#but it was my first time drawing him so i can't be too harsh on myself

[shriggy-the-rat-king]

Bug fan art timelapse 💙

[kingkat12]

pornography (eric draven x reader)

WARNINGS: 18+, foul language, groping/fondling, dry-humping lol, mentions of substance abuse

summary: when you finally talk to Eric Draven in rehab, it doesn't take long before you get drawn together by a force stronger than anything you have ever encountered. it doesn’t help the situation that you eventually find out Eric has been drawing pictures of you… nude

word count: 2,337 PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

a/n: this is for all the girlies like me that just came home from watching The Crow and got their mind blown by how hot Bill was in it... holy fuck. had to write this blurb because I am so shaken up, I can't feel my face. enjoy!! there will be more parts hihi...

"I fucking hate pink," 

I couldn't believe that was the first thing I said to him-- the dark and broody stranger I had been eyeing through my first few weeks in rehab. He stared back at me, confusion swimming in his big green eyes, probably pondering why I had sat down next to him in the cafeteria. "Pardon?"

"It's a little ridiculous," I tried, watching as he put down his cutlery, pushing his food away as he gave me his full attention. Tugging at my pink sweater, which we were all wearing, I let out a nervous chuckle. "Whose idea was it to put a lot of addicts in pink, anyway?"

My eyes darted down to his hands as I waited for his answer-- they were huge up close, and completely covered in tattoos. I hadn't noticed them from afar; I had only noticed the ones peeking through the top of his shirt when he would pass me by in the hall, or the big eye he had on his chest that I had seen while passing by his room. I knew it wasn't nice to peek into his room while he was changing, but I was quite frankly starved of any male contact-- any girl would go crazy in here. 

He eventually shrugged, giving me the answer I least expected; "I guess pink is supposed to be a calming colour. It's not that bad," I watched as the corners of his mouth tugged upwards, giving away hints of amusement. "Aren't you girls supposed to like pink?"

"Maybe," I mumbled, nudging food around on my plate with my fork. "I just don't like to wear it. It doesn't suit me."

The handsome stranger didn't seem to agree, another shrug following accompanied by a shy laugh. "I can't figure out whether you're being sincere or searching for compliments,"

This was most definitely not how I wanted to come off. I straightened up, resting my elbows against the table as I cleared my throat. "I'm just trying to make conversation,"

"... Why?"

"Because you've been staring at me almost as much as I've been staring at you," I put down my fork, hoping he didn't see how nervous I was. In truth, he had been staring-- it wasn't all purely one-sided. I had caught him staring at me in the courtyard, on my way to the shower, and I had also caught him lingering outside my room several times. He would usually leave when I came out, disappearing down the hall with speed I wouldn't even dream to catch up with. 

He finally gave in to a smirk, nodding to himself as he lowered his head. "Sorry," It was clear that he hadn't thought he'd be called out like this. However, something told me he wasn't too upset about being caught either. 

"Don't be," I said, feeling my anxiety ripping through my veins. Why was I indulging? "I just--"

It was at this moment that a guard appeared behind him, yanking him away from the table with a harshness that made me gasp. I clasped my hand over my mouth, watching as he barely reacted to the brutality. 

"Guys and girls eat separately!" the guard yelled at me, slamming his fist down on the table. 

My eyes widened, looking back at the handsome stranger. "But I-- I was the one who sat down here, he didn't do anything!" I protested, watching as the guard grabbed him and led him away. Groaning, I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated with the rules at this place. Why was it so fucking strict?

I eventually looked up just in time to see that the man had managed to turn around, smirking my way; "I'm Eric!" he said, holding back a laugh as he was shoved along the cafeteria for everyone to see.

Despite the horror washing over me for getting him in trouble, I managed to croak out my name as well. It seemed that he appreciated that I had at least tried to stick up for him-- What was it that I had just started?

My question would be answered a lot quicker than I had expected. 

A few days passed, and more looks and stares were exchanged. I was dying to talk to Eric again. I knew I hadn't been sent to rehab to make friends or get feelings for someone, but something was gnawing at me to talk to him again. I wanted to be around him constantly; what was happening to me? I recognized this feeling-- it was the same feeling I got when I really, really craved something... Fuck, how I missed drugs. Maybe Eric was turning into a substitute?

It wasn't often that the door to Eric's room was open, but today it was. I wouldn't have noticed it if I hadn't taken the extra lap around the institute as usual, hoping to get a glimpse of him through the small window in his door. But today, I didn't have to get on my tippytoes to get a look-- there he was, picking up several drawings that had been scattered around the floor. His room looked like a mess, completely unlike how I was used to seeing it through the tiny window. This looked like the result of one of those raids that the prison guards sometimes did when they suspected there were hidden drugs in a patient's room. 

I felt sorry for him; I knew how horrible it could feel to have someone rip through all your stuff. But as I bent down and picked up a few drawings that were at my feet, my lips parted in surprise.

It seemed I wasn't the only one caught off guard; Eric noticed me standing in his doorway, letting out a relieved sigh as he watched me inspect his drawings. He called out my name, leaning against the wall as he sized me up and scanned me, crossing his arms over his chest. 

I cleared my throat; "Is this... me?" I held up the first drawing of the bunch. It was a sketch of me sitting in the courtyard, and I was sure that it was me-- I suppose it was my shock asking for confirmation. 

Eric snickered, kicking off the wall. "Yeah... Sorry,"

"Stop saying sorry," I shuffled through the drawings, finding he had drawn me in multiple settings, and it was clear that I had been watched the few weeks I'd been here. "These are beautiful, Eric... I guess I'm honoured--" My words trailed off as I finally approached the last drawing. Was that...?

He didn't even try to take it away from me. Eric sighed, looking away as his cheeks flushed a light pink, similar to our uniforms. 

Judging by his reaction, I had a feeling he wasn't so against me seeing this. It was a sketch of me, after all-- nude. 

I had to swallow rather hard for anything to go down. I couldn't pinpoint why I wasn't absolutely horrified at this.  "So... this is what you've been up to in here, huh?" There was no stopping the smirk that spread across my lips, holding back a flustered giggle. "This is next-level pervy, do you know that?"

It didn't take long before Eric's big hands ripped the drawings out of my hands, turning away as he shook his head. "Every artist needs a muse, no?"

"A muse? How can I be your muse if we don't know each other?"

"That's not how it works," he mumbled, throwing away the drawings into a heap on the bed. "Your beauty is all I need to get inspired."

This was enough to shock me into silence. I inhaled a sharp breath, stepping into Eric's room despite knowing it was forbidden. "So now you think I'm beautiful?"

Eric hummed, finally turning to meet my eyes. "It hasn't been the biggest secret, has it?" There was something playful about him, shameless, as though it didn't matter to him that I had just found his handmade porn. "It gets a little lonely in here, I guess. These drawings just... run out of me like water. Can't control it."

There was something so unimaginably tantalizing about Eric. Everything about him made me want to jump him then and there-- was it maybe the result of my withdrawals that were turning my brain into further mush? In a normal setting, this would have creeped me out to infinity and beyond, but knowing this was coming from the man I had been lusting after from afar for several weeks made me excuse it in a heartbeat. 

I had no idea what possessed me to close the door to his room and lock it, knowing the repercussions could be severe if we were caught. But Eric didn't seem to mind; his green eyes widened, watching my every move like a hawk.

"It was really pretty and all... The drawing, I mean," I said, inching closer to where he had sat down on the bed. "But would you maybe want some inspiration for the next one?"

Eric's plush, pink lips parted, eyes rounding out in surprise. Despite his shock, his big hands reached out for me as I came closer, and he pulled me in between his legs. I could feel him caressing my back through my shirt, holding me with the utmost gentle touch. "I'll take all I can get," he murmured, looking up at me through his brows, a knowing smirk spreading across his face. 

I let out a giggle as he pressed his lips against my stomach through my shirt, enjoying the intense feeling of someone against my skin again after all this time. Eric pulled away, glancing at the door before slowly trailing his fingers under my shirt, testing the waters. 

It didn't take long before that wasn't enough for him-- my breath hitched as Eric grabbed my waist, pulling me down with him on the bed. I barely had time to think before the euphoric feeling of being kissed engulfed me. Our lips met in an open, soft kiss, almost as though we were scared to break the other if we were too needy or harsh. As I straddled him, I felt his hands tugging at my shirt, dipping back under the fabric once more. His fingers gently ghosted over my lower back, eventually ending up trailing small circles with his thumbs along the underside of my bra. 

If I hadn't been so starved of any human contact in here, I would've never jumped the opportunity like this. But none of us knew how long we had until the guards would bust us, and it only fueled the adrenaline pumping through our veins. Our kisses became desperate, hungry, and I let out a whimper against his lips as he took the liberty of cupping my chest, feeling me up to his heart's delight. I knew I had been waiting for this moment since the first time I saw him, and I wasn't about to let it slip through my fingers-- I decided to let him do whatever he wanted to me, no matter what. 

I could feel Eric's cock twitch beneath me, clearly aroused. It was also at this moment that he made me sit up, tugging my shirt off of me before laying back down to scan me. Was he memorizing my body for his next sketch? It wasn't every night that I had a handsome stranger beneath me like this, so I allowed him to trail his hands up and down my body, lips parting in delight. "Fuck... Yeah, this will do," he murmured, pupils dilating at the sight before him whether he wanted them to or not.

"You sure?" I asked, giggling to myself. My hands rested against his broad chest, letting out a sigh of delight; God, he was sexy. As I shifted in his lap, Eric's breath hitched as I seemingly sat down in the exact right spot. Almost as though he was possessed by instinct for a moment, he grabbed my hips, rocking me against him through the fabric of our clothes. 

Who would've thought I'd be dry-humping this stranger and enjoy it so much? My hands gripped his shirt, a quiet moan spilling past my lips-- I had forgotten this feeling. This was mostly something I did when I was a teenager, before I figured out how to have proper sex with my high school boyfriend. But it felt so damn fucking good, desperate; it didn't take long before I leaned back down, capturing his plush lips in another kiss. 

I craved him like water. I wanted him against me, in me, for him to take me in every possible position ever-- a deep, dark part of me knew I would be insatiable from now on. 

But our moment of ecstasy was interrupted when a guard started banging his fist against the door, his muffled yells barely registering through my arousal. Despite my dazed state, it didn't take me long to drape my shirt back on, climbing off Eric with wobbly knees. "Shit," I mumbled, turning to him with wide eyes. "I'm screwed. We're screwed."

Everything about him was so damn beautiful. The kiss-swollen lips definitely didn't help how gorgeous I thought he looked right now. Despite the situation, knowing we were in deep shit, Eric let out a soft chuckle; "I don't think you're screwed enough, actually. We'll get to that another time," 

My eyes widened as I gave into a light giggle. There was no way this was happening-- had my naughty rehab dreams come true? The guard banging against the door was drowned out by the incessant ringing in my ears that festered through my mind as Eric leaned down to kiss me one last time; "I hope to see you around, if they don't kill us,"

"Yeah," I breathed, only now realizing how tall he was as I looked up to meet his gaze. This man was towering over me. Holy shit. "Can't wait to see your next masterpiece."

I couldn't wait. I really couldn't.

(a/n: PART 2, PART 3 here!! enjoy<33)

[bigfatbimbo]

Silly request but imagine helping Bill "groom" his triangle self. Gently wipe him with a cloth. Carefully dip it in the little space between the bricks, can't leave that zone unclean! Alternatively, a classic soapy bubble bath. Silly straws included, what the hell, he's probably drinking the bath water and listing the chemical ingredients back at you while you gently rub him clean. Fun times

The Bug Collector

1.1k words,, Bill Cipher x reader

a/n — Procrastination killed my soul during this, I think it turned out okay, though! Sorry for typos, your girl is tired.

warnings — SFW, post!weirdmaggedon, as ‘fluffy’ as you can get with Bill cipher, he is his own warning, kinda toxic relationships, fluff and bill being pathetic

summary — Reader assists a recently fallen Bill Cipher in self care, despite his general all-mighty asshole-ness.

The exoskeleton of a bug was practical, a water-tight barrier most commonly known for muscle attachments, and its use to shelter and protect the insects gushy insides from its harsh environment. 

The exoskeleton of a triangle was for mostly for aesthetics, as the underneath was far more horrifying than anything in the harsh environment around it. Or so the triangle claims.

You dipped a soapy sponge into the bucket in front of you, as bill propped his feet up on the bathtub. 

“You conquer worlds and destroy planets, but yeah, why not draw the line at cleaning yourself.”

“Please, what better way to make use out of my new human pet— partner, than this?” He corrected loudly and purposefully. Then looking to the side, he mumbled, “And besides, kid, you have no idea how hard it is to clean between the bricks. Euck— So many blind spots.”

The first part was a throwaway reminder that he had far more power than you in this dynamic, something you’d picked up on Bill casually doing in his time with you. 

Being roommates with a butt-hurt demon, given the ending of weirdmaggedon, allowed you the privilege of being more cautious than previous humans were with Bill. For example, you’ve taken to keeping track of his repeated habits and patterns. 

On of which, just so happened to be reminding you how small you were compared to him. 

You jabbed the sponge in-between on of the bricks, “Ow!” He narrowed his eye at you, “Watch it, pal. I’m starting to think you’ve never cleaned a triangle before.”

“I’d hate to give that impression.” You softened your hold on him, “Delicate work, I always say.”

And it was delicate work. After his defeat, he’d been roughed up a surprising bit, powers even weakened. 

Weakened.

“Not too delicate,” he shot you glance. Guess he’d heard that thought process. 

Although, most days he’d seemed to be in a thought process of his own. Weird.

You cleared your throat, “How often does this even need to be done?”

He blinked, “Well, let’s see. Once every—“ he waved his hand around “—few hundred years. Very high maintenance, do not recommend it.”

High maintenance, yeah. At this point, Bill had taken to talking about some other topic, you hadn’t been really listening, something about intergalactic food joints.

Every once and a while he’d bring up something that happened with one of his ‘henchmaniacs’ before getting slightly irritated at the lack of presence in his life now, and changing the subject. 

Bill was interesting to study, you couldn’t lie. His eyelashes curled away from each other, like the mangled legs of a recently dead spider. His hands were very present when he talked, like most people of business. His body flicked side to side slightly at certain moments. 

You became more gentle naturally, taking care of every crevice, and for some reason Bill becomes gradually quieter.

“Something wrong?” You asked, not stopping.

Bill blinked, “Eh, been a minute since i’ve had a human servant. Maybe, I was thinking of other things you can help with!”

You sigh, “Yeah, because i’m your servant. As if.” In your mind, your thinking do the fact he was your roommate, in your house, eating your food. 

“Hey, don’t get all butt-hurt. You’re all ants to me, buddy, nothing to be ashamed of!” His eye flicked back and forth between you and the room.

Then you stop scrubbing, “Bill, I might as well be your landlord.” You know he can read your thoughts, so you make a point to justify yourself. Already weakened from his failed apocalypse, anything other than vague respect for you would land him homeless. Most likely, his response to this would be killing you, but there’s only so much he can do afterwards. 

He’d have a place to stay, but with no electricity or heating, and in his damaged physical form he actively does need those things. And trying to get a new human would be a hassle, and unlike you, no guarantee they’d let him stay there without calling the authorities.

“Yeesh,” Bill remarks, “Buzzkill… You are still a bug compared to me, though—“

You drop the sponge in the bucket, “I think you’re done.”

He looks taken aback when you pull away, “What? Come on, over the bug comment? Jeez, buddy—“

“No I mean you’re actually done,” you gesture to his body, now shining and slick with soap suds. “I got everything, there’s nothing else to do.”

You go to turn around before you feel a small hand grabbing for the back of your shirt. 

“Wait, wait!” He breathes, eye farting from side to side, “… You have to dry me off first.”

He looked slightly panicked, like if you stopped taking care of him now, you’d leave and never come back. Your thought process earlier couldn’t have helped. 

The way he scurried and gasped for you was reminiscent of panicked earwig and a rock is lifted up. The comparison should have grossed you out, but it kinda just made you feel a little bad.

If he was paying attention to your thoughts, he didn’t show it. This would have usually given you the impression he’d wanted you to be thinking the way you were, but he seemed a little wrapped up in his own head. 

“Come on, kid. Don’t tell me you’re gonna kick me out because I asked you to dry me off. One last thing and then you don’t even have to talk to me the rest of the night! Sounds like a good deal, right?” 

His slightly desperate looking sales pitch was met with a sigh, you picked up a dry towel and began to pat the soap suds off of him. His body slowly breathed in, making it look like he was sighing, but no noise came out.

You wondered then if he was actually touch-starved, but cut your thoughts there because this time he had nothing better to do then pay attention to what you were thinking. 

“Ouch, i’m not that desperate, pal.” But he was.

His exoskeleton was dry, but you didn’t stop patting him down. His eyelid shut slowly, and the spider-legs on them curled into each other once more. 

The exoskeleton of a bug was practical, but one of a triangle seemed to simply be for aesthetics. 

However, on some rare occasions, it possesses the same desire for love as human bodies. Only, when very desperate, of course. 

[darlingbabyboo]

I've been thinking for a while about a particular one shot request and I read it last night on another fandom, so now I kinda wanna see it with TR.

So here it is : How would some of the guys react to us doodling on their hand during some boring class? (Mikey, Draken, Takemichi, Mitsuya, Haitani brothers and the Kawata twins)

Sorry if it's too much! It doesn't have to be anything big, just a small reaction would be more than perfect, since I love your writing so much. 🥹

Baby, What Are You Doing...

Summary: the guys react to you doodling on their arms

Notes: some small blurbs about the guys. These vary in length and I was lowkey running out of ideas while I was writing but I tried my best to stay original! Also, not edited bcs I don't got time for that, you see a mistake, no you didn't <333

Mikey is kinda out there so he probably wouldn't even notice you were writing on his hand, but when he does he eats that shit up. He's lazy so he doesn't like going to get tats but he loves some ink. He will praise you and start requesting things like you're a professional artist. 'Please babe, I want a dorayaki on my forearm.' You bite your lip to hide your blossoming smile, 'you know I'm not a professional artist, right?' Your boyfriend shrugs and smacks a kiss to your cheek, 'you are to me babe!'

Draken notices right away what you're doing and is probably a bit confused at first. Like, do you want him to get another tattoo??? He'll do it hun, just ask. You two are relaxing in his bed, just enjoying each other's presence. He's surprised when you pull out a Sharpie and start doodling your name on his arm. 'Honey, what're you doing?' You give a sheepish grin, 'sorry, is it a problem.' He looks at the doodle, and you start to relax when you spot no disgust in his eyes. 'No problem hun,' he turns to you, 'think I should get this my next visit?' You squeal and wrap your arms around his neck as he looks at the doodle in wonder, more love sprouting in his heart.

