small shake of your head to answer 'no', that it didn't sound bad.

The fact that you felt otherwise was besides the point.

Razor smiled at you, and the squeeze of your shoulder that accompanied that indicated that he was pleased with you.

“We should get going,” he then told you. He pulled you away from the door and took the handle, opening it for you. You wanted to ask where you were going, but you still couldn't find your voice. When he held the door open and looked at you, you followed his silent order and walked out the door, clutching the bag of food while you kept your gaze on the ground in front of you. Razor was soon leading you through the desecrated courtyard, making sure you were never too far away from him.

And as he took you through the castle gate, you wondered just what sort of future was in store for you. Your gaze went back to the man – spirit? Demon? – as you wondered what fate was in store for you now that Razor controlled it.

[obihoebikenobi-ficrecs]

Poolverine Series: to gain true love, one must first lose their wolvirginity, i don't make the rules

By: obihoebikenobi, 23.6K as of September 13th, 2024

It's a love story baby just get fucked. Logan and Wade's love story, written in somewhat disconnected parts.

I descended into Poolverine hell and wrote a 20K and counting series about these two fuckers. Featuring: softness, migraines, love confessions, domesticity, and fucking. All that good shit.

See summaries, relevant tags, ratings, and links to all fics on ao3 below.

PART 1: i wanna hold your hand (and colossal dick, eventually), 3.5K

Rating: M

Tags: alcohol withdrawl, vomiting, literally sharing a bed, bathing/washing

“Fuck you, Wade.” “If only,” Wade said, trailing a finger over a seam on the quilt with feigned yearning, “I long for the day you allow me the pleasure of ravishing your raw skin-saber, maybe with a side of penetration–” “The only thing I’ll be penetrating is your eye sockets with these,” Logan flashed his claws, “If you so much as speak to me while we are still in this bed tomorrow morning.” “Joke's on you, I will gladly and enthusiastically take any form of penetration, in existing or fresh new holes, as long as it’s from you, Peanut.” Logan’s head pounded, but he wasn’t sure if it was from Wade’s persistent blabbering, or the fact that the last of the alcohol was wearing off. “Go the fuck to sleep.” Logan downed the last sip of vodka and willed his body to cooperate. Withdrawal was a bitch. (one pull-out couch, two bitches, vomiting, and the works, now with fucking in part two!)

PART 2: a little bit more than hand holding, 2.7K

Rating: E

Tags: wade is obsessed with dicks, bottom wade, little bit of praise kink, logan just wants a kissi

“Oh so that’s your horny face then? Watery eyes, clenched teeth? Nothing hotter than a tortured poet with a heart of gold who cries during sex.” “Wade–” “If that’s horny I’d love to see your O-face–” Wade threw an arm over his forehead, gasping. “Can you just shut the fuck up for one goddamn second, asshole?” Logan dared a sharp glance in Wade’s direction, finding him sitting perfectly still with a pleasant smile painted across his face. The smug piece of shit knew Logan wanted him. Logan cleared his throat, “Now that I have your attention,” he started, earning a snort from Wade, “So we’re clear, the more words that come out of your mouth, the more likely I’m going to sleep early and no one's getting fucked.”   (wade loses his wolvirginity)

PART 3: lesser of two evils, right?, 7.5K

Rating: E

Tags: sub logan (kinda), crying during sex, soft, rimming, angst, praise kink

“When you’re done being a bitter little bitch, I’m offering you a massage, of the non-dick variety. Because I am a nice person.” It was, indeed, surprisingly nice. Logan stared at him, hating himself for actually wanting the fucking massage, because he sure as shit shouldn’t have wanted it. “I’m going to take that blank, lifeless stare as a hell yeah. So take off your shirt and come with daddy,” Wade pointed toward the bedroom expectantly, lips drawn into a wide smile. “Don’t call yourself that again. Ever.” What a little shit. (logan gets migraines, but also gets a massage, and an orgasm. it's a lot.)

PART 4: holding hands (gone sexual), 5.3K

Rating: E

Tags: discussion of consent and logan's past issues, insecure logan, bottom logan, domestic fluff, love confessions, praise kink

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Oh for fuck’s sake. Logan probably shouldn’t have stopped considering throwing himself in a meat grinder– “Have I died in my sleep? Is this yet another whimsical dream where I have a house husband to take care of my every need and whim whilst I labor away every fucking single day, with so little appreciation, just to feed our child–” “Shut the fuck up,” Logan muttered, feeling the stain of red warmth over his cheeks. “I don’t know what I have done to deserve this, Peanut, but I am so fucking turned on right now. I might come in my pants. That happens when people are nice to me.” “Wade, it’s waffles–” “Don’t be a kink-shamer, baby girl. Benevolence and breakfast foods get me going. Don’t even get me started on sausages.” (logan explores his feelings with wade, makes waffles for wade, gets fucked by wade, falls in love...with wade)

PART 5: and they were boyfriends (and roomates), 4.4K

Rating: E

Tags: love confessions, insecure logan, drinking to cope, angst and hurt/comfort, emotional hurt/comfort

“I’m good.” For whatever reason, Wade apparently took that as an invitation to sit down next to him, and Logan growled, moving over so they weren’t touching. Wade shivered, scoffing at him, and kicking Logan’s foot. “Clearly not, Peanut. You’ve smoked a week’s wage of cigs in three hours and I’m fairly certain you’re still not unfucked up from all that cheap-ass donkey piss you call whiskey.” Logan was seconds, maybe milliseconds, from punching him in the fucking face–with claws–but he held back, knowing Wade only thrived on retaliation. “What’s it matter to you?” The words felt sour on his tongue and he practically spat them in Wade’s direction. “Well,” Wade took a deep breath, “I’m probably the reason–scratch that–I’m definitely the reason you’re clearly not good.” (wade takes a mid love-confession job, logan drinks about it. cue angst. subsequently, boyfriendship.)

[buckets-and-trees]

Warm Shadows - Let All Light Go (2/4)

Collection: Warm Shadows Characters/Pairings: Alpha!Steve x f!Omega!Reader, existing Alpha!Bucky x f!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Now that he's claimed you, Captain Hydra takes you back to his new base of operations, his little omega bait for the Soldat. But the bond between an alpha and an omega is a powerful thing that shouldn't be trifled with. [sequel to When You Fall On Me Like Night]

Content Warnings: DARK, a/b/o dynamics, explicit smut, DUBIOUS CONSENT/omega heat, oral - female receiving, vaginal fingering, breast play, vaginal intercourse

Logistical Notes: We've got a dose of pride for @nickfowlerrr's Seven Deadly Sins + Seven Holy Virtues writing event. Now this second part is too late for the Horror Movie Hoe-a-thon, but I had most of it written before the challenge closed, and so I had plucked another dialogue prompt from her list, so I still want to give @witchywithwhiskey credit where it's due, and you'll find the prompt in bold and italics when it appears.

Additional Notes: I had no intention of making this three times as long as the original, but Steve had other plans. So many other plans. Thanks to @biteofcherry for letting me suss out a couple of the things I had questions on plot-wise. Title from Hozier's De Selby (Part 2).

↠ Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Steve doesn’t smile anymore. He hasn’t smiled in weeks. And yet the frown on his face is more than the non-smile stoicism that had taken over his demeanor since the ambush outside of Turin. He exhales deeply, washing away the frown as he straps your limp body into the jump seat of the stealth jet. Unconscious and sedated, your head falls forward though your torso is held back by the chest harness of the safety belt. Steve angles your head back against the headrest because if you got a crick in your neck, it will be a problem he doesn’t want to hear you try and complain about later.

He had achieved his objective in coming to Wakanda. Though the operation had played out with slight differences from what he had anticipated, it had gone as close as he could have logically projected in almost every aspect. He knew Bucky. No. The Winter soldier, he corrects. And he knew you. As players in this piece of the plan, you had both been reliably predictable.

As a super soldier Steve knew the strengths, the weaknesses, the limitations, and what Barnes would be susceptible to. That’s why he had been so prepared in laying his trap and incapacitating the asset.

Overpowering you had been easy.

Claiming you had split a slow but building tremor to his system. It had changed what he’d intended to do.

A few hours later as he approaches the remote Hydra base, that disconcerting feeling in his brain that he is working to tamp down still smolders with something unsettled that makes him flick his eyes up to the mirror that allows the pilot to check the interior behind him to see that you’re still in the same state of sedation.

His new conditioning will help him to control this irritating itch.

After touching down and rolling into the hangar, Steve unbuckles you from the seat and slings your unconscious body over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop walking but proceeds to give his brief mission report to the ranking officer on base who was waiting to meet him at the base of the small jet’s cargo ramp as he exits. This man is not his handler but his liaison for the time being. He’s competent enough that Steve if rarely frustrated with him. The power dynamics are something Steve is constantly aware of. Hydra wants to know they are in control and yet learned with the Winter Soldier that an asset stripped of complete autonomy was more inflexible to work with – and impossible to pull back when he broke free. They don’t want to make the same mistake with him, but they give him no illusion over who his allegiance is to now. It’s not a leash, but an unmistakable tether that they will let him tenuously control as long as he ultimately complies.

It's why he has tolerable and private living quarters where he deposits you on top the large bed. He leaves a bottle of water next to you and then leaves. The door to his quarters is controlled by a fingerprint recognition, allowing Steve a fair amount of control over who can come in and out, and he has no intention of giving you access.

He goes to the mess to get food. No one approaches him while he eats. He collects two of the meal boxes that are ready to go – one marked for lunch, one marked for dinner – and brings them back for you.

You’re still asleep when he returns. He takes the time to order routine meal delivery to his quarters for you long term as well as a supply of standard issue clothes and laundry service. This base is a hub for research and development, so the standard of living is functional and minimalistic, which suits him fine, and that is all you will require as his omega.

It's mid afternoon before you finally wake, and he can sense the moment you resume consciousness – his heightened senses heard the change in your breathing, but there’s also an innate sense about it. He wasn’t expecting that.

He shifts slightly where he sits in a boxy armchair reading over some new intelligence reports on his tablet to watch you. You slowly sit up causing the water bottle he set on the mattress next to you to roll against your body, and you frown, then look around and see him almost immediately. Fear and anger show immediately in your face, exactly as he expected.

“Your food is on the counter,” he says flatly.

“I don’t want it.”

“You will,” he responds.

You look away from him, scan the single-room quarters, and then look down to the water bottle again. He hears your small sigh before you pick it up, unscrew the top to take a few sips, then close it and shift to one side of the bed and lay back down, curling up, facing away from him. There’s an east-facing window on that side of the room.

None of this behavior is unexpected, and it’s of no matter to him. He has you here, he’s keeping you here as long as necessary. You’re hurt, you will hold onto your pride at the offense for a long while yet, and he expects it. He’s not offended. It will wear away.

He has a few projects he planned to touch base with various research and development teams on the base, and so now that he knows you’re alert and fine, he has no problem resuming his operations and routines.

The single declaration over the food is all you say to him for the first few days.

Not that he is there much either. He has missions, projects, agendas – his own and Hydra’s, and certainly doesn’t exist to coddle his omega.

An omega, he reminds himself.

There is only one bed, and he doesn’t say one word about it to you. The first night when he returns, you are curled in on yourself on the edge of the bed much as you had been earlier when he left (though he notes you had eaten the roll from the dinner box, so you had moved at some point). He wordlessly changes into his sleepwear and slides beneath the sheets. He figures if it bothers you enough, you can choose to sleep on the small couch or the floor, but he isn’t going to give up the bed to accommodate you.

On the third day, you rise when he does. The small bathroom is the only private part of the living quarters, so he is closed off from you while he showers, but as he eats breakfast and finishes the rest of his morning routine, you sit in the armchair, legs curled up, and watch him with a cool storm in your eyes.

When he returns on the fourth night, you smell different. You wear the same clothes, but you’ve clearly showered, and you must have done what you could to clean your clothes in the sink because you're wearing them and not the base-issued garments. You’re already curled up on your side of the bed, still on top of the bedding, barefoot, but not sleeping yet.

Your state of unrest is burdening his thoughts. It’s an imposition he can’t have.

The way you bleed into his consciousness was the only thing he had stupidly forgotten to even account for in this maneuver to draw out the Soldat. Part of it was because he hadn’t been entirely sure he could successfully make the claiming bond – he knew he could get the bite, but it had been a gamble on whether it would work.

It had.

Though it hadn’t been like a clap of lightning but more like an invisible string threaded between the two of you. He had used it to manipulate the situation that night, but the reality of it had also shifted what his original plan for you had been.

Having never bonded with an omega, he had heard varying reports of how the connections could develop between an alpha and an omega. Some said it was strong enough to reach a degree of non-verbal communication, but this seemed to be developing as more of a constant, pressing awareness as the string wove further through him as the days passed, but an awareness that he was learning to read and decipher.

That cool storm that brewed in your eyes any of the few times you looked at him had to be tamed. He didn’t expect it to go away, but he could not have the rage brewing, growing, and pulsing from you to him. He can’t afford the distraction.

In an operations meeting one of the analysts sits down to the table with two unnecessary books in the stack of things they’ve brought with them, and he remembers that you loved to read.

He deposits a linen tote bag with a stack of books on your bedside table that night, returning after you’re already asleep.

He leaves for a mission across the globe before you wake the next morning.

When he returns three days later, it’s mid-afternoon, and he goes to his quarters after the mission debriefing. You’re sitting almost comfortably on the couch with one of the books. You still regard him with cold, guarded eyes, but you’re wearing the base-issued clothing. It’s plain, utilitarian, slate grey.

He remains with you the rest of the evening, the two of you eating dinner together at the small table in one corner of the room when meals are delivered. You don’t look at him, and he doesn’t watch you too much. He thought he had been focused on the mission. He thinks now the focus had come easily again because you were less angry, an icy ache rather than the rampant and enflamed rage that was only further agitated without anything to do.

The next day is unremarkable with this new development. You read, you wear different clothes from the base again, and he is back to his standard on-base routine, returning to his quarters after dinner but before dark. It’s the same the day after, and then the day after that. The only thing that changes at the end of one more day, is that once you’re settled to sleep and he slides into bed a quarter of an hour later, he’s about to drop off to sleep when he hears you take a deep breath.

His own heart stills. What are you about to do?

“Can I have normal clothes?” you ask softly.

One request could lead to another request, and another.

But if they’re as simple as this, easy enough to appease, he could say yes until he needs to refuse you something he’s not willing to entertain.

“I’ll see it done.”

“Oh,” your response is small, surprised.

“Now sleep,” he says, not a command.

Mid-morning he has a break between consultations, and he pulls one of the base caretakers aside and charges them with accommodating your request.

He returns to you before dinner that night. He simply finished his work earlier than usual that day, it’s nothing more than that. You’re in jeans and a lightweight crewneck sweatshirt. Eating dinner is another quiet affair, but the easiest it’s been out of the few times you’ve shared any meals in this place.

Over the next week he eats breakfast with you and most of his dinners. There’s a sadness that’s growing, but he is also melting the glacier of your guarded hostility.

While eating dinner one evening, you ask, “Where are we?”

“A Hydra research and development facility.”

You give it another moment, and then you press further, “And where’s this facility located?”

He looks up at you across the table and gives a dark, wry smirk. “Europe.” His tone is clipped. He can see you know that’s the end of the information he’s going to give you on the matter.

“How are your books?” he ventures after a few minutes. He had gone to the bookshop in the town to purchase a second stock of books for you earlier in the week.

“I appreciate them,” you answer. Without looking back up at him, you say, “The old you liked to read.”

He glowers at you, but he can see there’s almost a warmth in your eyes. It does something to him, so he drops his eyes back to his plate.

He stands abruptly and takes his plate to the counter by the sink, then he leaves. He won’t entertain that line of conversation with you. He paces through the facility for an hour before he returns. When he sees you seem to have been waiting for him, there’s a small warmth in his chest. You just nod at him, and he nods in return. No more words are exchanged between you that night.

When you both finally retire to bed, he doesn’t say a word or give any sign of reacting to you pulling the covers back on your side of the bed for the first time in this space and climbing into them, he simply does the same on his side. You still stay rigidly still and curled up, nearly on the edge of the mattress, but it’s more than he ever expected from you. The nights following, you maintain this step forward in proximity.

He notices your hand going to your bonding mark from Bucky over the following days, and it happens more and more frequently. He almost says something, but as he scrutinizes your actions, he sees you do it without seeming to think about it. It bothers him, but when he sees it’s not intentional, it’s not jealousy or rage that eats at him, it’s something else.

Because why hasn’t the Soldat come for you yet?

That was the object of the game, after all.

He was sure he hadn’t underestimated the Soldat’s skills or Bucky’s devotion to you. Bucky had, in fact, been spotted close enough in the region that the whole base had been on red alert for three days, certain the Winter Soldier would strike, but he hadn’t. Then the reports were he’d gone further north and left Italy altogether, so the alert had gone down from red to orange, and now sat at yellow - standard caution and operating procedures.

It was bothering him further because you were supposed to be Bucky’s beloved omega. How could he abandon you this long? Work so carelessly? Soldat should be desperate and raising hell at this point.

Because at this point?

It’s why Steve decides to embark on one more mission. He doesn’t tell you where he is going. He didn’t tell you even that he is going. He could already feel your unease growing, the questions and uncertainty. He doesn’t need his omega further agitated.

His mission is quick and successful.

As he returns, there is a sudden spike of fear and adrenaline when he is about an hour out from the base. It burns through his system, and he hasn’t felt any emotions overpower him this strongly in weeks and weeks, but after less than a minute it’s snuffs out almost as quickly as it had flared.

Twenty minutes from landing, a call buzzes in over his comms.

“Captain, our base has been attacked, but we are clear from intruders and in active recovery mode now,” his liaison’s voice relays.

“Intruders?” he growls.

“Full report forthcoming and will be ready by the time you arrive. You are cleared for landing but divert to the machine storage facility rather than our standard hangar, we’ve sustained damage there. End communication.”

Steve slams his fist against the arm rest of the seat – the place he knew could sustain the brunt of his impatience – and it breaks off, smashed away completely.

His landing approach gives him a view of the obvious devastation to the base, the entire northwest quadrant still in flames, but with crews working quickly to extinguish the fire.

His liaison is waiting in a truck to drive from the storage on the outskirts back to the main base.

“Twenty-two casualties, six injured, two hundred on evacuation disbursement orders. Only beta essential personnel and the damage control teams remain, prime essential personnel were evacuated as soon as the intruder was reported.”

Steve frowns. “Identity?”

“Confirmed as the Soldat.”

Steve nods. “You said intruders when you contacted me on approach.”

“We’ve since confirmed it was the Winter Soldier and only him.”

He nods again. That news wasn’t surprising. Had he known I would be gone? He was certainly cutting it close, waiting until almost the eleventh hour to come for his omega.

“Status of the omega?”

“We sedated and moved the omega to our facility outside of Geneva.”

Steve’s entire chest seizes in rage – not only moving his omega without consulting him, but to sedate her without any thought? It doesn’t matter that it’s standard protocol for prisoners, you’re his omega. However, every alarm in his head rings immediately that he can not show any ripple of emotion or he may very well never see his omega again. He won’t make the same mistake again – not for a third time.

“Geneva will be the next center of operations for current projects?” he asks.

“Correct. Early calculations project that this base can be functional again in four to five months, and we’ll evaluate whether projects will move back, or continue in Geneva and other bases in the region and clear the way for new initiatives here. We thought you would want to see evidence and damages yourself here first, which is why I didn’t redirect you once we had entered the first recovery stages after clearing all immediate threats, Captain.”

“The logical call,” he agrees.

Four and a half hours later, he touches down in Geneva, but it’s another two hours before he can escape all the protocol and regrouping strategy conversations. Within ten minutes after that, he’s in the new living quarters assigned to him on the Swiss base.

And there you are. Haphazardly deposited on the bed, but there all the same. He lets out a breath as he closes the door behind him. It locks automatically. He drops his pack on the couch and then makes his way to you. He rights your body, laying you fully across the bed and straightening your limbs. He removes your shoes and tucks a pillow beneath your head. He could smell you immediately on entering the quarters, but handling your body now confirms you’re dangerously close to breaking into your heat a day earlier than you were supposed to. He has no doubt it’s due to the distress of the day. That spike of fear and adrenaline he felt earlier had to have been you moments before you were sedated for transport.

He examines your neck, but sees no evidence of an injection, which leaves sedation by inhalation. In a situation where they needed efficiency and couldn’t chance a miscalculation of precision, it was the logical move. It also narrows things down to one of two compounds currently in use for inhaled sedation, which he appreciates.

Then he sees the bloom of a bruise forming already on your arm just above the elbow, and his brow furrows. He will review the footage and he will find out who did this to you.

Satisfied in general over your state – even breathing and no other visible injuries – he turns his attention to the new living quarters. It’s still a studio set up, but moderately larger than the Turin facility. There he’d been assigned quarters for an individual, and this is clearly one of the units designed for Hydra personnel with a partner. A marked difference here is an area that is sectioned off as a study with a desk and a bookshelf. There are already some books there, but empty shelves that can be filled as well.

There’s a decently sized case on the table in the kitchenette area. Inside is a selection of personal effects transported here from Turin, likely collected after the initial evacuation of personnel, but delivered here in those first two hours while he was in the strategy meetings upon arrival. There are a few items of his clothing, a modest selection of the wardrobe he’d arranged for you, toiletries, and even your small accumulation of books.

He has just finished unpacking the case when he can sense you stirring on the bed. A moment later he feels the spike of unease and tension as you register the new surroundings, sitting up on the bed, but he’s already approaching you.

He can feel the diminution of your nerves when your eyes land on him, but he sees the initial wave of relief in your eyes that you also try and stamp away in an instant.

He sits cautiously but with no apology on the edge of the bed next to you.

“Where are we?”

“A new facility.”

Your eyes study him for a moment. He knows you’re assessing that his answer means he won’t give you details. “Still in Europe?”

He nods.

“How long since the former facility was compromised?” you ask.

He smirks. You were always intelligent – not that it would have been difficult to figure out, but he’s proud of how quickly your mind works.

You huff at his hesitation and roll your eyes. “If you think I’ll use the information to try and figure out where we might be, I don’t know where we started, so it won’t be of any use to me, I’m just hungry and want to know how much time I’ve lost.”

“It’s been somewhere between seven to eight hours.”

He reaches for his communications tablet and quickly orders a standard meal for each of you to be delivered as he hasn’t eaten much either.

“It was him, wasn’t it?” you break the silence again. “Bucky found me.”

