#but whipped cream better get a buff though

[nasutchi]

EVERYONE STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING

WE MIGHT GET A DESSERT PARADISE PART2 UPDATE

(If there’s no playable Red Panacota or Whipped Cream cookie costume buff then I’m ending it all)

[moemoemammon]

Following that "least favorite" request could we get their reactions to being to told that they're their favorite, but to not tell the other brothers so their feelings don't get hurt? Maybe because they relate to them the most or just get along really well. Thanks!

You're My Favorite! But Don't Tell the Others-

(Feat. GN!MC and the Demon Bros)

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

Lucifer

There are no words to explain the overwhelming satisfaction ion Lucifer’s face after you tell him that. Of course, it’s only natural that he would be your favorite, all things considered.

The Avatar of Pride won’t ever forget this moment. He carefully considers your words and agrees not to tell anyone, as much as he’d love to bring it up, because he knows more than anyone what kind of chaos would ensue should the others (especially Mammon) find out.

But they can tell something’s up when the eldest has been heard humming all day. He moves about the house with even more grace than usual, and hasn’t scowled even once.

But the REAL shocker was when Mammon tried hiding a bill right as Lucifer walked in... and the eldest let him off with a warning. A WARNING! The brothers thought the Devildom must’ve frozen over, but you and he knew different.

“MC, I would like you to accompany me to Le Pluvier this afternoon, once you've finished your studies. I've already made reservations, so be sure to get ready on time. I've made sure to consider the things you might like to eat, so I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself. Don't be late." "...I'm grinning? I don't know what you're talking about."

Mammon

The gigantic grin on Mammon’s face is so bright, it could rival the sun. You’ve seriously made his day. No, his year. Actually, he’s pretty sure he could ride this high for the next millennia! There’s nothing in this world that could dampen his spirits right now! 

He feels like he just won big at the casino! Of course he’s your favorite! He WAS your first demon, and now he’s gone and claimed his rightful spot as your number one! Good luck trying to keep him from saying anything. Mammon’s gonna throw it around in everyone’s faces for as long as he can milk it.

And you thought he was clingy before, just wait till you see how he treats you after hearing that. Despite always calling you his ‘servant’ or his ‘human’, you’d  think your roles were reversed. Mammon spoils you every chance he gets, buying you clothes and trinkets, filling the spaces in your room with the things he knows you like, monopolizing you completely until nearly everything you own is a gift from him.

Your words also help soothe that jealousy of his a little. Only a little, though. It’s easier to watch you talk to other demons when he knows he’ll always be your first man.

“Didja really have to stay after class that long? I know you were talkin' to that demon that lent you a book, but you outta ask ME for stuff! Tch... you're lucky I'm in a good mood today! But I guess I don't have to worry about some low level demon like that, seein' as I'm your favorite!"

Levi

Wait wait wait....Come again? Did you seriously just say what he think you said..? That had to be a mistake! Some kind of...uh..verbal typo! Because there’s absolutely, positively, NO WAY in all of the nine layers that he could be your favorite demon. And yet you still insist that you’re telling the truth, and Levi feels like he’s died and gone to heaven. 

Red faced and stammering up a storm, Levi looks like he might die. Is it really okay for a shut-in otaku to feel this giddy? Seriously, he hasn’t felt like this since he got his hands on a signed copy of a Ruri Hana audio drama! No no, this definitely beats that!

You’ve managed to inflate his nearly nonexistent ego, and now he feels like there’s nothing he can’t do! Maybe he could even go to Majolish right now?? THAT’S how good he’s feeling!

Almost as bad as Mammon in keeping it a secret. He doesn’t tell anyone right away, but they’re suspicious when they notice how much time he’s spending out of his room. And then when he and Mammon get in another petty argument, he drops the bomb that he’s your favorite demon in the entire Devildom, and you can guess how things go from there.

“Uuuoooo...!!!!! I've decided..! Since I've got a serious stat buff, I'm going to open a booth at the next convention coming up..! I'll sell my Ruri-chan fan art and spread her influence all over the Devildom! I'd never have the guts to do it normally, but I feel like I could do anything right now! Y-you'll go too, won't you MC?"

Satan

You nearly made this man spit tea all over his book, and now he’s coughing and spluttering and trying to figure out what could’ve prompted what he’s taking as a confession. You.. do realize what you’re saying, don’t you? And you know the kind of effect your words have on him?

Satan isn’t the type that wears his heart on his sleeve, so you have to look for his subtle expressions to tell how he’s feeling. But there’s nothing subtle about the redness of his ears and how he’s begging you not to look at him right now. For the sake of his sanity, give him a minute to recoup.

When he does recover, he agrees to keep it a secret for obvious reasons. And it’s hard to tell that he’s in a good mood, other than the fact that he hasn’t tried to pull any pranks on Lucifer lately. But Asmo sees all, and literally hounds him into spilling the tea.

He tells him a lie of course, but now the other brothers are noticing just how happy he is. Satan's smiling way too much today, isn't he? And he didn't even get mad when Beel got whipped cream on his jacket! Well, not THAT mad, anyway.

"Haaah... everyone's been harassing me all day, claiming I'm smiling a lot. I'm sure I look the same as I always do, but I'll admit that I've been happy ever since you told me that this morning. Wait.. you did think I've been grinning too, do you? I have??"

Asmo

Asmo always jokes about being your favorite and announces it as if the two of you are married, but when you actually confirm that his longing for you isn’t one sided, he ends up smearing lip balm across his cheek in shock. Did you... really say that just now? He knew it all along, but hearing it like that is just...!

Ooooh, he’s so happy he can hardly contain himself! Asmo throws his arms around you, peppering your face in kisses until you feel sticky from lip balm, wipes your face clean, then marks it up all over again. Good luck getting rid of him, because he might never let go.

Immediately posts it to Devilgram. Did you really think he’d let such a momentous occasion go unannounced? You must not have been paying attention to the kind of person he is! Asmo would put you on a pedestal in front of the world like a precious jewel if he were able, but this’ll have to do. He won’t hide his love at all!