Takemichi is a loser (affectionate) and he would never get a tattoo because he can't stand that pain, so he will take take that doodle and he will hold it with pride. 'Sweetie, I love it so much!' He wraps his arms around your waist and you can feel his smile against your stomach. You giggle at his wonder at some shitty stick figures along his arms. 'It's really no big deal' You say, running your hands through his hair, 'you don't need to be so happy.' He shakes his head, 'it is a big deal,' He insists, 'I've never seen anything better!'

Mitsuya my love, my heart, my will to live. He will be gassing up so much that you'll probably start believing that you're the best artist in the world. He's just such a supportive cutie pie <3 'Darling, this is one of the greatest things I've ever seen,' You laugh at the amazement in his eyes as you scribble your name in mock script on his arms. It's barley legible, but Takashi doesn't seem to care, 'you sure about that?' The smile doesn't drop from his face as he looks at you with hearts in his eyes, 'I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.'

I'm sorry but Smiley is probably the biggest asshole when he catches you doing this. He loves it, I promise, but he's a jerk 100% of the time, it's hard for him to turn it off. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you uncap your sharpie and start to draw something on his hand. 'What the fuck is that supposed to be?' He mutters. You laugh awkwardly at his harsh tone and drop your Sharpie, 'sorry, I just saw some cute videos about people putting their initials on their boyfriends wrists and I thought-it's stupid sorry-I don't know why I did that.' You duck your head down, burying your face into his chest, feeling that your body's on fire. Smiley looks at the half-finished doodle on his wrist. 'Don't stop baby, shit's pretty cute.' He presses a kiss to the crown of your head, 'I might get it tatted up.'

Angry is so flustered when he sees you doing this and he loves it so much okay. He feels like wearing it is a testament of how strong your love is. He will ask you (nervously) to do it every day because he doesn't want it to fade. 'Oh my gosh! Souya, you scared me, what're you doing there?' He stands awkwardly in the corner of your room, playing with the ends of his sleeves. 'Sorry... I didn't want to scare you... I just...' He pulls up his sleeve and he sees the fading bunny on his arm. 'I don't wanna bother you, I just-' 'Don't worry baby, I get it.' You cut him off, cupping his cheek and placing a kiss on his cheek. You pull him towards the bed and tell him to wait, 'I just need to get my Sharpies!'

Ran won't notice I'm sorry. He sleeps most of the day and he already has so much ink that some doodles won't pop out to him too much. It's only until he notices you doodling on a piece of paper one day and compares it to what's all over his arms that he starts tweakin'. 'Angel have you been inkin' me up?' He raises an eyebrow at you, confused. You hide your smile, 'of course not, I have no idea what you're talking about.' He narrows his eyes, '...okay.' Not completely believing you, but too sleepy to question things. 'Wanna take a nap?' You feel the Sharpie in your pocket and bite the inside of your cheeks, 'I'd love to!'

Rindou will eat that shit up, oh my gosh he loves it so much. He's like the extreme version of Angry and Mikey. He wants it obvious, and he wants it bold. 'C'mon princess, your name on my collarbone, I need it.' You raise an eyebrow as you straddle him, 'in red though, that's a bit... much.' He shakes his head, 'no, no, it'll be perfect.' You shake your head in exasperation, your boyfriend is a big dummy, but he loves you with every part of himself.

[avtrbee]

safe

✢ summary: just like everyone else, sometimes megumi just wants his mom.

✢ tags: mentions of the death of a pet, implied satoru x reader

✢ a/n: my friend has psychoanalyzed me with a diagnosis of mommy issues and i have always denied them. then i caught myself reflecting on what type of fanfics i write. especially this one.

Ever since Megumi had started school in Tokyo, he was barely home. Of course, he comes home every now and then, and living within the school's dormitories is part of the high school experience- hell, even you stayed in the school when you were a student- but the house is quiet without him, too quiet, which is probably why he does not go home as often as you'd like- that, among other things.

Everyone in your household knew that Tsumiki was what made your house into a home. Your girl always greeted you with a smile and volunteered to make hot meals for the family when you and Satoru didn't feel like cooking. She was warmth, she was energy, she was life. Until she wasn't.

The house became cold without its fire. You couldn't blame Megumi for wanting an escape from the halls that still echo her memory. Which was why you were surprised to see him sitting on the couch with his arms resting on his thighs, hands buried in his face.

"Megumi?" You call. "I didn't hear you come in."

His head lifts up and looks at you. "Liar," he accuses. "You can sense my cursed energy miles away. You knew I was coming home as soon as you felt it ."

His words were harsh but his tone was not off of his usual deadpan manner of speaking. You can't help but smile. He is still the same child who refused to sleep unless he clung to his divine dogs, Tsumiki, you, or Satoru (reluctantly, of course) in some way. He claimed it was for "warmth."

But he knows you as much as you know him. As he made his way to the house, you noticed something- his cursed energy was off. It was more powerful than usual. Of course, it could be a good thing- perhaps he was doing really well in school, but his downcast eyes and even broodier vibe are telling you otherwise. "What's wrong?"

Megumi leans back on the couch, sighs, and contemplates. He stares at your wall that is decorated with framed pictures and pictures you memories from his childhood. You've even framed pictures of his drawings- usually doodles of his shikigami.

He stands abruptly. "Never mind," he dismisses. "I don't wanna- I don't want to talk about it. It's childish and stupid-"

"Stupid enough to make you retreat back home?" You ask. You watch as your question sinks in through Megumi. Slowly, he sits back down. You sit on the other end of the couch.

"What's wrong, 'Gumi?" You ask again. "Tell me." I can fix it. Whatever it is, if I can fix it, I will shouts your inner thoughts.

"I lost one of them," Megumi whispers.

“Oh, Megumi, I-” you say, racking your brain for something to say. Deaths in the jujutsu world is so common that when you’re within the industry for too long you get used to it. “Losing a colleague- this won’t be the first time, baby. Nor will it be the last.”

“No,” Megumi groans out frustrated. There are tears streaming down his cheeks that he angrily wipes away. “My dogs. I lost one. I- Yuki died.”

Your heart breaks at Megumi’s childhood name for his white demon dog. “‘Gumi, I’m so sorry-”

You move to his side of the couch, wide arms open. Megumi falls in, just like he did when he was small. Megumi feels himself melt in your hold, his walls and defenses crumbling away like ash.

Megumi refuses to cry at all times but when you have his arms wrapped around him he finds himself not caring at all. It was like his heart recognized you too.

He buries his head in the crook of your neck and you pretend not to feel his tears.

You hold him until he lets you. Megumi is the one to pull away, and you never do. This boy js fickle with touch, and you always leave the duration of your hugs to his discretion.

You cup his face in your hands, thumbs swiping away the tear tracks. You’ve never seen Megumi this heartbroken before.

“I told him to scout the area and I just left him for a second- and he-” Megumi hiccups. “His head was on the wall. The curse threw his head so hard it made the pavement crack.”

You do not pretend to know his pain for you will never feel it. Megumi’s divine dogs were his first achievement. He smiled the first time he summoned them, even as Satoru threw him in the air in joy. Those dogs would trail after him in the house, obeying his command. You would turn a blind eye to the spare pieces of meat Megumi throws under the table just so they could taste cooked beef.

Megumi would refuse to let them go even when he slept, and was upset that they would disappear when he rested or lowered his guard. As a present, Satoru gifted him customized stuffed animals of the dogs that he never slept without. You were sure he packed those toys with him in the dorm.

When Tsumiki volunteers to run errands, Megumi would summon a dog and follow her. Just in case. They both always came back safe.

“He just did what I commanded, he was good, he was a good boy.” Megumi said, in a quieter voice.

“The best,” you agreed. “But didn’t Yuki merge with the other one? Isn’t that how your technique works when one of them dies?”

“It’s stupid-” A glare from you was all it took. “It’s not the same,” he admits. “I just want my dogs back.”

You give him a sad smile. You pull him close for another hug, and he melts in your arms once again but this time, he does not pull away. You hold him until his tears have dried, until his breaths slowed down, and until his eyes closed for a well deserved rest.

extra note: yuki apparently means snow in japanese. get it? snow=white demon dog (im not creative at all yall)

[cannellee]

HII!!! i’m literally in LOVE with your alpha mikey hcs!!! (^ ^) what if mikey has a super sweet and cuddly omega that can’t help but want to cling to him 24/7, she just can’t get enough of him! whenever she sees him she releases her super strong n sweet pheromones and chirps loudly as she runs up to him, her heart is so full of love for her alpha it feels like it’s gonna explode!! every time she sees mikey she just swoons for him🩷

TOKYO REVENGERS OMEGAVERSE ☆

୨୧ alpha! mikey x omega! reader

— his reaction to a cute and extremely in love omega

my masterlist : ☆

(I looved writing this, this was such a cute idea. I hope I quite did what you had in mind!)

mikey would actually be ecstatic to have such a cute omega by his side! he's used to the harshness of his lifestyle and violent confrontations all the time, emma being his only source of warmth. mikey grows so attached to you and he lets you know it by how affectionate he is with you.

seeing you being so desperate for his attention, literally crawling over his laps just to get head pats and his eyes on you only, he feels all weird. it's still mind blowing that you reach for him in every occasion, look for him first in crowds and calls his name so happily like that.

he doesn't think he deserves all that love, you would be better off with a more gentle alpha, who doesn't have tons of enemies waiting for an opportunity to rip his throat off. someone who can give you a stable life and never worry you because of his night meetings he'd rather keep you out of.

still, he couldn't imagine his life without you in it. you're such a bundle of joy, your mellow voice and big doe eyes always do something to him. he never refuses any of your requests. you can hold his hands, play with his hair, ask for his food... everything is yours. he might crack a joke or too about how smitten you are, supposedly trying to make you shy, but you only nod excitedly and agree with a big yes. how cute is his omega.

mikey absolutely loves being the center of your life, despite what he tries to tell himself. he's aware your whole world revolves around him and he's thrilled to see your eyes always on him, even when you're in bigger groups. he would never take advantage of your attachment for him, but he does like to see you immediately cut one of your conversations short when he calls your name : watching you whip your head so fast in his direction, flashing him a big smile. he has that strange sense of purpose and pride every time you do, his chest feels so hot, why did you even take an interest in him when you're this precious and desirable? any alpha would kill for an omega like you.

and your scent... mikey doesn't think he has ever smelled something this good in his life. everything about you reminds him of home in the best ways possible. he can't believe he's the one drawing such a sweet scent out of you. it always amplifies in his presence, when he praises you, hugs you or kisses your temple. he can't get enough of it and he feels so lucky your pheromones never subside when you're together.

the adoration is mutual, you can't even imagine a life without mikey either. he's so strong and reliable, how can you not love him ? he teases you in ways only he can make you blush, pervert hands grabbing your ass or dirty promises in the crack of your ears. mikey feels really privileged to be able to touch and hold you in such ways, to be this intimate with you. he does things he would break another's arm's off for even imagining them.

he wants to protect that laugh of yours and wishes you will always look at him with heart eyes. he wants to make you feel safe and comfortable around him, no matter what he does outside.

he's quiet about his fondness for you, but he makes it up by snatching you up by the waist, carrying you in his arms, spending the day cuddling with you, literally breathing nothing but your pheromones. he never complains about your little 'outbursts' of affection towards him. he lets you grab his wrist - where his scent glands are - and rubs it all over yourself to smell just like him. or when you ask for his clothes : you actually don't even have to ask anymore, he'll let them on display in his room for you to take.

he loves you so much, he cherishes the fondness more than anything he has. he would go lengths to protect you and keep you safe, nobody should ever dare lay a hand on you or even wish to hurt you. mikey might not see himself as deserving of his adorable omega, but it doesn't mean he'll just let you slip away for another to win you over. he'll change for the best, he's sure that with your unconditional support he can do anything!

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

not allowed xvii, m | jjk

pairing(s): est. poly relationship – yoongi x reader x jungkook

summary: The date of Jeon Jungkook's mandatory military service is drawing close. There's a heart-to-heart... following by fucking all three holes. What? That harsh training is easier to endure when Jungkook has nice memories of his girlfriend's sweet, sweet ass.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; JK and reader only; relationship talk; all the feels and heart eyes; smut (fem reader, all the kisses, nipple play, fingering [pussy + ass], f and m-receiving oral + face fucking, slight edging, anal doggy, vaginal penetrative sex, mentions of m-masturbation, multiple orgasms); idol!BTS - Yoongi x reader x Jungkook; reader is JK’s noona; based on real time (before 2023.12.11) this is late but I can't not send off the bunbun :D

part of ‘not allowed’ series, but can be read alone. basic summary: your bf asked JK to fuck you, twice, and then on the regular. blue haired JK. 2021 YG birthday, ‘Butter’, wiyllt remix. new skill acquired, JK’s sheer pj punishment, 2021 JK birthday, during PTD in LA, 2022 HNY, 2022 YG birthday, PTD in LV, 2022 JK birthday; 2022 Christmas, before YG's service

--

“Yoongi warned me.”

“Hm?”

He didn’t have much time left. But he made time for you. He had made your favorite food (crispy samgyeopsal, hehe), bought you a gift even though you didn’t want to accept them (ended up being Google Play gift cards, which you gladly accepted; however, they came with a stipulation – “you better buy all of my and SUGA-hyung’s in-game outfits with this”), and made you take off your shirt (???????) to yank one of his white Calvin Klein t-shirts over your head. You always refused physical items from him. After all, you didn’t date him for the money, plus you didn’t want anyone to notice that you had any lavish gifts. They would think you had a suga daddy or something.

Hehe.

“Noona, it’s a t-shirt. Most people can afford a Calvin Klein t-shirt. Why do you think I accepted the campaign?”

“So you could be shirtless for a reason?”

“Hey!”

“Hmm, all for ARMY, huh?”

“That includes you too, you know.”

You had grinned at Jeon Jungkook then and, just this once, you accepted his gifts. He had smiled back with those round cheeks, bright white teeth, sparkling eyes, and a newly bald head. It was a strange look to see him in, but he made it amusing, joking about it all night, not addressing the why even though you both knew the part of life that was yet to come. He puffed his chest, shirtless, and jokingly pumped up his muscles.

“You remind me of The Rock right now,” you quipped.

His head tilted in confusion. “Eh?”

You pulled up a photo of Dawyne Johnson. “I expect your biceps to be this big after eighteen months.”

“Woah! That’s impossible!”

“Just imagine ARMY’s faces when you show up at the first concert as buff as The Rock. Still bald,” you laughed good-naturedly, setting your phone down. “We gotta pick someone to People’s Elbow.”

“Seokjin-hyung would never agree.”

“You said it, not me.”

Jungkook was laughing with you. It slowly died out, your smile remaining, and he was smiling back. You had noticed this feeling all night. Something weighing on him even though he was trying to be as normal as possible. It suddenly occurred to you that you were in a unique position now. You always had to hide your true emotions about Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook, staying silent until you were behind closed doors and only in their presence. After all, who would understand the love between you and two men, let alone two of the most talented and most famous world-class superstars of BTS? You could confide in no one. But now, everyone knew the timeline of their service to their country. It would not be strange for you to say out loud, in public, that you missed them being around.

It was…

Comforting.

Just knowing that you could say it out loud and people would likely say, me too, even if no one really knew what you truly meant.

Those big brown eyes searched your face. You smiled softly at him and didn’t back away, letting him find what he needed. You knew Jungkook wanted to say something, but you didn’t press for it. He would tell you on his own time. He was always like that.

“Yoongi warned me.”

You paused. “Hm?”

He came closer and held your shoulders. You looked up, seeing the infinite sky and the endless universe in those eyes. The strangest adjustment for you was not the hair but the lack of piercings. They had remained constant (or as constant as Jungkook had allowed, heh) even when his hair changed. He had removed all of them now, leaving only earrings in his lower earlobe that he would have to eventually have to remove too. Still, it was the same person looking back at you. No matter how many years passed, no matter how much his appearance changed, the pureness of his emotions always shone through those big peepers.

The original Magic Shop was that big heart of his, after all.

He made wishes come true all the time.

“I’m not… good at speaking or anything…” Jungkook mumbled, chewing the left side of his lower lip, exposing that familiar and well-loved underlip mole. He always started off with that. You didn’t interrupt even though you wanted to tell him he was always super obvious to read. Especially to you. “I… I wished I spent more time with you.”

You stilled, not expecting that. “Well, you know I understand–”

Jungkook smiled and shook you a little, telling you to shut up. You only did because of the faint sadness in his expression. “That’s what Yoongi-hyung warned me about. That you would understand. That you would always understand, no matter what. But, still… I know, I spent a lot of this year working on my album and flying to places and trying new things and recording content I knew ARMY would like. I really wanted to prepare stuff everyone could enjoy while we were gone.”

You chuckled. “Am I not included in that? You just said so earlier.”

He stubbornly shook his head. “You are different, noona. There are not enough hours for all the time I want to spend with you.”

You waited for him to look back to you again. He looked apologetic. He had run out of time. There was no one more time. But he never needed to give you more. You had always been grateful for every second, every minute, every hour that he gave you.

“Any time with you is enough for me, Jungkook.”

He held you tight.

“But it’s not enough for me.”

He was holding onto your shoulders very firmly. You could tell he did not want to cry. You gave him a moment to breathe. He blinked hard and swallowed, letting out a heavy exhale, expansive eyes full of glistening stars.

“I know you’ll be fine, noona.”

He tiled his head down, leaning his forehead against yours, and there were no shadows of his hair, just soft warm light all around.

“I have saved thousands of photos,” you murmured, and he cracked a smile. “And I’ll definitely still see your face all over Korea. I won’t be able to escape you, I promise.”

He stared into your eyes.

“You’re the strongest person I know.”

You closed your eyes and breathed in, imprinting Jungkook’s clean scent into your memory.

“Even stronger than Yoongi,” he whispered, and you imprinted his voice into your memory too, even though you already had many of his words archived already.

“Don’t let him know you said that,” you whispered back. “He’ll get sulky.”

His breath trembled against your lips.

“But I won’t be fine knowing I should have done more.”

You reached up and wrapped your arms around him, hooking your hands behind his shoulders.

“There is no should here. And you are stronger than you know. You’ll be golden, my love.”

You used to only use that for Yoongi. You both mostly hated pet names. Somehow, my love snuck its way in there. It was never used lightly. There was weight to it. And now you used it for Jungkook, in the same tone, with the same softness. My love. Every time you felt him shiver and hold you tighter. Tilted his head to close the distance. You kissed him back, letting it linger, letting it take shape as a core memory. You let him be the one to break it. You let him take one of your hands and hold it up to his, palm to palm, fingertips touching.

He looked down at your joined touch for a moment.

At the same time, your fingers and his fingers curled forward and interlocked.

“Hyung and I are lucky to have you.”

“Dunno, sometimes my jokes aren’t smooth like butter.”

Jungkook squeezed your hand tighter, chuckling lightly. “You know what I mean, noona.”

“Do I?”

Then he surprised you.

“I’ve never heard you complain about your situation even though you had every reason and every chance to.”

He had noticed.

He really is growing up, huh?

“There’s nothing I need to complain about. I’m pretty lucky, I think,” you hummed.