He hadn’t planned to tell you, but he won’t lie to you. “Yes”

“He’ll find me again. He said that wherever I went, he would find me.”

“Oh, I know.” His stare is back on you. “That’s the entire point. I need the Soldat.”

The silence that builds between you two is full of anger on your side. There’s nothing else for him to explain, but he’s curious to see how long you’ll keep this moment stretching on before ending it or saying something else.

But it grows more and more uncomfortable, and you try not to fidget. You’ve never been one to fidget, and certainly not over these past few weeks at any point around him. Then he notices the beads of perspiration gathering on your brow.

“Your heat, Omega.”

“My heat, not yours.”

“Sure,” he laughs cruelly. He reaches out to touch your cheek, somewhat patronizingly.

“Don’t touch me!” you snarl and snap your jaws at him, causing him to withdraw his hand immediately. “I don’t need you.”

“Fine.” He stands and retreats, not because he fears you in the slightest, but because he won’t fight your petulance, not when he has better things he can do at least for now. “Face your heat alone, Omega.”

He leaves, hearing you let out another impatient huff just as the door closes behind him.

He leaves you in pursuit of one of the data analysis rooms. If you’re going to be difficult and refuse him, he can do better things with his time until you’re ready to bend and keen for him. Once there, he logs into the system and pulls up the footage from Turin. He watches every frame of the Winter Soldier’s attack on the facility. It was shown earlier when he was meeting with the Hydra officers in debriefing the attack, but now he can study it alone in its entirety, moving from camera to camera outside, and then through each hallway and room without commentary from anyone else, able to slow down and rewind each moment as he sees fit.

It’s masterful.

And he looks directly at cameras after many of the kills. Twenty-two casualties and only six injuries? That’s intentional. He knows the Soldat could have executed this more quietly, and that’s evident in how he exits when he realizes you’ve been moved. From that point, his exit strategy has him engaging with almost no one, but setting fires and explosions, leaving enough damage in his wake to send his message.

It’s effective.

Steve narrows the block of time from the incident on the base and watches additional footage from the same ten-minute period. It’s every frame of the footage related to your acquisition, sedation, and transport from the base. He is interested in discovering just how the Soldat knew when to retreat, and he leaves notes in his log and in addition to drafting and sending a memo with some of his theories and observations to his primary liaison and a few of the officers on the taskforce. But his primary objective was to figure out who handled you so roughly, and he does. They will be dealt with later. He can’t expose such a personally driven need to deal out punishment.

While he’s been gone he’s felt the tenor of your emotions tugging at him – not tugging insistently, and with how tightly you’ve tried to control and suppress your emotions over the past few weeks, this must mean you’re battling to keep things at bay, pushed beneath the surface. As soon as he enters, he clocks the spiking fluctuations of your hormones. Since returning with you from Wakanda, he’s read extensively over the heat cycles, and this situation gives all the signs that you’re vacillating precaiously between falling into either a standard heat or a dry heat. You’re trying to stave off the heat as long as possible, but it will come, and if you fight it too hard, it will be a dry heat, which will be physically and mentally painful for you and difficult for him to navigate with you. He needs to edge you carefully from that tipping point of the dry heat.

You’re sitting at the table, having polished off one of the meals already and eating the last bits of the other one. It looks like they were boxes with sandwiches, fruit, and vegetables. You’ve left the celery from both servings. He smirks, but he’s glad you’ve eaten. That’s a good sign.

In another attempt at normalcy, desperate to keep things at bay, you push the chair out across the table from you with your foot, nodding for him to sit. You try and engage him in completely normal lines of conversation. He knows what you’re doing. He’ll entertain it for at least a little while so he can assess more of your state and how he should handle it.

He’s more concerned with watching you than listening to what you’re saying. You stand to refill your cup with water, and he follows you to the sink. He reaches into the cupboard and gets a glass of his own, encroaching somewhat into your space very casually. It doesn’t put you on edge, so he eases even closer, as you continue to talk. He puts a hand on your shoulder and leans in to fill his cup with the tap. There’s a slight hitch in your breathing at his proximity. He pushes the teasing of his closeness even more, moving his hand down your arm and resting it on the counter next to yours.

“I know what you need, Omega,” he whispers against the shell of your ear.

He can feel you do everything you can to remain still.

But then you turn your head ever so slightly toward him. “The last time you touched me, you humiliated me.” Your voice is flat.

He doesn’t respond, but he also doesn’t move.

Finally, you ask, “What did they do to you?” your voice barely above a whisper.

The dangerous question comes out of nowhere, and the surge of emotion it evokes in him is immediate. He growls, whipping away, not even thinking before he slams his fists on the table. It splits in two clean pieces. He grabs one before it even falls to the floor and throws it against the wall, smashing it, splinters flying.

He turns back, advancing on you, and you’re already trembling. He doesn’t relent, forcing you up against the wall, caging you in. He pounds his fist into the wall right above your head, and you close your eyes, afraid to move. He can smell the fear in your scent now, but there can be no confusion here.

“No, Omega,” he speaks low, and his other hand moves lightning fast to grip your chin. He can feel your pulse racing beneath his fingers. “Look at me.” You open your eyes. “We aren’t doing that.”

He leaves a beat of silence between you.

“Do you understand?”

You nod.

He drops your chin, then grips the neck of your shirt and yanks, ripping the fabric down the front and jerking you forward, making you bump into his chest. He picks you up and hauls you across the room with a few furious strides to drop you onto one of the armchairs.

You right yourself in the seat as he steps back, but only an arm’s length away. He doesn’t have to use his alpha voice or say the words. He knows the look he gives you communicates his instruction: stay put, don’t move.

He slowly undresses, unfastening, unbuckling, unzipping. He places each article of his dark tactical suit in an orderly pile on the coffee table. It’s purposeful, this tactic. The onset of your heat is only a moment away. You’ve been doing everything in your power to stave it off. Part of him clocks this enormous show of strength and sees it for more than stubbornness, recognizing the discipline and power within you. But this has gone on long enough, he needs you to finally tumble over the edge, and he will push you if he must.

He watches you watching him as he reveals each expanse of naked flesh – arms and torso, legs, and finally his loins when he slips off his boxer briefs. He’s hard for you, of course he is, the pheromones have been flooding out of you, and he wasn’t tempted to touch you in Turin, but now it’s all he can think about. He wants your body supple and pliant, submissive beneath him. He stands above you, looming, imposing – he knows he is, and he wants you to feel that he can do this – and pumps his cock slowly with his own fist.

He does it a few more times, watching you watch him. He sees the small ripple of a shudder you can’t suppress when your breath hitches.

“Undress,” he commands.

Your jaw ticks up. He knows you don’t like it – he felt it the first time he gave you an alpha command, and he hasn’t again until this moment. You look down as you reach behind your back to unclasp your bra and slide it off, dropping it to the floor. You stubbornly refuse to meet his eye since he’s making you do this – he knows it. You hook your thumbs into your waistband, and you push your leggings and underwear down in a slight huff.

“Spread your legs,” he issues another command.

You do, still refusing to meet his eye. Part of it is the irritation over the commands, but he knows part of it is also the trepidation still pulsing through you. He doesn’t want to make this easy for you, but he doesn’t want you to suffer the agony of a dry heat where you’ll be agitated, devoid of slick, in pain, and distressed.

He sinks to his knees between your parted thighs, but now you can’t help but look at him staking his claim there so close to your exposed core. He can see you have a million questions in your eyes, it’s the most you’ve allowed him to glimpse of you – the real you – these past weeks.

He lowers his head, keeping his eyes on yours, and licks a slow, broad stripe from the side of your knee along the soft flesh of your inner thigh. He can feel you tense and hold your breath. And he stops inches from your warm cunt, pulling back and kneeling back on his heels.

You whimper.

He knows he has you now.

“Touch yourself, Omega,” he doles out the third command. He knows how he wants this to play out.

“Don’t make me,” you plead, but your hands are already slowly moving to your center.

“Do it,” he barks, and you flinch.

There’s a little bit of slick between your pussy lips, and he watches you trace a finger slowly over your folds, up and down. You drop your head down and to the side, refusing once more to look at him.

“Omega, have you ever experienced the pain of a dry heat?”

You huff.

“Is that what you want?”

“I want him!” you blurt, and you certainly must not have meant to say it out loud because your hands immediately fly to cover your mouth and your eyes flash to him in fear. And anger. Both are there.

He growls and surges forward to claim your clit between his lips, clamping his hands at the juncture of your thighs to keep your legs open. He sucks hard and flicks his tongue angrily over the little bundle of nerves, drawing a cry from you immediately. Your hands push at his head, but there’s no match for his strength, and he holds your pelvis firmly to his face.

“No, no, no,” you murmur, starting to cry.

He keeps up the furious sucking and flicking, and it’s less than a minute before he feels your whole body seize up, frozen as the first orgasm crashes down on you. Slick begins to seep out in abundance, and he hums in approval, but he doesn’t relent, only changes his tactics. He flattens his tongue and laps at your cunt, letting his tongue slip between your folds and into your hole every two or three licks. It’s less frenzied, but no less insistent, and he rips a second orgasm from you easily. He hums in approval as this time that blissful wave forces you to throw your head and shoulders back, and you land against the back of the armchair, clutching at the rim of it next to your head.

But he won’t relent yet.

He reaches up to cup one of your breasts in his hand, and you moan and push your chest forward for him, head still thrown back, and he imagines your eyes must be shut. He squeezes your breast, then tweaks your nipple, and your breath hitches. He presses his mouth back to your folds and works his lips over your puffy, engorged clit, working slowly this time. He draws his hand away from your breast, and then he slides the fingers that just tweaked your nipple into your tight heat. He pumps slowly, and your hand moves to the back of his head, applying insistent pressure there. He crooks the fingers and strokes along your front wall, and he knows he finds the spot of your undoing when your legs abruptly shift, the left lengthening out, and your right hitching up over his shoulder to press into his back. He doesn’t change a thing now, sucking, pressing. He knows you’re on your way, but he will not hasten this. He wants you to feel every drawn out moment of this – some but not enough of what you need.

Paying attention to every breath above him, every movement of your body, and especially the way your muscles start to squeeze around the fingers he has inside you, he stops just short of your third orgasm.

You whine in protest, but he pushes himself up to stand above you. He grabs your waist and hauls you easily with his preternatural strength up and over his shoulder. You claw at his back, but it’s only a few quick steps for him to be able to throw you down onto the bed.

Your fear from his outburst is long gone, and the face you turn up at him is angry, and you snarl, quickly kneeling up on the bed.

He grasps your chin in his slick-covered hand and looks into your face. “You will beg for me, and only then will I consider whether or not I will touch you again or let you suffer.”

He drops your chin and is already turning away, but you’re lightning fast in reaching for his wrist.

He stops and only inclines his head part of the way to look back at you.

“Take me,” you plead, voice stronger than he expected.

He furrows his brow.

“Please,” you implore.

He turns fully back to you. Perhaps he shouldn’t be as surprised as he is. You’d always been adaptable and clever, and rarely stubborn to your own detriment. You had been stubbornly trying to hold the heat at bay, dangerously so to tempt the dry heat, but he knows this is an extreme circumstance for you, and with the tide turned yet again, he was almost impressed that you had so quickly determined it was worth it to take what you needed.

“Then present,” he says simply.

You turn, moving up to the middle of the bed, but close to the headboard, and kneel on all fours.

He climbs up behind you.

You drop down to your elbows, subjecting yourself to him, omega to alpha.

He takes his cock in his hand and rubs the angry red tip up and down your slick folds. You whimper, and he sees the small shiver that runs down your spine. He sinks his thick length into your tight heat, and you both groan as he fills you for the first time. He doesn’t move once his hips are finally flush against your ass. He breathes in and out, in and out, and watches your measured breaths as well.

He did not know it would be like this.

He reaches forward, grips your shoulder, and pulls you up and back towards him. Your hands move to reach out to steady yourself on the headboard. He presses his fingers into that juncture at your neck where he claimed you, and you keen, throwing your head back. He leans forward and while his right hand stays anchored at your hip, his left strokes that bite again, then moves to hold the front of your neck as he leans down and forward over you. You look up at him, he looks down at you. “You’re fucking mine, Omega,” he growls, your eyes locked.

“Yes, Alpha.”

Then he feels you rock your hips back against his. He smooths his hand down your neck, then presses his lips to your forehead. “You’re mine,” he says again, imprinting the words against your skin.

Then he pulls back and thrusts into you. A few thrusts like that, but as you begin to keen for him, begging for more, he has to drop back and grip your hips with both hands to fuck you. You both come twice – once quickly, and once more very slowly – before you’re boneless beneath him, and he forces you down to the mattress, shifting you to your side and drawing you up against his chest. You whine, but he strokes your arm and promises he’ll give you more once you sleep.

While you sleep in his arms, sticky and sweaty, his mind goes to work.  

It’s not long before you wake again, and you two truly fuck, carnal bleeding with a few moments that are too tender for either of you to acknowledge. But his stamina outmatches yours and he has you exhausted and sleeping again before long.

He’s never taken care of an omega in heat before, and it’s all-consuming, but he stays focused. When you’re awake, he plies your body with pleasure until you cry, keen, moan, scream aloud and silently, and it goes on and off again between sex and sleep all through the day. He’s prepared for your reluctance during the first high phase of the heat to eat or drink anything, but he slips you bits of fruit and nuts as he can, gets you to greedily gulp water only after he pushes it your way insistently. You want his cock, not hydration or nutrition.

A little before midnight the second night, you stretch and yawn waking from another of your short sleeps, and then you roll out of bed and pad to the bathroom. He’s been rooting through some of the cupboards, taking stock of what’s there, and he finishes quickly and follows you into the bathroom after he hears you flush the toilet and then turn on the showerhead. You’re slipping into the shower when he enters the bathroom, and he’s there in time for you to give the silent invitation for him to join you – the expectation, even.

You’re still in heat, but craving a shower lets him know you’ll have enough of your mind back for what needs to happen now.

Things are tenuous, but there’s no denying that this heat has changed things for both of you. He claimed you in Wakanda, but the two of you have bonded through the first thirty hours of this heat in ways neither of you thought possible.

He takes the lathered-up sponge you place in his hands, and he washes your body carefully. Then you take it back, soap it up again, and run it over his skin with the same kind of attention.

He washes your hair, you rinse away the suds, and then he pulls you flush against him. You take his hardening cock in your hand and pump shamelessly. He groans appreciatively, than pushes your back up against the tiles, moves your hands away, and pulls your leg up around his waist so he can enter you. You clutch at his shoulders for stability and moan. He buries his head into the crook of your neck, but he speaks just loud enough for you to hear, “This is the only place I’m sure no one will hear us, but they also need to have no reason to question what’s happening if they’re monitoring.” He moves his hips back and then pumps slowly into you again. “Do you understand?”

“Yes,” you moan, “more, Alpha.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up slightly, though he knows you can’t see it. He tongues his bite at your neck, and you whimper. He gives you another thrust, and you keen.

“I won’t have you anywhere near these Hydra personnel anymore. I don’t trust them.”

The surprised noise that escapes your throat is slightly distressed, and so he speeds up his thrusts a little. “My heat,” you whisper.

“The heat cycle is the only time no one expects me to be anywhere or respond to anyone unless there’s complete catastrophe, and I already reported the onset of your heat last night. They won’t disturb us for a few more days, and they will not expect us to attempt to leave our quarters let alone the facility. If we can manage to get out unnoticed, we will have enough of a head start on time to lose them completely.”

You remain quiet.

“Omega?”

“And go where?”

“You don’t need to know that.”

You push his face away from your neck and push at his chest. “I’m still nothing more than your bait?”

He growls and turns you around so your chest and face are pressed up against the wall.

“I’m still your alpha, and yes my end game is still to draw out the Soldat.”

“Why?”

“I need him.”

He nudges your legs apart and enters you from behind, and you groan as he fills you.

He pulls back, about to enter you again, but then you turn your head, and gasp, “Wait,” in a tone that’s different enough that he does, brow furrowing as he meets your eyes.

“Omega?”

“Tell me what happened to Sam, to you, and I promise I’ll go with you willingly.”

He didn’t think you knew Sam had been with him.

You reach for his head and urge him back to the cradle of your neck.

With more than your words and the gentle action, you’re also entreating him through the bond, he can feel it. It’s powerful. And so he tells you. It only takes him two sentences to tell you what you need to know. Tears stream down your face, and he fucks you then, the fucking he needs for him, not you, but you allow him to take.

go immediately to part three: Carving Through the Dark

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[familyvideostevie]

living high until that fatal day

a/n: i never do this. literally, never. when i'm not here i'm writing stuff that's not x reader for ao3 and this is a fic i posted over there. it's a time loop story about joel and ellie. @bageldaddy told me i had to post it here. without her this fic would not exist. thank you so much, bea. so, here we go. if you read it, thank you. let me know what you think. joel miller & ellie williams gen fic. 7.5k words warnings: Time Loop, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, kind of???, it resolves, Suicide, only in one of the loops!, Canon-Typical Violence, joel gets stuck and has to figure it out, Father-Daughter Relationship, thoughts about sacrifice and love, POV Joel, mostly, this one is kind of intense folks, major character death tag is cause well the loop ends one way or another, gonna diverge at the end, but it ends well!!! i promise, also this is pretty firmly game but hbo folks should be okay!

summary: joel finds himself stuck in a time loop of that day in salt lake city.

Joel lies to her. 

He's got dried blood under his fingernails and his shoulder aches from the kick of the rifle and he's so, so tired. 

But he lies to her. 

If he was a smarter man he'd have thought of something better. Told her that the hospital got raided or they had a FEDRA mole, how the whole thing was a sham from the start. He doesn't know if she was awake for any of it. If the last thing she remembers is him reaching for her and failing to save her. If she remembers what it feels like to drown. 

It's hard to look at her in the mirror but he manages. Just keep driving, hands tight on the wheel. Don't white knuckle, don't spook her. She's in the car. She's safe. He did it. 

"We found the Fireflies," he says. She doesn't look at him. "Turns out there's a...a whole lot more like you, Ellie. People that're immune. It's dozens, actually." 

There's a strange pull in his gut, a pull that he's felt a few times before in the moments before everything went south. When the soldier pointed his gun by the river, when Tess looked at him on her last day, when he fell off the ledge in Colorado. But he ignores it. 

"Ain't done a damn bit of good, either. They've actually st--" Ellie closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. She doesn't look at him. "They've stopped looking for a cure. I'm takin' us home. I'm sorry."

She turns her back to him and the pull becomes a burn, becomes a black hole under his ribcage taking everything with him. He blinks once, twice, wonders if he got shot and didn't notice, if he cracked a rib and it punctured his lung, if --

The road in front of him disappears. 

He can't see a damn thing -- not like the lights went out, like there is nothing to see. There is nothing in front of him at all.

Then, Joel wakes up yesterday. 

___ 

He jolts awake with a strangled yell. Ellie kneels over him, the rifle he taught her to hold slung over her shoulder. It's just past dawn based on the color of the sky and how he can make out most of her face, her withdrawing hand and her unimpressed but slightly concerned frown. 

"You were talking again," Ellie says. "Nightmares?" 

Joel tears his eyes from her and thunks his head back down on his crumpled up jacket. The trees stretch high above him and he tries to get it together so he doesn't spook her. 

They’re camped within sight of the highway. Salt Lake City has been looming for days now and Joel doesn't want to take any chances. The ring-road is almost clear, dotted here and there with cars and a fair amount of supplies, enough that Joel suspects people haven't been here for some time. If this is another Colorado State situation, he's going to have to put Ellie in a car and take them back to Jackson before she does something stupid.

She's fine. Well, no, not quite. Things aren't the same and they never will be but he can tell she's doing her best and he won't ask more than that. Their pace has slowed this week and he's having a hard time figuring out if she's sliding back into some sort of post-Colorado haze or if she's nervous about actually arriving in Salt Lake. 

God knows he's nervous as hell.

But every day she'll walk as far as he tells her to and won't complain. He knows she wants to get there. They have to get there and it has to work -- because he doesn't know what they're going to do otherwise. 

She asked him a question. Nightmares. Joel sits up and drags his hand down his face.

"Somethin' like that."

Ellie shrugs and starts to clean up their camp now that he's awake. He still hates letting her take watch, but she needs to feel in control of things, so they split it most nights. She hums a little bit as she works and he has hopes that today might be a good day.

But that dream... It comes back in flashes: the giraffes, the tunnel. Ellie hanging from the side of the bus because she jumped to save him, her small frame sinking slowly, just out of reach. The crack of her ribs underneath his hands. The hospital. The Fireflies.

Joel gets up, rolls his shoulder at a phantom pain and looks down at his hands. Crusted with dirt and nothing more. 

Jesus Christ. He's losing it. 

They set off. 

The blue hospital sign seems to shine in the spring sun all too soon.

"This is where we get off. Let's go, kiddo."

Joel talks even though he knows she's not listening. He talks to take his mind off of the echo that sits at the base of his neck with every step. Has he told her he'll teach her guitar before? He's been thinking it for months. 

Ellie trails behind him, kicking rocks and half-heartedly searching cars when he asks her to. She heads for a faded blue sedan but he stops her. 

"Blue one won't open, don't bother." 

The look she gives him makes him think about what he just said. "How do you know that?"

He blinks. How does he know that? Before he can explain it, Ellie shrugs and keeps walking. 

The disinterest is new and it doesn't sit well with him. She's been through a lot, more than any kid deserves, and they're almost there. He figures it's worse today because of that. 

"I dreamt about flying the other night."

Joel's stomach twists. "Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Go on, tell me about it."

She tells him about her dream, about how it felt to fly and then fall, and he is dizzy with deja vu. 

"I've never been on a plane." Ellie looks at him like he can tell her what it means. Like he has any damn answers at all. "Isn't that weird?"

Joel hums and swallows the lump in his throat. The bus terminal. Ellie, drowning. Firefly after Firefly in his path. His hands flex around a gun that isn't there. 

"Well, you know. Dreams are weird." It tastes like a lie in his mouth but he can't figure out why. 

It gets worse when they find the bus station, when she runs off in search of something that's got her smiling. Her small hand reaches for the giraffe, her eyes bright, but Joel feels like he's watching it through a fog. He knows what she's going to say before she says it. 

"So fucking cool."

Joel has seen a lot of weird shit in his life but whatever is happening here is leagues above the rest. It bumps up against something in his brain, like the answer is just out of reach but he can't fucking get there. Always a step behind when it counts. 