Of course, the others don’t take too kindly to it, not that he cares. He never leaves your side, pampers you like crazy, and has even attempted to get you to move into his room. Lucifer put an immediate stop to that, though. Boo...

“I just can't get enough of you, MC! Just being near you gets me so excited that I can hardly stand it! You'll take responsibility for what you're doing to me, won't you? And in exchange, I'll take my time showing you just how much I love you. After all, you're my favorite, too!"

Beel

Beel never has a problem with choking while he eats, and it comes as naturally as breathing. Unfortunately neither of that applies right now, since you just made him choke on a meatball sub.

He usually takes your words with quiet acceptance, but this might be the most emotion you've ever witness from the stoic demon. His eyes are wider than that time that laid on an entire gingerbread mansion, sparkling up with such deep emotion you wouldn't be surprised if he cried. Instead he softens up and immediately embraces you.

...And doesn't let go. Sandwich long forgotten, he's been carrying you around all day, and ignoring any questions or protests from his brothers. Also insists on feeding you throughout the day. The food tastes better when he can enjoy it with you, so why not just bring you everywhere?

When he isn't carrying you, he's following you around subconsciously, either close up against you like a protective wall, or just far enough that you're within his line of sight. As far as not telling anyone, he... tells Belphie immediately. It was an accident though, since there's not much he keeps from his twin.

"MC, I won a meal ticket for Godevil Chocolatier. Let's get something for dessert today. Ah, you can get as much as you want, too. I really want to see what things you choose. They might become my favorites."

Belphie

There's nothing in this world that can wake Belphegor from his sleep, unless he allows it. No loud noises, no amount of shaking or smacking, and not even dragging him around the house. But the moment you whisper that he's your favorite demon, the Avatar of Sloth is wide awake.

Hey, you're not just saying weird things to get a reaction, are you? Because if so, this is a new level of cruel. Yet you confirm that you mean it and swear him into secrecy, and Belphie tries his best not to show how happy he is. A smile keeps creeping up on his face that he struggles to force down. It's annoying...

As funny as it’d be to tell everyone the news, he's good at keeping secrets. Instead, you've noticed that he's been sleeping a little less that before. When he does take one of his hundreds of naps, he finds some way to be closer to you. He's even been seen sleepwalking to your exact location somehow-

It's hard for him to believe that you're not teasing, though. How could HE be your favorite demon here? Belphie doesn't do anything special to win you over, yet after everything he put you through, you like him enough to deep him your favorite?

"You're weird, MC. I mean... me? I won't deny that I'm really happy though, but I guess I'm in disbelief. You should spoil me even more until I believe you. Lend me your lap for a few hours, okay?" "...I wonder what Lucifer would think if I told him, heheh."

[ptergwen]

web of lies

take a leap. if you start to fall, the net will appear to catch you.

photographer!peter x journalist!reader || masterlist

w/c: 7.1k

warnings: swearing, one drinking mention, descriptions of anxiety, and angst if ya squint

summary: peter can’t stop holding your hands, betty and ned are the modern day bonnie and clyde, ned is a terrible guy in the chair, the osborn’s are up to something, and mj hates you all

a/n: y’all i’m super excited about this series like i haven’t had an idea i’ve really loved in months? so it’s good to be back !!! there are tons of things i have planned and i can’t wait to share them with all of you hehe i really hope you enjoy part one <3 happy reading

to be honest, which is what you do best, you’ve had a thing for peter parker your whole time at the daily bugle. you actually almost told him once.

a couple months ago, peter walked you home on a night you worked overtime. he’d came in last minute to leave some pictures on your boss’s desk. no one else but you was there, hunched at your computer in the dim office lighting. peter was pleasantly surprised to see you, yet concerned for your well-being. you had to put your finishing touches on a story.

he didn’t feel comfortable letting you travel alone at that hour. so, he went with you when you were ready. his company was more than welcomed. you told peter about your article while you two sat on the subway. he’d listened intently, your head resting on his shoulder and his arm around you. he made sure you got to your apartment building alright as well.

“hey, peter?” you’d asked, halfway up the steps. he was waiting until you were inside and safe to leave. “hm? you good?” he’d smiled sort of expectantly. “yeah. i... i wanted to say...”

your words got caught in your throat when he gave you the softest puppy eyes you’ve ever seen. you couldn’t do it. for some reason, you were too scared to confess how you felt. “thanks again for walking me home,” you’d settled on. he’d seemed disappointed that was what you wanted to tell him. nevertheless, he said not to worry about it before taking off.

that one moment perfectly captures it all; how yours and peter’s narrative plays itself out.

—

“we’ve got an update on hydra v. the people!”

“those freaky giraffes escaped the zoo... again.”

“shoot one more spitball and it’ll be your last.”

“does anyone have an aspirin?”

welcome to the daily bugle, where the chaos never ends and the calm never starts. you’ll find new york’s finest writers, publishers, and creatives of all kind right here. that would include you. you’re one of the top journalists in the whole building, according to mr. norman osborn. he’s the brilliant and slightly insane man who runs this place.

although it’s rare for someone in your field, you were hired straight out of college. norman read a few pieces you’d written and loved them so much that he offered you a job. full time, full benefits, no questions asked. there was something special about the way you wove your words together. your writing had its own voice. a strong voice, one the paper was severely lacking.

you’ve been with the bugle for just over a year now. it’s not the quiet, nine to five gig you were initially expecting it to be. you’re each very unique individuals in your office, and there’s never a dull moment because of it. your coworkers can be found hosting debates on the riskiest topics or tackling each other for blueberry muffins, and that’s just a regular tuesday. the place is stranger than strange. but, it’s become home.

thanks to mr. osborn being so accommodating, you actually settled in rather quickly. another big help has been the friends you’ve made. your first was michelle jones, who prefers to be called mj. she’s a fellow journalist with a wickedly dark humor that trickles into her writing. if you had to describe her in one word, it would be blunt. mj is as real as it gets, and also eternally loyal. she keeps her circle small, so you’re honored you get to be in it.