“With adamant-almost-insufferable personality SUGA-hyung and very-difficult-to-handle Jungkookie?”

They were light-hearted words but the way he said it was not so. His tone indicated this was something spoken about between them. You didn’t mind it. In fact, you preferred it. Not only did they have complimentary personalities but they had someone who understood their unique situation well. But you also understood the apprehension. They had expressed it before.

“You two are my favorite challenges,” you chuckled, rubbing your nose against Jungkook’s. “Life is too boring without you.”

It had probably been a bad decision back then. After all, the agency was against Min Yoongi and you dating from the start, telling him repeatedly that romantic relationships were not allowed. But with youth and stubborn personalities came resilience. And becoming really good at lying to authority. Whoops. The agency both had to low-key accept what was going on and slowly relaxed over time. But life had other ideas to make your love life even more unconventional. And hectic.

(And loud. Jeon Jungkook was very loud.)

Of course, life was hard, but every life was. In fact, maybe challenge was the wrong word as it had possible negative connotations. The odd hours, the lost sleep, the sneaking around, the no-gifts rule, the creative dates behind closed doors – these things were a small price to pay in the light of the unbreakable connections you had between Yoongi and Jungkook.

Not one red line of fate, but two.

One silver.

One golden.

Jungkook held your face in his hands.

“ARMY is the reason I live, but you are the reason I know my heart is always safe.”

You tried not to wince and shifted your eyes from side to side. Eerily similar to a certain someone. Hard to tell if it was a habit that you picked up from Yoongi or one he had picked up from you. You could tell Jungkook was being sincere, but it was still a dramatic cheesy compliment that you weren’t used to accepting. He laughed and deliberately peppered theatrical smooches all over your face that you tried to squirm away from, successfully breaking away and starting a chase throughout his home where he would catch you and pick you up to yell that he loved you straight into your ear, followed by a kissing frenzy. You would temporarily lose hearing and wiggle away to start the cycle all over again, knowing full well that you couldn’t run faster than him. Maybe something to think about for the new year.

In those moments, everything was perfect.

In those moments, the world was only you and him.

In those moments, no one could break the wholeness between you and him.

No one but time.

You both tumbled into his bed, laughing, childish, holding onto each other. Somehow, your hand landed on his waist and his ended up in your hair, playing with it, and Jungkook asked you how you did it.

“Do what?” you teased with a smirk.

“I sometimes think about if I could love someone else, but I really can’t,” Jungkook frowned, running his fingertips over your temple. “I just get obsessed and can’t stop.”

“Oh, I know.”

Everyone knew that, keke.

“I got jealous of hyung, really,” he admitted. “Not only because he had you, but because it seemed to work so well. And then it turns out that you guys really are perfect.”

You rolled your eyes. “We’re not perfect–”

“It made me love you even more,” Jungkook continued, talking over you. “You pair with him so well. You pair with me well. You’ve always listened to me. Really paid attention. You know what I want before I say anything. You sometimes even know how I feel before I know. You know everything.”

“I definitely don’t know everything,” you scoffed. “Stop making stuff up.”

“And you never get mad at me.”

You shrugged. “The trick is to always be mad.”

“Hey!”

You grinned. Softened a bit when you saw his narrowed eyes and pout.

“Life’s too short to be mad at you.”

Jungkook’s expression changed at your words.

“When you’re young, you think you have all the time in the world, but that’s not true,” you sighed, remembering how it was. “Time is finite. Why waste it letting things pile up and be resentful? It is better to know yourself, to articulate how you feel, and to approach problems with confidence that you can solve them. There are things people can do and things people can’t. Even if… Even if things don’t work out tomorrow, I will have lived knowing I did what made me happy and knowing I did everything I could to make you happy.”

You squeezed his waist and exhaled softly.

“Maybe I can’t do that forever. But is that a reason to stop? I don’t think so. So what if people think it’s wrong? So what if people don’t believe in my heart? So what if they think it can’t be done? Wrongness is not as easy to define as people would like it to be. I only need you and Yoongi to believe in my heart for it to be true, and my toxic trait has always been that I think I can do anything, hah…”

A year and a half was a short time. And a long time, perhaps, but dedication and loyalty were always the foundation you built these precious feelings on. Maybe it wasn’t very romantic to rely on your stubbornness to stay in love, but it did help keep promises.

“You ask me, how do I do it?”

You had hesitated in the beginning not for your sake, but theirs. It was hard to live complicated. It was harder to love in a complicated way. It was impossible made possible through sheer determination, and maybe everything would become more impossible in the future, but it would be disingenuous to right now if you let those worries consume you, and it was important to you for your love to know that every moment with them was never taken for granted. As long as you made that promise, you would spare no expense.

The only way to do that was to, of course, live like that.

“I love you because I want to, with everything I have. And I will never make a promise I don’t intend to keep.”

Jungkook stared at you with awe.

“You’re so cool, noona.”

You half-smiled. Not denying it. “Can you tell Yoongi that so he stops disagreeing with me?”

He grinned mischievously. “He actually thinks you’re really cool too, but he didn’t want me to tell you that.”

“That punk–”

Words fell away. You wouldn’t say the conversation was surprising, but you hadn’t expected that level of depth. You appreciated it. Maybe it had been Yoongi’s idea, but it had been up to Jungkook to vocalize it. You understood that it meant a lot to him who thought he wasn’t elegant in his communication. He didn’t have to worry though. You could feel his sincerity in other ways. In the way he looked at you, turning to lift himself over your body, fitting his hand over your wrist above your head. You shifted to be on your back, looking back with a playful smile. In the way he leaned in and kissed you. In the way his free hand grazed the hem of the t-shirt and slid over your skin.

He showed rather than told.

So show me.

You felt him whimper into the kiss as your tongue slid against his. Felt the shiver of desire as his thumb grazed over your nipple and his fingers close in around your breast. You smiled against his lips. Nothing had changed since the first time. Jungkook still touched you with the same earnestness, the same unflinching lust, pushing away your clothes with the same frustration, as if they personally offended him by existing. But he was different too, savoring the moment, letting his hot exhale wash over you, kissing down your neck in the way you liked, sliding his arms under you so he could dig his short nails into your back and make your spine arc and your chest press against his, his teeth biting into the curve of your shoulder and sucking hard.

You gasped, gripping his shoulder tightly.

His forearms tensed against your back, kissing back up to your ear and biting down just under it, leaving his marks on your skin, your pulse thundering under his devouring lips.

Good thing winter called for turtlenecks and scarves.

You looked down at him when Jungkook scooted back and licked up the center of your torso, slow and dripping saliva, feeling the heat and wetness and possessiveness in the action, opening his eyes slowly as he lifted his head from your cleavage, those brown irises dark and heavy with desire.

“The baldness makes it feel like I’m sexing up a stranger,” you admitted with a snicker.

He glared. “Shuddup. I’m tryin’ to be sexy here.” His Busan satoori came out more when he was done with your bullshit.

“Keep trying. It’s fun,” you cheerfully remarked.

What?

It was fun to annoy him. It worked too, for his anxious need to make this a perfect moment dropped and was superseded by raw emotion and carnal need. He dropped his head and worked his mouth all over your breasts. Lips, tongue, teeth. Your breath caught in your throat, back arching, sparks over your skin, and his arms pulled out from under you. He gripped your thighs, curling his tongue around your hard nipples and making you moan from his mouth. Flaring his tongue over one, pushing it around, sucking, then moving to the other, sinking his fingers into your thighs, groaning as your hands encircled his head and pushed him closer, more, your head pressed to the soft pillows he always brought out when you stayed over.

Jungkook’s usual sleeping pillow was not optimal for fucking.

Facts were facts.

(You still didn’t understand how he was comfortable on that cylinder but he was one of the seven wonders of the world. The other six being the rest of BTS, of course.)

It was never about what, but how.

It was never about who he was, but about who he was with you.

He kissed up your collarbones, leaving your skin tingling with the strange sensation of missing lip rings. His fingers dipping inwards, your thumbs prickled by his short hair, and your eyes connected as his fingertips slipped under your panties, stroking your wet slit, shuddering as he felt your heat while basking in the heat of your gaze, stilling your inhale.

The moment settled into memory.

Burned.

He pushed two fingers inside you and your moans were cut off by his lips, roughly kissing you as your hips rose and your pussy locked around him, closing your eyes to turn low-lit reality into a continuous dream. One of your hands sliding down and into his pants, cupping your palm around his erection still constricted by his boxer briefs. Creating a rhythm, his fingers pushing in, your erratic breath making his, rubbing his hardness with each wave of pleasure, feeling the fervor build between bodies, layer by layer, the physicality becoming more intense with the depth of emotion, deeper, his cock throbbing under your touch, catching his tongue, feeling his saliva mix with yours and trickle down your throat.

Pleasure seeping into every fiber of your being.

“J… Jungkook…”

He ducked his head, your hand falling out of his pants, but your protest was cut off by the overwhelming ecstasy of his lips around your nipple once again, flicking it with his tongue, fucking you with more force, and your hips matched his pace, your head tipping back, throat exposed to the air, unafraid, moaning to the ceiling, close, closer, there.

Gasping sharply, and your walls clenched around his fingers, spasming, the heavy and sweet scent of sex bursting into the air, coating his fingers, sticking to your thighs, racing electricity up your stomach and into your lungs, the orgasm leaving you shockingly breathless.

Then your eyes rolled up into your head when Jungkook pushed himself down the bed, peeling your soaked panties down your legs, and he shoved his face between your legs, moaning hotly when his tongue met slick skin, your hands immediately gripping the sheets, your hips bucking into his face, ravenous for the sensation of circling tongue and soft lips, your eyelids fluttering as your swollen clit pulsed against wet muscle.

“F-Fuck…”

It wasn’t elegant but it felt fucking good. Your legs hooked around his shoulders and Jungkook lifted your lower body, his strong hands squeezing your ass, thumbs pressing in and spreading out your holes to give his greedy mouth more access while your thighs suffocated him, your palm pushing down on the crown of his head, shuddering as his tongue circled your trembling pussy.

He sucked up your cum.

Eyes opening and directly looking up at you.

You dug your fingertips into his head and fucked his face.

His eyes rolled back and he thrust his tongue into you, moaning again into your wet heat as you flexed around it, and then he shoved his thumb into your tight ass. Thankfully you had come prepared (and knowing him too well), so it didn’t surprise you, although you were a bit amused at his audacity. It was easy to forget about though, especially when his lips sealed around your clit, licking fervently. His thumb began to push in and out, in, out, his muffled groans vibrating through your core, fingering your ass while sucking your engorged clit. You would think he wouldn’t dare without checking with you first. Then again, he told you all the time to let him in your ass.

He was lucky you had foresight.

He was also right, though, because clearly you were letting him do whatever he wanted and enjoying it.

Hah.

You came again, hard, all the blood rushing to your head and gasping for air.

“Oh? It’s clean.”

“Yeah, something told me you’d try and go for the ass tonight,” you chuckled between pants, only to lose all breath once more as Jungkook planted his knee above your shoulder, mysteriously missing pants and underwear somehow (the spedy efficiency he was capable of when horny was remarkable), pushing down the dark red head of his stiff cock onto your open mouth, shifting his leg as you expertly adjusted your hair out of the way.

You raised an eyebrow at him but all Jungkook did was throw his head back and moan as your tongue wrapped around his girth, molding your mouth around him. His hips flicked forward, and you had the angle, swallowing him deep in your throat, deep enough for your lips to press against the base, his balls smacking into your chin. The tip of your tongue slid out and licked them. He groaned, low and erotic, slowly fucking your face, his pitch hiking as your tongue ran up to the thin skin under the head and down to his balls, smoothly not missing a beat as he dictated the pace. He didn’t touch your head, giving you the chance to move away if it was too much, but he didn’t have to worry. He was getting harder and thicker with this steady pace, his length twitching wildly between your lips, giving you all the control in the world, tilting your head to keep it at the perfect angle, curling your tongue to the underside of his cock to press it to the roof of your mouth and down your throat, anchoring yourself with your hands clutching his hard thighs, his girth stretching you out.

A desperate whine above you and he slowed, almost to full stop.

“N-No… w-wait…”

You calmly continued to move your head back and forth, leisurely, your lips pressed against the base of the head, licking around and around, flaring the slit with the tip of your tongue, his strong flavor invading your taste buds.

His hips nearly buckled and Jungkook cried out, tapping your upper arm hurriedly.

“I… I w-want to fuck your ass…”

Oh.

So that was why he wanted to be as hard as possible.

“You act like I’m gonna let you do anything you want,” you fake complained, choosing to roll onto your elbows after he backed up. Hey, you were going to picking the position here, even if you were succumbing to all his wants. Once again you guessed right. You looked back to see sweat glistening on Jungkook’s collarbones and his wide eyes honed in onto your perky round ass bouncing in the air, on your knees with your chest against the mattress. He carelessly dumped the hand towel back onto the nightstand and ripped open the condom, oblivious to you witnessing his hard dick bobbing up and down in the air as he climbed back onto the bed.

This guy was spacing out staring at your butt.

“Hey, I’m still here,” you joked.

“Uh huh,” was his distracted reply.

You turned back to face forward as his expression disappeared behind you, half-amused but not offended by his one-track mind. You figured he was busy carefully rolling down the condom until you felt his thumb once again press into your tight ring of muscle and heard him moan as he sank inside.

Um.

“Fuck, it’s so tight and so soft inside you…”

While you appreciated his complimenting observations, some warning would have been nice, but, then again, who cared about that, certainly not you as you gripped his sheets and survived on shallow breath and the repeated shallow fullness, in, out, in, out, this time using more force and stretching you out, acutely aware of Jungkook watching your body’s reaction in fascination, his rough pants deepening, hauling himself up.

Forget it.

You didn’t want any warning.

He pulled his thumb out and replaced it with his cock, bottoming out right away.

You clenched your jaw and felt your core tighten involuntarily, his wanton moan striking the air, somehow remembering not to move for a second despite you knowing that he desperately wanted to, his entire body trembling as he gripped your hips. There was a dull ache, of course. His fully hard cock was a lot bigger than a finger, but you knew what was about to happen, experience helping you relax, and then you snapped your ass into his crotch.

Which meant, fuck me.

Pussy dripping, ass full, face down into the sheets that smelled just like him, you pushing back as he thrust into you, any pain fading into a heady euphoric state that was inescapable, overwhelming, unforgettable, his grasp imprinted onto your skin, loud smacks melting into the air filled with your joined, unashamed moans, both giving pleasure as much as receiving it. Sensations piling on sensations, everything you wanted and more. Everything he wanted and more, fuck, I love your ass, probably because you didn’t have as much control over him as you did with your pussy, damn, maybe he was smarter than you thought, gasping as you dropped your torso lower to give his cock a more comfortable angle.

“N-Not fair, y-you can’t go low like that…”

You would have replied, oh yes I can, but you were face-first into his bed getting fucked in the ass, being pounded so hard that even your thighs were shaking, so you only focused on what little breathing you could do, although you did evilly snicker in between thin inhales.

You heard a disapproving huff behind you.

Oop, he heard you.

His grip on your hips tightened and you barely had time to gasp before he slammed into you, deliberate and rough and focusing on giving it to you as hard as he could without cumming too fast. You could tell because his noises were turning into stifled grunts, probably biting down on his lower lip, but then again there wasn’t much you could do to go against what you enjoyed most. Pure, intense fucking, digging the base of your palms into his mattress and throwing your head back, driven by his pace and the rapturous passion, your leaking pussy throbbing with need, filled up in other ways, pulse roaring in your ears and pushed to the brink of tension, deep inside, his name tumbling from your mouth, drawn-out and shaken, your core clenching, adrenaline striking to a feverish high.

Jungkook choked on your name, losing control faster than he could speak.

He came hard and with a tangible jerk that you could feel, even within you, and the thought and sensation sent you over the edge, burying your face into the pillows and letting out a wanton string of curses, powerful pulsations shuddering up your spine, so intense it was nearly an out-of-body experience, heart beating so hard and so fast that you felt like it was going to leap out of your throat.

Well, shit.

Maybe your age was catching up to you.

No time to worry about that though, because the most awkward sound came out of you after Jungkook pulled out with a shuddering gasp.

“Uh…”

“Damn, that’s hot.”

You shot him a look.

Jungkook was sweaty, panting, and pointedly stared back at you, brows furrowed and eyes big, very serious and twice as defiant. “What?! I don’t give a fuck. It means I fucked you so well your body can’t help it but make embarrassing noises.”

…

You were speechless.

Well, he was kind of right and also kind of wrong (gravity and displacement and other various scientific explanations), and strangely sweet for not making you feel bad about it, but also… what the fuck? How are you supposed to respond to that? You gawked at him, scooting to the edge of the bed, intending to leave as he peeled off the used condom and threw it in the trash, but then he blocked you and pushed you back down, unmoving hand on your stomach.

“Um…”

Your legs dangled off the edge of the bed.

“I didn’t say you could go,” Jungkook huffed, narrowing his eyes.

“Well, I wasn’t asking for permission–”

His hard dick smacked your thigh, smearing the remnants of lube and cum onto your skin.

“Hey!”

Then you realized he was holding up another condom in his free hand. Menacingly. Er, would be if he wasn’t so cute. You raised your eyebrows at his stern face, not intimidated in the slightest, but apparently Jungkook didn’t care.

“I want to feel all three of your holes before I go serve my country.”

You blinked slowly.

Was this guy for real?

“Ah, hmmm, I mean I would have let you even without that milestone – woah!”

Despite your (pretend) protests, you weren’t opposed to the back-to-back-to-back nature of each hole being used. Impressed, even, that he planned(?) this, willingly letting yourself be yanked to the edge of the bed with your legs open and propping yourself onto your elbows to watch him roll down the condom on his once-again hard cock. Driven by his insatiable horniness (relatable). You then looked back up to his face, trying not smirk at how sweaty he was.

Failing, obviously.

Jungkook lined up and then glanced at you, realizing your attention on him.

His gaze darkened, turning sly.

“Don’t look so smug, noona.”

“Who, me–?”

Then you choked on your words as he thrust into you with one swift stroke. Unlike your ass, Jungkook knew he didn’t have to wait with your pussy – you had already cum twice and truly loved the tightness that you gripped him with – so he lifted one of your legs and pressed it to his chest, snapping his hips into you over and over, looking down at you. Your body reacted accordingly, back arching, arms outstretched and clawing at the sheets, shallow breath, heatedly staring back at him.

There was a very brief power struggle in which both of you tried to silently assert dominance.

Brief because suddenly neither of you gave a shit. Too lost in the lust. Your other leg wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and Jungkook fell forward, catching himself with his right hand and still clutching your leg, fucking you harder. Locking eyes. The love in them so real that they glistened, and you held onto his arm tightly, your touch alone reminding him you were always with him, bodies moving in unison, breathless and sharing oxygen, the corner of your lips rising.

Jungkook smiled back.

It would have been chaste if he wasn’t ramming you into the edge of his bed.