Ellie hands him a picture of his dead daughter and something in him comes dangerously close to snapping. Instead of gratitude or sorrow or anything that would make sense, he's terrified. 

He's fucking terrified because this happened. Which means he knows what comes next. 

But there's no time to worry about it. They pick their way through the tunnel, through the runners and the clickers and the fucking bloaters. The pressure on his neck gets heavier, gets almost unbearable. He's strung tighter than he's been in years, like the walls are closing in on him and there's a timer he can't see. 

When they get to the rapids, he waits for Ellie to get to the other side of the bus until he jumps on it but it dislodges. The dam in his head breaks and he yells, screams at her to run, to leave him, but she jumps on the bus anyway. 

She drowns.

Joel doesn't doubt that the Fireflies are coming -- he hears them --  but he doesn't take his eyes off of her, doesn't stop the chest compressions until he's knocked out.

The rest of it is a blur, his sense of reality already warped by his need to get to the operating room. To save her. 

Joel picks them off one by one, floor by floor, hardly taking note of how familiar it all feels. He doesn't even give the surgeon a chance to speak before he's dead, a bullet between the eyes. He knows they'll make it to the elevator. He kills Marlene. He drives them away.

He lies. 

He wakes up yesterday again.

___

It takes a few days before Joel purposely deviates from what he's thinking of as the script. His head feels like it weighs a thousand pounds when he wakes in the clearing, Ellie's eyes on him.

He thinks about it as they pack up camp. Can he get them out of here? Would that be allowed? The rules of this aren't clear to him but he figures it can't hurt to try. They could turn around right now and make it back to Jackson in a week or so. 

He watches Ellie carefully arrange her things in her bag, watches her stop to admire a butterfly in the branches above. He watches her and tries to see her alive and not pale on an operating table. 

"Ellie," he says. "I got a bad feelin' about this."

She loves to tell him he's overreacting but today she crosses her arms and sits back on her heels. "What do you mean?"

Her scream as she falls into the water. Her ribs cracking beneath his hands. The piercing alarm in the hospital, her body warm but limp in his arms.

"What if we waited?" She frowns but he keeps going. "Went back to Jackson, rested up. Took a break. Come back in a few months with a bit of a crew. Tommy'll give us some guys, hell, I bet he'll come with if you want --"

"No," Ellie says sharply. There's an edge to her voice he hasn't heard in a long time. "Joel, shut up."

"Ellie --"

She stands abruptly, takes a few steps back. "I said no."  The look on her face tells Joel he's already lost. "Are you -- are you fucking kidding me? You want to go back? Now?"

He sighs. "Just to rest up. We don't know what we're walking into --"

Ellie throws her hands around in disbelief. Her eyes look wet. Christ, he's made her cry again. He promised himself he wouldn't do that. 

"We don't know if they'll still be there."

"We don't know if they are there."

"And we won't find out if we fucking run away like cowards!"

Joel stands. "I don't want another Colorado State situation, Ellie --" Her face shutters. Mistake. 

"Don't bring up Colorado," she growls. "You don't know what that was like." 

Damn right he doesn't. He knows by now what happened but he'll never know how hard it was for her to survive when he was busy dying on that mattress. But he has to try something or they'll just end up here again tomorrow. Yesterday. Whatever. 

The idea of her suffering makes his hackles rise, makes his blood run cold

. 

"Can I finish a god damned sentence?" he snaps. Ellie is undeterred and snaps back.

"Not if it's going to be about leaving. We-- I -- we're not fucking leaving. Not after everything. We can't."

Joel sighs and drags a hand down his face. This girl. He's trying to save her and she can't see it. There's no way to make her see it and it's his fault. She should know by now that he'd do anything, anything, for her. He lost that battle a long time ago, probably longer ago than he'd like to admit. 

"I know," he tells her. "Just...if you want to give it all up, to go back, we can. We don't have to go through with this."

Ellie's eyes are blazing and her tone is disappointed. It cuts deep. "Yes we do. I thought you'd understand that, Joel."

He follows her this time as she stalks down the highway towards the hospital. No mention of six strings, no dreams about planes. They catch the giraffes but she doesn't stick around to watch them for as long. It's a different kind of loss to be without her smile, her laughter. Joel wishes he'd never opened his god damned mouth. 

"I'm sorry," he says. "For earlier." Ellie pauses on the stairs and half turns to look up at him. "I know it's important to you."

She sighs. "I know you mean well." Joel closes his eyes. He knows what comes next. "But there's no halfway with this. Once we're done, we'll go wherever you want, okay?"

He plays his part for the rest of the day, just to get it over with. 

___

Next time, Joel waits until they're watching the giraffes to try something different. 

"So," he says. "This everything you were hoping for?"

Ellie gives him her half-smile. "It's got its ups and downs, but...you can't deny that view, though."

He seizes his chance. "Wanna go down there?" 

She perks up. "Really? Do you think they'll let us get close?"

"They might. Let's try." 

They manage to backtrack a little bit and end up on the field. It smells like a zoo but Ellie is thrilled to be so close so they post up on the roof of a rusty FEDRA Jeep. Two of the giraffes end up eating out of the tree right above them. Ellie holds her breath. 

"They just...don't care, do they?" she whispers. "How long do you think they've been here?"

She leans into his side and cranes her neck to watch one of them use its tongue. 

"Don't know," he says. "Big ones could've been from before. But the tiny one s'probably younger than you."

"So cool," she says again. "They're from a zoo, right? I wonder if anything else lives in the city."

They've been sitting here long enough that the sun has started to set. Joel allows himself to hope. 

"Might be. What do you say we spend the night here and look on the way to the hospital tomorrow? Daylight'll do us better."

Ellie chews on his suggestion. "I guess," she says. "Are we safe here?"

"Should be." Joel has no idea, frankly. He sure as hell wants them to wake up here in the morning. He wants to make good on this idea, wants to show her something else that'll make her smile. He wants this to be a bizarre, unexplainable day that he'll forget about with time.

"I'll keep watch."

They set up camp crowded against the fence so Joel can see the whole field. The giraffes leave them alone and Ellie falls asleep quickly after they eat.

In the quiet open air the dread in his gut returns full-force and he knows he's wrong. Again.

A branch cracks and he whirls around, rifle in hand to find three men pointing their guns at him through the wire. They might be wearing Firefly jackets but he can't tell. He doesn't care. Joel dares to look at Ellie for a second and sees she's still asleep. 

It's a mistake.

One of them follows his gaze and his eyes widen.

"Holy shit," he whispers. "She looks like who Marlene said --"

"Shut up," the second one hisses. "On the ground, old man."

"How are you gonna get around that fence, hotshot?" he says. "Ellie. Ellie, wake up."

She blinks a few times and sees his stance. scrambling to her feet with her knife in hand.

"Holy shit. What the fuck?"

"Get behind me."

One of the soldiers points his gun at her. 

"Don't move."

It's chaos after that. The guys shout at each other. 

"Don't point it at her! Don't you remember the fucking briefing?"

"You hadn't even joined when we got here, you don't know. We've been looking for her for months --"

"If you shoot her we're all dead --"

Joel locks eyes with Ellie.

"When I say run, you run. Okay?" 

The fear in her eyes turns to determination. Brave girl, he thinks. I'm sorry. He waits for the idiot pointing at her to look away and takes a deep breath. What's one more day?

"Run!"

Joel doesn't check to see if she obeys before firing through the fence. The rifle is incredibly powerful at such a short range and where there was once a head there's only mist. Joel clears the chamber as fast as he can and gets the second one in the shoulder but he's not fast enough for a third and before he realizes it he's on his back in the grass. 

The Firefly's assault rifle litters Joel's chest with bullets but he doesn't feel it until he tries to take a breath and nothing comes. It's like he's underwater.

At least he didn't make her cry this time.

__

Joel isn't much of a believer in anything but he decides fairly quickly that he's in Hell or something close. God knows he deserves it. 

His sins are countless, his ledger dripping with red just like his hands. They will never be clean. What he can't figure out is how he got here. Did he die somewhere in St. Mary's? Is the real world somewhere else beyond his reach, now? If he died then what happened to Ellie?

He tries to make tallies in the bark of a tree on the edge of camp but they disappear every time he wakes up. He makes do with his own slowly unspooling brain. Two, five, ten.

Ellie is much the same every time but somewhere around day twenty she asks him about it. "How do you know where everything is?"

They're in the bus depot before the tunnel. He's taking them quickly around the tents, putting off Ellie handing him a photo of his dead daughter. It's muscle memory at this point. A pair of pliers here, some rags there. A half-empty but uncracked bottle of hooch behind that blood-stained bed, some bullets under that overturned partition. 

"Just payin' attention."

"I pay attention!"

Joel uses the excuse to grin at her. It's hard sometimes to remember that she has no idea what's coming, that he can and should be good to her every chance he gets. The violence has already started to blur together in his mind. Killing everyone in the hospital is by far the easiest part of this fucking loop. These parts are harder. 

"Didn't say you don't."

"I feel like that was a double negative."

She's still energized from the giraffes and he knows she's working up the courage to talk about Sarah, but right now he wants to spend time with her. He spots the Firefly medal tangled in the shattered floodlight and points it out. 

"Ellie," he says. She's at his side in seconds, looking up at him with eyes brighter than he's seen in weeks. "Wanna get that down?"

She gives him her classic why are you like this look. "Are you going to be weird and pick it up?"

Joel shrugs and leans on the rotting tank nearby. "Just want to check your aim."

"My aim is really fucking good and you know it!" Even so, she picks up a brick from her feet and palms it, eyeing the silver circle before winding her arm back and hurling the brick towards it. 

She misses. Maybe three hundred miles and a trail of dead bodies ago she'd have stormed off, embarrassed and pissed. But she just makes a face at the still-swinging medal and then looks at him. "How did I miss that?"

He pushes off the tank and scoops up a glass bottle. "Sun s'probably in your eyes." Joel stands next to her and eyes the target, trying to compensate in his mind for her height. "Stand here." Ellie moves over in front of him and he hovers his arm over her. "Can I?"

She nods. Joel presses the bottle into her hand and she takes it as he maneuvers her with a hand on her elbow until she's got the trajectory he thinks will work. 

"Now?" she asks. "Feels pretty fucking similar to what I was doing."

"Just trust me. Throw a little lighter than last time. And higher."

Ellie sighs, but once he steps back she does as he says and nails the medal hard enough that it drops to the ground. She whoops and turns around, hands high in the air and a wide smile on her face. Joel tries to breathe through how easily she puts her faith in him. 

"Fuck yeah! Did you see that?" She holds both hands out for a high five and he obliges. 

"Sure did. Nice job, kiddo."

When Ellie hands him the picture of Sarah, he pulls her in for a hug. He half expects her to shove him off but instead she allows it, twisting her hands in his shirt as he cups the back of her head. 

"Thank you," Joel says quietly, thickly. 

Later, when he finds her on the operating table, he presses his lips to her forehead for an extra moment before picking her up and heading for the elevator. 

__

He messes with the order of things a little bit. Tries to make their morning last longer, tries to stay watching the giraffes for an hour or so. 

Sometimes it works. 

Sometimes it doesn't. 

Watching Ellie drown over and over fucks with his head more than the hospital does because he can't stop it. At least while he's leaving behind corpse after corpse he knows that she's asleep upstairs, waiting for him. In the tunnel, he knows that the only way out is through, but she has to fucking drown first. 

He gets sloppy. 

He forgets about the runners in the side rooms when he ducks in to avoid a clicker and takes a step too close. Ellie is behind him as always and he shoves her back blindly as three runners slam him against the metal railing of the stairs before he can reach for his gun. He's too surprised to feel anything, but their breath smells like rotting meat and something worse, something that makes his eyes water. 

Joel searches the room for her and finds her -- pale-faced and terrified, already reaching for her knife. He tries to say her name but it comes out as a scream when one of the runners goes for his shoulder, jagged teeth ripping through his shirt in an instant. 

"Ellie -- run, Ellie -- GO --" He begs her to leave him but his voice stops working as his throat is ripped out. The last thing he sees is her horrified face as she raises her pistol.

And then he wakes up yesterday. 

___

It occurs to him on day 30 -- if he's keeping track accurately -- that he's got one of the smartest people he knows at his disposal. Kid's got an encyclopedic knowledge of space as well as science fiction stories. He asks her while they're still on the highway, stalling though he can see the blue H sign from here.

"Y'ever read stuff about time?" No reply. "Ellie?" She's staring at that deer again. "Ellie."

"What?" 

"You read any stories about time back in school?"

"Uh, sure," she says. She tugs her sleeves over her hands and catches up to him, eyes on the ground. "Why?"

"Saw a weird movie 'bout it once. Somethin' reminded me of it this mornin'. Guy gets stuck in a...shit, what did they call it?" Joel peeks inside an RV and smells rot so he leaves it be. "He lives the same day over and over."

"A time loop!" Ellie sounds more excited about this than anything they've talked about for days. "Those are so fucking cool. Scary, though. I feel like I'd go crazy."

Joel drags a hand down his face. "Yeah," he says. "How do you think you get outta one?"

"Well, how did the guy in the movie do it?"

"He stopped bein' an asshole," he says. Ellie laughs. 

"Well, we know that's not possible for you. Guess you're fucked."

"Guess so," he mutters. 

The H sign is close enough that she'll see it any minute. He wishes for the hundredth time that they could just stay out here all day, just talking. If he had a guitar he'd play for her. If he had a fucking car he'd put her in it and turn around, even though it wouldn't do any good. They'd just end up right back here because he can't fucking figure out how to get out of this. 

"I think you just have to change, right?" Ellie says. She's looking at the photo of an airplane on the bus. This time she doesn't tell him about her dream. Is he losing pieces of her, already? "I guess it doesn't have to be about yourself. Maybe something you do, or something you say. It's the universe telling you to make a different choice, right?"

That's the fucking thing. The choice isn't an option. It's not even a choice. 

The one thing he hasn't tried and will not try is leaving the hospital when Marlene tells him to. He'd rather die a thousand times, rather live this shit show over and over for the rest of eternity than let them cut her brain out. They will not touch her while there is still breath in his body. 

He'd do it all over again. He will.

__

Joel tries a hundred things and they don't work. 

After his conversation with Ellie he decides to really fuck with the day. Doesn't matter, right? So long as she's not put in any extra danger he considers it. He begs her to walk away, get on his knees and pleads with her throughout the day. Doesn't work. She just gets pissed at him like that first time and he doesn't push it because he can't bear to see her cry. He lengthens their morning in the clearing, fakes sick or says the rifle is jammed and needs cleaning. That goes south, too, when a pack of runners wanders through the woods and straight into them. They make it to the highway and have to miss the giraffes because they're running. 

One time Joel spends all day zig-zagging them around the city to avoid the tunnel. The Fireflies find them much the same way except they shoot him on sight and grab Ellie right out of his arms as he bleeds out on the cracked asphalt, her screams echoing in his ears. 

Another time, he ties them together in the tunnel with some fraying rope and they both drown. 

Killing Marlene early gets him a bullet in the head and not killing her at all gets him back where he started, no change. 

Joel even begs the doctor to run more tests first, to try blood, to try anything, but it takes too long and the alarm sounds and he's cornered in the operating room before he can grab Ellie and go. 

Nothing fucking works. 

But what is there left to change?

__

His mind starts to fray. He loses count of the loops and it becomes hard to detach himself from the slaughter. Not even the good moments -- Ellie's laughter, the awe in her face when she sees the giraffes, her jokes and her muted but still sharp sarcasm -- keep him afloat. He's lost, adrift in a sea of blood and bullets and it starts to eat away any humanity that was left in him. 

The blood of hundreds, thousands maybe, is on his hands and he feels nothing.

Once and only once does he get there too late. Everything else goes like it always does but maybe he took too long on the first floor, maybe he took too long picking the guys one by one instead of using the assault rifle, maybe maybe maybe. 

When Joel gets to the pediatric ward he knows something is different -- he can hear a buzzing sound, something loud and unnatural. The stale air is thick with something metallic, tinged with death. The buzzing stops and he finds his feet glued to the floor outside the operating room. Voices on the other side of it, murmuring and the clink of metal on a tray. Joel's hand shakes when he reaches for the knob because he knows whatever he finds on the other side is going to kill him. 

But he opens it because he has to. The doctor is at the sink this time, the nurses nowhere to be found. Ellie's body is covered in a sheet, blood seeping through the fabric. Joel looks away. He just stands there, his heartbeat loud in his ears as the world ends. 

The first time his daughter died, Joel thought he could will it not to be so. He held her as long as he could, whispered her name with her blood drying on his hands until Tommy begged him to get moving. 

This time, he knows it's true and he knows there's only one ending. 

He raises his gun at the doctor who is now leaning on the edge of the sink. The door swings open and the nurses return, eyes wide and vibrating with the energy of a job well done. He swings over to them and kills them both with quick headshots. The doctor has barely turned around when he's dead, too.

Joel breathes, ears ringing. He manages one step closer to the operating table but his knees buckle and he goes down hard on the cool tile. His vision is blurry. Is he crying?

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm so fucking sorry, baby." He angles himself so he won't get any blood on her and then presses the barrel of his gun to his temple and pulls the trigger. 

__

If Joel was on the edge of losing his mind before, now he's laser focused. He doesn't pull any more shit. He settles back into the loop, savoring Ellie's laughter with the giraffe and gunning down every sorry motherfucker in his way at the hospital. He will not get there late ever again. 

So when Marlene says something different the next time around and he almost misses it.

Ellie is dead weight in his arms but she's warm and he can see the rise and fall of her chest. The hospital was messier than usual because he rushed this time, cutting down the Fireflies like it was his last stand. There's blood in his hair and crusted under his fingernails and his shirt is beyond ruined. 

"Are you going to tell her what happened here?" Marlene presses her hand into her side, blood leaking from around her crimson palm. "Are you going to tell her what you did?"

He lies to her.

Every time.

It's never occurred to him to try something else. Even though he's changed almost everything about this damn day except that. 

Because Joel knows what happens if he tells the truth. He knows what that will cost him.

And he doesn't know if he'll survive it.

He's afraid. Joel doesn't want to lose her and if that makes him selfish then so be it. He wants to take her back to Jackson and give her a bedroom of her own and as many stupid comics as she wants and three meals a day for the rest of her long, peaceful life. He wants her to grow up and grow old. 

He'd kill a thousand more Fireflies to make it happen.

He'd damn the whole world. 

Because he loves her and it fucking hurts. 

This girl and her puns and her comics and her god damned bravery and her bleeding heart. He doesn't want to lose her. 

But is this, whatever this endless hell is, is it fair to her? 

If it's breakable, if he has the ability to get them to tomorrow, to get them to Jackson, to get them home, shouldn't he? If he loves her shouldn't he give her a life even if he's not in it?

Joel gently arranges Ellie in the backseat and shoots Marlene in the head. 

__

For a few seconds Ellie thinks she's in the car on the way into Pittsburgh. The hum of the old engine, the rocking motion of the truck. But -- wait. She's lying down. The car smells...musty. And she's cold like she's wearing a dress and --

"What the hell am I wearing?"

She flutters her eyes open. Different truck. Backseat. Is she in a...hospital gown? What the fuck? Where is she?

"Just take it easy," Joel says. Okay, so she's with Joel. Something in her chest settles. She must be safe. "Drugs are still wearin' off."

Drugs? Ellie pushes back into her memory and tries to find something, anything that'll give her a clue as to what's going on here. They were in the bus tunnel. The water was rushing, Joel jumped on the bus and it started moving and she...fell into the water? 

It's a blur after that. More of a blank, really. Did they get to the hospital? Did they find the Fireflies? Based on her weird fucking outfit it sure seems like it.

"What happened?"

Joel's eyes flick up in the rearview mirror to look at her. "Let's get you into some clothes, first. Then we'll take a break and I'll tell you everythin'."

He sounds tired. More tired than he's ever sounded, frankly, but she can't imagine why. And he can't seem to stop looking at her like she's going to disappear. Like he hasn't seen her in ages. 

"Okay," she says slowly. "Where the hell are we going to get those?" 

"Your bag is on the floor by your feet." Joel veers off the highway down an exit ramp and Ellie sits up. Her head feels light for a second and then really heavy so she braces her hands on the seat in front of her and takes a few deep breaths. "You okay, kiddo?"

"Yeah. Fucking...drugs, I guess. What'd they do that for?"

"They ran some tests. We'll talk about it."

Normally she'd push him but something feels off. Ellie tries to get a good look at his face but she can't, not from this angle, and not with her head fucking pounding like it is. She's missing so much time. It makes her skin crawl, makes her heart race. Joel is here, she tells herself. He wouldn't let anything bad happen to her. 

He parks them at the edge of a cemetery and gets out of the car to stand guard while she changes out of the gown. Her last pair of jeans, apparently, and a grey t-shirt with a few holes in the collar. She wishes she had a sweatshirt or something to wrap around herself, to pull over her hands and feel covered. But beggars can't be choosers. At least someone put her shoes in her backpack. 

Joel doesn't turn around when she opens the door but she sees him stiffen. 

"I'm done." He looks back at her and she finally sees his face. "Jesus Christ, Joel, what happened to you?"

It's not just the blood. Sure, he's got dried streaks of it on his neck and in his hair. Ellie glances at his hands and sees it crusted under his fingernails, too. But he looks wrecked. Older, somehow. He looks like something terrible happened, the way she remembers his face when he fell from the balcony in Colorado, when he found her in the burning restaurant. But somehow it's worse. 

He's looking at her like he can't believe she's real. 

"Alright." Joel lowers the rifle and ignores her question, clearly. "Didn't see anythin'. Should be fine to sit here for a bit."

"Are you going to tell me what the fuck happened?"

He moves like he's going to drag a hand down his face but thinks better of it. "Yeah," he says. "I am." 

Ellie swings her legs so they're hanging out the door. Joel leans the rifle against the truck and crosses his arms. "You're making me kind of nervous, man."

"Just...promise me you'll hear me out to the end."

Yeah, something is going on. She doesn't like it. 

"Uh, sure."

"What do you remember?" 

Good fucking question. "The tunnel. The bus and -- water. I fell in, right?"

Joel nods, clears his throat. "Jumpin' on the bus was dumb. Don't do that again." 

She snorts. "Yeah, okay. Point taken. But I was afraid you were going to drown!"

"You did." He delivers the news in a flat tone she doesn't like. She drowned?

"Are you serious?"

"I got us out of the water and tried to get you breathin' again." Ellie realizes her chest is sore. She imagines Joel doing compressions like they showered her in school, imagines his panicked face, his hoarse voice calling her name. Fuck.