mj sits right next to you, which means you’re always talking through your days. that’s due in part to the way your office is set up. there aren’t any cubicles, tables and swirly chairs taking up their space instead. norman heard it was more progressive, probably from his son harry.

harry is about your age, only a couple of years older. he hangs around quite a lot, but doesn’t do much with his time besides that. according to norman, he’s still seeking out his passion. he’s banking on him finding a suitable career at the bugle. he’d like to pass this all on to harry some day, hopefully sooner than later. either way, you don’t mind having harry here. he’s super funny and friendly with everyone.

there’s also ned leeds, who’s an editor and reviews most of your pieces. he’s sweeter than candy, even when he’s ripping your grammar to shreds. on the rare occasions you’re not discussing breaking news, you two talk about movies. ned is a film buff and gives you the best recommendations. you’re convinced he was a critic in his past life.

last but so from least is peter parker. he only works for the bugle part time, since he’s still in school. you both graduated from your respective colleges the same year. peter wants to get his masters degree, though. he’s a photographer who’s aspiring to be a cinematographer. him and ned have their passion for the industry in common, and that’s what makes them such great friends.

you learned this and more from the times you and peter have partnered up on stories. he’s one of your best friends not only at the bugle, but in your entire life. the many long nights you’ve spent collaborating have brought you close to each other. they consist of drinking and deep talks, along with some actual work. he takes the pictures, you do the writing. you’ve been told you make a lovely pair.

peter says it himself, too. you’d like to believe he means it as more than coworkers. he’s so caring, and smart, and pure, and peter. yeah, you like him an awful lot. you can hardly stand the feeling of it sometimes.

the fact that you you haven’t come clean already is ridiculous.

“goddamn. not again,” you mutter out. “em, you better come look at this. it’s bad.” mj wheels over to you in her chair with a puzzled look. her eyes follow yours, landing on your computer. “leeds just sent this? to everyone?” she questions, your reply a short hum. you’re both staring daggers at the email your screen displays.

ned is responsible for assigning each journalist their own topics to cover. he’s been lacking a bit recently, having you write up think pieces on fluffy things. in other words, stuff that no one cares about. he asked you to compare oat milk and almond milk just last week. you’d hoped this week would be better, but here you are.

“this is ass. who does he think we are, buzzfeed?” mj scoffs at her own words. the daily bugle prides itself on being a reliable news source, on paper and tv. you’re starting to stoop down to the low level of your competitors. “he assigned me some tiktok dance trend. i’m not writing a single word about that app.” she sets her elbows down on the table, head in her hands.

“aw, why not? grandma mj isn’t down with the kids?” you tease and click out of the upsetting email. “i don’t write for kids,” mj deadpans. she pushes her glasses up on her nose. “what’d you get?” “the evolution of memes,” you gloomily reply. you’re surprised norman has been approving these topics. then again, ned is the head editor. he can do whatever he wants regardless of approval.

mj glares over at the kitchen, where betty brant currently resides. she’s making two hot chocolates instead of her usual one. “i blame her,” mj mumbles to you. your eyebrows furrow. “dude, what? betty is an angel. she doesn’t even work in editing.” betty is the bugle’s highest rated anchorwoman. her and her news team are on people’s televisions every night.

“no, but she has been spending a generous amount of time with leeds,” mj grumbles. she’s admittedly very nosy. the upside is that she tells you any juicy office drama there is. “my theory is betty’s making him give us crap stories so she can report the good ones.” she glances over at you to see what you think. “no way. that can’t be allowed... or legal,” you laugh back.

as if on cue, ned appears next to betty in the kitchen. he takes the extra hot coco that’s piled high with whipped cream. betty tucks a sheet of paper into his suit pocket and kisses his cheek, then he’s gone. you can only gasp as you watch this unfold. what has she done to poor, clueless ned?

“not such an angel anymore, huh?” mj smirks in satisfaction. “suddenly, she has red horns and a pitchfork,” you bitterly agree with your tongue in your cheek. betty waves to you two on her way back to broadcasting. mj gives her a fake nice finger wave, you ignoring her. “we can’t sit back and let this happen, em. we have to do something,” you decide. “let’s tell norman.”

uninterested, mj takes off her glasses and starts to clean them. “like he’ll believe us. yeah, golden girl betty brant is sabotaging the writer’s room,” she rewords her previous statement to put its stupidity in perspective. you throw your hands up. “she is, though! we literally watched it happen!” mj puts her freshly wiped glasses back on and sighs.

“i doubt norman would care, y/n. every newspaper to ever exist is corrupt somehow.” your pessimistic old pal has a point. however, you’re not so willing to accept it. “why can’t we be the first one that isn’t?” you offer a small smile. mj snickers, wheeling back to her own computer. “those are words of the innocent.” she’s already tapping her fingers across the keyboard.

“i thought you weren’t doing the tiktok piece,” you say under your breath. you’re slightly pissed mj turned you down, since she’s the reason you know about betty’s meddling. “i’m not,” mj answers sharply. “i’m gonna email quentin and ask if we can change our topics. happy?” quentin beck is another editor in the building. he’s not bad, but he is intimidating. no one typically goes to him as their first option.