His inhale caught and so did yours, realizing you must have shifted your hips slightly, making the angle suddenly perfect, right there, that depth he loved and that spot that scattered all your thoughts, trapping you and him in entangled limbs, chasing the tightness, the heat, the physical overtaking everything. So hard, so solid, his taste still lingering on your tongue, his lips gasping your name, your walls squeezing his length and drawing him in, closer, fuck, I love you, his sweat sticking to your thigh and calf, I love you too, o-oh, you feel so fucking good, and you lifted your body as much as you could to meet his and Jungkook pressed down, his heavy body burning with passion, wanting to feel more too.

You shuddered and your head tipped back.

He groaned, gravelly and hoarse, smacking his hips into your throbbing pussy, and you felt his orgasm after your own, maybe even stronger than before, his cock twitching in your constricting, flinching inner walls, strongly massaging him through his high, digging your nails into his tattooed forearm and hoping no one would notice the marks. Wave after uncontrollable wave, closing your eyes to savor it, inhaling his familiar scent mixed with sex and sweat.

The afterglow lingered.

Jungkook rested his forehead on your breasts, gasping for air.

You ran your fingers over his fuzzy head, breathing heavy and slowing back down to normal. Hm. Somewhat therapeutic, to be honest. You still preferred his longer hair but he pulled off the egg cut better than most. Probably because he had the cutest face ever.

“Your pussy is too good,” he mumbled.

“You lasted pretty long.”

“Not long enough,” he complained to your tits. “Let’s go again.”

“I really need to clean up. We can go again after.”

“Okay, then I’ll just follow you and jack off while you’re cleaning up.”

“That isn’t awkward at all.”

“Why would it be awkward? You look the best naked. My eyeballs and dick have to soak in every second of it.”

“… You do realize you have vacation days, right?”

But, of course, you let him do whatever he wanted, because he was Jeon Jungkook and you could never deny him. Ah, such is life. Hard, but apparently not as hard as his dick was for you.

“That’s really impressive.”

“What? You make me horny! I’m gonna go until I or he literally passes out from exhaustion.”

“Pardon?”

“You heard me, noona.”

Welp.

--

masterpost

[suashii]

"give them back," tsukishima grumbles, harshly rubbing his tired, golden eyes with the heels of his palms. his already blurred vision is even more bleary when he pulls his hands away.

"mm, no," you refuse, resting the stolen frames on the top of your head. "i don't think i will."

the lines of a frown are etched into the skin between his eyebrows as he stares at you from his desk chair. you're sure his aim is to look intimidating or at least annoyed, but you can't take him seriously knowing that he probably sees you as nothing more than an indiscernible blob of colors without his glasses.

"come on, i need to finish this." he points to the intricate yet unfinished drawing sitting on the table in front of him. you're sure your eyes would cross just attempting to pick out all of the details; you can't imagine how strained tsukki's eyes must be from staring at and adding on to it for hours.

"what you need to do is rest your eyes," you scold him. "this little artist gig is going to be over before it even begins if you keep this up."

he doesn't respond because he can't argue with you; you're right. late nights spent working under nothing more than a soft, dim lamp have become the norm for him. he's grown accustomed to the irritation burning at his eyes and the need to squint in order to focus on whatever project sits in front of him. before now, he would have excused his irresponsibility as hard work—dedication. thanks to you, he's willing to acknowledge it as a bad habit.

tsukki sighs. you're nervous that your words were too harsh, worried that they bordered discouraging. you open your mouth, readying to apologize for your brashness when the man clears his throat. "fine. i'll be done for tonight."

"good." you curtly nod. if you’re being completely honest, you weren't sure that you'd be able to convince him. you tell him as much, too. "if you said otherwise, i would have dragged you out of here myself."

for the first time since you barged into his studio, a smile breaks out on the blonde's face. "is that so?"

"mhm." you hum in confirmation. seeing his lips curled upward makes you grin as well. you jerk your head in the direction of the door, stretching your open hand out to him. you wiggle your fingers and ask, "shall we go?"

he takes your hand in his, gently squeezing it as he stands up from the chair. "can i have my glasses back now?"

"nope," you pop the 'p'. you almost forgot about the lenses perched on the top of your head, but, even so, he isn’t getting them back. tsukishima is stubborn and you wouldn't put it past him to end up browsing his phone for inspiration if he got a hold of his glasses again. "you should keep your eyes closed. i'll lead you down the hall and get you comfy in bed all on my own."

he clicks his tongue, shaking his head. he can't say he's seeing clearly at the moment, but the thought of being blindly guided down the hallway keeps him from closing his eyes. "you have way too much faith in yourself."

you scoff, "take it back or your sleeping in your studio tonight."

[thesilmarillionblog]

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭: 𝟔

Click here to read the first part.

Summary: You and Soldier Boy want to create a family and move on from everything, even the Vought, but you also know that he has to face Homelander one last time to keep his vow to Butcher. However, nothing turns out as you had hoped.

Pairing: Soldier Boy / Reader

Warnings: Heavy angst, hurt, language, memory loss, reader is hurt and confused, angst, Soldier Boy is harsh

Word Count: 5394

A/N: English is not my first language.

This is inspired by the song 'Remembrance' by Memoria Futuri.༊

You could feel Soldier Boy's arms holding you tightly, and you made an effort to free yourself, only to find that the harder you fought, the tighter he held you. Eventually, you let out a painful moan as you felt his powerful, frightening grip around your lower abdomen. 

“Hey,” you said in a restless tone, swiftly rubbing your palm on your stomach to wake him up. “You're hurting me.”

He gave off a sound like a groan and said something that was incomprehensible. You firmly said, “Fuck, you're going to kill me here if you don't loosen your hands right now,” while he forced your body to press against his. “I mean it.” 

Regaining wakefulness and eventually opening his eyes, Soldier Boy released his grip a bit on you. “What happened?” 

You rubbed your arms and belly with agony and moans while he stretched his muscles and rubbed his sleepy eyes in between grumblings. 

“You held me far too firmly. That hurt,” you replied, turning to face him while you raised your shirt to see the damage. There, it was somewhat reddish. You looked like you'd been slapped by him there. You give him a sour look and draw attention to the skin marks on your body. “Look what you have done.” 

When he finally woke up, his thick fingers gently stroked your tummy, and he whispered a curse. 

He apologized, “Fuck, sorry,” but he prevented you from getting up. 

You said in a sarcastic voice, “Do you usually wake me up like this?” out of curiosity. You worried if he had ever injured you before without knowing anything about the background of your relationship. 

“On occasion,” he said with a mischievous grin. “But of course, I don't do it on purpose.”

“I have to be insane to be with a supe,” you muttered in disbelief. You questioned your irrationality in taking such a risk with your life. It was well known that supes sometimes killed their partners behind closed doors or in different circumstances. 

With a playfully “Hey,” he embraced you, and you felt the warmth of his chest behind your back. It was heartwarming, and he felt safe. “You enjoyed every moment of it. All I can say is that you were really enthusiastic and energetic, though you can't recall. Yet.”

You remarked, half-joking, half-hurt. “I'm sure just because I don't remember a single thing, you're making things up.” He was making statements as though he was talking about someone else entirely, like an ex-lover. You were taken aback by how comfortable you felt with him in just one day, as if you were deeply connected. If he was being honest with you, your skin and body had memories of their own to justify him.

He inquired, “What happened?” after noticing your abrupt expression change. 

You said, “Nothing,” not wanting to put in too much effort because your headache persisted. It was all truly complicated. 

“Are you still unable to remember anything? Concerning us or another thing?” When Soldier Boy noticed you had become lost in thoughts, he queried with suspicion. 

“No.”

His facial expressions have altered, and he is now staring at you irritated. He didn't inquire about it, even though it seemed like you didn't want to remember anything at all. He was aware of your efforts, and he knew it was just too much for you. Yet he believed you also had to understand him. It wasn't easy for him either in that situation. He was missing you. 

“All right,” he sighed. “Get ready so we can go to the doctor. I'll make sure to it that you are well taken care of, okay?”

You nodded to him and quickly showered while he got dressed. You also had to confront Butcher and others, but you'll discuss this matter with another doctor first. Since Soldier Boy had sensitive nerves and you didn't believe that he wouldn't intentionally or unintentionally harm you, However, you didn't want to get into a fight with him anyway. You wondered what he was like and the nature of the relationship you had with him some months prior. It was all so surreal that it was difficult to believe. You questioned if you really loved him or whether he really loved you. 

You looked at Soldier Boy as he adjusted his belt and put on his gloves, right after you had put on whatever you had found in the home. His messy hair gave him a savage and very attractive appearance. He smiled at you genuinely once he saw you were staring at him.

It wasn't bothersome, but he said in an arrogant manner, “Enjoying the view?”

“I'm just waiting for you to suit up already. You're taking too long,” you said playfully as you kept watching him.

“Oh, yeah? It's an old attitude.” When he was finally done, he blinked at you. “Guess we're both ready to go, huh?”

“Well, yes,” you said, taking one final glance around the room as though you would be staying here with him forever, even though it didn't seem that way. 

When you got in the car, you two were silent. Soldier Boy kept checking on you, which should have helped you feel a little better, but you were restless and uncomfortable. You called Butcher over and over, but he never answered, which made you feel awful and as though you were being ignored.

His actions proved Soldier Boy was the one to tell you the whole truth. You would have preferred it if Butcher had once been honest with you, but perhaps this is best for you. You believed that you were getting close or something. He was like a big brother to you after all. You were obviously wrong.

“He's not returning your calls, right?” With his gaze fixed on the road, Soldier Boy posed a sharp question. 

“No.” 

You spoke in an attempt to appear calm, but it was clear that you were lost and heartbroken. You had no option but to believe what Soldier Boy told you about him, about you, about everything. Butcher had abandoned you. 

Saying, “I told you he's a coward and a liar. He won't tell you anything, and he will continue to tell you lies even if you manage to track him down. He is a fucking liar; that much is true.” Soldier Boy gave you a serious look, as if he wanted you to believe whatever he said. Word by word. 

You murmured, “We can talk about such things later,” not wanting to discuss the difficult situation any more. 

Soldier Boy angrily replied, “Don't you tell me you still trust him.” He was so ready for another fight. 

“I won't say that I think highly of him, nor do I still trust him fully. He clearly told me bullshit about a few topics. However, you have to understand that I am unable to totally trust you as well.” You tried not to seem hostile as you added, “I don't even know you,” but you could feel the tension in the air rising as he inhaled deeply. 

He questioned, frustrated. “What's wrong with you?” Soldier Boy hated Butcher more than anything. “God knows how long you've been asleep or he's telling you lies with others, but you still say you can't trust me as well.” 

Soldier Boy struggled to control his tone, not wanting to frighten you away or anything, but it was difficult for him to be informed you didn't trust him. As though he were just another man, like Butcher and the rest. 

“Why are you even upset with me? Since you are aware of the complete truth and my pals have lied to me, it is simple to look from your side. I have no idea what's happening at all.”

He glanced at you briefly, but he continued driving without changing his face. You felt that he was treating you a little worse than he had been the night before, but you weren't sure why. It shouldn't have hurt because you didn't know him, yet it still crushed your heart in a strange way.

As if he would act differently if only you were different too.

He said emphatically, “I'm not angry. It's simply annoying that you're telling me you don't believe me but continuing to hold out hope for Butcher and demand an explanation.”

“Why is it wrong to wait for an explanation? I'm curious what he's going to say, and it's okay to be cautious of strangers, but he needs to tell me the truth, or at the very least acknowledge that he lied to my face teaming up with the rest of the others, because I now know his lies. Even though I genuinely appreciate your concern, you should be understanding of my situation rather than being selfish.”

You would have liked to know the truth about what transpired between them so you could know why Soldier Boy was so outraged with him. You were certain he would kill Butcher instantly, without hesitation.

“Fuck that! Am I now being self-centered?” He gave you an angry expression as he inquired in a harsh tone, “Is it okay to give a fucking hand job to a stranger?”

He was behaving as though it was all your fault. Despite your best efforts to remain composed, his attitude scared you a little. You questioned whether this was how he treated you always.

Your face heated while you attempted to push the memories of yesterday from your thoughts. Your fingertips grazed the hard surface of the seat while you searched for an answer to his bold question. 

“It was an instinct for survival lets say. You're a..strong supe, and I couldn't fight you after all. Why are you even talking about this right now?” With a mumble, you hoped that soon enough the two of you would forget your private moment. 

“Oh god,” he whispered. He didn't seem at all pleased with your response. “Are you fucking telling me you'd do the same if it was another supe on top of you?” 

As the images filled his mind, you being with another Supe, he made an angry noise, trying to empty his mind. He'd kill whomever tried to lay a hand on you. You both were lucky he recognised your voice yesterday.

You said, “I don't know.” You had no idea what would happen if it turned out to be someone else, not him, just another Supe. As you saw him get irate and clench his fingers on the steer, you said, “But no one would kiss me right away like you did, right?” That sounded as genuine as you had hoped it would. It was sincere. You had no idea what possessed you to give him that quick kiss back without even thinking twice. Perhaps it was meant to be.

He only murmured, “I'd kill them.” Then he grasped your hand in his, realizing you were gone silent. “Hey, I'm just...” To figure out just what to say, he took a deep breath. “I understand that it's terrifying for you, and it's just too much. Yet even if it doesn't seem rational, I need your faith. I need you to trust me in this.”

You said, “I don't get it,” unsure of what step to take. Your eyes wandered helplessly to your phone. That might be a little bit simpler if Butcher spoke to you, but Soldier Boy detested Butcher so much that he believed Butcher would immediately start telling you more lies the moment he opened his lips. 

“I know, baby. I know,” he said, attempting to block out the thoughts of Butcher's crap. For everything he did, he vowed to murder Butcher. 

In a quiet voice, you asked, “Are you always like this?” wanting to know more about his personality. About you in the past. 

He looked perplexed and scowled. “Like what?” 

“Just like this,” you urged. “Angry and on edge.”

His mouth dropped open in protest at what you'd just stated. It was true that he appeared a little tense and maybe even a little too aggressive. But you had nothing to do with any of the negative feelings he was going through. “No, of course not.”

He looked at you with real regret, and you sighed. He was giving you the truth, and you could tell by the way he looked at you. But these days, it was difficult to trust anyone. However, it was also difficult to ignore the need to rely on someone. 

“I think you would behave differently.” Finally, you mumbled to him what was really worrying you: “If only I remembered everything.” 

You were right, and Soldier Boy didn't say anything for a while—possibly even unaware of his attitude toward you. You sensed that every second passing was making you two more and more apart, yet you were so close to reconnecting. 

You said, “Am I right?” expecting him to say no. 

He managed to reply in a stern voice, “You're not,” and went on, “Like I've told you before, it's not about you. It's true that I feel a little...tense, but I most often do, even with you. You simply can't recall anything about us. That has to be the cause of your feelings.”

“You mean that I'm constantly welcoming of you in this way? Am I really that obedient and docile?” you questioned, startled. It was hard to imagine you were a scaredy little cat around him, putting up with his rage all day and night. 

“You're simply misinterpreting us at this moment, sweetheart,” he stated, grinning heartily at you. “You know, it would be so much easier if you could only remember just one memory of us, so that it would be a lot easier for you to grasp our dynamic.”

“I still think I must be a dumb being with a supe.”

“Anways,” grumbled Soldier Boy. Right now, things seemed a little bleak for you. It's true that you seemed like a new person. That's when he understood how much he really did miss you and needed you back. It hurt so much to miss you and your memories. He would make sure to it that the doctors do the best they could to get you back to him. He didn't even want to imagine if nothing worked. 

He remained silent for a considerable time after that, and you were becoming more apart. The abrupt coldness in his attitude toward you made you feel restless and uncomfortable. It was true that you wanted to learn more about Soldier Boy and find out about your former relationship with him, but you also didn't want to trust him until you spoke with Butcher and the others. Either you had genuinely loved him, or you had to have an appropriate explanation for being with him.

None of them mattered; perhaps your connection with him wasn't as awful as you thought it would be, or perhaps you were too blind to recognize his true cruelty and mercilessness while you were with him. All you had to do, if it was possible, was know the truth and get to know him again. You questioned if you truly had loved him in the past and whether you could love him again. It wasn't like you were completely against the idea or something. 

You gaped in distaste looking at the massive Vought Tower as Soldier Boy brought the car to a stop. That terrifying structure was the source of rage that one could never forget. It was filled with demons in masks who thought of themselves as heroes. 

“Hey, you okay?” You inhaled deeply as Soldier Boy asked you in a concerned tone. 

“Yes," you mumbled. “I just don't like this place.”

“Come on. We won't be spending the most of our time in this place. We are coming to visit a doctor—a legitimate, real one. Just like you deserve.” As soon as he heard your heartbeat quickening and worry taking hold of you, he wanted to comfort and encourage you. 

“Okay,” you said, feeling a little relieved as he smiled at you genuinely. 

When you entered the elevator, you whispered, “Is Homelander here?” 

He listened to his surroundings for a while and said, “Yes.”

You shivered as a wave of worry and nervousness washed over you when you thought of Homelander. Homelander was something you could never forget, even if you bashed your head until your skull broke. You didn't want to be in the same room as him because he was the most vile and vicious person that has ever lived. 

Soldier Boy stroked your arms and placed his gloved hand behind your neck when he saw your uneasy demeanor and the change in your breathing. “Hey. Nobody could or would risk hurting you. Particularly him, especially him.” 

You knew Homelander, but you wanted to put your faith in Soldier Boy and feel at peace. No one could ever stop Homelander when he intended to hurt someone, and you had doubts about Soldier Boy's full strength. Their power dynamics were foreign to you. 

You couldn't even move to nod at him as you wanted to. You just had a sour expression on your face, as if you were willing to embrace anything he said. 

You placed your hands on his to express your gratitude and your faith, whispering, “I want to believe you.” 

Soldier Boy planted a kiss on your forehead and said, “Then believe me,” with confidence. It was such a lovely moment that a thrill and a hint of crave surged through your veins. In a moment, a tiny piece of hope filled your heart; maybe he could fall in love with this version of you. After all, you were you. If you were genuinely loved, memories shouldn't matter all that much as long as the same emotions persisted in his heart.

When he saw that you were staring at him intensely and with a faint smile on your lips, he seemed confused. Knowing that you were in a relationship yet feeling both too close and too far away was insane. At that little, genuine moment you two had, he should have had the same thought. That would be a good memory too between you and him.

At last, Soldier Boy murmured, “Okay, let's go,” releasing his hold on the skin while still holding your hand.

As soon as you and Soldier Boy entered the large white room, you took a deep breath to calm yourself. To cheer you up, he offered your hand a small, determined squeeze.

When Soldier Boy called upon the doctor across the room, who was absorbed in his thoughts and studying the paperwork, he smiled warmly at you. 

The doctor shook hands with Soldier Boy, saying, “It's good to see you see you in person, Soldier Boy, and I guess you are..”

You shook hands and said your name to him. You looked like a toddler whose parents had forcibly taken her to the hospital. That wasn't all that different, really. 