"Did it work?"

"No," he says. "Fireflies found us first and knocked me out." 

"That doesn't make sense." She frowns. "They knocked you out?"

Joel shrugs. "Just tellin' you what happened."

This isn't how she imagined it would go. She never told Joel, but for weeks she's been thinking about waltzing up to the hospital and telling them who she is. She pictured Joel telling her jokes while she got her blood drawn, pictured him staring down nurses and doctors while they made the cure. She figured it would take a few days, maybe a week, and then they'd be on their way back to Jackson. She had hoped Marlene might be there, too. She has so many questions about her mom. 

"What did they do with me?"

Joel looks troubled. "I...don't exactly know. It was a while before I saw you again."

It makes her skin crawl. He must be able to tell because he keeps talking. "I'm sure they just ran some tests while you were out. They brought you back, made sure you were breathin' okay."

"Tests?"

"I'm gettin' there." She feels like he's having a hard time looking at her. Something close to but not quiet dread sits heavy in her stomach. What happened?

"Joel..."

"I woke up inside the hospital. Marlene was there. Told me they didn't know it was us, that they'd been waiting." He pauses, drags a hand down his face. "You didn't wake up or nothin'? You sure?"

Ellie shakes her head. She doesn't remember anything after the tunnel. 

"Well, she told me they could do it. They had a doctor who could make the cure."

The air rushes out of Ellie all at once. "Are you fucking serious?"

"And then she said..." Joel chews on his words and looks away from her. He looks angry. 

"What did she say?"

"Makin' a vaccine...would've killed you."

The bottom drops out of Ellie's world. It's like a hundred doors in her brain open at once. 

It would have killed her? Are they sure? Did they do enough tests? Were they going to? Why didn't they wake her up? Were they going to ask her? How did they get out?

She swallows them all and manages just one in a broken whisper. "What did you do?"

Joel looks right at her. "I stopped them."

If Ellie wasn’t already sitting down she thinks her legs would give out. She knows that Joel meant what he said to her in Silver Lake. Knows that he'd do anything for her.

But this?

"What do you mean?" He shakes his head. "Joel. What do you mean, you stopped them?"

His shoulders slump. "They told me to leave and I refused. And I made sure no one can follow us to try again."

Static builds in her ears. She can read between the lines. She speaks Joel now. He killed them all, that much is clear to her. He killed them all, Marlene, too, probably, because she was supposed to die to save the world. Hot tears sting her nose and gather at the corner of her eyes. 

"But I -- but we -- I was supposed to...I'm the cure!"

"You're a person. You're a kid. Don't matter what's in your brain, you ain't dyin' for --"

Ellie pushes out of the truck and to her feet. Joel steps back to give her room but she knows he probably wants to touch her, to reassure her. The anger fills her, makes her face hot and her heart race. 

"Who said you get to make that choice? If they said I had to die maybe I should have? Then it would mean something --"

"Your immunity ain't the thing that matters most. You are. So I picked you," Joel yells.

She's really crying now, huge heaving sobs that make it hard to talk, make it hard to convey how angry she is. "Well, you picked wrong, asshole."

"I ain't gonna apologize for it. I'd do it all over again, the exact same way. Every time." Joel's expression is as serious as it gets. He used to look this way all the time. No nonsense, no room for argument. 

She tries to find the words anyway but they don't come.

"Now, you've got some options here," he says. "I think the best one is for us to go back to Jackson. I know Tommy'll take you in, and --

She laughs, or tries to. 

It sounds like something bitter and awful to her own ears. First he tells her she was supposed to die today and now he wants to leave her?

"Are you fucking serious, Joel? You want to leave me again?" 

Joel's brows pinch together. He looks pained. Good. It feels like her chest is caving in, like her lungs aren't working right anymore. This must be what it felt like to drown in the bus terminal, to sink slowly, to fade away entirely. She read once that drowning was supposed to be peaceful. This hurts. 

"I want you to be safe," he says. "Jackson is the best place for that. I don't have to be there if you don't want me there --"

"I didn't fucking say that!" she yells. "I -- Jesus, give me a fucking second, okay?"

He stands by the door as she paces back and forth, tugging her hands through her hair. 

She was supposed to die. But she didn't. There's no cure. And it sure fucking sounds like Joel didn't leave any option to try again. 

He traded saving the world for her. 

It's too much.

"What do you want, Ellie?" Joel sounds like he's been awake for days. Like he's in pain, like he's being hollowed out. He sounds like how she feels. 

She digs the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

"I want none of this to have happened! I want us to go back to this morning and I want us to not have gone into the bus tunnel and I want you to have asked for tests first, I want them to try something else. I want Marlene to tell me why they didn't wake me up. I want to do it again but differently, I want things to be different, I --"

Her words break off into a sob. "Ellie..." She opens her eyes and finds him reaching for her. His shirt is stained with dried blood but she steps into his hold and his arm wraps around her. 

"I don't know what to do, now," she whispers.

Joel exhales a shaky breath. "I know you wish things were different. I wish things were different. But they ain't."

They stand there, his hand dragging up and down her back. She listens to his heartbeat and remembers those nights in the basement when she thought it would stop any minute. 

"Fuck," she whispers, then pulls away. He lets her go. "Fuck, Joel."

He sighs. "Yeah, kiddo. Fuck."

He told her the truth and that means something. It hurts, it hurts so bad, and it doesn't absolve him of anything, but that matters. 

"I'm so angry with you," she says. "I don't know how to forgive you for...for...saving me." 

It sounds stupid as she says it but Joel nods solemnly. 

"That's alright." 

"But I..." She wants to get this part right. "Let's go back. To Jackson. We'll figure it out there. But you...you have to swear to tell me the truth. Just like this. We have to be honest with each other."

Joel meets her gaze without blinking. "I swear."

Ellie takes a deep breath. The anger, the horror, the disbelief at what he's done settle a little bit. She has no clue what comes next, but this is a start. 

"Okay."

__

Joel wakes up. 

His back hurts and his shoulder aches. It's dark, darker than it should be, darker than it's been for hundreds of days.

Ellie is asleep in the backseat of the truck. 

It's tomorrow. 

thank you for reading. let me know what you thought!

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Fourteen - A Merry Little Christmas

W/C: 7.5K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Have yourself a merry little Christmas…

(Cover) Phoebe Bridgers

Warnings: mentions of bad childhood, mentions of parent’s death, issues with mental health, allusion to a suicide attempt, self harm but not, just appears to be, blood, let me know if I missed anything. In all fairness this is a heavy chapter in the beginning. Oh and also, smut 👀

A/N: this took literally forever to write…only because I couldn’t write for like months lmao. But I spent all day basically fleshing most of this all out and there’s a lot of emotion put into it and not too much editing cause I already overthought everything I wrote as I wrote it, dare I say I put my whole fuckin pussy into this chapter. Next chapter will be the final one in the series 😭

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Christmas Eve was supposed to be different this year.  

A senseless daydream.  

It was dad’s last kick to his gut, he knows it.  Eddie finally had a good thing going for him but alas the Munson’s were cursed and he could never escape.  This was some kind of final revenge for not hanging around like a lost puppy though it wasn’t even his choice to leave Hawkins in the first place.  It didn’t matter, life never spared Eddie a precious moment.  

So he sat there, salty tears still somehow leaking out of him despite how tired he was, despite how wrong it felt.  Last week his dad was the most hated man in his life.  And last week he was suddenly dead.  It didn’t make sense, the devastation that consumed Eddie.  All he knew was that sunlight began leaking through the blinds and dotting the floor.  Birds were chirping annoyingly outside and his skin started to feel like cold cuts and despite how uncomfortable it made him, he couldn’t find it in himself to get off his ass and at least put a sweatshirt on.  

He had promised you breakfast, down the road at that little diner called Reggie’s.  Promised to get you the biggest stack of pancakes covered in whipped cream and all kinds of sprinkles along with the best, artery clogging bacon you would ever taste.  Maybe some scrambled eggs and hashbrowns.  

Whatever you wanted. 

He hadn’t seen you in days, not since the recent news broke.  His excuse of harboring the flu was not how he wanted to start daily phone calls with you.  He knew you would then mistake the stuffiness in his voice for phlegm and not his inner sorrows burrowing their way out of him.  He refused your offer to bring him homemade soup and hot tea, rejected the kindness he hadn’t deserved in the first place.  Told you that he just wanted to get healthy quickly and it wouldn’t do either of you any good to both be sick.  He left you in charge of the bar, much to Jett’s disdain, Eddie didn’t need you to confirm that for him he just knew.

Now just standing up seemed impossible.  Shifting his position on the couch to at least relieve the pressure against his tail bone wasn’t plausible.  And for what?  For a man that never gave an inch when Eddie gave him miles upon miles, practically handed over his life on several occasions.  Pathetic, he knew.  But the pain didn’t cease and he couldn’t even find it in himself to turn his head to check the time.

This was it.  

This was how you were going to come face to face with the fact that Eddie was no man.  Not a real one anyway, a facade if anything.  He could just picture it: you would await his knock at the door and it wouldn't come.  A giddy smile would spread across your face as you thought about your plans of going sledding together–he sees it so vividly in his mind.  And then you would be massively disappointed when he couldn’t deliver.  The creases at your eyes when you got overly excited would cease to exist at the mere idea of him.  He had it coming, he just didn’t think it would be so soon.

Eddie told you he was feeling better.  It was a lie.  He never had the flu.  He didn’t feel better.  He wanted to die.  And the man responsible for it wouldn’t even give a shit had he still been alive.  Now he was dead and Eddie was the one suffering.

And so his neglected stomach grumbled, his incoming stubble itched though he couldn’t find a fuck to give even in his discomfort, and the whiskey bottle ran dry far too soon.  His brain had been clogged with wishes and what he could’ve done, then declarations of it never being enough, a constant tug-of-war that migraines were made of.

He never stood a chance, his DNA had always been coded like a mutant, at least that’s how it felt deep in his bones.  There was always something off, he never resonated with life in general how everyone else did.  A flaw in the system.  And he built his entire being off of it, afterall he never had any control over the way he was perceived so what option did he have?  

Several.

He thought to himself.  

You could have gone to school, shown up.  

Could have stayed out of detention.

Gotten arrested less.

Not get arrested at all.

Could have said no.  So.  Many.  Times.

In all honesty he wanted to blame his old man but he couldn’t stop taking the hits for him even in death.  He couldn’t stop making excuses.  Any normal person would feel relief but he felt nothing but remorse.  For what, he couldn’t exactly piece it together.  Maybe it was a hidden desire to fix him, a glimmer of hope that he could make him turn his life around like Eddie had.  It would never happen, he was well aware, but a certain childish hope clung onto him, tugging on his sleeve, begging himself for reasons.

Until familiar curls similar to his own and an aura of the gentlest kind clouded his vision.  He could nearly hear her voice, smooth as butter and warm as the summer sun when he was a freckled kid.  Rosy cheeks and beautiful chocolatey brown button eyes to match his.

What’s the matter darlin’?

And he just sobbed.  And remembered.

Morning pancakes and the blues.  Muddy clothes and bubble baths laced with melodies.  Kitchen table haircuts, the softest voice humming in his ears, half inch curls littering the linoleum.  Dancing in the living room.  Refusing to eat his broccoli until she told him they were tiny trees.  Walking hand in hand to the corner store for milk and eggs, the promise of a sucker waiting for him at the cash register widening his innocent grin.  Late night cereal bowls when sleep wasn’t an option and nothing did the trick except some off brand Lucky Charms and tales of dragons and fantasy lands he wished they could run away to.

Then he remembered.

Him.

Stumbling into the kitchen on those nights more often than not, spewing nonsense.  Breaking the refrigerator door as he tripped while seeking another beer.  That door forever being duct taped and never properly fixed as promised.  Mama coaxing dad to bed before she slipped into Eddie’s tiny twin bed for the night, most nights.  Dad waking up just to shut the music off in the morning so he could sleep in.  Disappearing for days.

Mama unexpectedly passing and Eddie being so devastated that he didn’t eat for days and willingly waited at the door every day for pops to get home.  Only he rarely did.  Wayne checking in each and every day only to be on the receiving end of a temper tantrum each time.  Years and years of push back.  A clueless kid defending Indiana’s worst dad in the name of seeking some kind of normalcy.  

“My dad has a ton of jobs.”  He would beam, bright eyes and missing teeth.  

The kids would snicker.  Their mocking smiles would be mistaken for a token of friendliness.  And Eddie would once again be disappointed come the end of the day.  Because he’d realized it wasn’t normal to crawl under fences where dad couldn’t fit, to steal expensive things from “higher class pricks” as dad deemed them.  Take your kid to work day had a very different definition in his book.

So Eddie steered away from telling everyone about his dad’s work antics, opted to tell them about how he got to go to the bar with his old man every Wednesday, thinking he’d surely get praise for being considered so mature.  At least that’s how dad described it.  It wasn’t any better and the reactions were only worse.  They called his dad a drunk.  They weren’t wrong but that didn’t make him feel any less enraged.  “Spawn of Satan”, they called Eddie.  Because in truth that’s what his dad was, he just couldn’t comprehend it at the time.  Then came the christening of his formal title, a word so small but so…derogatory with the way it was spat at him.

Freak.

Spawn of Satan sounded so much worse on paper but Freak made his insides hurt.  And as he recounts the events of his life up until now, he tallies everything up.  Closure in some kind of fucked up way.  Childish thoughts of “he was still my dad” try to take over but are quickly replaced by images of their burning house, the records going up and flames and ash coating everything he had left, everything she had left.

Suddenly there’s broken glass scattered across the floor and warm blood trickling down his arm, not by any fault of his own, just pure rage and unknown strength annihilating the poor glass he attempted to drink water with.  Heartbeat in his ear, he swallows thickly and resumes his position against the kitchen cabinet–they’re going to send me back to the asylum.

All over again, even in the afterlife, dad plays his sick jokes.  Gets Eddie into trouble he never sought out–he was just getting water, it was just water and now he looks like the picture perfect case for mental instability.  No one’s seen him for days and–there’s knocking at the door.  He swears it’s not like last time- it can’t be like last time, he didn’t mean it.  This isn’t like back in Hawkins, when he was healing and the courts were making their decisions.  He thought he was a goner, decided to pull the plug to save everyone the trouble, Wayne was at work, Steve was getting him groceries, everyone else was dealing with the end of the world.  They shouldn’t have to worry about me.  With a bottle of prescribed pills in hand.

The knocking turning urgent, conclusions are drawn up in a scattered, tormented mind–surely they’d rip up his contract, the agreement in which he had been assured a promising life anywhere but Indiana.  A life he’d always longed for anyway.  

Be careful what you wish for.  

That goddamn voice taunts him.

The door shakes, manhandled from the other side and he’s forced to confront the final moments before he’s permanently put away.  “One slip up…”  They had said.  It didn’t matter if he told them it was an accident, nothing mattered if it was anyone else’s word against him.  Literally anyone.  As long as it appeared that he was a danger to himself, he was a danger to society. They were probably waiting for this moment: lock up the problem child and throw away the key.  

Cause he was nothing if not a problem.  First and foremost.

Heart beating out of his chest, breath caught in his throat, he could practically hear the sirens whether they be from an ambulance or police car or both, they were coming–

“Eddie?”

It all stopped.  

“Eddie?!”  

There was no accurate way to describe the sob that clawed its way out of his throat, a tortured cry.  The scene before you had been pulled straight out of a horror movie: your beloved Eddie covered in blood, palms pressed into his eyes, stuttered breathing in between sobs.

Upon approaching him he attempted to scoot himself away, glass shards sinking into his hands, a gasp filling the room and you were certain you needed to find someone else to–

“Please don’t make me go back!”

You couldn’t form words.

“I-it was an accident, I-I promise.”  His eyes brimmed with a fear you never could have imagined coming close to witnessing in this lifetime.  “Just–I just got some water-I didn’t mean to break it, I s-swear.  Please d-don’t let them take me.”

Glass crunched under your boots, a slow approach as you crouch in front of the shattered man with the saddest eyes you’d ever seen.  With a shaky breath and careful movements, a silent request to assess his arm and hands is made.  You’re sure your wide eyes can’t be comforting in the slightest though the shock still pulses through you.  

“I’m sorry.” 

“Shh.”  You soothe. 

Forehead pressed to his in a moment of solace, you offer a nudge, nose to nose.  A wordless commitment.  Softness he didn’t know he needed, tender touches of your fingertips to his wet cheek as if to promise a remedy for his aching heart, that you weren’t planning on going anywhere.  You weren’t leaving him like he convinced himself you would or god forbid turn him over to the authorities like he feared.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

–

Glass has been carefully swept three times over, though you were considering a fourth for good measure.  Shards had been plucked from Eddie’s poor hands, your tweezers doing the job just fine after being doused in some cheap vodka he had.  Gauze from a first aid kit you thankfully had in the car had been wrapped around the largest gash in his forearm, not large enough for stitches but large enough to wince at.  He sat there the whole time, staring at the ceiling, the floor, anywhere but your face.  

The silence was heavy, a dense fog that hung low throughout his house.  Someone had to break it but both parties were finding difficulties in voicing the reality of what just occurred.  If either spoke it would make it real.  Right now it was hazy, a question of “are we dreaming or did I just walk in on a suicide attempt?” hung in the air.

He said it was an accident, and you believed him.  There was just so much unanswered and it’s the only thing that came to mind.  Anxious fingers tapped against his own thigh, occasionally twisting his rings round and round while gnawing on his lower lip.  It then dawned on you that he was the most human out of anyone you’d ever met.  

He felt on a deeper level than most.

At the touch of your gentle hand against his, his surprised eyes, parted lips, and hesitance to reciprocate hint that he hadn’t anticipated you sticking around this long after you’d found him.  In the standard of fight or flight, he froze.  Realistically he may have been sitting on his tattered couch while you tended to his wounds, both physical and emotional whether he cares to admit or not, but mentally he checked out the second he found himself surrounded by glass and tears.

“Bambi–”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

You were trying to keep it together.  His croaking voice made that hard.  But in all seriousness it wasn’t fair to throw yourself a pity party in light of Eddie’s current stability.  And you’d reject the idea of throwing him a pity party, wouldn’t even touch the idea, but you would offer him all the empathy your soul had collected in a lifetime.  Even not knowing the culprit of his now dried up tears and stinging hands, you’d go to war for him.  Maybe that was dare you even think it, love.  But that’s a crisis for another time.

“Dad died.”

Somehow the silence became even greater, a gigantic void of confusing thoughts and complicated quick conclusions.  Conclusions you backtracked on immediately.  It wasn’t your decision to declare how he should feel about a man who in your eyes and through his words put him through hell no matter how strong your sense of justice grew.      

“Oh, Eddie, I’m so–”  A soft beginning to a sympathetic apology short lived.

“It’s fucked.”  His voice cracked, stoic face crumbling no matter how hard he tried to rebuild the tough exterior.  “I shouldn’t–”  There’s a pause, an intake of shaky breath.  “I shouldn’t feel bad.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“No, no he ruined fucking–everything.”

“And you’re still allowed to mourn.  Even for as shitty of a person as he was, you were still his son and that meant something to you.”

You wished you could erase the flash of pain that glazed over his eyes; something that tells you he knew every word you spoke to be true but couldn’t quite bring himself to be at peace with it yet.  Dust collected on the coffee table in his eternity of reflection, a melancholy aura blanketing the dark cabin as wind whistled through the chimney like spirits demanding attention.  

“How’d you know?”  He finally asked, timid.

“Hm?”

“I left everyone hanging, they all think I’m out with the flu, how did you pick the exact moment I…”

“Needed someone?”

Eddie nodded, hesitantly, like those weren’t the exact words he would pick himself but they seemed to convey what was necessary.  

“Wayne called me.”  You sigh.  “Said he got my number from Steve.  Everyone wanted to jump on the first plane over y’know?”  At this a trace of a fraction of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth but he did his best to contain it.  “But it’s Christmas, flights are booked, and even then there’s a storm coming in.  Wayne said he couldn’t get a hold of you.”

“So you knew?”

“No.”  You assure, taking care to relax your features.  “Just sounded really worried, didn’t want to air everything out.  He wanted me to check in.  I guess he has some kind of godly intuition.”  You chuckle.

Eddie retracts his hand, and you know you’ve lost him to his inner battle again.  You can only imagine the bloodshed happening within, after all, you were no stranger to deconstructing your own self worth brick by brick.  The traumas he had been faced with were not anything therapy could simply remove like a tumor.  There were no treatments afterward to ensure everything would get better.  You knew this first hand, that you could try and try to get to the root but there was never any way to truly remove it to keep it from ever festering again.  It would appear, it would be when you least expected, at your worst, and it would look you in the eye and test you.

“I’ll be fine.”

Famous last words.  When the host convinces themselves but could never actually believe it to be true in their lifetime.

“But right now you’re not.”

Sabotage.  In his eyes.

“But I will be.  Don’t let me ruin your holiday just because–”

Excuses.  Deterring from the targeted enemy: grief, in the name of saving others the trouble.  A tactic you’d perfected in your years of people pleasing and feeding your tendencies to deflect your sorrows with the intent to appear invisible and self destruct.

“Stop it.”  You demand.

“No, Bambi.  Go to Donnie’s, I’m sure they’ll understand you coming early–”

“Stop.”

Rational thoughts were shoved into a neat little box somewhere else in his mind and you only hoped you could aid in retrieving it before he threw away the key.  Before he decided not even he was worthy of hearing them from himself.  And as he crossed his arms, a stubborn gesture, you braced for impact against his defenses.  His cruel inner monologue and haunted house of a brain.

Big eyes adorned with every brown hue under the sun dissipated into pure darkness.  Cold and black, lacking any of the warmth you’d previously basked in.  He was lost in an underworld he’d been promised to since birth.

“Would you listen to me?!”  Eddie’s jaw clenched in utter frustration and you swear a bead of sweat trickles into his eyebrow.  “I’m not–I don’t wanna be the guy to drag you down.  I’m not gonna be that guy, I won’t do it.  My shit is my shit.”

You weren’t going to become complicit in the reality he’d settled for, the reality in which he felt he deserved scraps and just enough attention to deter himself from going insane.

“And I’m not gonna be the one to leave you while you’re hurting.”  Finally catching his avoidant eye contact, you offer his forearm a squeeze.  A plea.  “Throw me out in the snow, I don’t care but I’m still gonna sit on your porch until you let me in.  I don’t care what holiday it is.”

“Go.”