“i’m thrilled,” you confirm and grin at mj to emphasize it. “thanks for stepping up. you’re forgiven.” “i didn’t realize i had to be sorry,” mj notes, this time in a playful manor. she shakes her head as she begins writing. “you and your morals.”

what you value most in your career is honesty, under any circumstances. of course, the other daily bugle writers are the same. norman strictly prohibits clickbait and crazy headlines because that isn’t real news. you leave that to companies like buzzfeed. you’re honest in the sense that you say whatever has to be said, what everyone else is too afraid to. you’ll speak your truth no matter who tries to stop you.

it didn’t used to be that way. there’s some childhood trauma that remains deep in the back of your mind. you’ve left that behind you now, having over a decade to cope with it. hey, they say the past is in the past. what’s important is your takeaway, that you would never let yourself or anyone else be silenced from there on out. never again.

quentin ends up giving you the okay to write different stories. he lets you and mj choose choose your own because he’s got “better things to do” and you’re “big girls.” what a peach he is. mj goes with how capitalism is continuing to provoke global warming. she has something to say about every major world issue, and you admire the hell out of her for it.

you’re a bit stuck when it’s time to write your article. it’s terribly ironic because you pushed for this. you aren’t too worried, though. the city is crawling with material, so you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually. lucky for you, some much needed inspiration comes skipping out of the elevator.

“morning, peter,” you hear liz greet him at the front desk. she’s your floor’s receptionist. her wisdom and patience keep this place going. “hi, liz. how’s it going?” he asks. “things have been quiet... mostly. can i do anything for you?” liz peers up at him. peter sports a shy smile. “uh, yeah. mr. osborn wanted to see me?” “right. hang on.” she nods, dialing his office phone number.

it’s endearing how peter calls him mr. osborn, seeing as the rest of you go with norman. he’s probably the politest guy you’ve ever met.

grinning, liz puts down the phone. “you can go in whenever you’re ready. good luck!” peter laughs nervously and turns to leave. “thanks, you too.” his face falls when he realizes his mistake. “wait, i- i didn’t mean to say that. that was stupid. you’re not-“ “it’s fine, peter,” liz reassures him. his anxiety makes him trip over his words sometimes. that, and he’s a bit dorky in general. you find it rather adorable.

you also wonder what exactly he needs good luck for. he’s not even supposed to be working today, so your curiosity as to what’s going on has been piqued.

“um, i’m gonna go now. bye!” peter rushes off, his face tinted pink from the embarrassing encounter. you’re hoping he’ll stop and talk with you for a little while, but he heads straight to norman’s office. your whole body deflates at that. mj notices from her peripherals.

“what’s the matter? missing your hubby?” she coos, her words dripping in sarcasm. “no,” you lie. “i’m... i don’t know what to write about.” ok, there’s some truth. mj gives you a couple pats on the shoulder. “ask parker for help. you two work... well together. don’t you?” this must be the zillionth time you’ve heard that.

“we do,” you murmur and glance at norman’s closed door. peter is hidden behind it. “i just don’t wanna bug him. he has finals soon, and whatever norman is putting him up to. it’s my job, anyway.” mj pokes your arm. “those sound like excuses to me,” she concludes, still jabbing at you childishly. “you really just don’t wanna tell him you like-“

“can you keep it down?” you hiss, yanking your arm back. “he’s literally right over there.” peter stands up and shakes norman’s hand. you catch it through the blinds on his window. “y/n, you were drooling over his mere presence only minutes ago,” mj prefaces, a smile pulling at her lips. “you can handle three little words. i like you, that’s it. spit it out already.”

you’ll never admit this to mj, but she’s right. you lost your momentum after your first failed attempt to say the three little words. you’re still not sure what stopped you. you’d shared the details of that faithful night with her, and she’s been pushing you to try again since.

the door to norman’s office opens, and out walks peter. he’s beaming after their conversation, which seems like a good sign. harry passes peter on his way in to pay his dad a visit. he claps him on the shoulder, peter happily accepting before continuing his stride back into the main office. it takes a moment to register that he’s coming towards you.

you quickly set your focus back on your computer so he doesn’t think you’ve been watching him. even though, you definitely have.

“y/n!” peter calls your name. he’s on the opposite side of your table, in front of you. “peter!” you match his tone. “i was just dropping by. i thought i’d say hey while i’m here.” he’s still grinning. “what’re you doing?” he looks cute as ever in an oversized and cream colored sweater. his curls are slicked back with a tad too much product, cheeks rosy. you gaze up at him when he rests his arms on the table.

“pretending to be productive,” mj answers for you, pressing her lips together. peter cocks his head to the side. “pretending?” “ignore her. she’s being a shit stirrer today,” you explain. “like every other day,” he jokes, earning a laugh from you. mj just tuts and keeps writing. “talk about me like i’m not here,” she mumbles to herself, then gets back into her article.

“anyways, i thought you didn’t work today?” you ask to take the attention off yourself. also, because you’re curious. “oh! get this.” peter perks up even more, if that’s possible. he has energy like no other. “you know alex in broadcasting? betty’s camera guy?” “what about him?” you wonder. “he called in sick earlier this morning, with the flu or something.” he’s oddly excited to announce this. that prompts you to make a funny face.

biting back another smile, peter elaborates. “mr. osborn needed someone to fill in for him, so he picked me. i’ll be here all week.” it makes sense, since peter knows how to work a camera and does so wonderfully. you give him a celebratory push at his chest. “peter, that’s amazing! this is the perfect way to transition from pictures to film, right?” he’s nearing his finals at school, which consist of more movie-like projects. the news will be great practice.

then, he’s off to hollywood. you’ll put that out of your mind for now.

“exactly! i think it’ll be a good place to start. the pay isn’t bad either.” peter wiggles his eyebrows at you, you giggling once again. you do a lot of that when he’s around. that’s going to be more often now. “plus, i get to see you. everyone wins.” he squeezes your hand that was just on him. your heart begins to thump. “except alex,” you challenge, playing with his fingers. “but, for real. i’m happy you get to do this and that we’ll be spending more time together.”

“thanks, y/n/n. me too.” peter grins and leans over, taking a peek at your computer screen. there’s a blank word document on it. “you never told me what you’re up to,” he chuckles. “guess mj was right... nothing.” “i’m always right,” she chimes in from next to you. you look between the two of them with a scowl. “i haven’t found my story yet. i don’t know, this never happens.” peter nods as you share your dilemma. “no good ideas are coming to me,” you murmur.