Before he could ask any questions, Soldier Boy interrupted, “Yeah, she's the one we talked about on the phone.” He must have spoken with him when you were taking a shower or changing your clothes. You thought it would be simply an ordinary check, but you didn't trust the doctor because he worked for Vought after all. 

You were led into the doctor's room and seated, your fingertips twitching uncomfortably on the chair. Even though Soldier Boy was gently playing with your hair to console you, you were still feeling worried and uncertain.

He waited for you to respond before asking, “So, is it true that you're not remembering a single thing that happened in the twelve months?” 

“Yes,” you answered right away.

“Alright,” he said without disputing the preciseness of the time. “So, what specific events do you recall having happened to you? What did you last recall before the incident?”

When Soldier Boy waited on foot, you could feel his concentrated gaze on your shoulder and the trail of his fingers on your back, but you tried not to look at him.

The doctor responded, “You can take your time,” as if he was trying to calm you down.

You forced your memory again, even though you were suffering from a headache, but the pictures remained the same. You just didn't want to.

You began, “I was...” but you refrained from giving any specifics about Translucent. “I was with Hughie, a friend of mine.”

“How did you spend the time with him? Are you able to think about the specifics?” he repeated quietly. You wanted him not to ask you anything at all. 

What are you meant to say? That you were torturing Translucent in an attempt to get him to talk. Telling a Vought doctor about this would be problematic. 

You lied and said, “I don't...remember exactly.” You hoped that Soldier Boy wouldn't pressure you to reveal everything. “We were just spending time, and then I guess hit my head somewhere.”

Your lie made Soldier Boy tense, but he didn't break off to avoid creating a scene or placing you in an awkward position. You wouldn't dare to... Fuck, he didn't even want to picture you with that dumb son of a bitch. Fuck. 

The doctor finally remarked, “I see. How long has it been since you lost your memories?”

“Three months, I guess,” you said, hoping that what Butcher had told you about the period you had been asleep was accurate at least. You have slept for literally months, but you weren't sure if you should provide him with more information. Since it didn't seem essential, you chose to merely give the information the doctor needed. The whole story did not need to be told. 

“It's been months, and you still don't remember a single thing?”

“No," you politely said. "Not at all.”

“Is there a way to bring her memories back?” Soldier Boy took the seat in front of you and asked immediately. 

The doctor said, “I...cannot promise such a thing I'm afraid,” and then he looked at you sadly. You kind of feel at ease, though you're not sure why. 

“What do you mean you can't promise? What the fuck? You work at Vought and are a supe doctor. You're not being paid for doing anything at all.”

The doctor tried to explain, saying, “It's hard to bring back memories like that; naturally. However, her circumstances won't even present a difficulty. She is quite fortunate.”

“What do you mean?” Soldier Boy questioned suspiciously, feeling a little more at ease now, hoping that the doctor would provide some helpful guidance. 

“A supe woman called Cate came to see me a few hours ago regarding her injuries. As I treated to her arm, she briefly informed me about her powers. Life is strange. Cate told me she could play with memories, that she could even bring them back, among other things.”

“Are you absofuckinglutely sure?” When the doctor continued to give Soldier Boy more facts about her, his eyes became wide with excitement and in disbelief.

You should have been thrilled about it, but instead you felt quite uncomfortable and worried. You didn't want someone to forcefully retrieve your forgotten memories from your brain through mind games. You knew this wasn't what you wanted right now, even though it was a weak excuse. You would never allow a stranger to play with your memories in that way.

Your heart broke seeing Soldier Boy's delighted face and hearing him ask the doctor many questions. Even though he was now just another stranger to you, you could still sense and know he was important. You would have injected a virus into his body yesterday with Butcher's order before you even met him. Still, a lot has happened since yesterday.

In one day, you had created a lot of memories with Soldier Boy, and they were now special to you two; they were no longer about your former self. You were the real one, this time. You felt lost when you saw him becoming enthusiastic about it as if he was finally ready to meet his true love, even though you knew it was foolish to think this way. Wouldn't he love you like this? 

“As far as I've learned, Homelander signed her missions, and unfortunately I don't know her contact number,” said the doctor. “But I think Homelander would tell you where she is.”

"All right, that's good," said Soldier Boy. You felt horrible to hear how relieved he sounded. You were terrified to say a single word because you knew he would get frustrated if you informed him that you didn't want your memories to come back to you in this state.

You and Soldier Boy left the doctor's office after expressing your gratitude.

You exclaimed, “I'm starving,” as soon as you entered the elevator, preventing him from mentioning Cate and talking about bringing your memories. “Can we eat something?”

He said, “Sure,” and you felt your heart melt with his smile.

Soldier Boy played with the small necklace around your throat and gave you a serious expression. “I sensed that you were lying in there, by the way, when he asked you what you were doing with that stupid face, Hughie, before you lost your memories,” he said. 

You spoke fast so he wouldn't start making up scenarios about Hughie and you. “Butcher had kidnapped a member of the Seven, and he was torturing him in his own ways to get him to talk about how to kill a supe,” you said. It was irresponsible and dumb. “I couldn't tell it to him, and it didn't seem important.”

He said, “Hmm,” happy that he wasn't going to hear something unpleasant. You were always his; he knew it. It was difficult to picture you assisting Butcher in his abduction of a supe. That jerk forced you to take several foolish and dangerous risks. 

You could see that the doctor's advice about bringing your memories to light was the reason he was feeling more at ease, even as his fingers continued to gently trace around your neck.

“I keep wondering what happened to the ring I gave you,” he said. “Maybe we can also find out this.”

Your heart melted with thrill and sorrow at the thought of the ring. 

You looked at your empty finger and whispered gently, “I don't know what happened to it. There was no ring on my finger when I woke up.” 

Soldier Boy's whisper was rough, “They must have taken it,” and his posture stiffened. 

You softly asked, “Did I like it?” to ease the tension. “The ring that you bought for me.”

He smiled weakly at you and said with a hint of pride, “Yeah, very much. With the help of that Supe the doctor talked about, Cate, we can also learn where your ring is, huh?”

The tiny smile that was on your lips vanished as he spoke about reliving your memories. You said, “We could just buy another one. Maybe it's just lost, and I'd like a different one.”

He firmly answered, “No,” not really interested in what you were proposing. “It was a nice one. You have no idea how hard I searched for that ring. We can definitely find it. It must have been taken by someone.”

He grasped your hand when the elevator stopped, and you were at a loss for words when it came to telling him how you felt. He was clearly expressing how much he didn't want this you. You followed him heartbroken.

As soon as you walked inside his room, you were astounded by how large and cozy the furnishings were. You were unaware that Vought Tower offered rooms like that. Tired, you stared out the window at the entire city as Soldier Boy ordered a meal for both of you. Up top, the view was incredible.

When your desperate eyes scanned the crowds, you turned to Soldier Boy. “After we have our meal, I'll find that Cate and everything will be solved,” he stated, putting his phone back into his pocket.

You leaned in closer to him and said, “I think we need to talk about this.”

While he waited for you to continue, he frowned. That was going to be difficult.

Nervous of his attitude, you managed to mumble in a low voice, “I just don't want someone to play with my memories and bring them back so suddenly.”

He was puzzled by your idea and said, “What the hell do you mean now?”

You asked in a panicked manner, “Why are you insisting so much? Everything is happening so quickly that I'm unable to keep up with it. I don't want my thoughts and memories to be played with.”

Soldier Boy approached you cautiously and confidently stroked your cheeks while maintaining a harsh expression.

“You can't even recall a single detail about me, you, or us since you fucking lost the last year of your life. Everything's going to be alright when your memories return. What makes you so afraid of?” he asked quietly, although it was obvious that he was growing frustrated.

Just saying, “I don't want it now,” You wanted to spend time with him in this way, to live the memories you couldn't remember, to create new memories with him, and to discover whether or not the thing between you was real. You weren't sure why your thoughts had changed so suddenly. 

“Even if you don't want it now, I'll find Cate, and you'll get your memories back. End of discussion. You will thank me for it once you remember us again, sweetie,” he continued, deliberately implying that he would make you do it even against your choice. 

You mumbled, “You can't force me.” 

“Well, I think I can,” he said confidently. “Don't you see, I miss you.” 

You were heartbroken by the way he sounded, as if he were trying to reach out to you, but you were lost in what he was saying, and it was as if he was talking entirely about someone else. 

You asked unexpectedly in a whisper, “Can't you love me like this?” You had to know what he was thinking about you, even if you had no idea where it had come from. “Since yesterday, we created some nice memories. Aren't they good enough for now?”

When Soldier Boy saw you like this, like you were lost, he grimaced. 

“You simply feel afraid to learn the entire truth, and you're just confused.” He continued in a cold voice, “You are still you,” but this time you didn't trust him. 

“No,” you protested, unable to control your tearing eyes. “Everything will change, even me. You make statements as though you were talking about someone else. You didn't respond to my question, If I remain this way, wouldn't you still be able to love me even if I lost all memory of the past?”

With a hopeful expression on your face, you waited for him to agree that things hadn't  come back to you so rapidly. He was right to say that you were afraid; while you anxiously awaited his response, your heart raced with both hope and sorrow. After being abandoned by Butcher and the others, you were also rejected by him. You really did feel afraid. 

He frowned and said, “Do you even remember my name?” ignoring the question you asked. 

You opened your mouth to answer him, shocked as you were, but you had absolutely no idea what to say. You forced your mind to recall even though you had a burning headache. You must have previously addressed him by name a thousand times, so you were only waiting for a memory to emerge. 

As he observed your struggles, Soldier Boy scowled and repeated in a harsh tone, “Do you?”

At last, you said, “No,” embarrassed that you couldn't recall his name. You were unaware that, up until now, you had never addressed him by name. Not even once. 

You felt your heart shattered into a million pieces as he sent you a sharp and disappointed look. You knew then that you were strangers with a past after all. He hadn't fallen in love with you. It was your memories that made everything special.

“Then my answer is no.”

Next Chapter

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A/N: Comments are very much appreciated. They keep me going. ^.^

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@roseamie01

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Warm Me Up

Summary: Illyria is cold, Rhys has some ideas on how to stay warm.

Content Warnings: Smut; dirty talk; little bit of cursing.

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Illyria was a wasteland, nothing but frigid mountains and harsh winds, you'd never understood how anything survived here. Your mate had flown you in an hour ago, you'd immediately had to sit in front of the cabin's fireplace, smothered in blankets, a warm cup of tea in your hands to avoid your teeth chattering and your fingertips from turning blue. The boys were somehow training outside shirtless. You could see them from the window, sparring, even as the relentless wind continued to beat against the windows.

You furrowed deeper into your mountain of blankets, still so damned cold. How were they managing that? How had Cassian survived his childhood, alone and hungry in this for so long? Was there something built into Illyrians to help them survive?

You tapped a mental hand against the bond hesitantly, worried you might distract your mate and he'd get hurt... again. Rhys had gotten used to your random questions, but thd first couple of times had been so sudden he'd lost focus, Az had clipped him across the shoulder, drawing blood. It hadn't even scarred, had healed with the help of his powers in less than hour. He'd probably forgotten about it. You hadn't.

Your mate responded with a gentle caress against your mental shields, like he'd brushed a hand over you mind, urging you to come forward.

"Do Illyrians run hot?" You asked.

A dark chuckle ran across the bond, sending a shiver over your spine. "Why don't you come out here and find out?"

You rolled your eyes. "And freeze to death? No thank you."

"It's not even snowing yet.," he let your peer through his eyes, the landscape dripping from yesterday's rain, but it was more mud than anything.

"I've seen warmer places in the Winter Court."

"There are plenty of ways to stay warm up here," Rhys purred, his voice a playful caress against your mind. "You're welcome to join us in the birken when we're done."

"And leave the safety of my little nest by the fire? I'll have frostbite by the time I make it there."

"Give me five minutes." The bond snapped closed and then Cassian was screaming obscenities from where they were sparring near the side of the cabin.

"THAT'S CHEATING YOU BASTARD!" Azriel shouted.

"RHYSAND I CAN'T FUCKING SEE!"

You pulled the comforter off the top of your head to try and get a good look through the closest window, but there was nothing but darkness against the glass. It was still too early in the day for the sun to be going down, the darkness outside rattling against the windows like a harsh wind. Rhys very rarely unleashed that much power, but you felt your own flare to life in your chest at the sight of it. Like calls to like, and your starborn powers had always risen to the challenge it found in Night Triumphant.

It wasn't even a full five minutes before the back door was thrown open so fast the old wood cracked against the wall. The wind came in with it, making you burrow deeper into your mound of blankets to avoid it.

Rhys must have kicked off his boots at the door, because you heard it slam shut and then nothing until large hands settled on your blanket clad shoulders.

You jumped with a shriek of surprise that had your mate bending over the back of the couch to kiss your barely exposed forehead apologetically, his skin colder than the wind beating against the walls.

"Ack! You're an ice cube!" You hissed, twisting to get away.

He chuckled as he pulled away and went to the closet near the front door.

"Don't bother, I've already raided it," you warned.

He opened it anyway, then frowned at all the empty shelves. "You weren't kidding." His next move was to go to the stack of wood neatly organized by the fire place and throw more in, the blaze illuminating the sharp planes of his face. He wasn't wearing a shirt, training leathers hanging low on his hips, a fine sheen of sweat making his bronze skin glow in the firelight.

Under normal circumstances, you would have jumped right on him, ran your tongue over his abs, traced the swirl of ink across his chest. Something about him in leathers made you weak in the knees, all rational thought out the window. The only thing keeping you in place this time was the thought of loosing the little pocket of warmth you had created.

He felt your gaze of course, turning away from the fire to look at you. "Better?" His voice had gone down an octave, his pupils dilating.

"Little," you admitted, though him being so close, looking like that might have been more of a reason for the heat you were starting to feel than the fire.

He walked to you slowly, intently, violet eyes fixed on you.

Your heartbeat quickened in your chest as he knelt in front of you.

"Think you can make room for me in there?" He kept his hands on the top blanket of your little cocoon, waiting for permission.

"I don't know, how cold are you?" You teased; this would be the last little bit of your resolve.

He slid a hand under the blankets, fingers dragging up slowly, intently over your calves.

"Cold," you whimpered, but the shiver that ran through you had nothing to do with the temperature, not as he traced his way up your thighs, only stopping when he found the hem of your sweater.

He leaned and pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of your nose first, then the corners of your lips, his breath warm against your face, the contrast between the two temperatures making your head spin. You wanted to reel away and lean in all the same time.

"Just for a second," he promised, "then I'll get you nice and warm."

You opened the blanket, and that intense violet gaze took stock of your attire: His old sweater, so loose and baggy it looked like a dress on you, and knee high, fuzzy pink socks. Pants had felt like a waste of time, not when sifting through the dresser meant time spent away from the fire.

Rhys all but jumped on top of you, pushing you down into the couch cushions, the blankets tangling between you as he crashed his lips against yours.

Rhys, as High Lord, was always so poised and put together, everything about him calculated and curated to create the necessary masks of court duties; but alone, like this, when it was just the two of you, no masks necessary, he let that unending restraint slip, kissing you and running his hands over your body like a man starved. His tongue swept into your mouth as he slid a hand under your sweater, deft fingers dragging up your skin to cup your breast.

He'd kept his promise about the cold, you'd only felt it for a moment before he'd settled between your legs, using a bit of magic to untangle the blankets and rearrange them over the two of you. You ran a hand through his hair, scraping your nails lightly over his scalp as he playfully gave your nipple a tug.

"Better?" He rasped, lips barely off yours like he couldn't bear to be that far from you.

The warmth of his weight on top of you would have been enough, but the way he kept running his hands over any bit of you he could reach, the way he kissed you again and again and again was enough to make you forget you had ever been cold in the first place.

"Much better," you confirmed as he broke away to nip at your neck.

He chuckled as you arched into his touch; whimpering lightly as his tongue laved over the sting of his teeth on your throat.

"Can't decide," he murmured into your skin, "if I should fuck you in my sweater or not?"

Heat coiled between your legs, even further when he rocked his hips into your center, even with the clothes separating the two of you, the friction was enough to make you moan.

He nipped under your jaw, "Look so pretty in it, but I gotta get you all warmed up don't I? My poor little mate, not used to the cold."

Now that he was with you, you wanted, needed, every bit of contact with his body you could get. The sweater, so warm and comforting before, now felt like a tremendously itchy obstacle keeping you from him. "Want it off," you complained, trying to find your voice around another moan as he rutted his hips into you again, hard even through his leathers.

He chuckled as he fisted the hem and started pulling it up your body. "Wear it again for me later?"

You nodded as he pulled it over your head and tossed it over the back of the couch. Distantly, you hoped Rhys had the good sense to send his brothers away for a little while since you had stopped hearing them moving around outside, but had no time to ask as he started kissing his way down your body, pausing to give some attention to your peaked nipples. A whine tore from your throat as he swirled his tongue over one and then the other.

"Love when you make those little noises for me," he purred into your mind, not wanting to remove his lips from your body to speak.

"Rhys," you whimpered, body arching into him as he nipped at your sensitive skin.

"You're gonna look so pretty, all marked up under my sweater later," he sent an image of you, covered in hickeys from your throat to your hips down the bond as he continued to move slowly down your body.

Rhys liked to push you, liked to see how worked up he could get you, first with that silver tongue of his, then his hands, he could keep this up for hours. You, however, where so desperate for more friction, to fill the ache now burning between your legs, bucked your hips, squirming underneath him now. "Please. Need you."

He scraped his teeth along he hem of your underwear, humming his approval. Rhys grinned against your skin, all male satisfaction as he held your hips in place. "So impatient. I thought you were freezing to death in here? Don't you want to get warm, Darling?"

Warm? Your skin was on fire in every spot he had touched, the warmth of his body spreading to every point of contact he gave. It was becoming too much and not enough, you needed more, more, more.

"Please!"

He caught the hem of your panties in his teeth and pulled them slowly down your hips, hands skimming your hips and thighs, kneading soft skin. Your legs widened for him automatically, instinctively, despite the fact that you were now uncomfortably wet from his ministrations.

He ran his tongue against your center, humming his approval, blasting it down the bond. "So wet, and I've barely even touched you."

You pinched your eyes shut, overwhelmed already. He really was too damn good at this. No amount of time would ever be enough to satisfy the well of need you had for him. You blasted that desperation, that ache for him right down the bond as words failed you, as he continued his exploration of your dripping core with his tongue. Stars erupted behind your closed eyelids as he chuckled down the bond, pleased with your reactions to his body.

You were sure you were begging for him, whimpering and pleading nonsense as he worked you closer and closer to the edge, but the words faded in and out of your consciousness. There was only Rhys, the movements of his tongue, the feeling of his fingertips digging pleasantly tight in your hips, the heat of skin wherever it touched you. Your eyes rolled back into your head, body arching, hands tangling in his hair as the edge rose up to meet and you and you toppled over it with a scream that sounded an awful lot like your mate's name.