You try not to take it personal.  It’s not personal.

“Fine.”

The last thing he hears is a slam of the door, refusing to even glance at where you previously sat adjacent to him.  The room turned colder, more vacant.  Even your energy had left with you, none spared for him of course, because why would he be spared anything from your healthy heart?  His was black and blue, barely pumping, and he’d be damned if he was going to let you perform CPR on what he considered an already lost cause.

Do not resuscitate.

As quickly as he’d accepted the death of a budding relationship, the door swung open with aggression to interrupt his mourning, smacking the wall and no doubt breaking through some drywall.  The least of his problems as he watched your determination in setting some stacked boxes on his kitchen counter before exiting again, this time leaving the door wide open.  

It was eerie, the way your second exit was so open ended.  Snow flurries entered and gusts of wind toyed with his curls, his cheeks already hurting a tad with the coldness.  Eddie wasn’t sure what to make of it, you’d dropped off a box of what appeared to be Christmas decorations and what?  Stormed off?  Somehow that hurt even more than the first time, though he’d anticipated the day you would figure out how fucked up he was and retreat.  He could prepare all he wanted but nothing stung more than the actual—

In you came, a box of ornaments under one arm and a small Christmas tree under the other.  And you got to work, setting up the three foot tree right on his coffee table, plugging it in to the nearest outlet and initiating a soft glow of white lights, instantly engulfing the room in a newfound safeness.  The tree needed fluffed and appeared to have bed head, though it still served its cheerful purpose regardless.

Eddie sat with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, on the edge of the couch, eyes shut.  An uphill battle.

“Bambi, what did I tell you–”

“You told me to go.”  You nod confidently, a frown betraying you, pulling at the corners of your mouth.   “And I did.  You didn’t say how long or—or where to go.  But I gave you time to cool off and now you’re gonna either sit and pretend Christmas isn’t a thing or you’re gonna watch the stupid little clay people on TV while I cook dinner and bake.  Either one is good with me but I’m gonna be here whether you like it or not and—“

Before you can look up amidst your rambling, a ringed finger hooks itself in one of your belt loops, tugging you into a warm chest.  

There he is.

Warmth restored in his irises and a semblance of a smirk threatened his lips.  Pale skin rosy in all the right places and endearing eyelashes framing his shy gaze down at you.  Your boy.  

Lips grazed lips, noses nudged into each other, and it all just…made sense.  Bambi and Eddie.  There is not one without the other, not anymore.  Not since you sauntered into his life, demanded a job, puked on him, made him go absolutely insane—

“I love you.”  

It just fell from his tongue.  A promise.

“I-are—are you s—“

“Am I serious?  Is that what you’re gonna ask?”  He nearly mocks your mouthful of syllables.

You nod, gulping.  Not because you’re afraid, no, never.  You’d just never seen such assurance in a single man.

“Bambi…” He tuts.  “You don’t see how bad I’ve got it for you?”

All you can manage is to dumbly bat your eyelashes up at him, mouth hung open like a fish and fists clutching the front of his shirt unknowingly, though he doesn’t mind in the slightest if you stretch out his collar.  

“Bad.”  He reiterates.  “So bad, that even if you don’t feel the same, even if you only like me out of pity—“

“I don’t—“

“I’m not finished.”  Your attempted interruption has him thumbing at your bottom lip.  “Even if you only like me out of pity, I’ll take it.  And I’ll run with it.  Far.  Because I’m pathetic—“

“You are not.” 

“I’m a pathetic man.  Who is deeply in love with you, Bambi.”  

“Stop saying you’re pathetic.”  You challenge quietly, a delicate hand tracing the stubble of his jaw.

“Oh, but I am.”  He breathes, leaving no room for argument when he presses his lips against yours as if it were his last chance.  

Did he believe it was his last chance?

And without thinking, tongues collided, teeth clashed, he had backed you into the wall and there was no telling how you found yourself palming him over rough denim, a whine escaping his throat before you’d barely touched him.

A pathetic whine dare you say.

“Sorry, sorry.”  You gasp, string of saliva connecting you like the invisible string you believed tied you to him all along.

“Don’t—ow!  Jesus fuck.”  Eddie winced, shaking his hand in the air after attempting to cup your blushing cheek.  “Forgot I had fucking…glass in my hand earlier.”

You giggle, a saccharine sound, a melody in his ears that he yearned to make more of.  Embarrassment traces your features, brows pulled into a worrisome look while you hold your hands close against your chest, afraid of further touch much to his dismay.  

“Can you…can you do that again?”  He whispers.  Terrified of the consequences but brave enough to face the rejection.

Nodding, your slow hand reaches for his cheek, thumb grazing over it before trailing down his neck.  His breath hitches, your hand traveling lower and lower, over his chest and down his stomach, exploring all that you’ve so desired only in your wildest  wet dreams.  

Lifting the hem of his shirt ever so slightly, just enough to let your fingers graze his soft skin, your main goal is to tug at that delicious happy trail.  And when you do, he can’t admit to you that he nearly cums in his jeans but you’re certain you’re on the same page when you see his eyes roll back into his skull.

 He can’t control himself when he ruts into you the second your palm meets him once again, beautiful, breathy sighs escaping his pouty, plump lips.  

“Like that, baby?”  You ask, trailing hot kisses down his throat.

“Please.”  A whisper that tells you everything.  “I-I never—no one’s ever—“  He tries to warn you.

“What?”  You encourage, tongue tracing his earlobe.  “No one’s ever taken care of you, huh?”  

“Just my hand.”  Eddie jokes, voice strained.

Guiding him to sit back on the couch, it protests beneath the weight of you both as you crawl into his lap.  Careful fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, patient lips hovering over his.  Doe eyes look up at you, half in admiration, half in hesitation.  

“We can stop.”  You assure him, sweet kisses pressed to each corner of his lips.

“No, no.”  His voice shakes, chest heaving.  “I just—I don’t know exactly…what I’m doing.”  

There’s an undertone of humiliation, the opposite effect you wanted to have on him.  But you were confident that you could make him feel comfortable.  Feel sexy and wanted.

“Let me do the work.”  You whisper against his lips, slowly rolling your hips into him.  “Let me take care of you.”  

He nods, frantically moving to undo his zipper, only to be met with your delicate hands wrapping around his knuckles.  You’re so patient with him, so gentle, so unlike what he’s ever been faced with.

“I said, let me take care of you.”

Feather light kisses pressed to his knuckles, you continue rotating your hips against his, feeling his bulge in between your legs, the friction tightening the knot within you.  His eyebrows knit together, head falling back against the couch’s when you graze your fingertips just below his shirt again.  

Nails gently drag down his torso, eliciting the loudest moan you’ve pulled from him so far.  His injured hands only allow him to take their place in your belt loops again, assisting in setting the pace as you grind against him.

“Eddie.”  You whimper.

“M’ gonna cum.”  He halts your movements, only letting you hover above what was about to be sweet euphoria.  “Wanna be inside of you.”

You can only gaze at him with the utmost love, entranced by his flushed appearance and his damp curls framing his face.  

“Please, baby.  Please, I’ve got condoms—“

You have to stop his babbling by shoving your tongue in his mouth, nodding against him with a grin.  

“You bought condoms?  Boy, are you prepared—“

A playful pillow is tossed into your face, a deep groan coming from your boy.  

“Yes, I’m cautious, baby, please if you don’t sit on my dick right now, if I have to go one more minute not knowing what it’s like…”

“Shhh, okay, okay!!”  You squeal when he attempts to get up only to fail with you pushing back.  You knew damn well he was strong enough to fling you off of his lap should he choose, which only made your underwear more of a mess.

“You wanna go to the bedroom?”  You tease, nuzzling into his cheek.  

Without a second of hesitation, he launches you both off of the couch, palms against your ass only making you wonder how much his hands must hurt and how much adrenaline he must have not to care.  Playfully, Eddie tosses you onto his bed, a pile of unkempt sheets that only seemed that much more comfortable than your own bed.  You could die happily in the smell that engulfed you.  Purely Eddie.  Woodsy and minty.  A tad smoky.  And some hints of apple.

Just when you think he’s about to jump your bones, in every literal sense, you open your eyes to find him carefully adjusting the needle of his record player in the corner of the room.  And then it plays.  A rendition of Can’t Help Falling in Love.  A folkier version, a woman singing with a twang to her voice.  

“Well alright, cowboy.”  You joke, an over seductive brow raising at him.  

“Shut up.”  He grins, crossing his arms to take his shirt off and toss it behind him.  

“C’mere.”  You reach over, tugging at his belt until he hovers over you.  “Wanna see you.” 

“You are seeing me, been here the whole time.”

Quickly, he gathers what you mean as you reverse positions, pushing him back on the bed to trail your lips along his stomach.  Perfectly pretty lips follow along the scars he’d been left with years ago.  The rough texture doesn’t deter you, doesn’t scare you off like he imagined.  While your lips explore his scarred side, your hand delicately traces the dragon tattooed along his ribs on the opposite side.  Inked skin that arose with goosebumps after each touch.

As if he hadn’t already died and gone to heaven, you stop your torment on his body to discard your own shirt, leaving you in only your bra before him.  Careful to grab his hand, you drag his fingers down your chest, in between the valley of your breasts, down, down, down until you let him dip into your pants.  Beneath your damp panties, collecting slick before he catches on your clit, a moan falling so desperately from your lips.  

“F-feel what you do to me?”

It aches.

His finger sits pressed against your throbbing clit, teasing in a way he has no idea about yet.  But he will and you’re not quite ready to relinquish that power to him…yet.  

You can’t handle the confines of clothing any longer, releasing your breasts as you unhook your bra and toss it to the side.  His eyes grow, lips parted in awe.  And when you go to shimmy your jeans off, the friction against his hand pulls a mewl from you, something so pretty and real.  

You’re completely bare, prey for him to claim although he doesn’t, he lets you have control.  And then you remove his hand, only to drag yourself over his denim covered thigh, slick coating the material without much effort.  

Catching his eyes, you watch as he brings his finger up to his lips, tongue wrapping around the digit with a moan of approval.  That’s when you decided you couldn’t drag it on any longer.

His belt buckle clinked against itself as you worked to yank his jeans down, practically drooling for his cock, drunk on the mere idea of even seeing it.  Plaid boxers ignored, you pay attention to the way it slaps against his stomach, already leaking and red.  Painfully aroused.

He barely survives when you decide to lower yourself and lick a long stripe up the underside, twitching against your tongue.

“B-baby, please.”  While grinding into nothing, poor boy.  “Wanna cum, wanna cum so bad.”

He’s been taunted enough, breaking a sweat as he lays there, fisting the sheets in his hands.  You’ve nearly brought him to tears and you’ve barely touched him.

Leaving open mouthed kisses along his reddening chest, you finally offer some relief, ripping open a condom he’d somehow grasped in his hand the entire time, rolling it onto him, and sinking down, swallowing him into your warmth.  Eddie makes the prettiest sounds, small almost hiccups and gasps.  Slowly, you work your hips against him, clit rolling just right against his pubic hair. 

He’s big, stretches you out and hits just the right spot.  Hips stuttering, he places his hands on your waist, cut hands be damned.  Eddie’s close, has been this entire time, but he can’t contain himself the second you lick up a bead of sweat from his chest to his collarbone.  The site is simply too pornoraphic for his inexperienced dick, hot cum filling the condom.  The moan he lets out as he finishes only encourages you, gets you going faster in the limited time you now have before he softens.  

Automatically you reach down to play with your clit, knowing it’ll push you over the edge though he realizes and beats you to it, a rough finger circling you in a pleasant rhythm.  Overstimulated whines fall from him but he doesn’t quit giving you what you need, what you so desperately desire.  

Then all at once, pleasure crashes down around you, pulsing around him, leaving you twitching and panting.  The record stopped playing however long ago, the silence pulling you back into the realm of Eddie’s bedroom.

 Nothing needs to be said, words aren’t on your minds.  Excuses for what just occurred are nonexistent because if you’re being honest, it was sewn into the timeline no matter what.  Forever embedded into the universe in every lifetime.  Heavy breaths carried a symphony during the cool down, sweaty chests pressed together, sticky and salty.

Absentmindedly your foot grazed against his hairy shin, fingers dancing along his chest and arm.  His bicep was toned, something you were never able to appreciate up close before but would now take all the time you wanted.  You wanted to memorize every detail of his body, every freckle, hair, and birthmark.  All of him.

His lazy hand let his fingers trail up and down your spine, writing letters unknown to you but etched into his brain for as long as he knew you.  He held a new appreciation for intimacy, something he sourly wrote off early on but now would cherish deeply.  

Girls never liked him but if he could go back in time and show younger Eddie the one girl who would ever matter to him, well he imagines younger Eddie would still be a naive dipshit about it but he could try nonetheless.  Supposes he would hit him with a “it gets better, kid” and all that sappy shit.  Something like “you’re gonna marry this girl”.  That would be okay to jump the gun on, right?

–

Cinnamon and chocolatey aromas couldn’t completely wash away the somber haze although it was fairly close.  Post sex air somewhat helped as well, though you weren’t banking on it, it wasn’t a solution, more like a deterrent that hadn’t been planned on either part.  

The little plastic tree on the coffee table decorated with years old ornaments wasn’t going to heal the bruising on an ever healing heart.  Christmas classics played on the TV but you knew Rudolph wasn’t going to erase a lifetime's worth of childhood trauma.  

It could help though.  And that’s all that mattered.  If watching Christmas classics only aided in healing a millionth of the wounds, then it was worth doing.  If decorating his once dark and depressing house with twinkling lights and garland only brought out a smidge of the inner child that needed help healing, then it was worth it.  

While Eddie slept in, you played Santa even if just with one gift, leaving it next to the coffee table, too large to fit under the small tree.  Though it didn’t start out perfect, Christmas was starting to look very familiar.  Baked goods sat out on top of the stove, cinnamon rolls, croissants, the works.  Eddie’s shitty little kitchen radio played Christmas tunes which you found yourself humming along to.  

You’d thrown together some maple bacon, drizzling actual maple syrup on the strips in hopes that they’d candy in the oven, which they did.  Hash browns sat in the skillet, slightly burned but at least there was ketchup in the fridge to cover up the burnt taste.  Snow blanketed the streets outside, snowing you in although you didn’t mind one bit.  

You’d called Donnie, heard the commotion over the line at her house, family members causing a ruckus in the background as she made pancakes.  While you were supposed to be with everyone this morning, she assured you all was well and you could hear the smirk in her voice.

Emerging from his room, Eddie’s bed head is the first thing you greet.  Curls sticking out every which way, bangs defying gravity.  Lines ran down his face, imprints from the sheets and his boxers hung low on his hips.  A dream.

“Merry Christmas to you too.”  You giggle at the way he squints in the early morning sunlight peeking through the window.  

Stretching his arms over his head, you’re forced to witness the way every muscle flexes, drool nearly falling from the corner of your mouth.  It doesn’t go unnoticed but he decides it can be addressed later.  

“Merry Christmas, did you get me some fucking curtains so I can actually see?”  He laughs, voice husky with sleep.  

“No but I can do you one better—“

“I was joking Bambi, I wasn’t actually expecting any—“

“Next to the table.”  

Your grin makes him want to run directly to you and spin you around, kiss you a few dozen times, and never leave this bubble you two have created.  Instead he hesitantly steps toward the previously mentioned gift, a large gift at that, wrapped thoughtfully in reindeer paper and complete with a large red bow.  He felt like an asshole.

“I—no I can’t—“

“Open it.”  

Eddie just stared. 

“Eddie, it’s Christmas, first thing you do is open gifts!”  You smile, approaching behind him.

Then he disappeared back into his room, the sound of him rummaging the only thing letting you know he hasn’t retreated just to hide from you.  When he walks back out, he’s hiding something behind his back, a nervous smile tugging at his face.  

“I swear—I was going to wrap it, I just—I don’t have an excuse.  I just didn’t.  I’m sorry.”  His large brown eyes plead with you, begging for forgiveness that he didn’t need to beg for in the first place.

As if defeated, he hands you a stack of records, several that probably cost a good paycheck.  And you can tell he feels it’s not even enough with the way he avoids your gaze.

“Um, it’s probably stupid, it’s just, they’re records that made me think of you.  I dunno, it’s dumb, music is just—“

“I love you.”  You interrupt.

Without another word you grab the records from him to momentarily set them on the table.  Before he knows it you're smashing your lips against his, passion being poured into every breath he takes against you.  Your hands cup his cheeks, still slightly stubbly but cute.  He wraps his large hands around your wrists, hissing at the slight sting but continuing. 

“You’re not just saying that—“

“I.  Love.  You.”  You enunciate each word with a peck.  “Point blank.  No exceptions.  You’re stuck with me old man.”

“Old man?  We’re like the same age—“

You’ll never forget the amusement on his face but what attracts your attention next are the records.  A huge stack of them.  All genres.  Some Elvis, ones that hadn’t made it in your collection yet, a few that seemed more his taste, metal.  It was a universal language and it was his preferred way of feeling.  That much you could gather.

“Um, yeah, if you don’t like them I can just…”

“Don’t like them?”  You scoff.  “I love them.”

You hold them close to your chest, as if they were books and you were in high school.  You suppose you could be what with the way butterflies erupted in your stomach.  He made you feel like you were in high school, gave you a sense of youth that had been skipped over previously.  

And he was blushing. 

“Well, uh, I just thought you know…music does a lot for me.  I picked some out that I knew you’d like.  Also put some that I like in there, I dunno why, you don’t have to listen to them.”

“Oh, we are listening to them.  Right after you open your gift.”

More blushing.

Eddie takes a few glances at the gift, as if it were there to test him.  Like Pandora’s box or something.  Then he crouches down beside it, hesitantly reaching out to peel back the paper.  A giddy grin rests on your face, records still clutched in your hold.  His face says it all once he’s torn through enough paper.  It’s a guitar case, that much he can tell, eyes nearly popping out of his head.  Then he opens the case, revealing a cherry red electric something that you couldn’t memorize the name of but all you knew was that he had his eyes on it for months before you even entered the picture.  At least that’s what the guy at the thrift shop said. 

“No fucking way.”  He smiles, half laughs.  Then repeats himself.  Over and over.

“Do you like it?”

Instead of receiving verbal confirmation, you’re nearly tackled, strong arms wrapping around you and swinging you around.  Laughter erupts from deep within you, Eddie setting you down just to kiss you deeply and with so much care you figure you’ll faint.  

“I love it, I love you.”

Later that morning, frosting coats his lips then transfers to yours in a quick kiss across his tiny dining table.  The bacon is devoured, mostly on his account, and those claymation Christmas classics elicit laughter like no other.  Deep belly laughs from the man whose legs you sit in between.  His shirt rests comfortably on your torso.

He calls Wayne, puts it on speaker, and effortless banter occurs between you three.  Wayne tells his boy to behave, wishes him a Merry Christmas, apologizes that times have been so shitty and that his flight had been canceled.  Thanks you for being there to ground his boy, tells you how much Eddie’s friends have gone on and on about you two, that he can’t wait to meet you.

Then you call up your family back home, more than likely all crammed in the same house, doing puzzles, arguing over stupid things, throwing wrapping paper everywhere.  You miss it.  But you wouldn’t trade your place right now for anything.  Eddie timidly and adorably chimes in, says hi.  Makes small talk with mom and grandma.  Grandma begs him to take a look at her station wagon when he makes his way over with you for a visit some day.  No question about it, he’s going and that’s final, according to her.  He doesn’t seem to mind though, a shy smile pulling at his lips.

Lastly you call up the gang.  Nancy answers, says everyone’s at their house as usual.  Shouting between Dustin, Steve, and Mike is heard in the background.  Something about a broken sled.  Robin takes the call hostage, telling you both about the juicy gossip amongst the group.

“And then Max—you haven’t met Max yet, Bambi, but Max left Lucas a—shit you haven’t met Lucas yet either.  This would all make so much more sense then.”

There’s talk of a summer trip, something fun everyone can join in on.  Kind of like summer camp except Nancy would of course be the ring leader by default.  She would more than likely assign the adults as camp counselors unofficially.  Eddie’s face lights up, tells her about the perfect campsite not far from his house.  Beautiful in the summertime.  Then looks at you, shares a dimpled grin and runs his thumb over your knee.

Loved ones called and bellies full, Eddie plays around with his new guitar, and softly in the background, Muddy Waters plays.  One of the records he’d gifted you.

~end~

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiesxangel @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean @micheledawn1975 @tlclick73 @erinekc @hazydespair @whenshelanded @corrodedcoffincumslut @ms1oftheboys @lma1986 @uglypastels @aysheashea @dashingdeb16

[seneitut]

“Mine’’

[Gekko/F!Reader] [Slight Yoru/Reader]

Words: 7.5K

Tags: Fluff, slight jealousy, boys being boys(?), technicality of the actual game because I really like Lotus, slow-burn.

Alternate version with Yoru ending: Redemption

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

It is not often you get to warm up, or even begin to be friendly, towards new agents joining the protocol.

Obviously, it is not a matter as to who to blame, rather you don’t get the time to make acquaintances because of the tasks you are assigned most of the time. And when an opportunity arises, you don't know if it's worth the time.

When Chamber joined in, you didn't have to put up with a façade to appear friendly and welcoming. 

From the moment your eyes landed on him, the uneasiness of his presence was obvious for everyone at the meeting room. There was no guilt when he tried to flirt his way to you, just like to any other woman there, and you brushed him off, scoffing at his boldness and naiveness of his lack of charm. Being rude to Chamber came effortlessly, and he took it as a challenge to push your buttons whenever you were partnered for scouting missions.

You were introduced to Neon after returning from a mission. Ferocious, fast, and peppy personality would be the best ways to describe her; powerful being inside the body of a young adult. Since she was under the tutelage of Reyna, it was easy to get along with her. Neon was easy to get fond of, listening to her struggles and lack of restraint when it comes to leaks of energy, her fear of hurting her teammates, it all comes down to seeing through her tough persona, Neon is a good person.

It is least to say you both are very good friends.

With Fade there was not even a try. She came in, didn't apologize for the blackmailing, and announced she was going to be joining forces with the protocol to fulfill her own goal. Brimstone wouldn't tell the details about the delicate matter, but it was clear the decision was made. You don't talk to her, she doesn't talk to you, and a silent agreement to respect each other's existence within the same space or missions was made.

Although, the same couldn’t be said for Harbor, since the man himself was friendly enough to approach anyone to strike a conversation and, later on, a friendship. A formidable addition to the team, a good comrade to have in battle and on missions; Harbor was everything the rest of the protocol lacked, and you were proud to say you were one of the few he trusted enough to have as an ally and friend.