“they will. you have a way of attracting things.” he licks his lower lip, your heart completely stopping this time. “well, i gotta go set up for rise and shine with betty brant.” he waves his hand like he’s presenting his words. that’s what betty calls her morning news segment. “be careful with her. she’s being really sketchy these days,” you warn peter, mj grunting in agreement.

confused, peter purses his lips. “really? ned says she’s a sweetheart. they’ve been going out for a while.” mj pops her head up and adjusts her glasses. “did ned also tell you she’s bribing him to give her all of our scoops?” she’s asking rhetorically because she already knows the answer. of course he didn’t. “it’s one thing to not like her. you’re just making things up now,” peter huffs.

mj kicks your foot under the table. “i told you no one would believe us. not even peter gullible parker.” “it’s benjamin,” he corrects her. “whatever,” she brushes it off, resuming her work.

peter does tend to be sort of naive, to only see the good in things when there’s plenty of bad. you’re the same in that way, unless you hang around mj for too long.

“is that true? betty’s stealing your stories?” peter turns to you and asks. you gesture to your screen. “i don’t have one, so you do the math.” he hums sympathetically. he’ll listen to you, never mj. “i’m sorry. thanks for telling me, y/n. i’ll watch out for her.” he bends his fingers to look like goggles, putting them around his eyes. you sigh lightheartedly.

“are you twenty two years old or twelve?” mj remarks, but not without a comeback from peter. “you’re, like, eighty five. worry about that.” they’ve had this type of banter for as long as you’ve known them. it’s equal parts amusing and exhausting. “don’t be late on your first day.” you snap peter out of it with a knowing smile. he returns it.

“i hope something crazy happens so you can write about it.” he’s walking backwards now, towards the elevator. “see you later, pete,” is all you say back, yet another laugh threatening to escape you. “see you. bye, michelle,” peter says just to bug her. “it’s mj,” she groans without looking up. he shrugs. “not so fun, is it?”

after peter is gone, you try to get back into work. or rather, you try to start your work. what he said about you having a way of attracting things keeps ringing in your head. was he flirting? no, he couldn’t have been. peter parker doesn’t flirt. words aren’t his strong suit, and you have countless memories that prove this to be true. earlier with liz, for example.

you’re probably reading way into this. peter was simply doing what any good friend would do and gave you advice.

it’s late in the afternoon when anything worth mentioning happens again. peter is still with betty, as far as you know. they’re probably preparing for the nighttime news now. all you’ve done since seeing him is nibble on snacks and bug mj, who’s almost done with her story despite your distractions. this is really bad, considering your deadline to submit is at the end of today.

you’ve never missed a deadline.

mj emails her work to quentin while you repeatedly bang your head on the table. she hits send before deciding to entertain you. “whatcha doing over there?” she cautiously prompts, powering off her computer. “trying to get an idea. i’m desperate, if you couldn’t tell.” your voice is muffled. “i could.” mj grabs your shoulders and pulls you back so you’re sitting up. you childishly pout.

“y/n, the only thing that’s gonna give you is brain damage,” mj says sternly, then softens her tone. “why don’t you ask for an extension? norman gives me them all the time.” whining, you slump down in your chair again. “yeah, but you’re you! we do things differently, have different expectations put on us.” she’s back to cold mj after you say that. “alright. at least i did something today besides pine over that little-“

mj’s insult for peter is interrupted by harry. “ladies, what’s shaking?” he comes up to you two with a the hint of smirk on his face. you manage a nod to acknowledge him. “oh, hey... harry,” mj unenthusiastically replies. she’s the one person who isn’t really a fan of him. “not much. y/n was just having a tantrum.” “she was not,” you dismiss her. “it’s work stuff. you know your dad.”

harry clicks his tongue in a teasing way. “yep, the grind never stops in this joint. boss man is...” he does the sign for cuckoo with his finger. you laugh a little at that. “in a good way,” you add on. mj only watches you two, blinking blankly. harry gives you a definitive pat on the back. “before i forget, he wants to see you.” that gets mj talking. “norman?” she questions. “your dad?” you choke out at the same time.

“who else? he said you two have to talk.” harry flashes you a weary smile. “have fun in there, old sport.” you’re too busy biting the skin off your bottom lip to respond. “mhm... she will,” mj speaks on your behalf. even she sounds worried. saluting you both, harry leaves to go pester your other colleagues. you’re completely and totally fucked.

“that’s it for me!” you grin sarcastically, freaked out by harry. “i’m fired, aren’t i? i’m definitely about to get fired, and it’s all because-“ “relax!” mj cuts off your rambling. she reaches down and grasps at your wrists. “get it together, y/l/n. you’re the best we have, okay? you aren’t going anywhere.” your grin becomes a frown. “then why does norman wanna talk to me? and, why don’t i have a story?”

mj always has the answers, but this time is the execption. she lets out a breath. “i don’t know. you’ll go find out and tell me what happens.” there’s no use protesting. you’re going to have to face whatever you’re about to at some point. “ok,” you give in, defeated. “i’ll be back soon, i hope.”

the walk to norman’s office feels like a walk of shame. mj can do nothing but sit back and observe it. if this ends the way you think it will, you’ll be collecting your things and won’t ever return. norman is a kind man, and he’s usually pretty understanding. he doesn’t mind the workplace shenanigans as long as you get your job done. unfortunately, you haven’t today.

you hear your boss’s booming voice when you approach his door. inhaling deep, you knock on it, and the room goes silent. “come in,” norman responds after a few seconds. mustering up a smile, you open the door to be met with your doom. “hi, am i interrupting something?” you check. “not at all! you’re just the person i wanted to see. sit, sit,” he beckons you over. he’s not using his angry voice, so maybe you’re in the clear. you enter the room as told.

you’re shocked to see a terrified peter is already in one of the chairs. he visibly relaxes a bit now that you’re here. what the hell is happening? whatever you were expecting, this was the last thing.

taking the armchair next to peter, you sit facing norman’s desk. you nudge his arm to get his attention. his big brown eyes lock with yours. “what’s going on?” you whisper. “no idea,” peter whispers back. the two of you turn to norman again when he claps his hands. he’s plopped down into his cushy leather seat.