"Such a good girl," he purred as he lapped up the evidence of your pleasure.

You're whole body shook as he kissed his way back up your body, grinning against your flushed skin the whole way. He was so warm, when he kissed you again, the taste of your release still on his plush lips, your only thoughts were on how you could get more of that warmth, until it has seeped into your bones, erased any trace of the cold that had laid so deep beneath.

You threaded your hands in his hair, now a mess across his forehead, whimpering. "Need you still."

He grinned as he caught your lower lip between his teeth in a playful nip. "I know, love."

You moved a hand to the small of his back, pulling him closer.

"You'll have me until there are no longer stars in the sky." The bond flooded with more warmth and affection, as deep as your need for him ran, his was equal, there was no end to what he could give you.

You kissed him again, even as your legs wrapped around his waist, a bit of magic finally removing those damned leathers. Maybe you'd ask him to put them back on later, so you could enjoy the sight of him in the aftermath as much as he would you, but those were questions for later.

"I love you," you whimpered as he finally slide into you, slowly, casually, like there was all the time in the world for the two of you to enjoy each other.

He fit like he was made just for you, the stretch just uncomfortable for a moment before the pleasure made your back arch and your toes curl. He moaned into your throat, pushing his nose into your sweat dampened skin, inhaling your scent as he pushed all the way in to you.

You wondered, distantly, if the stars you were seeing were his making, or something that appeared for him too. The way he panted into your skin as he rocked his hips, testing you, made you think he saw them too.

"So perfect," he moaned as he slid almost fully out.

Your nails clawed at his shoulders, begging for him to come back and he plunged back in a little more forcefully this time, the couch groaning beneath the two of you.

You rocked your hips to meet his thrusts, hands still trailing down the contours of his spine in a move that would be sure to leave marks of your own. He nipped at your neck and shoulders when you pushed too hard, skin breaking beneath your fingertips, but you knew he didn't mind, know he relished in being marked up by you, like it was a badge of honor. You'd leave hickeys on him afterwards, when the pleasure building between your legs wasn't so white hot, when you could focus your attention somewhere other than the need burning it's way through you.

His hand snaked down between your legs, drawing you closer and closer to the edge again.

"Rhys," a prayer, a mantra, the only thing that made sense as pleasure turned all rational thought to mush.

"I've got you," he rasped in your ear, every muscle taught as he rocked into you again and again and again. His pace was quickly becoming more frantic, his breath hot on your throat as he moaned into your skin. It was that sound, so desperate and low right beneath your ear, coupled with the movement of his deft fingers, the angle of his cock inside you, all hurtling you so quickly towards the edge that you didn't notice it was there until you toppled over it. Your mate followed with a roar, his own release warm inside you.

You clung to him, trembling, panting, as you came down from your high, the familiar weight of him atop you grounding in the aftermath. He snaked an arm around you as he positioned the two of you on your sides, sharing the couch now. You buried your face in the crook of his neck as he kissed the top of your head, gently.

"Warm now, darling?" He asked softly, a hint of teasing still there, even as he recovered his breath.

He hadn't pulled out of you yet; you bit your lip in thought as you tossed a leg over his, bringing you flush against his hips. You were sensitive, the movement made you wince a little, but even after all that, you still wanted more of him. Perhaps it would never be enough. Like the Illyrians that called this frigid place home, there was always going to be something that pushed you back towards the fire, that damned insatiable need to get warm.

"I think I'm still a little cold," you purred, eyes glinting playfully.

Your mate chuckled at the challenge in your tone, violet eyes narrowing into where you were still joined. "Can't have that, can we?"

The fire roared in the fireplace, a bit of your mate's magic flaring, making sure there was more heat in the cabin, before his lips were on yours again, chasing away any hint of cold before it could touch you.

[spinchip]

It was all there, in plain sight

Summary: Zane wants something she can't have.

She notices the pit in her chest only after she’s left Birchwood forest behind. It opens up where her heart would be, a black pit of longing she mistakes only slightly for loneliness and loss. There was someone she loved, once there and now gone. There was a life she had that was hidden from her, so the pit gnawed at her until she grew numb to the ache. It made sense, of course. What little she had left- her name, her face, the white sweater and white pants and cold hands- wasn’t enough to pad out the spaces her amnesia left behind. She looked for the rest of her heart in everything, searching for identity in cold still waters ponds and sunsets and the term elemental master the elderly man gave her when he asked her if she was prepared to face her destiny.

“I’m Jay.” The red haired boy greets her with a wave when she drops her meager belongings on the floor next to her bunk bed.

“Cole.” The other boy introduces himself with a crooked smile, “Yo.” He throws a peace sign up from where he’s laying in his own bed, sketch pad propped up on his lap.

“Hello.” She says formally, clasping her hands in front of her, “My name is Zane.” She refrains from adding I think to the end of her name, “It is nice to make your acquaintance.”

The chasm in her chest is a bearable pain, something that only itches at her in the gaps between training when the monastery is quiet and the two boys are preoccupied. She tries to find things to fill her life with- cooking, mostly. There are a handful of half-finished hobbies she’d tried and failed to integrate into her interests. Granny-square knitting scraps in a box under her bed, sewing needles and threads only pulled out to mend a tear in hers or the others robes after her first project has bored her, and a journal she’d abandoned when the pages she wrote were too empty for her to stomach.

Once, she tried drawing with Cole.

He doodles a drawing of her and shows it off with a grin- the boy in the picture seems so foreign to her that she almost asks Cole to throw it away. A sharp angled jaw, thick brow ridge and broad shoulders. Deep set eyes and hollow cheeks that only seem to accentuate the width of her face. Every part of her is rough and harsh. Handsome, but that doesn’t feel like a compliment when Cole or Jay says it to her. She thanks Cole and draws a picture of him in return- crude, not as skilled, but Cole appreciates it anyway.

Kai brings something with him that makes the cavern in her chest bleed- Nya. Nya, who has soft features and gentle hands. Beautiful, Jay sighs dreamily, and Zane wants that. She wants to be beautiful the way Nya is beautiful, the way the models on magazine covers and actresses in movies are. The pit in her chest has a razor edge now, and each time she compares herself to Nya and finds herself wanting she cuts open her heart on the sides. She tries her hand at makeup once, a few products Nya left in the bathroom that she plays with once day- her attempts are like that drawing she did of Cole. Crude, unskilled, clownish. So she washes her face and goes back to training and wants something she can’t have.

And she knows she can’t have it, because the one time she’d grazed her fingers over the femininity she desired she’d been laughed out of the room. A pink apron, so small and simple- a taste of a life she wanted so, so badly.

But she was a boy, and boys didn’t do things like wear pink aprons.

When she finds out she's a robot, the ache eases. It should go away- she knows who she is, she remembers her father, there’s not this big looming mystery clinging to the nape of her neck anymore. Her shoulders aren’t weighed down by a grief she wasn’t able to remember- sure, knowing brought with it a new pain, but there wasn’t any question to who she is. Zane, son of Dr. Julien. Robot. Hero. She could accept that. She could find peace with her past now- and yet the emptiness persists. Not so harsh, not at first- but over time, the chasm spreads until it feels like her whole body is an empty husky she inhabited.

“Father, if I wanted you to make a change in me, would you?” she asks her father after she finds him again, so close to putting into words a desire she was afraid to recognize.

“But Zane, you're perfect. I could never make you any better than you already are.” He smiles, reaches out to place his hand on her elbow with a squeeze, and she loses her nerve. Redirects the conversation to another persistent issue she had wanted to address as well, and doesn’t bring up the way her body doesn’t feel like it fits her anymore.

Maybe it never had- but then the world is ending, and there’s no time to think about that anymore.

And then a year later, the world is ending again and she pays all she has to prevent it.

She meets another android right before she gives up her life to save the world, and Pixal is everything Zane wants to be. She is beautiful, and she can convince herself it might be love when the pit her body is made of floods with a longing so deep her soul aches with it. She wants to ask her what it’s like- to be a girl.

Is it as wonderful as it looks? Is it as fulfilling as she imagines it would be?

She’s dead before she can form the words.

When she rebuilds her body in the blackness of Borg towers basements, she curves her jaw. She softens the harsh lines her father had sculpted her with, blending out solid planes into gentle features that hinted femininity. Not too much, careful to make it so slight that her friends won't look twice. Just enough to slake the hunger in her chest. Just barely enough to stifle her longing.

She touches her body the same way, adds weight to her hips and thins her waist to give the slightest impression of an hourglass figure. She considers her chest and again she wants what she can't have. She sends the blueprints to the machine before her heart breaks over a life that's not hers and she steps out of the machine in a body that's never going to be quite right.

But she's alive again, and there’s work to be done.

In the darkness of that cell in Chen's dungeon, she experiences heartbreak all over again when her memories flood back and she's reminded that she is a boy. In the spaces between memory, she knows what she isn’t. Memory brings reminder. There’s no escaping the words written down in her code. She can leave the island behind but she’s not free, not really.

Tox and Chamille and Nya and Skylor all cluster together and she wants so badly her core seems to wither with the force of it.

Pixal asks, “Is everything alright?” Because her fans stutter with physical pain at the cruelty of it all.

And she’s never been more grateful that Pixal’s abilities in her head are limited- she can’t read her mind, can’t look into her memories and see the longing living in her every breath. “I am fine.” She says, because there is no other option.

In a set of memories that are not hers to keep, she stares as a villain across a chessboard who says “Then I take it you do not want to make a wish…”

And he smiles at her like he knows. Like he can look right down directly into her heart to see a desire she would never voice, a want so so desperately shoved down and strangled because it simply wasn’t allowed. He’s giving her a golden ticket, a smoking gun to fix everything that’s ever been wrong with her life- it would be a simple, easy wish. Something that rewrote history to suit her needs.

I wish I was a girl, and that I always have been.

But she had a plan, and there was no room for this wish in the precious three she had to use.

She’s always been good at compartmentalizing. She could put her emotions away- this was harder, more insidious, but with time and effort she could make the ache a blanketing numbness instead. She fought just the same, cooked like always, and was for all intents and purposes normal- the disconnect she felt with her body was put away, and it didn't affect her duties as a ninja. That was paramount. Of course, it didn’t matter in the end- they lost. the Destiny's Bounty was crushed and it was pure luck that they had the mind to remember Mystakes tea with enough time to use it. Ninjago fell and they were trapped worlds away with no way back in sight.

Things were starting to look up now, though. The Iron baron was on their tail, but with Faith on their side they had put considerable distance between them. For the first time in a long while, things didn’t seem so bleak.

Faith had approached her while she was readying lunch, helping her prepare the meager supplies they had into a decent meal.

“I apologize,” She began quietly, breaking the lull of silence between them, “For mistaking you for a man.” she’s not sure why she brings it up, just that it feels important to say.

Faith's lips curl up ever so slightly, “Thank you.” There’s another pause, “...You didn’t.”

She glances at Faith, confused.

Faith clarifies, “You never used him in reference to me.” She sets the bowl down and studies her, searching for something. She doesn’t know what to say, so she stirs the pot of noodles while Faith comes to a realization. her mouth forms a perfect o before she schools her expression, looking away. “...I wasn’t always a woman.” She sets the words out gently between them.

She drops the spoon and has to clamber to pick it back up, “You were not?” She asks, looking over at the huntress with wide eyes.

“It is a bit of an oversimplification.” Faith admits, “But no. I was born a boy, and I realized I was a woman later in life.”

“Oh. I have… never heard of that before.” She finds herself whispering, the information overwhelming and too big to deal with in the hot desert sun so far from home. It feels like something slots into place- a reality worth pursuing suddenly just over the horizon. No more longing, no more ache-

“I apologize too.” Faith says softly, eyes sparkling with a new kind of warmth, “I didn’t know we were… family.”

She’s always been one to take someone's words at face value, but she understands Faith's words for what they are the moment they leave her mouth. We’re the same. I see you.

Her throat feels too thick to respond so she just finishes lunch and calls the other over to eat, leaving the conversation to repeat in her head over and over again.

After everything, on a day where the team is sprawled out in the living room trying to unwind after twelve hours of rebuilding work in downtown Ninjago, she blurts it out. While clearing rubble or carrying around building materials she’d been running a search program in the back of her head- pinging more and more resources that give the emptiness and desire inside her a name. She found others who felt the same, reading through post after post of personal stories that all voiced her own private thoughts openly and honestly.

Suddenly the world is alight with poetry and videos and potential, boundless possibility to remake who she pretends to me into who she is. The other women on the internet link hands with her and offer her a community she has been deprived of- and her life is her own. Transgender and transcendent and trans joy.

“I’m a girl.” She announces into the room, because now that she knows all there is to know- now that she knows it's allowed she won’t live another second in this identity that crushes her chest and chokes her spirit.

It’s the first time she’s ever said it.

As her friends surround her, she's met with unconditional support and a life worth living spread out in front of her feet.

[withleeknow]

hi lovely!! first off congrats on 1k that's so so awesome and you deserve all that + more truly :( your writing is so tender and so lovey

i would to join in on your little drabble event!!! could you do something for hanji and the song compass by the neighbourhood? that song reminds me of him so so much so i hope you get the vision!! thank you angel and have a beautiful day!! ✮⋆˙

compass.

pairing: producer!jisung x reader genre/warnings: established relationship, hurt/comfort?, fluff, swearing, arson jokes? lmao word count: 1.4k

as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

main masterlist / request masterlist / ko-fi

you're always there to help me when i'm down i'm lucky you've been keeping me around you're the star i look for every night when it's dark, you'll stick right by my side

compass - the neighbourhood

"fuck, fuck, fuck!"

the sound of jisung's verbalized frustration draws your attention to his desk and setup in the middle of room, where he's been sitting for the better part of two hours, hunched over the equipment like he often does when he's in the studio.

it's written all over his face just how upset he is that this particular piece he's working on isn't flowing right. the deep furrow between his eyebrows communicates utter displeasure. the clench of his jaw tells you he's angry, and that he's angry at himself for not being able to work through his block.

you abandon your comfortable spot on the couch in favor of pattering over to his side where he's all tensed up like an aggrieved hamster whose body can't contain the annoyance he feels. jisung can be short-tempered sometimes, but you know how to handle him in moments like this.

sliding a hand over his back, you say, "take a little break with me."

he huffs out a breath, eyes still focused on his laptop screen. "i can't afford a break. chan hyung expects this to be done in two days."

"so it's in two whole days. you can leave it for fifteen minutes, it won't kill you."

"but i still have to rework the first verse and figure out what in the fucking hell this second verse is-"

"han jisung," you scold him lightly, to which he instantly shuts up and peers up at you with his big eyes, immediately apologetic when he recognizes his harsh language.

"sorry," he mumbles, "i'm just stressed."

"which is why you need a break. you're not doing anyone any good just sitting here and trying to make your laptop explode with your eyes."

he lets out a pathetic-sounding mewl but he follows you to the couch regardless. jisung knows you're right because you always are. you're the more level headed between the two of you, whereas he's the one who lets his emotions get the better of him sometimes.

before, he would often succumb to his negative feelings. it's hard to keep his cool when nothing seems to go right and there's a deadline on his ass. he'd get so frustrated with his work that sometimes, he would delete whole tracks off his drive only to instantly regret it and spiral even more. he'd take it out on the people around him with his grumpy attitude and misplaced pettiness.

when jisung is overwhelmed, he tends to spin out in all directions. he splinters and drowns in a sea of his own making, constantly being pushed away further and further from shore because he doesn't know how to anchor himself, how to hold on so he wouldn't drift far away. his solution to soothe his anger has always been to give into it, to rip whole pages from notebooks and lock himself in his studio for hours on end until he could plow through the stubborn creative block. it'd often leave him exhausted - emotionally and physically so - and in no better state than he started out with.

jisung accepted this a long time ago - that his way of dealing with his emotions wasn't very healthy, but it was the only way he knew.

that is, until you popped into his world and taught him that people can be lifelines too. falling upon him like a wish that he never realized he was making his whole life.

"what's the matter, baby?" you ask, prompting him to air out his grievances as he lays his head on your chest while you card your fingers through his soft curls. he leans into you instantly, a long sigh escaping his pouty lips. jisung's got a lot of pride, and he would rather die before admitting to anyone that he loves to be babied by you behind closed doors.

he knows the question is just your way of getting him to verbalize all of his pent-up frustration, and not because you're eager to help him traipse through his mind palace and solve whatever dilemma he's having with the track. let's be honest, you never really have a clue what he's talking about, but it helps that you're keen on listening to him even though you can't offer him any valuable insight. more than you could ever know, it does wonders for jisung, just being able to untangle his thoughts and release the mess in his mind.

he could simply just talk to chan, sure, or any of his other friends who work in the industry. but again, his pride is an awful thing sometimes.

you never make him feel like he has prove himself to earn your love and attention, though. around you, jisung feels enough as he is. there's never been any need to toughen up in your presence.

"i just... i can't work with this track. nothing is flowing right. i hate everything i come up with." he rambles on about the things that plague his mind; topline this and beats that - they're really just words to you. you weren't blessed with the same genius in music that jisung was, so you just listen until he's done, until he concludes his tangent with a groan as he nuzzles further into the comfort of your warmth.

"you said that the last time, you know?"

"said what?"

"that everything sucks and you hate it."

"because everything sucks," he whines again, his eyebrows knitted together as he adorns a petulant pout. "and i hate it."

as you play with his fluffy hair, you feel him lean into your touch like it's the very thing that will bring him clarity. in a way, it does. your gentle touch may not give him the answer he needs, but it quiets the static in his mind, drowns out the continuous buzzing that muddles his brain.

"you're too hard on yourself," you say, to which jisung just huffs out a breath in disagreement. "i'm serious. you say this every time but it all still works out in the end. you're so smart, and talented. you shouldn't forget that."

his frown only deepens in response to your words. he knows you're right; things have always turned out fine before. trust the process and all that shit, but he's hot-headed and impatient sometimes, and he doesn't want to endure the stress that often comes with the process. he just wants to get to the finish line.

then, you continue, "remember 13?"

"what about 13?"

"you didn't like it at first either. you were so dramatic about it. but you sucked it up and finished it anyway. you made a hit and nobody could stop talking it. i believe in you. you just need to believe in yourself too."

in complete silence except for the sound of your steady heartbeat in his ears, jisung keeps laying on top of you like a weighted blanket, soaking up your words as a flower would in warm sunlight. of course he remembers 13 and the day he let you listen to the song for the first time. you'd nearly burst into tears in the middle of this studio, pressing kisses all over his face while you gushed over how proud you were of him.

"damn you," he mutters after a while. "why do you have to be so rational?"

"someone's gotta be. if i wasn't here, you probably would've ripped all your hair out, set your keyboard on fire and ran off into the woods."

he shoots up instantly, propping himself on two elbows as he glares at you even though you've got a valid point. it's not that far-fetched of a scenario.

"what?" you tilt your head with a coy smile. "am i wrong?"

jisung stares at you for a quick minute, and it's that very smile you're wearing that mitigates his frustrations and dulls his urge to sabotage his work out of self-inflicted anger. he says nothing at all, just leans down quickly to give you a kiss full of appreciation, despite the way there was a frown tugging on his eyebrows only seconds prior.