At last, one more joined in.

Gekko…

Gekko was a whole new ordeal to deal with. 

He is Reyna’s protegé, his little brother, although no blood bonds them, it is clear she has a protective stance towards him.

You’ve heard bits and things about him way before, tales about his powers and hazards to get to the point where he is. You’d hear from Harbor when your paths would cross at the range, boasting about his new student’s skillful abilities or approach with guns, how proud he was about their improvement with battle and communication. It was fun, seeing Harbor act so carefree and somewhat excited about the kid; like a proud father, you could say.

Reyna was not far behind, being the closest friend to you, she would confide in you her expectations of the kid, her worries of bringing him to battles, and the fear of losing him to their counterparts. 

Her contemplation about resigning and taking him away before he even started clouded her mind often, but she would not do such a thing, since Reyna has a goal to fulfill. Besides, if she leaves, no one would be able to look over his protegé as good as her.

You’d think: Damn, the kid has many people worrying over him this much. Would he really be able to survive on the battlefield? 

But now, seeing him in the flesh, makes you wonder if their worries had sustent. You expected a shy kid, barely able to look anyone in the eyes, but this one? Far off what you envisioned.

Gekko is reckless, loud, boisterous, and so damn friendly, you were surprised some of the agents vouched for his skillful abilities with the gun when he looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly.

“Yo! Nice to meet ya’, soy Gekko!”

You don't know how it began, your friendship with Gekko, that is. The first day he was introduced to the protocol, he was surrounded by most of the agents in the meeting room, changing pleasantries with the ones he didn’t know, and hugging the ones he’s been acquainted with for longer.

“So these are your little friends!” Raze exclaims, squinting her eyes while examining the blue one floating in the air. “They are adorable!” 

The little blue thing barbles something and Gekko bursts out laughing, a little dimple showing on his cheek. “She says you are pretty cool! Lookin’ rad.”

“You understand them?” Jett asks, toying with the yellow fella by her feet. Gekko nods excitedly.

“Yeah! We are like connected, una sola neurona entre los cinco! Anything I feel, they feel it too, anything I think, they can hear it too!”

Omen was keeping you company in the far back, propping against the wall while witnessing their conversation unfold in amicable silence. 

The wraith had no interest in joining in the conversation, apparently, too busy looking at his device provided by Brimstone. It mimicked a cellphone, though the usage of it was limited to information regarding missions or direct calls to other devices the same as his. 

And since he seems far more interested in it, you decide maybe you could leave without anyone noticing. You will have time to get to know the kid on the battlefield if Brimstone so desires, for now, you need to take a breath of fresh air.

But before you could take one step forward, your eyes lock in with Gekko’s from across the room. His hazel eyes compel you to stay put, getting drowned in the way he looks at you, even at a distance. 

Phoenix and Jett were too deep in their bantering to notice Gekko stopped paying attention to them and was now making his way to you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Behind him, one of his little…pokemons? You dont know what to call them, but they were cute as fuck, was trailing behind him, going pit pat pit pat with its short legs. 

Seeing him close the distance between you two, you were now aware of the many details you overlooked: the shape of his face, the curve of his nose, the little moles under his left eye and the many tattoos framing his arms up to his neck. You would have kept going, eyes roaming his whole form shamelessly, if it weren’t for the fact his little friend nudged your leg, like a little cat, asking for attention.

When he stood in front of you, shifting from one foot to another, giving away how nervous he was, you wonder if you should feel nervous too.

“Mi Reyna has told me about you.” he said, his smile was bigger this time. His face seemed flushed under the white lights of the room, giving him a soft glow. “I’ve got your back on the field, amigo, hope you got mine, too!”

Energetic is not something you are known for, and won’t be in the near future; so it was a little difficult to keep the rhythm in which he strode in life. One moment he was there, the other, on the other side of the room, the next moment he was gone and bothering one of his friends. Gekko was everywhere at any time, causing chaos wherever he goes, bringing smiles and laughs; joining the many people at the protocol in ways no one has ever dared to do.

His little fellas weren’t far behind in their mischievous attitude, following after their master's steps; they were, if not more, childish and troublesome to handle. Wingman, in particular, loves to tease the other agents whenever they are resting or doing things as mundane as cooking. The little fiend runs around the rooms, touches things without asking first, and even attempts to eat Cypher’s chess pieces. [The poor man has already given up trying to save his favorite chess board pieces.]

Gekko is a force to be reckoned with, and you really cannot keep up whenever he ropes you into his little plans when his sight is set on you. Is adorable, in some way, how he trails after you like a lost puppy when training is over, wonder in his eyes and something else you cannot put a name on. The way he tries to get your attention with colorful comments and off-handed compliments; sometimes words you don't even understand.

“Hoy te ves hermosa!” he said once, redness spreading over his face. 

Reyna attempted to hide her self-satisfactory smile; useless because you immediately caught-on. And since she didn't reprimanded the kid for what he said, you assumed that was something good, nodding your head in understanding but having absolutely no idea what the fuck that meant.

The other beamed at that, feeling his chest tight and his smile getting bigger with how excited he felt. 

[Later that day, Gekko could be found sulking in his room after Reyna informed him you didn't understand spanish—all those compliments he had said went straight to deaf ears.] 

But just like that, many moments were shared with him, his presence a constant in your life now that it feels odd when he goes out on missions, leaving you behind at the protocol and bored out of your mind. 

Some would say you've become quite…soft for him. Never being one to follow orders or depend on another's presence just like you did with Gekko, in such a short time, he's as important as Reyna is to you.

Having him around proves to be something good, since you get entertained by his shenanigans or topics of conversation. And whenever he messes up, the sight of him blushing or stuttering is amusing. Adorable, even, which would worsen his state if you commented on it.

Despite all the interactions you have and how much time you spend together, what surprises you, though, is how little interaction the little creatures of his have with you. 

The other agents often ask you about Gekko's pets whereabouts, as if you would know, but the truth is they don't hang out with you.

The first time Wingmans ever dared be near you was when Gekko introduced himself; and the last time he approached you, he bumped into your leg by accident while running in the hallway, carrying a flower on his tiny claw. 

When it noticed your presence, it brightened up, jumping slightly in its place while presenting the little flower to you. It seemed he was looking for you.

“For me, really?” you asked, crouching to its height. Taking the gift in your hand, you twirled the steam with a soft smile on your face. “Thank you.”

From across the hallway, Gekko’s panicked voice could be heard.

Wingman jumped to your side immediately, trying to hide behind you when Gekko turned a corner and spotted you on the floor with his companion.

“Did he say anything to you?!” He exclaimed, out of breath and showing signs of distress. 

Raising a brow, you shook your head.

“He's brought me this, that's all.”

His hazel eyes widened comically, face blushing profusely when he glared at Wingman as if he had committed a crime. The yellow fella tried to hide further.

“Wingman que chucha! You said—! Bah!” Shaking his head, he began apologizing for his friend's behavior before picking him up. Once the little one was secured, it barbled something in its language that made Gekko whine and color keep rising to his cheeks.

“What did he say?” you wondered aloud, Gekko bit his lip, nervous, and avoided eye contact. 

“Nothing important.” Clearing his throat, he turned around, starting to walk away. Wingman waved goodbye excitedly, keeping on garbling words you could not understand until they went out of sight. 

And that was the last time you've seen Wingman interact near you. If it weren't because of missions you are sent together or the times you train, you wouldn't see the little fella. At those times, Gekko always has him under control, not letting them get out of focus and retrieves them as soon as they are finished.

Unbeknown to you, all of this was always, always, observed by your dear friend.

“Gekko is around your age, you know?” Reyna teases, hiding a smirk behind her cup of tea. 

It has been quite a while since the last time you've had a moment for yourself and Reyna. From the second Gekko joined, you would see her less than usual, too busy with her own tasks or simply training Neon outside the protocol base.

Now that your schedules aligned, the both decided to chat for a little bit, conversations about your daily life soon turning into gossip about the agents and your honest thoughts about them, your friendships and then, sooner than later, about Gekko.

“He is?” sipping carefully your own beverage, you hum softly. “He apparents to be way younger though.”

She scoffs, “That's because you think and act like an old woman.” 

You pout at that.

“I do not.” 

“You are, that's why we get along so well, querida.”

Huffing under your breath, you refrain from replying, concentrating on your drink rather than the offense of being called old. Reyna laughs, amused, but says nothing else. 

The moment is interrupted by Yoru, muttering under his breath when he enters the kitchen and begins rummaging through the cabinets. He takes a long time in trying to find whatever he's looking for, but fails miserably when he spots nothing of what he came for and curses loudly. 

“Language.” warns Reyna. The rift walker notices then your presence, the frown between his eyebrows soften ever so slightly when you smile and nod your head in greeting. 

“Have you seen any package with my name on it?” He asks, leaning on the table you are sitting. Reyna raises a brow, shaking her head.

“No.”

“God dammit.” 

Yoru sighs in defeat, brushing his hair with his left hand and groans. You share a look with Reyna, a bit worried for Yoru's current mood and curious about what's distressing him so much.

“What is it with the package you're looking for?” His eyes land on you when you ask. Clearing his throat, he attempts to answer, but finds no words coming out of his mouth. Reyna notices the nervousness seeping out of him, completely out of character for the duelist.

When it takes longer than is expected for an answer, you try to help and ease the situation for him in case you've made him uncomfortable. “If you don't wanna tell me, is okay, I'm just curious.”

“No, is not— I'm—”

“Querida, is time for your meeting.” Reyna steps in, nudging your arm slightly. “Go on, I'll help him.”

Nodding in understanding, you finish what's left of your beverage and bid your goodbye, patting Yoru's arm on your way out. You gotta hurry, Brimstone doesn't tolerate lateness and you are no exception to the rule, running to the meetin's room and praying you will get there on time.

Once out of sight, Reyna leans on the back of her chair, watching in amusement as Yoru keeps his sight set where you left and his hand clutching the place where you touched him. Clearing her throat, she manages to catch the younger's attention.

“What.” he asks.

“Tonto enamorado,” she begins, Yoru doesn't understand what that means, “if you keep acting like that, they will never know what you really feel.”

Confused then, the rift walker snarls, offended by the indirect accusation. Because out of all the people, he is the one being obvious about feelings that don't exist? 

“I don't know what you're talking about.” 

Reyna scoffs, “Of course you don't.”

It is not usual for Yoru to indulge in small chit chat whenever he's free, even less now that he's being scrutinized under her watchful gaze. Reyna wants something out of this, she wants a confession not even he is ready to accept. 

With the remaining of her tea, Reyna decides to leave, not before leaving a last message: “You are not the only one after them, rift boy. So better figure out what's going on in that heart of yours. It is pounding.”

He can't help but think of it as a warning.

Not the only one…

——

Gekko has been more than excited to join this mission. 

His peppy personality is what keeps spirits up on their way to Lotus, the new place Astra and Harbor have found recently. 

Cypher has been the one to map out the sites before deploying them for further exploration. You were warned about the mirror agents planning to steal the radianite from here, since they were the ones to find it first but not knowing how to enter the place. Brimstone made the call to prep things up before the enemy hit it up, carrying in the jet a few cameras Cypher sent to keep on watch for when you leave.

Omen was keeping quiet in the corner, listening to Gekko talk non-stop about a new singer he's found and how much he enjoys the music made by this artist. The wraith would indulge in the conversation and ask little and simple things to keep the conversation going. Raze was dozing off with her headphones on, loud music blasting from it. You didn't have the heart to tell her to lower the volume, she looks tired, and the rest might do her good; you will need all the energy of the team to finish the assignment quickly.

At last, you were doing some last revisions to the rough version of the map, in case you've forgotten to memorize something. Cypher has been very meticulous with the information given by Astra and if not perfect, it was enough to help navigate; it would be your job to fix things up or re-design the map if there were things out of place.

“Looking good?”

Smiling, you nod. Yoru stands next to you on the main table, almost hovering over your shoulder to see the map as well. 

“I'm trying to see where we could set up the cameras.” Pointing at site A, you continue, “Harbor said this is the most troubled site, since there are multiple passages and I'm worried we didn't bring enough set-up to cover.”

“Seems easy enough to have one camera per site, right at their entrance, isn't it?”

“Yes but then what about these other passages? There are moving doors and secret entrances, we have to look out for those as well.”

Yoru sighs, leaning his hand on the table and surveying the map, closing the gap between you two.

You didn't mind the closeness, too concentrated on the map just like him. Because while it was weird Yoru wasn't whining about his personal space, you believe he was far too engrossed in his thoughts to notice.

It wasn't until he tries to point at site B does he realize how close his face is to yours. His eyes cross with your curious gaze, blinking in a haze and feeling his heart pounding loudly he fears you might hear it.

Embarrassed and lit like a lightbulb, Yoru apologizes and takes his distance.

Awkwardly, the rift walker tries to talk before being interrupted loudly, “Yo' fam, whatcha got there?” 

Gekko steps in, throwing an arm over your shoulders and gazing quizzically at the map. Yoru grunts, annoyance clear on his face, and tries to move away from Gekko's friendly half-hug. 

There is confusion for a split second on Gekko's face, eyes darting all over the notes and pins on the map for camera locations, but soon his expression turns into understanding.

“Ohhh, I see, I see.” leaning on you, he takes his arm off Yoru and points a finger at site A. “Here, it seems like this is a good spot for a camera. It checks both the site and the room next to the moving doors.”

“Okay, but what about here? Astra said there are secret passages to other sites, and we don't have a view to the enemy entrance.”

“Nah, girl, we can have this covered up from here.” His finger hovers over the stairs to your landing area, right next to site A, “That way, if they push site, we can see it from way before. It gives us a cross too, with the other camera.”

There was no fault to his proposition. Considering the pros and cons, you decide what Gekko suggested might work, even for future reference if the enemy doesn't  find the placements.

You keep conversing with Gekko the rest of the flight to polish the last details. He throws a joke here and there to lighten up the mood, trying to ease your tensions and make you smile. 

“Everything will go according to plan, no te preocupes, yeah?” You nod, breathing out a long sigh. 

“Is okay, let's get this over with.”

Is not until you land you notice Yoru has long since been gone. Not knowing when he left, you assume is his own way to prepare himself before a mission; being this the first one together. 

Deploying the boxes with cameras onto the landing site proves to be difficult, feeling them slightly heavier than you thought. Omen helps you out with the remaining boxes while Gekko tries to wake Raze up. 

Looking around, you don't see the Japanese man with you on the landing, “Have you seen Yoru?”

“No.” The wraith replies, “He usually leaves, is not something you should worry over.”

“Are you sure?” 

An arm is thrown over your shoulders, startling you and making you yelp in surprise. When you turn around to punch whoever this is, your fist is caught on Yoru's strong hold, startling you even more.

“What the-?”

Yoru smirks, letting your hand go.

“What? Missed me that much, huh?” The teasing in his tone goes right over your head, too relieved to have him back or else, your plan wouldn't work out.

“Honestly? Yeah, where were you?" 

Caught off guard, Yoru backs off, covering his face and walks away to avoid being seen flustered. 

“Don't go too far!” You yell. 

“Shut up!” He replies. 

Omen watches the scene play out in silence, weirded out by Yoru's actions and how unfazed you are by his antics. 

Anyway, this is not his place to say anything.

Gekko and Raze join a little later, eager to the bones to start exploring the new place. Yoru stays on the sidelines, close enough to listen to whatever you had to say alongside Omen.

“I've sent a copy of the rough map to each of your devices, so you can navigate easily.” You begin, catching everyone's attention. “It also has pointers for the camera's placements. Check if the sites have high ceilings or not, it will play in our favor if they have so we can hide them better from sight.”

Raze enthusiasm shone through, “Kay' chief! Where do you want us!” 

“I'd like to have Omen and Yoru go to site C, Raze and Gekko will take B.” Checking the map once again, you continue, “I'll check A in the meantime, since it is the biggest site so far, I'll be polishing the original map so we can have a more accurate view of the whole place. Once you're done setting the cameras please join me and then we can go over B and later on C.”

“You sure gonna be okay alone?” Gekko asks, a frown visible on his features. Yoru scoff at that. 

“Are you really not trusting the one in charge now?”

“Ah, no, no! I didn't mean it like that, I was worried, that's all!”

Taking the first box, you cut off their argument, “I'll be fine. The sooner you finish, the faster I can do my work. If anything happens, communicate it.”

Finishing the roughs of site A was easy. The opening doors had an old mechanic to it you couldn't understand quite easily, since the technology behind it wasn't human made. You will have to ask Astra about it when you get back. 

The secret passage ends up being a breakable door right through site B, which makes things complicated to map out since it wasn't in the original map to begin with. Gekko head pops out of link A, startled to see you there but relieved you were okay. 

“We're almost done here, we will join you in a bit!” he says, grinning. Sharing a small smile, you nod.

Setting things up wasn't as difficult as you thought, since the cameras Cypher lended were like magnets to surfaces. He gave a pair of special gloves to be able to retrieve the camera easily, since it attaches to surfaces easily, there might be miscalculations when placing them. 

Really thoughtful of him. 

“We've finished with C.” Omen's voice could be heard through the ear pieces. “Yoru has gone off somewhere, but I'll join you in a bit.”

“Okay. Gekko and Raze are coming in a bit, too.”

Happy with the outcome of the first site, you wait patiently until Gekko arrives with Omen and Raze. The four of you meet up at the stairs, ready to march off to B.

But before you could say a thing, the ear piece buzzed in, listening to rapid fires of gunshots through. 

“They are here! Rushing towards C site, four of them!” Yoru's voice sounds in panic, out of breath, too. “I'll rift up at our landing, they are coming fast, one of them is missing!”

Omen and Raze are the first ones to run, taking their guns out, the ear piece buzzes out with Raze's voice coming in,“I'll try to slow them down with my grenades, try to look for the little rat, they might be wrapping us right now!”

Taking your gun out, you signal Gekko to go B. “Let's wrap up through A and B, see if we can find their flank, then join through their landsite to flank them.”

He nods, and off you go. 

Checking the corners at this part of the map is hard, leaving you weakened and open to any attack from different angles. Clutching your vandal tighter, you hold your breath before turning the last corner, facing a Jett holding an operator right at you.

She doesn't last long, dropping dead the moments she fires and missing her shot by little centimeters, the bullet gracing your right arm. 

Gekko pops out of B link, panic in his eyes and roaming your body for any sign of injuries. Closing the distance, his hands reach for your face, caressing your cheeks with tenderness and trembling hands. 

“Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” he asks. 

Something in your chest tightness at his expression, wanting to lean in and get ahold of his full attention. But time was running out, and Raze and Omen were in danger.

“I'm okay, let's go.”

Running to catch up to your team, you both swing C link, ready to fire if necessary. But no one was on sight. The gunshots could be heard close enough, though.

“We've dealt with the flank, we are wrapping from their site.”

“They planted the bomb, two are left on site but Raze is injured, so am I.” Omen grunts in pain. “I can smoke off waterfall and make noise to distract them. Yoru is here, too.”

Yoru voice cuts in, “I'll throw a flash when you near the entrance, we three are in waterfall right now. Hurry the fuck up.”

Gekko reloads his gun and takes Wingman out, ready for the plan in action. 

“Shadows travelling.”

“Flashing!”

“Go wingman!”

You swing, spotting Viper hiding behind piled boxes as soon as she sees you two. She doesn't get blinded by Yoru’s flash, but you've seen enough to know bullets will be able to penetrate the wood. 

The spike starts to get defused, and you immediately start shooting straight at the box, hearing her yell in pain until she drops dead as well. 

Entering the site, you ready your gun while Wingman keeps defusing. Omen had said there were two, one of them already dead, and since they are on waterfall the only place left is either on site or C.T. 

A Breach pops out of a pillar when you stand next to wingman, shooting with a judge and injuring your legs. With a quick flick, you headshot him, just in time for wingman to finish with the defuse.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you turn to see the smoke go off, watching Raze lean on a wall with slight blood seeping out of her head, and Omen right next to her with Yoru in the far back. She gives a thumbs up, grinning widely. 

When you turn to look at C.T., the smoke left vanishes, and you are faced with Sage, holding an Operator aiming right at your head. 

Everything after that goes in a blur. 

There is one bullet being shot, a grenade going off and burning in your feet. The side of your arm burns like hell, yelling and feeling your throat torn with pain. Your head is hit with debris you don't know where it comes from, disorienting you heavily, and one of the bricks falls right in your leg, breaking it at the instant. The pain almost makes you faint-

Someone is carrying your limp body while you regain consciousness, many voices muffled in the background arguing you don't have the energy to shut them.

Was everything okay? Was anyone injured? Guilt would eat you alive if anyone in your team was heavily hurt, being under your care and command.

The devastated look on Gekko's face should have told you enough, not being able to be the one to save you on the close call nor the one to carry you to safety. Raze was not far behind, apologizing loudly because it was partly her fault her grenades detonated the delicate roof of the site and Gekko's molly didn't let you get off on time.

Yoru's expression could be shorten to the definition of pissed as fuck. Angry lines forming between his eyebrows and mouth set on a straight line.

His eyes soften when he looks at you, eyes roaming your injuries with worry plastered on his expression. Being completely out of your mind, you raise your good hand to smooth the frown between his eyebrows.

“Gonna get wrinkles like that.” you whisper. Yoru doesn't say anything.

While you still won, it didn't feel satisfactory as a victory.

Omen has been the one to call Brimstone to return to the base, the jet landing carefully and rising dust into the air for the agents to leave.

You cough loudly breathing in the dust, whimpering at the strike of pain coursing through your body and tightening your grip on Yoru's neck. The rift walker mutters something in his language, and carefully presses you against his body to protect you from the wind. 

Once inside the jet, everyone is able to breathe a sigh of relief, except for you. Still in critical condition, Yoru reaches a compartment room to deposit you on a bed, and starts rummaging through the cabinets for something to treat you.

The image reminds you of the day you encountered him in the kitchen, all jittery and anxious for a package you never knew what it contained; though this time, he looks in distress and panic.

With a few antiseptics and bandages, he thinks it will have to do.

Yoru carefully wrap the bandages around your arm after cleaning the wound, minding the few burns on the upper side of your shoulder that you suppose will be treated by Sage when you arrive at the protocol. 

There was nothing else he could do with your broken leg, so he stands there, cleaning with a wet rag your bloody face to at least keep you fresh and clean for the antiseptic.

“You okay in there?” he asks softly, hand hovering over your face but backing up with second thoughts.