“so,” he begins, gaze flicking from peter to you. “you kids know why you’re here?” “is it because i missed my deadline?” you blurt out. you’re once again a nervous wreck. peter doesn’t speak, just winces. “not that. although, i did hear from ned that you turned down his assignment.” norman flicks at a post-it on his desk. “i asked quentin for one instead. me and mj,” you explain, peter’s eyes going wide.

“you talked to quentin? that guy’s bad news,” he murmurs to you. “how so?” norman questions, since it’s his employee. “he- he, um,” peter clears his throat before answering, “he’s super critical, you know? hates all my pictures.” “i love your pictures,” you assure him, the corners of his lips turning up. “your style is so cool. yeah, though. quentin’s pretty bitter.”

considering this, norman drums his fingers on the desk. “i’ll look into that. but, that isn’t why you’re here. i’m letting you off the hook this time.” your whole demeanor changes and a huge weight lifts off of you. “really? you are?” “i have a scoop of my own that i want you to cover,” he continues, peter bumping your knee happily. a toothy grin takes over your face.

“since peter will be sticking around for a while, i want him to join you.” norman waits a beat in case you have any questions. it’s been a minute since you last worked together. peter laughs in disbelief. “you want me to take over for alex and do this?” norman nods proudly. “y/n will need the extra hands, if you have them.” “yes, sir. i do,” peter immediately confirms. “my last class is next thursday, so i have the time.”

“wait, so you’re almost done? that’s awesome!” you bump peter’s knee this time. “yup, all that’s left is finals... and studying.” he mindlessly takes your hand, lacing your fingers together. you’re enjoying his gentle touches. “thank you so much, norman. seriously, i appreciate this a lot,” you tell him and mean it. “hey, no problem,” he chuckles at your eagerness. you grip peter’s hand tighter.

“what’s the story?” “ah, yes. the most important part,” norman starts, peter sharing an excited look with you. “how familiar are you two with spider-man?” his excitement fades at the question posed. it’s unbeknownst to you, caught up in the moment. “uh, same as everyone else, i guess,” you casually reply. “how come?” “he’s your subject.” norman points at you both. “you’re gonna study him over these next few months.”

peter’s hand goes limp in yours, and he gulps hard, throat feeling dry. “you mean, like, an exposé?” “no, no. there will be no exposing,” norman clarifies. “i’m sure he wears the mask for a reason.” that settles peter only slightly. you’re not sure why he’s so tense all of a sudden. “what’s our aim here, then?” you steer the conversation.

“see what new york’s favorite hero gets up to every day, how his life is beyond the crime fighting,” norman further describes your task. peter exhales a shaky breath, shifting away from you in his seat. the golden sun hits his face and reveals a bead of sweat dripping down it. you stare at his figure in worry. “you okay, peter?” “fine. i’m just... hot,” he murmurs back. his sweater does look pretty heavy, so you concede.

getting back to norman’s story, you grimace at the idea. “do you really think people will want to read that? for lack of a better term, it sounds kind of...” you pause. “basic.” “i thought the same thing at first,” he surprisingly agrees with you. “harry pitched the idea to me this morning. you won’t believe it! the other night, he caught spider-man hanging outside his window.”

“harry... harry saw him?” peter squeaks out. he uses the wool material that feels like it’s swallowing him to dab at his forehead. “he stopped on his balcony. must have been pretty late, the kid’s a night owl,” norman says about his son. your face lights up as you listen to him. “he took some shots of spidey in action, when he swung off. i saw a few. they were pretty great.” he’s grinning at his son’s success.

“maybe he’ll get into photography with you, pete,” norman suggests. peter gives him a weak smile in return. “we’d be happy to have him.” he usually has a lot more to say about his career than that. his behavior is starting to genuinely concern you. “anyway,” norman gets back on topic, “it got me thinking. how much do we really know about this guy? we’re supposed to blindly put our trust in him?”

you’re beginning to see the appeal now. you’ve written your share of pieces on the avengers and their methods, tackling the same questions norman just asked you. spider-man shouldn’t be overlooked, especially when he operates so close to your home. this could be another revolutionary superhero story in the making. and, you get to bring peter along for the ride.

“you know what? this has a lot of potential,” you smile at norman, then peter. he has his phone in his lap, fingers flying across the screen. it must be something important. you’ll discuss with norman while he takes care of that. “we could make it a weekly thing, about spider-man’s adventures. find out what we can about the man behind the mask...” peter shoots up in his seat. “without taking it off,” you finish, putting his mind at ease.

“see, i knew you were gonna love it! it was a blessing in disguise, you missing that deadline.” norman bangs his fist on the table with a hearty laugh. “what do you say, peter? you still in?” peter slips his phone back in his pocket. his tongue pokes out to wet his lips. “oh, of course. i can’t wait to work with you, y/n/n,” he speaks in a monotone voice, adding on, “again.”

something is definitely bothering him, and it isn’t the weather.

“i gotta go. betty needs me upstairs, so,” peter moves to get up, his body stiff. you assume that’s who he was texting. “thank you again, mr. osborn.” he’s rushing out of the room just like that, until you call after him. “um, don’t you wanna set a time to meet up? so we can get started?” you reasonably ask. “i... i really gotta go. find me later,” peter tells you, giving you both a tight lipped smile and running off.