"you good now?" you ask, the words coming out a little muffled against his mouth.

if it's with you, then he is. you're the anchor that helps him part his stormy seas. you're the compass that always guides him home. he really doesn't know where he'd be without you, or how he'd manage in times like these if you're not by his side to ground him.

"always good with you around."

all rights reserved © withleeknow. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 24.04.2024]

[tongue-like-a-razor]

Less Talk | Part II

Jake Seresin x F!Reader

Summary: Jake can't stand Bradley's best friend. What's more, he's probably in love with her, which really pisses him off.

CW: mild angst, Hangman being a dick aka Hangman being himself, unresolved sexual tension, swearing, drinking

Part I | Masterlist

Jake watches you navigate your way back to the table with a scowl; it’s just like you to make an untimely entrance. He sets your fresh cocktail down beside your first, half-empty one, and takes his seat. You arrive in silence and sit down without looking at either Bradley or Jake.

“Everything alright?” Bradley asks, trying to mask the concern in his voice by clearing his throat a couple of times.

You place your hand on the stem of the new glass before you, twisting it between your fingers. “Thanks for the drink,” you say stoically.

Jake starts chewing on the inside of his lip, hoping that Bradley isn’t stupid enough to disclose who’d gotten it for you.

Bradley shoots Jake a furtive glance before looking back at you. “What’s going on, Y/N?”

“Uh,” you say. “I’m going to get going soon.”

Jake watches you carefully as your fingers slide up and down the stem. The disappointment he suffers at the thought of you leaving is downright distressing considering how displeased he’d been with your attendance in the first place. Moreover, he can’t decide if he’s angrier with himself or with you for the physical reaction that accompanies this unexpected flood of feelings. And so, before he can stop himself, Jake makes the following ridiculous bid for your attention: “Already? We’ve hardly scratched the surface of the environment disaster at the heart of international trade. Thought you could draw up a list of tropical fruit that I’m never to bring up in conversation again.”

Bradley glances over at him with elevated eyebrows and a barely concealed smirk for which Jake nearly kicks him under the table.

“And once we’ve thoroughly unpacked that dilemma,” Jake continues, “there’s a whole slew of domestic issues we could sink our teeth into. We haven’t even begun to discuss public sector corruption!”

You look at Jake sharply. “You want to talk about corruption in the public sector?” you say, your eyes igniting faster than fireworks. “Look no further than the military.”

“I was hoping we could stick to judicial misconduct or the like. You know, keep it from getting too personal,” Jake says with a slight smile that he fights to keep from spreading further.

To your right, he can see Bradley shaking his head with a widening grin that he doesn’t bother hiding.

You nod tauntingly. “Sure, sure,” you reply. “Ignore the blatant abuse of power happening right under your nose.”

Jake smiles smugly. “Ignorance is bliss, darlin’.”

You give him a sour look. “You’re despicable.”

“And you are intolerable,” he retorts, although he’s not truly annoyed; not anymore. Not by a long shot. He’d rather sit here and have you bad mouth him six ways from Sunday than watch you take your leave. “Drink your drink,” he says, almost hoping that his inappropriately commanding tone might spur you on.

You glare at him but bring the glass to your lips and take a sip which he finds exasperatingly sensual.

“Right,” Bradley says. “I’d say that’s my cue.” He lets out a sigh of feigned fatigue as he gets up and stretches his legs.

You eye him curiously while Jake gives him an ominous sort of look. “Where are you going?” you ask.

“Bar,” he says.

“You’re gonna miss our fistfight,” Jake says while you look pointedly at Bradley’s untouched beer.

“Shots,’ he says, answering your silent question. Then, he glances at Jake. “Honestly, my money’s on Y/N but you’ll have to hold off till I get back.”

“I won’t have any,” you say. “Shots.”

“Afraid the booze might make you more agreeable?” Jake quips.

You throw him a harsh glance. “Keep dreaming, cowboy,” you say.

“You’re right, that stick up your ass can’t be helped,” Jake says.

“Hangman!” Bradley shakes his head.

You roll your eyes at Jake and say, “You’ll be happy to know that I’m leaving after this round.”

Jake watches you levelly. “Why would that make me happy?” he asks. Bradley purses his lips and slowly starts to back away from the table.

“Because I’m intolerable?” you say, attempting to imitate Jake’s sarcastic drawl.

Jake laughs. “I meant that in the best way possible.”

“Such a gentleman,” you reply derisively, meeting his gaze across the table.

“I’m not even trying,” he responds with a broad smile.

“Perhaps it’s time to start.”

Jake leans into the table. “Would that make you hate me less?”

You shrug. “I doubt it.”

He laughs, watching you gulp down the rest of your second cocktail. You stand up, swaying slightly on the spot, so he gets out of his seat as well, holding his arm out in case you lose your balance. “You alright?” he asks.

You bring a hand to your head and shut your eyes briefly. “Just a little dizzy.”

Jake walks around the table so that he’s closer to you. “Why’re you leaving?” he asks, his hand hovering near your arm, ready to catch you if you fall. “Am I getting on your nerves?”

You glance up at him with a small chuckle. “You must think the world revolves around you or something.”

Jake grins. “Your world, maybe.”

You shake your head but you’re still wearing a faint smile. “You wish.”

Jake tries not to stare at you too much because the more he does, the less intolerable he seems to find you. In fact, he’s beginning to find you exceptionally tolerable. He could probably tolerate you all night long. Several times, even. He swallows uncomfortably as you take a hold of his forearm to step around him. “Why, then?” he asks, turning his hand palm-up so that he could grasp your fingers before you let go of him.

You lift your gaze to look him in the eye and he nearly loses his own balance. “My boyfriend’s coming to get me,” you say, clearing your throat as you take your hand out of his.

Jake watches you steadily. “Heard he’s a peach.”

You scoff. “You’re one to talk.”

“I’ll walk you to the door,” he says when you veer trying to dodge your own chair.

“I’m fine,” you say.

Jake’s eyes slide up and down your figure as you walk ahead of him. “Not gonna argue with that,” he mutters under his breath.

You either don’t hear him or pretend not to because you continue toward the exit without turning around. He picks up his pace to get the door for you and you give him a disgruntled look in response.

He follows you outside, watching as you make your way toward a white Mustang whose driver he can’t quite make out. He trails after you, trying to curb his mounting distaste for a man he’s never even met.

You glance up at him in surprise when he catches up to you. “Are you still here?”

“It ain’t my fault your boyfriend can’t even be bothered to step out of his car to get your door,” Jake says, pulling on the handle of the passenger door. He bends down to peek into the vehicle. “Howdy,” he says with a broad grin.

Your boyfriend looks up at him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion which Jake finds amusing and oddly satisfying.

“Uber?” Jake asks, feeling rather bold.

“Uh,” your boyfriend starts, still puzzled.

“Seresin, move,” you growl, shoving him aside.

“Joking,” Jake says, ducking his head again once you’re inside the car. “Just delivering your crabby companion. Extra temper, hold the affection. Attitude on the side.”

You give him a sour look while your boyfriend furrows his eyebrows. “Jake, shut the fucking door,” you say crossly.

“There’s that extra temper I promised,” he says, winking before finally closing your door.

Jake straightens his back as the Mustang drives away, expelling a long, dramatic sigh. Now that you’ve left, he has an entire evening devoid of futile bickering ahead of him, for which he should be immensely grateful. He watches the car take a turn and disappear into a cloud of dust. Then he watches the dust cloud resentfully for a few moments, thinking that Bradley had been right after all, because your boyfriend does seem like the shithead type.

He sucks his cheeks in with a grimace after his jaw cramps from clenching too hard, and then he makes his way back into the Hard Deck. Bradley is back at the table but there are no shots in sight.

“Thought we were getting hammered,” Jake says, sitting across from his friend.

Bradley looks up at Jake as he takes his seat. “Y/N take off already?”

Jake nods. “Fucking finally.”

Bradley snorts. “Right.”

Jake gives him a bitter look. “You gonna tell me about the boyfriend, or what?”

Bradley squints his eyes at him with a smirk. “You’re dying to know, aren’t you?”

“You’re dying to tell me,” Jake bites back.

Bradley rolls his eyes with a sigh. “He’s just such a fucking dick, man. Goes out late, comes home drunk. Doesn’t tell her where he’s going half the time. She’s constantly calling me because it’s the middle of the night and he’s not home yet.”

Jake narrows his eyes. “Why’s she with this douchebag?”

Bradley shakes his head. “Apparently, she loves him.”

Jake stares at him. “Bullshit.”

But before Bradley can respond, his phone buzzes on the table. He looks down to read the message. “Payback and Fanboy are on their way. Are we going to the club?”

Jake takes a drink of his beer and hisses. “I think I’m gonna head home, actually.”

“What about guys’ night out?” Bradley asks in mild outrage.

Jake shrugs. “Another night. I’m about ready for bed, your girl really tired me out.”

Bradley chuckles. “It’s all that effort you put into pretending to hate her guts.”

Jake rises from his seat. “Look, I don’t hate her, alright?” he says. “I just find her extremely exasperating.”

Bradley grins. “I wonder why.”

“Rooster,” Jake says with a phony smile. “Can it, will ya?”

…

It’s past midnight when there’s a frantic banging on Jake’s door. He lifts himself off the couch, wondering how Bradley managed to get drunk enough to lose his keys. His roommate is many things, but irresponsible is not one of them.

“I’m coming, I’m coming,” he calls, shuffling to the door as the knocking intensifies. He pulls on the door with a tired sigh and freezes upon seeing you on his doorstep.

“Is Bradley here?” you ask, your voice strained. You’re blinking up at him with sparkling eyes.

Jake’s entire body reacts as if your arrival has triggered some sort of fight or flight response: his spine goes rigid; his muscles taut; his jaw set. He flicks on the corridor light and sees that your eyes are red and your cheeks are wet; you’ve been crying. “What happened?” he asks, the tone of his voice sounding much more aggressive than he intends.

You inhale abruptly, clamping your mouth shut to keep it from trembling.

Without waiting for a response, Jake reaches over the threshold to pull you inside. “Get in here,” he says roughly, his hand connecting with the back of your shoulder as he directs you into the house. He shuts the door behind you and then gives you an unyielding look. “Did he do something to you?” he asks sharply.

You shake your head. “Where’s Bradley?” you ask weakly, blinking away your tears as you wipe your face repeatedly with your hand.

“He’s not home,” Jake says, his brows knotted in alarm. “Can you tell me what happened, please?”

You glance up to meet his gaze and it takes every ounce of his self-control to keep from cupping your face in his hands and kissing away every last tear. He clenches his teeth to get a grip on himself, frustrated that you’re uncharacteristically silent at a time when he actually needs you to speak.

Jake takes a step toward you and you lift your face to maintain eye contact. “Either you tell me what the hell happened,” he says dangerously. “Or I’m gonna go find Mustang and ask him myself. And something tells me that my conversation with him won’t be the talking kind.”

Read Part 3

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[covetyou]

some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @corazondebeskar-reads

also a little sneaky tag if you showed interest in my snippet the other day 💛 @heareball @nerdieforpedro @missredherring @survivingandenduring

[donniesgirlie]

I’ve reacntly just read your “kisses and kips” and I freaking loved it! But I was wondering what if reader reacted differently after the line “Y/n, I'm perfectly capable of determining what I do or don't need. Just go to bed, I'll be there soon.”

As someone who doesn’t really handle “getting in the way” of someone else’s business very well, is terrified if they are bothering someone, specially a special someone (like an s/o) I’d froze up after that line, even if his tone isn’t directly at reader per say, I know I’d probably closed off to the point of leaving and sleeping back to my place out of fear I’ve made Donnie upset and getting in his way. Do you mind making a scenario out off this reaction? If not, you can ignore this request

Thank you!

First request, LET'S GOOOO!!

Me too - I hate the thought of even potentially being a bother😭

Hope you enjoy!

Original

Kisses and Kips - Alternate Version: Donatello x F! Reader

.

"Donnieeeeee~" You pull at the side of the doorframe, swinging yourself in and out of the lab as you draw out his name.

He had told you he'd join you in bed an hour ago under the guise of "5 more minutes." You get why he is working so hard; you do. With the recent uptick of Foot Clan activity, he needed to get the truck up and running again as soon as possible, but goddamn it- you just want to cuddle your boyfriend. You don't think it's too big of an ask, especially considering he's been working on that damn gadget for days now with little to no breaks.

With a sigh and light shake of his head, Donnie sets down his soldering iron. "Yes, love?"

You can hear the edge to his voice, strained from disuse and tilted with frustration. He slips his glasses off to pinch between his eyes, exhaustion clear on his face.

"Come to bed?"

He slips his glasses back on and swivels back to his work. "I can't. I need to finish this."

You let go of the frame and walk over to him. "You've been up over 48 hours, you're clearly exhausted, and you need rest - even if just for a little bit."

"Y/n, I'm perfectly capable of determining what I do or don't need. Just go to bed, I'll be there soon." You know he's not upset with you, but his sharp tone makes your heart drop; you can feel your stomach turning sour and your mouth going dry.

"Oh." You swallow, feeling your eyes start to prick with the threat of tears. Your voice comes out in a whisper as you turn to leave the lab, "okay..."

You know it's stupid, that he's been frustrated with the truck, and you shouldn't take it personally, but logic doesn't quell the small voice in the back of your mind whispering that he's upset with you and that you're smothering him. You calmly walk back to his room, ready to hide your tears in your pillow.

-

It's hours later when Donatello decides to come to bed. The first rays of sun are surely starting to peak over New York's surface, but all he can think about is you.

He knows he was harsh; he knows that you didn't deserve the cutting tone when you were simply expressing your concern for his well-being. He has just been so frustrated with the truck - the nunchucks are sticking and he can't figure out why despite taking them apart three times now, and the grill won't properly shut after shooting manhole covers. Not to mention the various other upgrades that he's itching to start but can't until the main problems are fixed.

He refuses to use that as an excuse, though. You're not his verbal punching bag that he can toss attitude at whenever he's inconvenienced.

So, as much as he hates to wake you, he refuses to go to bed without apologizing.

His heart breaks when his sits on the edge of the bed and looks at your sleeping face. Dried tear tracks streak your face as you grip his pillow.

Reaching a hand out, Donnie gently shakes your shoulder. "Y/n... Honey, please wake up?"

After a few coaxes and prods, you finally stir - slightly curling into yourself before stretching back out. "Dee?" You mutter, eyes slowly blinking open. "What time is it?"

"It's still early," he replies easily, moving his hand to lightly trace his thumb along your cheekbone. "I just didn't want to sleep without telling you that I'm sorry. I was upset because one of the circuit boards was giving me trouble, but I shouldn't have snapped at you; I'm sorry, love..."

"It's okay," you say, scooting closer to drape your arm over his lap, lightly nuzzling your face into his side.

"It's not," Donatello pulls from your hold just long enough to properly lay next to you before pulling you back against his plastron. "You didn't deserve to be yelled at just because I was annoyed."

His hand splays out on your back, rubbing up and down it as he buries his face in your hair.

He feels the soft press of your lips to his collar before your muffled voice mumbles, "Well, I forgive you," against his skin.

[becauseicantthinkwritings]

Never Quite Enough

Part 5

Billy Russo x Reader

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4

Warnings: Angst, insomnia, more angst.

"Can I confess something to you?" Matt asks.

You look up from your phone in surprise, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. He's dressed in his crisp white shirt and suit pants, his jacket somewhere nearby. 

He looks pristine, but you know you prefer his undressed look even more, the sight of his bare chest was a soothing balm on the open wound that was your life.

You wait patiently for his words.

"I think... he really likes you. Genuinely." 

You let out a long sigh. 

"That sounds like his problem. I am done with him." You say quickly, on a harsh breath.

"Are you?" He challenges, with a calm tone.

You swallow, honestly, you didn't know.

It's been weeks. Nearly a month and a half since you broke up with him, the same amount of time you'd been together. 

Why was climbing out harder than falling in?

Something tugs in your chest, you let out a soft breath. You feel bad for letting one person comfort you for another person's actions.

"Matt." You say his name slowly, looking up at him, the space of his countertop between you.

You swallow.

"I'm sorry." You finally say.

"What for?"

"If I've- lead you on, or made you feel uncomfortable- please just tell me. I'd rather you tell me you're tired of me, than being forced to tolerate me."

He lets out a harsh breath, moves around the counter swiftly.

Before you can process it, your face is buried in his clothed chest.

He smells like the gentle lavender soap he uses, and you're too stunned to do anything other than breathe it in.

"You're not leading me on. I promise, and I'm not just tolerating you. I like you."

A little sob hiccups from your throat, the strength of his adoration pours into you, fills, overflows.

"I've been tolerated my whole life." You say into his chest, tears falling freely, "The first time I felt like I could exist was with him, and even that had been a lie." You grip the back of his shirt, sobbing into his chest.

He shushes you softly, his stubbled cheek pressed to the crown of your head.

His body tightens around you, it makes you feel worse, like you're forcing him to comfort you in some way. You cry harder.

Matt holds you through it, and when your violent shaking turns into little hiccups, he leans down to kiss your forehead, his thumb swiping at one cheek, to push your tears away.

"He's hurt you so badly, and It's up to you to decide whether that damage can be fixed or not. But you need to know that you're not tolerated, you're appreciated. By me...and by him."

"How do you know?" You protest, looking into his unfocused eyes.

"I heard him say it. To his friend, Frank, that day at the gala. I heard him tell Frank that he loves you."

You blink, drawing your head back in shock.

Love?

You sniffle, Matt's words have knocked the sadness right out of you, replacing it with surprise.

 You reach for a tissue sitting on the countertop.

"That can't be right." You hum, wiping at your nose, and dabbing at your cheeks. You'd have to re-do today's makeup before work.

"His actions were awful, and the things he did do not deserve forgiveness. But his feelings now are genuine." Matt says.

Now?

Your shoulders drop.

They hadn't been genuine before?

When he'd offered you one of his shirts to sleep in, on the very first night you'd slept over, the hidden eager look in his eyes... that had been fake?

Of course it was, your mind supplies, you feel like you're sinking lower with each thought.

Like a full tub being emptied, you feel the emotion drain right out of you.

You spend a solid moment like that, in disbelief at the emotion just leaving you, rejecting Matt’s last words without another second of consideration.

You part your lips, finally sucking in a deep breath that doesn’t hurt.

Your mouth parts wider in relief. 

For the first time, you feel true nothingness, and not the numbness of the refusal to process emotion that you were used to.

It's liberating, you close your eyes in bliss.

Somehow, you'd managed to turn your turbulent emotions off.

Like a switch, flipping inside you, centred around your confused feelings. Your brain doesn't know how to feel, so it stops feeling.

You know Matt wasn't the type of man to lie to you, it wasn't even in his nature to stretch the truth. He was a man that could only speak fact, and something said with this much surety could only be true.