“Hurt.” is all you can reply. Yoru's mouth tightens. “Gonna be fine.” 

His hand is freezing when he squeezes yours, a mix of feelings swim in his eyes that you understand enough to recognize the fear and worry he radiates. Despite his cold exterior, Yoru has always been a person who cares for his comrades in his own way. 

Something tells you this soft side was reserved to you, something to do with a crush he has on you…whatever that meant. Reyna had never dived deep in that topic, and you don't understand most of the words she uses; but from what you understood, Yoru cares and that's all that matters. 

“Go check on the others, I'll be okay.” Yoru refuses to leave your side, stubborn enough you need to nudge him with your good arm. “I'm going to rest, you should too, it's a long way home.”

Sighing in defeat, he nods, walking towards the exit, but pausing at the door frame to look back at you. It seems he wants to say something, too troubled to let the words come out. 

He ends up leaving.

It takes a couple of hours to arrive at the base, and in between the hours, you would drift into sleeping or bearing the pain of the broken limb and burn marks on your body. 

You chant in your head: As soon as Sage treats me, this will go away. It keeps you grounded, too, so you won't faint while sleeping.

Raze has come to check on you often, apologizing when seeing your weakened form on the bed. You try telling her it is fine, that it was her job to ensure the enemy wouldn't escape, but she has none of it. She is so adamant into owning her mistakes she promises to be better, to get better. 

Omen has also come in once to check if you were still alive, to which earned a glare from Yoru. Aside from your comrade’s worrisome state, Omen appears to be calm, checking in your injuries without disturbing you too much.

“Would be upsetting to lose such a valuable comrade.” he comments, patting your head softly. You smile.

The rest of the way to the protocol is spent with you sleeping soundlessly. 

Gekko never shows up.

-------

You are shaken awake by a sudden gurgling noise filling the silent room. When you open your eyes, you are immediately met with Wingman’s worried eyes. His usual round and bright eyes are turned downwards, and his gurgling sounds distressed, shaking your shoulder to gain your attention. 

Blinking through your tiredness, you smile at the little fella. Raising your good arm, you bring Wingman closer to your sore body, melting into the warmth he radiates. Wingman gurgles something in its language, accepting the hug and reciprocating the affection.

It has been many days since you’ve been confined in this room until you heal completely. Sage fixed most of the injuries you’ve sported when arriving, but that has not been enough to get rid of the sore muscles and few stitches on your body. 

The door to your room gets opened quietly and a green head pokes in, afraid of being heard or seen? You don't know. For when Gekko notices you are awake, he freezes on the spot.

It takes a couple of seconds for him to regain his composure, clearing his throat and closing the door behind him.

“I didn’t mean for him to run away, perdón.” Taking his little friend, he manages to calm him down before approaching you. 

Gekko’s expression screams guilt, a frown apparent between his eyebrows, and you wonder why he’s feeling that way. The only possible answer that comes to mind is what happened at Lotus, but you don’t blame it on him, on the contrary, he wanted to make sure the enemy wouldn't be able to escape. It was just your bad luck you were in the crossfire when everything happened.

“Is okay, Wingman was keeping me company.”

“Oh, of course.”

Tiredness tugs at your eyelids, struggling to keep awake with the many medications on your system. Feeling bad for wanting to sleep, you think of a way to tell Gekko you want to rest.

“I think I’ll try to sleep a little more.” You decide to be direct. “Being under so many pills weakened me greatly, and sometimes, makes me very sleepy.¨

Gekko nods, taking Wingman in his hands and retrieving them onto his bag. When you question him the why, he just answers he wants to make sure your rest is undisturbed.

“How considerate, thank you.”

It takes a while, but finally, sleep settles in.

When your breathing gets even, Gekko knows for sure you’ve fallen asleep. 

The silence is enough to keep him anxious, many thoughts rushing in while observing the bandages on your body.

If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. And if only he'd been quicker, he would have gotten to you before Yoru did. And while he’s thankful enough the rift walker took care of you when you arrived at the protocol, he can’t help the jealousy that was born from those interactions.

Love is familiar to him, is easy to understand and easier to spot on others when they’re wearing their feelings in plain sight. The way Yoru held you, how he looks at you and how fondly, despite him not noticing, he talks about you is enough to tell the man is infatuated. And who couldn’t, honestly.

His eyes roam your face, taking in every detail while you sleep comfortably. It eases his mind that you're resting and are healthy enough to leave the medical room soon enough, it eases his mind you’re gonna be training with him, spending time with his friends and himself, and it eases his heart to know you don’t feel the same for the rift walker. 

There is no guarantee you feel anything towards him either, but he can always start ahead, properly court you, and see if something blooms from there.

Right?

Reyna made a warning before he set off to Lotus: To be brave and take what he wants with greed. Life is too short to live with insecurities, many opportunities wasted and words not being said.

Was she referring to this? About him being in love? 

He doesn't want to lose you to another, he really wants you to himself.

Should he…?

Gulping down his insecurities, he decides then. 

Anxiousness and embarrassment washes over him when he leans over, his hand caressing your cheek and looking at your sleepy face with an enamored expression. At the first touch of your lips, he trembles, gasping into the kiss. The feeling is cold, but soft, deciding to press into it and enjoy the moment as long as it lasts. 

His heart is racing, he can hear his own beating reverberating inside his head and warmth fills his face, a blush spreading through his cheekbones when he moves his lips slowly against yours. 

There is a moment of consideration when Gekko feels your lips move, too, but too deep into the feeling, he doesn’t mind it. He’s enjoying himself, he’s enjoying your taste, and if he makes the kiss a little rougher, he blames it on his enthusiasm.

But when a hand lands on the back of his neck, deepening the kiss he’s so thoroughly drowned in, Gekko jumps surprised, backing up until he hits the floor with a loud shout.

Before him you lay, eyes wide open and mouth parted. Your cheeks were flushed with a beautiful soft shade darker than your skin, a hand hovering over your lips and he’s never felt more mortified about his actions until now. 

His mother once said to always think before acting, because then the damages he makes will be irreversible if they weren’t thought with care. And now he understands he should have heard his mom’s advice. 

“I-I’m, I didn’t! I’m so sorry!” he scrambles to his feet, avoiding eye contact as much as possible. “I- I should’ve asked first, I’m so sorry, I-”

Smiling to yourself, you stop him from his stuttering and furthering his embarrassment. 

“Hey, look at me.”

When he finally makes eye contact, you offer him a seat next to you on bed, scooting over so he could fit easily. Gekko hesitates, which is surprising given to what just transpired a few moments ago; but gives in when you reassure him everything is okay.

“Reyna told me you had a crush on me.” You confess when he lays next to you, shoulder to shoulder. Gekko chokes up, blushing spreading rapidly over his cheeks at being this exposed. “I never understood that concept: to have a crush on someone. I always believed it to be some sort of threat, you know, as when you dare someone in a face to face battle.”

Gekko hums at that.

Grinning slightly, you keep going, “I think you took that face to face battle literally, huh.”

“Por favor, ya para…” he whines, covering his face with his hands. 

“I didn’t mind the kiss, Gekko, I mind you never said anything.”

Breathing in, Gekko peaks at you between his fingers, pouting slightly. “I was afraid of being rejected, Reyna told me I should just go for it but…No sé, nunca, um, you’ve never shown interest in me.”

Silence fell over you two, with you pondering what he just said and the other dying from nervousness. If you reject him, he has to live with the fact he at least got to kiss you and got to enjoy the moment. Though seeing you walk away with someone else might break him, he’s got to respect your choices. 

But it would be better if you walk away with that someone being him. 

“Being in love, or having a crush, is something that never crossed my mind.” Which is true. Too busy with the valorant protocol and the many things going on, love was not a priority. “But I like you enough to at least give it a try, if that’s something you want.”

Is it something he wants? Yes, definitely, even more if it’s with you. 

Gekko doesn’t know how long he’s been pinning after you, watching from afar and always trying to flirt his way so you could notice him. He feels like the main guy trying to fight for the attention of his lover just like his mother's telenovelas.

Is funny, though, how far his actions have taken him. Gekko is bold, but never has been this bold in his life to the point to act on his desires without regard to the consequences. 

“Gekko?” you ask, worry crossing your features. He hasn’t said a thing for a while.

“Call me Mateo, amor.” he says. Surprised, you nod. “ Mateo will do just fine, yeah?”

“Mateo…hm, I like that name.” 

Feeling cheesy, he leans on and presses a little kiss in the corner of your mouth. “Yeah, like that.” Seeing your smile brings such happiness to his heart, making him giddy for the outcome of the situation. Laughing brightly, he smooches every inch of skin near him; from your eyelids to your cheeks and chin, you giggle at that, unable to escape from his touch and affection. 

“Se mía.” he asks, lips hovering over yours. The positions have changed slightly, now being under him which gives him the confidence to push into you without harming you. “Please, I’ll be yours, so be mine, too.” 

Caressing his face, you nod, drowning into his hazel eyes just like the first time. He looks just as beautiful, enticing and gorgeous, tempting you into leaning up and stealing a quick peck from his lips. 

Laughing, Mateo meets you half-way through the next kiss, melting into each other with an unrestrained passion that has you sighing into his mouth. He swallows every single sound coming from you, deepening the kiss till the point it bruises, but neither of you care, too busy mapping out every corner of your mouths. The sliding of his lips against yours is addictive, too greedy for more, your hands travel from his face to his neck and down his back, clutching onto his sweater for leverage. 

Finally giving each other time to breathe in, Gekko buries his face in the crook of your neck, softly biting and nibbling on the skin. You sigh in pleasure at one specific bite from him, and Gekko wants to hear more of it.

Though, when he realizes the position you’re in and where you’re located, he needs to refrain from going further before anyone walks in. [And if he’s honest, he wouldn’t mind if Yoru were the person to walk in now.] Making a little space between you two, he lays his head above your heart, the rapid beating soothing him and making him giddy he is the reason you’re this agitated.

“What 's wrong?” you ask, hand resting at the top of his head and scratching the scalp. Mateo sighs at that.

“I’d rather wait until you’re fully healed before doing…um, anything else.” 

Blinking through the haze after the make-out, you wonder, “Have sex?”

“Don’t say it outloud! It’s embarrassing!”

You hum, your hand never stops moving. Mateo blushes and pouts at you, and the only thing in mind is how you wanna kiss him more. 

“Kiss me?” and that’s exactly what you ask. 

He gulps and nods, leaning on his right arm to reach your lips again and kiss you. You smile through your locked lips, and Mateo’s heart races even faster when your hand hovers above his jeans on his lower back.

Gekko is sure if you keep this up, he will give no shits to whoever walks-in to whatever happens next.

You're addictive, you're sweet, every touch from you sets him on fire.

But most importantly, you're his.

[itsscottiesstark]

Occasionally I write stuff. I rarely post them on AO3. Here. 🤲🏽

Bingo card ~ 7.5k, Rating: Teens and Up

Takes place right after the church bombing in 1941, we follow Aziraphale and Crowley to the theatre and peek behind the scenes. Kissing. So. Much. Kissing.

Heaven isn't built to house a love like you and I ~ 37k, Rating: Teens and Up

Starting off right after the night at Crowley's flat, we take a peek into Aziraphale and Crowley's "precious, peaceful, fragile existence" they slowly carve out for themselves after Armage-not. We get to see Aziraphale slowly but surely reach out for the demon time and time again, bringing them closer than ever. Until Jim happens. And it all goes to shit.

SOOOO MUCH KISSING.

We keep this love in a photograph ~ 2k, Rating: General Audiences

1941-Bookshop. Aziraphale is reflecting back to his relationship with Crowley, trying to find some sort of logic in all those newfound feelings. Canon compliant so no actual kissing or anything else.

Undone ~ WIP 13/16 chapters out now, Rating: Teens and Up

Canon compliant-ish "What if...?" Story. What if Crowley had figured out Warlock wasn't the actual Antichrist a few days after he delivered the baby?

Crowley and Aziraphale move in next to the Youngs, posing as a married couple and help raise Adam as honorary uncles.

Just how awful would everything have been if they'd been at all competent?

This baby has got it all. Fake relationship, only one bed, slow burn, fluff, humour, some angst. By the end, 100ish thousand words of this.

I hope you enjoy these as much as I enjoyed writing them. If you did, there's more where those came from, in the works. 💕

Every middle of the night fic idea I have or prompt or an update on my WIPs is tagged #itsscottiesstark writes.

You can check out my posts with the tag #itsscottiesstark posts.

You can check out my gifs with the tag #itsscottiesstark gifs.

The posts I reblog and add something more to, are tagged #itsscottiesstark reblogs.

I am lucky enough to be co-mod in a discord server! The Nice and Accurate Network awaits you, join us!

[aflame4goinghome]

Antithesis

j.t.k x reader & j.m.k. x reader

part II

word count: 7.5k

warnings: THIS STORY CONTAINS SMUT, MINORS DNI!! fluff, swearing, drinking, a little bit of name calling, cheating *kind of* SMUT: flirting, kissing, sexually implicit language, touching, dirty talk, slight voyeurism, fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving & m. receiving), unprotected sex, biting, degradation kink if you squint, cum play (just a little bit, ok?)

a/n: aaaand i’m back! sorry that i’ve been gone so long… getting ready to graduate college is no joke! but i worked really hard on this one, so i hope you all enjoy :)

listen to the official playlist on Spotify here

read part one here

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It’s been a little over a week since your encounter with Jake, and it has yet to desert the back of your mind. It plagues you, like some sort of nightmare that you can’t seem to wake up from. Luckily for you, you haven’t had to see him too much since his party, since you and Josh had spent the Christmas holiday apart. The two of you were still a relatively new couple, if you could even call it that, and weren’t remotely serious enough to meet each other’s parents, at least in your opinion. He didn’t seem to mind too much, however, and he and his brothers went back to Michigan for the holiday. 

Despite the much-needed distance, your dilemma with Jake was still all you could think about. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could feel was Jake’s cold, calloused hands on your skin, giving you a feeling of euphoria that you had yet to experience before. And even if you wanted to forget about it (which you didn’t), it seems as though he won’t let you. Much to your surprise, you received a call from an unknown number late Christmas Eve after you’ve already tucked yourself into bed in your childhood bedroom at your parents’ house.

“Merry Christmas, sunshine.”

You swallow deeply. “Jake…?” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice as he replies, “The one and only.” His voice is deep and husky, slurring his words together slightly. You can tell that he’s had plenty to drink.

You roll your eyes and ask, “How did you get my number?” 

“I have my ways… A gentleman never reveals his secrets.” He utters, with confidence dripping off his words like honey. You scoff at him but say nothing. He speaks again, a bit more hushed than before.

“You been thinkin’ about me, baby? I know I’ve been thinkin’ about you.” The hoarseness of his voice on the other line is enough to make your knees buckle, but you’d never let him know that. 

“Definitely not,” you say, lying through your teeth. “You’re the last thing that would ever be on my mind, actually.” You hear him chuckle to himself.

“Yeah? Thinkin’ about my brother, then?” he jests, seeing right through you.

“And what if I am?” you reply, refusing to back down.

“He can’t handle you, sunshine. He doesn’t have it in him,” he says, and you can practically hear the annoyance in his voice.

“And you think you can? Is that it?” you scoff, starting to grow tired of his games.

“Why don’t you tell me? I seemed to handle you quite well the last time we saw each other, isn’t that right, sweetheart?” he says, his voice in almost a low whisper now. You’d be lying if you said that it didn’t affect you. You were under his spell, and he knew it.

“Goodnight, Jake,” you reply, a smile apparent in your voice, then hang up the phone. You stare at his phone number for a moment before creating a new contact, naming it “Bane Of My Existence,” then close your phone, set it on your bedside table, and go to sleep.

That was a week ago, and you’ve been able to avoid your dilemma since then. But now, with New Year's Eve tonight, they’ve all returned for a “night of revelry,” as Josh called it. As excited as you are to spend New Year’s Eve with Josh, you’re fearful of what’s to come if you find yourself alone with Jake again. You hope that it won’t get to that point, and you’re going to do your best to avoid it at all costs.

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Luckily, Josh was hosting the party this time, which made you feel slightly less nervous. He got home from his trip yesterday morning, so he took the two of you out on a date last night and you stayed over to help him prepare for the party. Even though you didn’t need to be there that early to set up, you enjoyed the excuse to spend some extra time alone with him. You hope that the more time you spend with Josh, the easier it will be to forget about your previous intoxicated lapse of judgment with his twin.

You wake up, rolling over in bed to face him, He’s still asleep, laying on his back with his hands on his chest, snoring ever-so-slightly. You know that the snoring is thanks to his very deviated septum, which he refuses to get surgery for. Josh told you that Jake had gotten his fixed last year and it got rid of his snoring completely. He won’t get it done, though- he’s convinced that it would “ruin his angelic singing voice.” You rolled your eyes at him that day, but it was something that you admired about him: his dedication to his art. 

Despite the band being Jake’s idea at the start, singing has slowly become Josh’s entire life, that much has been obvious to you. He puts his entire heart and soul into it, sometimes at the expense of his health and well-being. He tends to push himself too far, but in the past year, it’s clear that he’s learning from his mistakes. This new tour meant new beginnings and better habits for him, and you couldn’t be prouder.

You reach your hand over to him gently, pushing some of his curls back and out of his face. Josh’s eyes begin to flutter open and land on you as a smile creeps across his face.

“I could get used to this,” he mutters with a smirk, his voice sounding groggy after just waking up.

“Don’t get too comfortable now,” you joke, running your fingers through his hair as you gaze at him with a smile. 

“If you’re not careful, I just might,” he says, his smile widening as he begins to sit up. Your cheeks turn pink at his words and you try to look down to avoid any teasing. 

“So…” you say with a smile, “You wanna go get some coffee?”

“You read my mind, darling,” he says, leaning over and planting a soft kiss on your lips and grins. “I knew I kept you around for a reason.”

You roll your eyes and turn around to get out of bed, heading toward the bathroom to get ready for the day. But first, you turn around and quip back, “Because I always like to go get coffee? No other reasons?”

“Oh, I could list plenty of other reasons, lover…” he answers, walking toward you and wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you closer. “Want me to show you?”

You swear your heart stopped right then and there. His eyes had darkened as he looked down at you with a smirk, and you could already feel his morning wood against your abdomen. No, no- you had to stay focused (for now). Your cheeks flush and you clear your throat, trying not to appear too flustered. “Coffee first,” you say, smiling softly as you meet his eyes before grabbing your overnight back from the floor and heading into the bathroom.

You quickly shut the door behind you and rest your back against it, taking in a deep breath. You were way in over your head with the Kiszkas, and you knew it. You take a look in the mirror, seeing how disheveled you looked from your night’s sleep. You’re not sure how Josh could still be attracted to you, even when you looked like such a mess, but you know the answer to that question was one that you’re not quite ready for yet.

You quickly brush your teeth and braid your hair loosely down your back, leaving out a few strands around your face. You take off Josh’s old Greta Van Fleet t-shirt that he gave you to sleep in last night and throw on your oversized college sweatshirt and a pair of light-colored jeans. When you go to open the bathroom door, Josh is sitting on the bed, waiting for you. He had put on his favorite Sherpa jacket and some khaki pants. He must have gone to get ready in the spare bathroom downstairs since his hair looked neat and his face was freshly washed. He turns his head as he hears the door open, smiling as he catches sight of you.

“There she is,” he says, standing up and walking over to you. You smile at him, holding his shirt in your hands.

“I should probably give this back…” you mutter, holding it out for him to take. Instead, he shakes his head and gently pushes your hand downward.

“Nuh-uh. That’s yours now,” he says with a proud smile. “It doesn’t fit me anymore. Besides, you look much better in it anyway.” You blush, meeting his gaze. “Okay.”

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Josh heads down the stairs and you follow closely after him, sliding on your sneakers before heading out the door toward his car. He unlocks the car with his keys and opens the door for you before rounding the car and getting into the driver’s seat. He turns the car on and the radio starts blaring, causing Josh to quickly hit the Bluetooth button on the screen.

“You wanna put something on?” he asks. You’ve been in his car plenty of times by now, but you’d never really had the opportunity to control the music before, as he usually would have something on before you got in the car. The corners of your lips turn into a small smile as you nod, connecting your phone to his car’s Bluetooth.

You decide to put on your 60s and 70s playlist, knowing that he’d probably enjoy anything that might come on from there. As the opening notes of a familiar song start to play as he pulls out of the driveway, you can already tell that your intuition was right.

You’re just too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you

You’d be like Heaven to touch

I wanna hold you so much 

At long last love has arrived

And I thank God I’m alive

You’re just too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you

A smirk appears on his lips as he looks over at you, clearly happy with your song choice. He nods his head along with a smile as he drives to your favorite coffee shop in downtown Nashville. As the next verse starts, though, he begins to sing along.

Pardon the way that I stare

There’s nothing to compare

The sight of you leaves me weak

There are no words left to speak

He turns his head to meet your gaze, winking at you before turning back to the road.

But if you feel like I feel

Please let me know that it’s real

You’re just too good to be true

Can’t take my eyes off of you

You giggle at his attempt at a serenade as the chorus gears up, deciding to join in with him. He places his right hand on your thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze as he smiles brightly, sneaking glances every chance he gets.

I love you, baby

And if it’s quite alright

I need you, baby

To warm a lonely night

I love you, baby

Trust me when I say

You can’t help but look at him with the biggest smile on your face. You knew then and there that if anyone knew you the best, it would be Josh. Despite whatever your romantic relationship was, this man is your best friend. He gets you more than anyone else does. You place your hand on his, which is still planted on your thigh. 

Oh, pretty baby

Don’t bring me down, I pray

Oh, pretty baby, now that I found you, stay

And let me love you, baby

Let me love you

You finally arrive at the coffee shop and pull into a parking space at the front. Josh puts the car in park and turns to notice that you’re already looking at him, smiling from ear to ear.

“What?” he asks, smiling at you.

“Nothing- just you,” you answer.

“You growing soft on me, darlin’?” he jokes, reaching over to brush some of your stray hairs behind your ear.

“Yeah, maybe I am,” you say, leaning into his hand as he strokes your cheek with his thumb. He smiles wide and brings your face to his, kissing you. You smile against his lips as he pulls you closer to him, brushing your tongue against his bottom lip as if to ask permission for its entry. He opens his mouth slightly, allowing your tongue to slip past his lips and meet his own, causing him to let out a low groan. Before you get the chance to pull him closer to you, he ends the kiss, keeping his face mere inches away from yours.