“the dynamic duo is back!” norman announces to you. you’re disappointed you can’t share that sentiment with peter.

he’s absolutely booking it down the stairs, not bothering to wait for the next elevator. this is bad. this is a nightmare.

peter went from having one of his best days in a while to the worst in not even a full round of work. today started off fine, and got better when norman promoted him. it got way better when you came along. he saw your smile that makes his insides tingle, heard your laugh that’s the prettiest sound to grace his ears, held your hand that he never wants let go.

things went a bit downhill after that. betty was pushy and yelled at him a lot, demanding he only film her good angles for the segment. you and mj weren’t wrong when you told him to be careful.

later on when he saw you again, everything was okay. he was physically shaking as brad told him mr. osborn requested to see him. brad is mr. osborn’s assistant. a try-hard for sure, but good at his job. why did mr. osborn call him in? did betty complain already?

they’d been sitting in mostly silence, save for small talk until you came knocking on the door. simply being next to you was enough to ground peter and his racing thoughts. it was enough, then it wasn’t.

the whole day had gone to shit after he found out you were going to be writing stories about his alter ego. not only that, but he was helping. during the pitch, he’d texted ned to meet him in the bathroom. he was really anxious and needed a friend who understood why.

ned accidentally found out peter is spider-man last year. it’s a long story that involves peter hiding from some bad guys in the building and ned shrieking so loud the lights flickered. they’re cool now that peter talked things through with him. his secret has been kept, from what he knows.

pushing open the men’s bathroom door, peter is a mixture of sweat and ragged breaths. he’s panting from his fast descent down the staircase. he takes in his disheveled appearance using one of the mirrors. his styled hair is now damp and undone, hands trembling and palms sweaty, chest heaving. here’s his daily reminder that anxiety is not cute. as if he didn’t know.

his stupid, gigantic freaking sweater is only making things worse. it’s suffocating him. no one else is in here, so peter pulls it over his head and tosses it to the ground. he’s got a t-shirt on underneath that happens to be black. what a convenient day for him to wear the hottest material there is.

peter splashes his face with some cold water next to try and cool himself down. that doesn’t do much for him. his face still feels like it’s on fire, but now it’s wet. he takes his hands through his mop of curls, backing away from the sink.

“fuck. fuck, fuck, fuck,” peter repeats to himself. he’s silent for a moment, then rage overcomes him. he kicks open a bathroom stall. “shit! i can’t do this. what am i supposed to-“

the door creeks open, so peter shuts up in case it isn’t ned. it thankfully is, and he wears a deep frown at the sight of his best friend. “dude, what happened? you look...” “terrible. i know,” peter finishes for him. he tugs at his locks in another attempt to tame them. ned approaches him carefully. “you’re not, like, dying... are you? because betty was telling me you have to-“ “of course you were with betty,” peter exhales in frustration. “no, ned. i’m not dying.”

in ned’s defense, the text he received was very alarming. all peter wrote was, ‘EMERGENCY. SOS.’

“i mean, yeah. it was my break.” ned sits on the ledge by the window, close to peter. “you do the same with y/n.” the mention of your name upsets peter all over again. he hides his face in his hands as ned watches. “if you’re not dying, then what’s the problem?” ned finally asks. “me and y/n...” peter removes his hands from his face, meeting ned’s worried eyes. “mr. osborn wants us to do a project together.”

“uh, peter? you’ve been saying how much you miss her forever, dude! you’re not excited?” ned snorts at him. he means well, but he has no clue what he’s talking about. “no. it’s supposed to be about spider-man,” peter answers angrily. this isn’t the support he was hoping for. realizing the severity of the situation, ned gets serious.

“oh... but, you’re still doing it?” he questions. “i didn’t have a choice,” peter scoffs out. “i can’t let either of them down.” “you’ll expose yourself!” ned escalates things further. “it’s not like that. we’re gonna follow spider-man around and post updates on him,” peter says, technically in the third person. he’s given an are you insane? look from ned.

“you are spider-man! and, no offense, but you’re not so good at hiding it,” ned refers to himself finding out. “how are you gonna be in two places at once?” damnit, peter hadn’t thought about that yet. he can’t be taking pictures of spider-man and swinging from building to building simultaneously. “i- i’ll figure it out,” peter stammers, unconvincingly.

ned looks him over in a disapproving way. “jeez. you’re really putting your life on the line for this girl-“ “woman,” peter interjects, not loving ned’s attitude towards you. “have some respect.” unfazed, ned gets up from the windowsill. “speaking of women, remember betty? you’re still on the clock,” he changes the subject. peter nearly forgot he has to go film her segment.

“i’ll head up to her now,” peter gives in. he scoops up his discarded sweater, not bothering to check his appearance again. ned follows behind him to the door. “we wrote her script together, you know,” he gladly informs peter, who already knows from you. “not really a flex,” peter mumbles his response. “peter, lighten up.” ned hits at his shoulder. the two of them exit the bathroom.

“you’ll figure this out later. i can always help.” he shoots him a sugary sweet smile. “thanks, ned. for talking with me and everything.” peter doesn’t smile back. they do a quick bro handshake, then they’re going their separate ways. “have a good show, dude!” ned yells back, to which he doesn’t get a response. peter doesn’t have it in him.

he allows himself to take the elevator back up to broadcasting. he’s so drained from the several anxiety attacks he endured. while peter waists for the elevator, he contemplates all the issues he’d better solve. it’s a relief to hear it ding because it brings him back to earth. that doesn’t last long because both you and betty are there when the door opens.

you’d each had the same idea, to find peter. unlike betty, your intentions were good. you asked liz if she saw peter leave. she told you he went downstairs, so you did also. betty was already in the elevator when it got to your stop. she was looking for him because, you guessed it, he had to record the news. the small space was filled with tension as you and betty occupied it.

“perfect. we’re going right back up,” betty beams, motioning for peter with her index finger. “hop in!” “coming,” peter does as told, going to stand between you and betty. she presses the button for your floor and theirs. the doors close. “pete?” you speak up, voice soft. “you kinda ran off earlier. i thought you were with betty.” “clearly, he wasn’t,” betty sneers.

you’re less concerned with her and more with peter. the sweater he looked so huggable in is now folded in his arms, his face splotchy and jaw clenched. he must have gotten triggered by something back in norman’s office.