But that didn’t mean you were capable of accepting his words. Instead you smile at him, wiping at your tears.

“I should get to work.” You respond, looking up at him with a small smile on your face.

.

The world around you is interesting, when you can’t feel a thing. Nothing matters, at all.

You smile at Dex easily, engaging him in conversation, a past version of you would probably be feeling absolutely hollow inside. Instead, you simply exist, only answering questions when you’re asked, smiling along to small talk.

There’s no sadness, or despair, or hate for yourself.

There’s nothing.

And nothing had to be better than everything all at once...right?

It’s peaceful now, your work gets done much faster, headphones on to help you focus, you feel like pushing yourself to see how much you’re capable of, only stopping for a few short breaks throughout the day.

It feels good, getting things done ahead of time, it makes you feel like you’re being efficient  in a space you’ve only felt desolation for a long while.

You only realise how late it is when the night cleaning crew shows up.

Only then you decide to amble on home, a bowl of ramen in your arms, tucked into your couch in the dark of the night before bed.

You don’t see Matt that night, probably busy at his own job, and you’re okay with that, knowing that you shouldn’t be using him as any type of emotional crutch in the first place.

The problem comes when you try to go to sleep.

You find that you can’t, you don’t feel sleepy. 

You toss and you turn and you sit up and you have tea and press the heels of your hands against your eyes and struggle with being awake when you should be asleep.

You have nothing to help you sleep, so you curl up in bed and close your eyes and pretend that you’re asleep until morning when your alarm goes off for work.

Silence and nothingness are your associates now, and however inconvenient, you prefer it to whatever was there before.

He loves you, your mind tries to interject during your morning routine, and you stop comically while brushing your teeth to stare dead ahead at yourself in the mirror.

Love… I barely know what that is, you answer.

You resume brushing your teeth.

You’re acutely aware that at some point, you’re probably going to crash. People aren’t made to be awake for long periods of time and feel this fine about it.

Being at work is pretty okay, and you don’t feel like ripping your hair out at the first inconvenience. 

It’s your second day of working late, and you’re dealing with it well. You’ve put your phone on do not disturb and with your headphones in, you’re lost in your own world of report reading and analysis.

Really, you should have known that letting your guard drop would tempt fate too much. The fickle way life tended to work around you should have had your walls up permanently.

But in your exhausted state, leaning against the wall gripping your bag with one hand while waiting for the elevator, it was hard to keep any sort of defense up.

So when someone says your name in mild surprise, the only response you can give is a raise of your head.

He looks as exhausted as you feel, and you wonder if he sees something similar in you. His jacket folded neatly over one arm, phone in his palm.

“Hey Mister Russo.” You say softly in greeting, straightening to take a step into the elevator.

He doesn’t say anything for a second as the doors close.

“It’s late.” He comments, and you turn your head to glance at him.

“Yes it is.” You agree, unable to stay steady on your feet, you lean against the wall of the elevator too.

“You look tired.”

You let out a slow breath.

“I’ll live.” You answer.

“We should talk.”

You groan, tilting your head back.

“You’re making me wish I’d taken another elevator.” 

“Let me drive you home.” He answers as if you hadn’t just expressed your distaste for him.

You raise your head to look at him angrily.

There were so many things you wanted to say. Leave me alone. Take a hike. I don’t want to talk to you. I’d rather chew nails that get into a car with you. Why are you looking at me like that? Do you love me?

In the end, you say nothing, and the doors to the elevators slide open, and you step out without even a goodbye.

The lobby is quiet, dimly lit, very much somber and lacking the life that there usually is during the daylight.

You only get a few steps out of the elevator before he’s blocking your path with his tall frame.

You huff, looking up at him, willing him to go away.

“Can we please talk? Please?”

You were so irritated with having to experience him and his constant persistence of you. You blink, angrily clenching your teeth together.

“Why? Why should I even give you a chance, Billy? So you can lie to me more? Hurt me more? What’s it going to take for you to realise that we’re over?”

He lets out a sharp breath.

“We have something. You know we do. There’s a voice inside you that tells you we’re right for each other. I hear it too.”

“You’re wrong,” You answer softly, “There’s no voice.”

He shakes his head.

“Don’t lie, don’t act like-” He cuts off, letting out a slow breath.

“Like what?” You prod.

“-Like you don’t care!” He hisses, “Stop acting like this was nothing.” He says, gesturing to the space between you.

“This was nothing.” You clarify.

He looks frustrated, all you can do is observe him with a casual tilt of your head.

“What you did was unforgivable. What could you possibly want from me now?” You follow up, after he’s unable to speak.

“Another chance.” He utters.

You raise your eyebrows.

“To do what?” You felt like you had to break this down for him like a child.

“To prove to you that my feelings were real,” He takes a step forward, getting closer to you and forcing you to tilt your head up to keep looking at him.

“To show you that I think you’re the best person on the planet. That we have something,” Billy’s hands raise to cup your face, his eyes dark, a void pulling you in, “worth fighting for.”

He leans in, and it only just registers in your tired brain that he’s going to kiss you.

“I have a boyfriend.” You whisper out in a rush in an effort to deter him.

His only response is a small smile.

“Break up with him.” he answers simply as his mouth meets your in a soft kiss.

It melts you, like it usually does. His bearded face creating tingles as it scratches against yours and for a moment you feel so whole.

And then you’re pushing him away, because you don’t deserve this, because you are not someone you believe is worth fighting for.

“I’m sorry.” You murmur, unable to meet his eyes, “I just don’t believe in us the way you do.” You step to the side, and dodge his hand when he tries to grab your wrist.

He calls your name behind you as you leave, the sound is soft, pleading.

You don’t look back.

.

When he touches his lips, he can still feel you there.

Like you own his mouth, and now every kiss is yours, and every smile is for you.

He needs you, so badly that it hurts him.

There’s also a sober part of him that wishes he had the capacity to leave you alone, let you heal from him, leave him behind and move on with your life. But the selfish part of him, the part that fought for scraps in a house of too many people, that part of him clings to the love he has. 

In many ways he’s still a child, he acknowledges, always quietly hoping that someone could want him, listen to him, talk to him about every useless topic on the planet.

He’d found that in you. Someone to listen to him, not just give a vacant smile when he spoke, or roll their eyes, exhausted at his small, unpracticed attempts at conversation. 

He loved the little niche tidbits of information you knew, he was always learning something exciting, or something that made you light up when you spoke.

And then he’d- done that.

The little boy that never had anything, sabotaging his one chance at love because somewhere deep down inside, he didn’t know if he was really capable of it. Maybe he wasn’t. He’d never had it aimed in his direction really.

Who had loved him? Ever in his life? 

Frank was the closest thing he had to a brother, Billy had no doubt that the Castles loved him. 

And it was good, but it wasn’t enough. 

Now more than ever he knew that, lying awake, fingers pressed to his mouth where he could still feel the softness of your lips. He knew what being enough to someone had felt like.

He knew he’d do anything to have that again.

.

You can’t sleep at all.

It’s way worse than before.

Things had been okay when you couldn’t feel anything, but one kiss had brought it all back. Now, you were just sad all over again. 

Each time you kissed him, pulled you together, and each time you left him behind, you shattered even more.

Like glass that had been broken once, being hammered into splinters. You didn’t know how much of yourself had been damaged, beyond hope of repair already.

And yet still, you couldn’t forget him.

The soft heat of his touch, the sound of his breaths. You spend the entire night thinking about him, and wishing you could think about something, anything else.

.

There’s a box waiting on your desk when you get in the next morning.

It fits in your palm, wrapped in blue floral gift paper with a black bow on top. It screams Billy.

“That from Matt?” Dex asks, as he’s walking by and observes your handling of the gift.

“Probably.” You lie, tugging at the bow.

“Hope it’s something nice.” He wishes as he steps away, going back to whatever he was doing.

His wrapping is precise, no fold is haphazard, the bow sits right in the middle, perfectly equidistant from all edges.

It pulls a smile to your face. You almost don’t want to open it, the effort put into wrapping is a gift in itself.

You doubt Billy had given many gifts in his life- or even gotten them. He’d only mentioned it once that he didn’t have parents, and that he grew up in the system. You’d wanted to ask about it, but you’d never gotten a real chance.

You wanted to know how many gifts he'd gotten, how many happy birthdays.

You shouldn't care, it shouldn't matter to you, but it did.

You take the wrapping off carefully, wanting to preserve every bit of this, something that could be remembered later, savoured when you needed something to think of in the darkness of the night.

You tug the lid off the box quickly, eyes locking onto the shimmering gold in the box.

Your mouth parts in surprise.

It’s a simple present, butterfly hair clips in a gold colour. Each wing of the shiny butterfly is attached to the clip with a few small springs, it means that every slight movement makes the wings appear as though they’re fluttering.

All of a sudden, you’re a little girl again, staring at similar clips in someone else’s hair. You gulp, looking around for a note, an explanation as to why.

You’d only asked your parents once for them, and then never again.

His note is lodged beneath the lid of the box, and you take your time prying it out, opening it.

‘Saw these and thought of you.

-Billy

x.'

You blink back tears, looking at the delicate clips once more.

You don’t take them out of the box, despite how badly you want to. You settle for just running a careful finger over the fluttering wings, a quiet appreciation of something you’d forgotten you wanted.

The clips are so shiny that they were bound to catch attention, which was the last thing you wanted here. Maybe later, after everyone was gone, you could indulge yourself in trying them on.

It was a brilliant gift, something small and seemingly unimportant, and yet, an item that he hadn’t known you’d desired from the moment you first saw them.

Warm, something trickling into the very depths of you, a feeling you want, a feeling you yearn for. 

You reach for your phone, with calling him in mind, his extension seared to your memory and you just want to talk to him-

You slam the phone down just as fast. A few coworkers looking over at you in your peripherals.

Dread spills over inside of you, a paralysing fear that you were playing directly into his game, that this was a ploy, or even if it wasn’t, you couldn’t just go back to normal with him. He’d done something unforgivable, and you had to be rigid in your inability to absolve him of his actions.

He’d made a bet, with his friends, to see if he was capable of being in an exhausting relationship with you, because everyone thinks that you were annoying.

Because he thought that you were annoying.

You tuck his gift into the top drawer of your desk, letting the pain of his betrayal reorient you.

Billy Russo did not like you.

.

“Shit.” You curse, glancing at the time on your phone. You’d been so zoned into your computer that you hadn’t even noticed that the work day had been officially over for a while now. 

You sigh, leaning back, opening your top drawer to grab a page marker for the document you just sent to print. 

You spot the little gift box tucked into the back of the drawer and you can’t help the smile that pulls onto your face.

You drop everything you’re doing, reaching for the box happily. 

You take your time, pinning one clip to either side of your head to pull some of your hair back, opening your front camera to admire the little fluttering clips.

You loved the little things, delicate in your hair, glittering with the movement and the lights and you make a mental note to avoid the possibility of getting it tangled in your hair as best as possible.

You get distracted by the sound of the printer beeping in the distance to signal your print was completed and you get up to grab the file. 

A few hours later, you hear the elevator nearby make a small sound as it stops on your floor. You look up, alert and the awareness of how late it is makes you a little scared.

It’s him that rounds the corner, crisp suit, his jacket tucked under his arm. He pauses when he notices you, your eyes meeting, before a little smile pulls onto his face.

“I figured you’d be here.” He hums, approaching you.

You huff, glancing back at your computer screen.

“You just can’t seem to leave me alone, can you?” You bite back.

When he’s quiet for too long, standing beside you, you turn to look up at him.

There’s a strange expression on his face, something that washes the coldness inside of you away with gentle warmth.

“What?” You ask, trying to keep your voice harsh.

Why are you looking at me like that?

“You’re real fuckin’ pretty.” He answers.

You make a sound of annoyance, turning back to your computer to continue working on your excel sheet.

Do you love me?

Your fingers freeze on your keyboard when he kneels in your peripherals next to you.

What in God’s name was he doing?

You let out a harsh breath.

“Billy-”

His hand reaches to touch something in your hair, it’s only then you remember that you’re wearing the clips he gave you.

“-These look so much better on you than I’d imagined.” He whispers, turning a strand of your hair over between his fingers.

You look down, unable to meet his eyes.

“I’ve always wanted them, since I was little. My parents fought a lot, and I could never work up the courage to ask for them. Then, when I got older, I could never find them.” You glance up at him for a moment before looking away, “Thank you, I love them, but that doesn’t change anything between us.”

His eyebrows pull together sadly, a reflectiveness to his eyes that wasn’t there before.

Do you love me?

“You should go home, it’s late.”

You give him a tired smile.

“Yeah, I know, I just have a little bit more to do.”

“Do it tomorrow. You shouldn’t be here so late.”

“I don’t know why you’re complaining,” You mutter absentmindedly, “I’m making you money.”

He grips your chair, turning it quickly away from your computer until you face him.

You meet his gaze with an annoyed look of your own.

“I have enough money.” He answers with a teasing expression. The corner of your lip twitches in amusement.

“Whatever.” You say, trying to turn your chair back to your computer, but he only grips it tighter to keep you in place. His eyes dart to your desk, and then he reaches for something, grabbing it off your desk and moving away quickly.

When you look back at your desk you notice your wireless mouse is missing.

“Hey!” You stand, taking a few steps toward him. He mirrors your movement, taking a few steps back as well.

“Give that back, Russo.” You warn, approaching him again, this time he doesn’t move, encouraging you to try getting closer to him again.

When you’re within grabbing range, he grins, hiding his hands behind his back.

“Shut down your computer and go home.” He tries again.

“Or what?” You challenge, reaching around to grab at his hands. He shifts the mouse from his left to his right hand quickly, forcing you to get even closer to him, to try grabbing it.

“Or I throw this thing out the window and unplug your computer.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” You argue, gripping his fist in yours and trying to pry his fingers open.

He pulls his hand away from you easily, giving you an evil grin before raising his fist with your mouse above his head where you couldn’t possibly reach on your own.

You don’t even try to jump for it, only crossing your arms and looking up at him.

“I could knee you in the balls. I’d get it really quickly that way.” You threaten.

He tips his head back and laughs, and you find yourself smiling too. You take the chance, using the distraction to jump and grab his fist. 

But your attempt seemed to be exactly what he wanted because in the next moment his hand is on your waist, using your own momentum against you to spin you, switching positions so that he can press you against the wall that was just behind him.

You gasp, looking up at him in bewilderment. His scent floods your nose, reigniting an ache inside of you, one that yearned for him.

He watches you carefully, doesn’t do anything more than uncurl his fingers, so that you can get the mouse sitting in the palm of his hand.

You look at the mouse, and then back into his eyes, letting out a slow sigh, wishing for something you can’t quite put your finger on.

“Thank you.” You say, taking the mouse from him, and ducking under his arm to slip out from between his body and the wall. 

Sitting at your desk once again, you groan in annoyance as he grabs a chair from a nearby desk and sits himself near you.

“What now?” You ask, barely looking at him.

“I’m not leaving till you do.” He answers simply.

"For a CEO, you seem really bad at getting the message." You grunt out.

He sighs, leaning forward to prop his elbow onto your desk, and then after a moment, he rests his face in his hand, looking at you calmly.

"I'm sorry." He says softly.

"So I've heard." You answer, deciding to save your work before he actually unplug your computer.

"Have you been sleeping?" Billy asks on another soft breath.

"Yes." You lie.

"You haven't. It's why you're here so late. Because you go home, and you lie awake, staring at the ceiling." He says, and you get the feeling that he isn't only talking about you.

"Can you blame me?" You snipe, trying to focus on your screen so that you can pretend that this conversation isn't happening.

There's a long silence before he speaks again.

"I hate myself."

Your chest squeezes harshly, brain halting any thoughts of work. You stare at the computer screen, feeling pressure build behind your eyes.

You wipe an unsteady hand over your mouth for comfort.

"Yeah well, that makes both of us." You reply shakily.

"I've always kind of hated myself," he continues, and you peek a look over at him to find that he's shifted, his hands in his lap, bending a paperclip out of shape while he speaks, "Even when I was a kid, I told myself that there must be something very wrong with me for my mom to not want me."

You take a deep breath, listening to him, finally hearing him open up about himself for the first time.

"I almost got adopted once, interview with a family had gone well, they let me move in with them for a trial period. I almost had what I wanted most, and then-" He gives a shake of his head, to knock the memory loose and you want so badly to reach over and take his hand, to stop him from worrying the paperclip out of shape, only to try to reshape it again, "-I punched their son in the face for something so dumb I can barely remember it. They dropped me back the next morning without a goodbye."

You watch in your peripherals as he puts the paperclip back into shape, except it doesn't look quite right, a little misshapen after his touch.

"My therapist says I've always had a penchant for self sabotage. Always worried that something good will be taken away, so I ruin it, so that at least it's ruined on my terms." He grins, "What a nutjob."

"You? Or your therapist?" You ask.

He huffs out a surprised laugh, looking up at you for a second, watching you return his laugh with a wry smile of your own, before glancing away.

Do you love me, Billy Russo?

"Sorry. I don't mean to force your forgiveness with a shitty story of growing up in the system. I just- well- I was hoping it would help you… understand me a little more."

“Don’t apologize. I get it. We’re all just trying to heal from something.”

“What are you trying to heal from? Besides me?”

You turn away, unsure if you want to tell him, unsure if you can speak for so long without shutting down.

You rub your knuckles against your lips absentmindedly.

“It’s stupid.” You whisper.

“It’s not. I promise.”

You feel anxiety flutter in your stomach.

“I’ve always felt like I was too much. Too loud, too clingy, too unattractive. Like if I was just tolerated, everywhere I went. I made friends, and then after a while, they’d leave, without explanation and with the number of times it happened, I kept thinking to myself that it had to be my fault.”

You try to swallow the lump in your throat.

“It’s the only logical explanation, that I’m okay to befriend and talk to a little, but I’m not enough to maintain a friendship with. I’m not enough to be held on to.”

Why weren’t you enough?

You stop talking now, taking a deep breath and holding it to fight off your tears.

He reaches for your hand, and you let him, you can feel the paperclip pressed between your hands.

“I see how badly I fucked up now.” He says softly to you, “And I want you to know that every inch of you is worth fighting for, and I fully intend to show you that.”

You close your eyes, shaking your head with a sad smile.

“Billy-”

“-no buts, you’re about to see some of the most desperate grovelling of your life.”

You laugh in disbelief.

“You’re insane, Russo.”

“Yeah. Don’t tell my therapist.”

.

He wants to hold you so badly. Wrap his arms around you, and feel you lean against him.

In the elevator now, he keeps glancing at you, his eyes drawn to the little fluttering clips in your hair and his heart clenches so tightly in his chest that he swears it stops beating.

“Let me drive you home.” He offers, hoping that you’d let him, instead of taking a taxi at this hour of the night. 

He watches the clips flutter more as you shake your head, a smile pulling onto his face at how adorable you look.

“We’re not there yet, Russo.” You respond.

Yet? He thinks hopefully.

.

.

.