“If we keep going like that, then we’re not gonna make it inside that coffee shop, baby,” he whispers, stroking your cheek before turning to open his door, then going around the front of the car and opening yours. You try to get rid of the flush of your cheeks as you exit the car and enter the cafe, taking Josh’s hand in yours.

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You both got your coffee and then went to run some errands to get ready for this party. You stopped at the party store for some decorations, the grocery store for snacks and ingredients for appetizers, and the liquor store to get a few bottles of champagne and stock up on tequila. Before you know it, it’s nearly 5 p.m. and it’s time to start getting ready. Josh knew that it would take you a while, so he opted to shower first and then went downstairs to start cooking the famous dish that he makes for every party- jalapeño poppers with a secret dipping sauce that he won’t share with anyone, not even with you. Cooking skills are well beyond your expertise, so you just let him enjoy it on his own.

You finish up in the shower and wrap one of Josh’s soft, white towels around your body, tucking it in on the top corner. You tap your watch to check the time, which you left sitting on the counter, which reads 6:12 p.m. The guests are supposed to be arriving around 8, so you luckily have enough time for now, but Josh did warn you that his brothers will likely arrive early. You go to plug in your hair dryer, then begin drying your hair. Your mom had just gifted you one of those fancy hair dryers for Christmas that curls your hair as you dry it, and you finally have an excuse to test it out. 

After a while of drying, thanks to the thickness and length of your hair, you finally achieve the style you were hoping for, a blowout with a beautiful curl to it. You spray in a bit of hairspray, then start on your makeup. You lay on your base makeup and then add in some light silver eyeshadow, just enough to make your eyes sparkle. You apply eyeliner, just enough to line your eyes tightly, then put on a layer of mascara. You put on dark red lipstick then pick up your watch from the counter: 6:58 p.m. Still plenty of time to spare. You head out of the bathroom to get dressed. 

You walk to Josh’s closet to take your dress off its hanger. It was a tight silver sequined dress, hitting around the middle of your thighs. It has thin straps and a square neckline, which didn’t show too much cleavage but definitely didn’t leave that much to the imagination. You put it on, then slip on your black heels and go downstairs to find Josh.

You turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs and walk toward the kitchen. You see Josh in front of the oven, putting his jalapeño popper in to bake. He’s wearing a white sweater with a pair of gray dress pants and black loafers. As he hears the cadence of your heels, he turns around and leans his side against the counter, not taking his eyes off of you for a second as he watches you approach him. A smile spreads across his face as you get closer, then he reaches his arms out and places his hands on your waist, pulling you into him. 

“Oh, you look delicious, baby…” he says, capturing your lips in his. It’s quick and almost impatient- you can tell that you picked the right dress. With his hands still on your waist, he flips you both around so that your lower back rests against the kitchen counter. His hands slide down to grip your ass and he lets out a low groan as he pulls you closer to him. 

“I should cancel this party right now, keep you all to myself,” he mumbles as his lips start to pepper kisses along our jawline and down your neck. “It’s not too late, you know, I’ll call everyone right now…” You lean your head back as he continues his assault on your neck, a small whimper leaving your mouth as you feel him suck one of the sensitive spots on your skin. But unfortunately for you, amidst your heated interaction with Josh, neither of you heard the front door swing open.

“It seems like I might be interrupting something,” you hear a deep voice say from behind Josh. You sigh as Josh frantically lets go of you and turns around to see none other than his twin brother staring back at him with a smirk spread across his face.

You feel your breath catch in your chest as you see Jake standing at the kitchen's threshold. His eyes are hidden underneath his usual dark sunglasses, but you know they’re locked on you- you can feel it. You take a moment to watch him as Josh walks over to greet him. He’s wearing a pair of black dress pants paired with his usual black Chelsea boots. On top, he’s opted for a dark red button-up, with a few buttons undone at the top as always, and the sleeves are rolled up just below his elbows. 

You hear Sam and Danny walk in through the front door, and Josh goes to greet them in the foyer. It sounds like they ask him to help carry in snacks and drinks from the car. They all exit the house, leaving just you and Jake in the kitchen. You watch as he takes his sunglasses off and slips them into the small pocket in his shirt, his eyes still locked with yours. Suddenly, as he goes to approach you, they seem to wander downward, taking in every inch of you before he’s only less than a foot away and meets your gaze once again.

“At this point, I have no choice but to think that you must be doing this on purpose,” he says, leaning his arm onto the counter next to you, allowing his left hand to ghost slightly over your arm. 

Your eyes go from where his hand nearly connects with your skin, then up to meet his eyes. “Doing what?” you ask, feigning innocence.

“You know exactly what… You wear that little number just for me, sweetheart?” he says, his voice sounding graveling and hoarse. You swallow harshly.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, your eyes falling to his lips before quickly snapping yourself out of it.

“You just couldn’t help yourself, could you? Knowing exactly how to get my attention…” he whispers, leaning in slightly so that his mouth is mere centimeters away from your ear. “Do you like that, baby? Knowing that I’m looking at you, and only you?”

You feel your cheeks start to heat up at his words. You take a deep breath and mutter out a quiet “Yes.” He smiles a crooked smile, and you can still feel his breath on the shell of your ear.

“That’s what I thought. Craving attention, like the filthy whore you are.” He chuckles under his breath when he hears the quiet whimper that comes out of you at his degrading words, and then brushes your hair back slightly to place a soft kiss behind your ear. “You don’t have to try so hard to get my attention, sunshine… all you had to do was ask.”

With that, he backs away from you, turning around and then heading into the dining room to make himself a drink, leaving you alone in the kitchen. Your chest is heaving slightly from the adrenaline, your heart is beating ten times fast, and you can feel your arousal start to drip down your thigh. You opted out of wearing any underwear this evening, which you now know was a huge mistake. 

Finally, Josh, Sam, and Danny reemerge from outside, carrying cases of beer and grocery bags. You greet them and smile shyly at Josh as he sets the bags down and walks over to you, wrapping one around your waist. As you catch Jake’s eyes in the mirror above the bar cart and notice the mischievous look that starts to creep over his face, you know that you’re about to be in for a long night.

You wait for Jake to desert the bar cart and find a seat at the kitchen island before walking over to make yourself a very strong drink, which you know you’re going to need. You pour yourself what seems to be about two shots of tequila before adding some soda water. The guests have begun to arrive now, trickling in slowly, and as social as you typically are, you didn’t really feel like you were in the mood for the same old small talk. “How’s the tour?” “What’s in store next for the band?” It’s always the same questions, and as much as Josh loves to answer them and talk about his art, you didn’t have it in you to stand there quietly and nod along. And then, as though someone had read your mind, a soft voice calling your name broke you from your trance.

“Y/N, hey,” you turn your head to see Sam standing in front of you. You offer him a soft smile, silently thanking him for saving you from your thoughts. 

“Hey, Sam,” you answer, straightening your back, trying not to seem as absent as you so clearly were. You watch as he walks up next to you, taking the bottle opener from the bar cart and popping off the bottlecap from his beer, then setting it back down. 

“D’you wanna go hang out in the living room with me? You look a bit bored, and Daniel’s already ditched me for some chick,” he chuckles to himself, then takes a swig of his beer before continuing. “We could put a record on, I’ll even let you choose.” You giggle a bit and look up at him for a moment. “Sure.”

The two of you walk through the dining room into the living room, where a few people have already started to congregate. You see Jake in the corner of the room speaking to who you know to be one of their producers, his back leaning against the wall with his whiskey glass in his hand. You immediately shake it off and opt to ignore him.

Sam sits down on one of the loveseats, leaning back against the cushion. You walk over to Josh’s record player and sift through his record collection, trying to find the perfect one for the occasion. After searching for a moment, a smile grows on your face as you pull out Fleetwood Mac’s Rumours. You take the vinyl out of its protective sleeve and place it gingerly on the turntable, then lift the arm and place the needle delicately on the edge of the record.

 As Second Hand News begins to play, you walk back toward the loveseat and sit down next to Sam. He’s wearing a toothy grin, and says “Good choice, Y/N,” then takes another sip of his beer. You watch as his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, then look back up at his face and smile at him. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and he was certainly sweet- though, not your type. You subtly turn around to see if Jake is watching, and you’re immediately met with his eyes piercing through you. This will definitely do the trick.

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After a few hours of sitting and chatting with Sam, and several more tequila sodas, you excuse yourself to use the restroom. Josh had popped in every once and a while to check in on you, sometimes choosing a record to put on, then going back to whoever he was talking to. He knew you didn’t need him to hover over you, you could handle socializing without him. Besides, he had never asked you to be his girlfriend, so who would he introduce you as to his colleagues anyway? It was less complicated to just keep to yourself. 

Or, keep to Sam, if you’re being specific. The two of you talked for hours, just about traveling and the outdoors and his garden. You knew Jake was watching, and every once and a while, you’d touch Sam’s arm while you spoke just to get Jake riled up, and you knew it was working. 

You head upstairs to use the bathroom and decide to use Josh’s master bathroom instead of the main one, to check on your makeup and have a few moments to yourself. You finally break the seal, and as you stand up from the toilet, you feel your head rush a bit- a sure sign that you’ve clearly had enough to drink. You fix your makeup, reapply your lipstick, and then run your hands through your hair a bit to get out any kinks. 

You pull your phone out of your purse and see the time: 10:27 p.m. Still a decent amount of time until midnight. As you slip your phone back into your purse, you hear the outer door to the bedroom open and shut. You open the bathroom door and step out to find Josh approaching you.

“Hey, baby,” he says, a slight slur in his voice giving you the impression that he's had a few to drink himself. “I was wondering where you went off to… was worried about you.” He slips his arms around your waist, pulling you into him and placing a kiss on your cheek.

“Oh, I’m alright, don’t worry,” you answer, wrapping your arms around his neck and running your fingers through the hair on the back of his neck. “Just needed to powder my nose.” You let out a little giggle at the phrase, which brings a big smile to his face.

“Well, you look beautiful, darling,” he says, kissing your cheek again, then trailing his lips down, peppering soft kisses along your jaw. “Been thinking about you all night, you know.”

You smirk as you lean your head back slightly to give him more access to your neck. “You have?” you jest, bringing one of your hands down to grip his shoulder for stability as he starts to suck lightly on the skin of your neck.

“Of course I have… Haven’t been able to take my eyes off of you in this dress, baby… We didn’t get to finish what we started earlier, did we?” he mumbles against your skin as he guides you toward his bed. The warmth of his breath against your neck is enough to get you aroused, especially combined with all the alcohol in your system, and you already feel the wetness pooling between your thighs. 

You grab the collar of his sweater and pull him into you as your back falls onto the bed, capturing his lips in yours. His hands grip your ass firmly before his right hands slides between your legs. When he finally notices your lack of underwear, he lets out a low groan and leans back down to kiss you again.

“Fuck, baby,” he mumbles against your lips, his voice dripping in lust, “You do this for me?” He runs his fingers through your wetness as he attacks your neck again, causing you to let out a small moan as you nod “yes” and reach your hands down to start undoing his belt. You can already feel that he’s ridiculously hard, and your intoxicated state is causing you to be a bit more impatient than usual.

“I need you, Josh. Need you so bad,” you whine, which makes him groan loudly against your neck. You use your hands to pull him onto the bed more before pushing him to the other side, with him lying on his back. You quickly hike your dress up over your hips before crawling back onto the bed agilely now with the increased freedom from your tight dress. After gently tapping the side of Josh’s thigh, he get the message and lifts his hips up off the bed, allowing you to shimmy his pants and boxers down just enough so they sit resting at his mid-thigh.

You position yourself at the bottom of the bed, taking Josh’s thick, hardened cock in your hands, pumping it a few times before taking him slowly into your mouth. He lets out a deep, guttural groan as he watches you take him completely down your throat. “God, you look so fuckin’ sexy like that,” he utters, bringing his hand down to brush your hair out of your face and then holding it all in his fist as you bob your head up and down. He throws his head back as you ease him all the way to the back of your throat, but then quickly pulls you off of him. “If you keep going, I’m not gonna last, baby. Need to feel you,” he says, pulling you up to straddle him.

You place your right hand on the back of his neck and pull him into a deep kiss as your other hand works to align yourself with him, letting the straps of your dress sling down your arms. Finally, you slowly sink down on him, letting out a moan that’s much louder than you intended. You kiss him passionately, slipping your tongue past his lips and joining his as you start to lift your hips slowly, then bring them back down. 

“Fuck, that’s it, darling’. Just like that,” he moans, gripping your hip tightly with his left hand as the other finds your breast now pouring out of your dress. He squeezes it softly, then rolls your nipple between his fingers, causing you to let out another moan. His lips find your neck and travel downward, sucking harsh bites into your collarbone. You pick up the pace on top of him, throwing your head back as the feeling of his lips on your neck and his cock throbbing inside of you begin to throw you completely out of orbit.

Josh starts to thrust upwards into you, meeting you halfway as you become a blubbering mess for him. “Oh, fuck Josh, right there,” you whine, squeezing your eyes shut as the euphoric feeling takes over. He takes that moment to flip the both of you over, then swiftly tucking his dick back into you and takings your lips in his. You whine loudly, which is barely being muffled inside the walls of his mouth, but you don’t care.

You could tell by his uncontrolled thrusts that he was getting close, and you knew that with both of you having had as much to drink as you had, this wasn’t going to last long. He groans loudly into your mouth one final time before, pulling out of you and straddling your torso quickly, holding himself up with one hand on his headboard behind you. Hunched over you, you place kisses along his abdomen as he throws his head back with a groan and finishes on your chest. 

He brings his head down to rest on top of yours, leaving a soft kiss on top of your head before getting up. As he stands up next to the bed, he looks down at you, admiring the sight of you lying on his bed, with your dress now only left covering your mid section. “My god, you are exquisite… could put this view in a fucking museum,” he mutters, leaning over you and grasping one of your breasts in his hand, spreading his cum across them. He groans as his hands caress you, bringing his lips down to kiss you. Finally, he pulls his pants up slightly, retreating to the bathroom to get a wet hand towel to clean you off before the both of you redress for the rest of the party.

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JAKE’S POV

You excuse yourself to go get another drink, then walk over to the dining room. As you pour yourself another glass of whiskey, you wonder how many you’d reached- was it four? Maybe five? It doesn’t matter. You take a long sip before returning to the living room, then notice that she’s gone. You swear she was just here. Sam was still there on the couch, thank God. You knew that she was hanging all over him to get under your skin, and it makes your blood boil to admit that she was succeeding. 

You set your glass down on a side table and then venture upstairs in hopes of finding her alone. She was no match for your charm, no matter how hard she fought you on it. But as you climb the stairs and take a look around, you can’t help but notice noises coming from Josh’s bedroom. 

Out of curiosity, you slowly creep closer to the door, and the sound that you find coming from the room makes your heart nearly stop beating. It’s her, you know it’s her- but she’s not alone. 

“Oh, fuck Josh, right there,” you hear her exclaim, sending shivers down your spine. Despite the sounds being for your brother, all you can think about is how you can get her to make those noises for you. You’d never admit it out loud, but you’d do anything to feel her underneath you again, to be the one coaxing those moans out of her. 

Just the idea of it sends half the blood from your brain straight down to your dick, you can’t control it. You feel yourself strain against the material of your pants as you listen to her whine on the other side of the door. You slowly palm your erection through your pants, just to find some relief and get it under control, but you realize that it’s much more serious than you thought. 

With that, you pull yourself away, heading into the bathroom in the hallway at the top of the stairs. You quickly shut the door and lock it behind you. As you approach the mirror, you almost don’t recognize the man staring back at you. Who are you, to let some girl get the best of you like this? Not only that, but the aspect of her being off-limits makes it even more appealing. Whatever, you’re nothing if not a masochist. You’ve found yourself in trickier situations than this in your lifetime.

You reach down and try to ease your erection away again as you hear the distant sound of a door shutting. Curiosity takes control, and you unlock the door and stick your head out, seeing your brother threading his belt back together, bouncing down the stairs, and turning the corner toward the kitchen. You shut off the light and crack the door open now, leaning against the wall and waiting for her to inevitably come out.

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YOUR POV

Thanks to Josh’s help, you have to fix your makeup again, so he heads downstairs first without you while you go back into his bathroom to freshen up. As you finish up, you check your phone one last time: 11:29 p.m. Better get going, you thought.

You open the door to Josh’s room and step out into the hallway, shutting it behind you. You walk toward the steps, but before you’re able to start your descent, you feel two strong, calloused hands pull you back into the hallway bathroom. The figure shuts the door, leaning your back against it as they flick the light on and you’re suddenly face to face with a very inebriated Jake Kiszka.

“Was curious about where you ran off to… now I know. Dirty girl,” he mutters, reaching down to sweep a piece of your hair out of your eyes. You let out a quiet sigh as you looked up at him, realizing that he’d heard you.

“Where I ran off to is none of your business, for the record,” you scoff, rolling your eyes. He ignores your jaggedness and continues.

“First, you flirt with my little brother right in front of me all evening, Then you sneak away to fuck my twin brother, during his own party, knowing that I could find you there.” He brings his hand up to rest on the back of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek softly. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think that you were trying to make me jealous…”

You look up at him, answering smartly, “What would you say if I was?” A smirk washes over his face at your answer, and you hate that you’re feeding right into his ego, but the alcohol in your system doesn’t seem to care. 

“I told you earlier, sweetheart- If you wanted my attention, all you had to do was ask,” he says, leaning down to brush his nose against your cheek, then whispering directly into your ear. “But now you’ve got me all worked up… And we can’t have that, can we? You can’t just tease me in public like that and expect me to let you get away with it.”

Your breath grows shaky as the feeling of his mouth so close to you starts to intoxicate you. “What are you going to do?” you ask.

“I think I’m gonna have to teach you a lesson, sunshine…” he answers, bringing his hands down to your hips and guiding you over to the sink, resting your back against the cold marble. He leans in once more, resting his lips against the shell of your ear. “If you’re going to act like a slut, then I am going to treat you like one.”

With that, his hands turn you around, bending you over the sink. You plant your hands firmly on either side of the counter, panting slightly from the anticipation as your eyes meet his in the mirror. His lips meet your shoulder, placing soft kisses there then slowly down your back. His left hand rests on your hip while his right is planted firmly on the small of your back, keeping you bent over in just the way he wants. You’ve never been handled by a man like this before, and you’re not complaining.

You feel his hands slowly slide your dress up over your ass to rest on your hips, much like your encounter with Josh not long ago. But Josh is long gone from your mind now- all you can think about is the feeling of Jake’s breath on your skin as he plants agonizingly slow kisses on your thighs.

 As Jake sees your core, bare and open to him underneath your dress, he lets out a deep groan. “Fucking filthy. I knew it,” he mumbles, then sucks a love bite on your asscheek, placing a soft kiss afterward. He brings his face back up to meet your gaze in the mirror once again.

He pulls your hair over your left shoulder then starts sucking the sensitive part of your neck as his fingers start to run through your folds. His eyes look up to meet yours in the mirror as he removes his lips from you for a second.

“He didn’t make you cum, did he, sweetheart?” he asks, kissing your shoulder as his fingers find your clit, rubbing slow circles against it. You bite your lip to stifle the moan that almost erupted from deep inside your chest and then shake your head “No.”

“No, he didn’t, did he? Left that job to me, huh?” he mumbles against your skin. “Don’t worry, darling. I’ll take good care of you.”

Jake crouches back down and then spreads your cheeks apart, letting out a low groan as he plants a wet kiss right on your folds and immediately dives in. You have to steady yourself from the sudden movement and quiet your moans with a bite of your lip as he attacks your core from behind you.

He makes quick work of you as his tongue pleasures your pussy, licking deep inside and making you feel like never before. His right hand wraps around you and makes quick circles around your clit, causing you to let out a quiet moan. He groans against your core at the sound and palms himself through his pants as he gets you closer and closer to your climax. As he hears your noises become less and less controlled, he can tell you’re close. 

“That’s it, baby, cum all over my face like the dirty whore you are, you know I want it,” he says quickly before diving back into you. His pace quickens even more and before you know it, you feel your orgasm crashing over you. It’s like something you’d never felt before, it erupts from you before you can even see it coming and you can’t stop it. Jake coaxes you through it, helping you down from it. 

You finally come down from your high, you turn around to face him and find his face completely soaked. You gasp at the sight before pulling him up and capturing his lips with yours, tasting yourself as your tongue slips into his mouth. He moans into your mouth, pulling you closer to him. You feel his hard cock against your core, straining against his pants, causing you to whine against his lips. 

You pull away from him, resting your forehead on his. “Jake…” you say, resting your hands around his waist. “Let me make you feel good…” Your eyes meet his and you can see the internal battle happening in his head as he shakes his head and shows you his watch. 11:54. 

Shit. You had to go, and he knew it. Your eyes soften as you look up at him. “I’m sorry,” you utter as he backs away from you, allowing you to exit the bathroom. You unlock the door, pull it open, and then turn around to look at him one more time. There’s a look in his eye that you can’t place, but you don’t have the time to ask him about it at this moment. 

You rush down the stairs to find all the partygoers in the living room, watching the ball-drop countdown on Josh’s flatscreen TV. You see Josh, leaning against the wall near the dining room holding his drink, by himself. Your heart sank a bit knowing that he was alone and didn’t know where you were, but it didn’t matter now.

“Hi, baby, sorry it took me so long,” you say, wrapping your arm around his waist. He looks over at you, a smile growing on his face. “I had a lot more to drink tonight than I thought, so I had to take a couple more minutes to collect myself.”

“That’s okay, darlin’. I’m just glad you're here now, you’re just in time,” he says with a grin, placing a soft kiss on your cheek as you both turn to watch the TV.

5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Happy New Year!

As the clock hits midnight, Josh wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you in for a long kiss. You cup both of his cheeks with your hands as you both share a special New Year’s kiss. As he finally pulls away, you can’t help but notice Jake across the room, standing alone with his eyes locked on you. You watch as he picks up his half-drank glass of whiskey and downs the rest of it, slamming it back down on the table and then walking out of the room to the kitchen. 

That’s when you knew that you were way over your head. You’re not sure how you can appease one twin without hurting the other. You realize that it all goes much deeper than you knew, and whatever you had with Jake wasn’t going away anytime soon. You know you have to face it head-on. But where will that lead you? You’ll likely end up breaking somebody’s heart, but whose will it be? If you’re not careful, it might be your own.

✺⋅∘⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅∘⋅✧⋅∘⋅∙⋅∘⋅✺

read part three here

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