“are you sure you’re okay? you... you can talk to me about it.” you take a step closer to peter, your doe eyes searching for his. he meets them with a tiny smile. at least, it’s real this time. “i’ll be fine, y/n/n. ‘s nice that you came to check on me, though.” “don’t mention it.” your arms loop around his neck and bring him into a hug. peter hugs you back by your middle, chin resting on your shoulder, breathing out in relief.

you keep your hands on his shoulders when you pull back. his stay on your sides, a lopsided grin now crossing his features. “spider-man...” you quirk an eyebrow. “how are you feeling about that?” “should be cool,” peter somehow maintains himself. “i’m mostly looking forward to doing it with you.”

listening in, betty joins the conversation. “what’s happening with spider-man? anything i should know?” her hand reaches into her bag and emerges with a notepad. does she ever think of her own content? “she’s nothing if not persistent,” you grumble to peter. chuckling, he pulls you into his chest. if he didn’t hold you back, you would’ve pounced on her.

“we’re gonna do a piece on him,” peter tells her. “you can’t copy or steal this one because it’s already been approved,” you contribute, smiling smugly as peter holds you tighter. betty is taken aback. “are you accusing me of stealing? who said i-“ “ned ratted on you... sorry,” peter says in a sing song voice. squealing, you jump away from him. “he did? we were right?”

“mj’s never wrong,” he reiterates. “mj knew about this? oh my god, i can’t believe her!” betty stomps her foot. “we got you on candid camera.” you make a clicking noise with your mouth. peter mimes taking a picture to back you up. “alright, alright. i won’t do it again,” betty mumbles, turning away from you two in annoyance.

“finally!” you hold up your hand for a high five, which peter gives you. “we really do make the best team,” he hums. your fingers intertwine with peter’s, and he lays his palm flat against yours. he prays extremely hard you don’t notice that it’s sweaty. you do, but you couldn’t care less.

“i was wondering when you’d wanna start our... research?” peter asks you, his lip between his teeth. “you were saying something earlier. maybe we could make a schedule.” “how elaborate of us that would be,” you tease. that earns a breathy laugh from peter. with a knowing smile, you put your free hand back on his shoulder.

“what are you doing tonight?”

-

peter parker taglist

@saturnpeter @tpwk-grande @itstaskeen @missyouhollnd @becicamina @dummiesshort @zspideyy @watchitimreadinghere @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @dpaccione @karispotters11 @theofficialzivadavid @thehumanistsdiary @kelieah @aayaissaa @petersgroupie @annab-nana @tayyx @swtltlmrvlgrl @magicalxdaydream @haoluvver @kjune113 @captainamirica @marvel-dork98 @emmastarz @killingbxys @viriditie @misshale21 @veryholland @liliswifts @tommydarlings @rebelemilu @peterspideysense @cr-uelsummer @dreamy-clousds @quaksonhehe @quxxnxfhxll @blackbat2020 @babyblue19 @falconxbarnes @zachary-s @dirtytissuebox @dracoswhore007 @heavenlyholland @thsquad @etheralholland @dhtomholland @awh-lilies @tomshufflepuff @multifamdomfan12

-

if i forgot you please lmk!

[whippedcreamcookie]

if whipped cream finally got an event for the sugar swan, how would you want it to play out? ex. buffs? nerfs? story? tying any loose ends together?

oh BOY this is about to get rly long so buckle up anon.

firstly, we’ll start with the plot of the event, thankfully kingdom has already done the work for me and has already introduced us the iconic remorseful sugar swan, so the plot begins with pomegranate subsequently cursing it with her mirror the same way she did with night raven, thus creating remorseful sugar swan in the crob universe. however no one notices this except wind archer (who cannot fight the swan on his own) until much later when the surrounding nature gets more aggressive and corrupted the following days after the event.

and as such wind archer scoured off in search of help, namely his co-creator, millennial tree. he figured due to his extremely close bond with the swan (the two created wind archer after all), he must have an idea or two on how to purify it once more.

whipped cream, a natural fanatic of swans and their gracefulness does not know of the sugar swan’s existence until he receives odd dreams about a powerful and raging storm. (this is perhaps a byproduct of millennial tree’s past comatose state dreams, as millennial tree formed a close bond with whipped due to his dancing he somehow shared a sense of shared dreams between him and the tree). one day he was fed up by these weird nightmares and set off on his own.

oddly enough, as he was heading out to the forest he went as a child in search for some answers (the twisted maze grove), he encounters the cookiemals and a strange new cookie besides them (this cookie is candy meteorite cookie, who was created in the sugar swan’s galaxy lake, i also just now came up w them bc devsis likes making new cookies 😭). who were affected by the growing corruption of the dessert paradise and went to look for help. they were also accompanied by fig who saw their distress and went to ease their pain, whipped soon follows. (at this point, wind archer has caught up to millennial tree and informed him of the situation.)

the group of 6 after some time have finally reached the sugar swan’s galaxy lake where they saw the corrupted state of the swan with their own eyes. whipped especially looks distressed as he is familiar with swans as a whole. they soon emerge in a fight with the swan itself as it is hostile.

the group struggle for a bit, trying to find a way to purify the swan without harming it. fig has tried sounding their horn but it brought no effect, millennial tree has also noticed that his time power was fruitless in this state as it could create a time loop. wind archer and candy meteorite are too weak to battle such a powerful enemy and the cookiemals cower in the bushes in fear of their own creator retaliating against them.

however, whipped in an act of determination and fondness of swans, have decided to perform a dance in hopes that it could ease the swan itself... it miraculously works! (this is due to whipped cream’s description where it says his dancing can calm any storm with its gracefulness), the swan, feeling a bit of relatability of the dance, eased up a bit, and this allowed the combined efforts of millennial tree and wind archer to purify it unharmed.

even though it was purified, the swan itself retained its cookie state. (this is due to an overarching narrative in the cookie run story where something of big calamity is disrupting the forces of nature to such a degree that mythical creatures have to retain in their cookie forms as a method of survival. this can be seen in the dragons, and subsequently the weird cooling of dragon’s valley.)

the swan thanked the group for their help and vowed to make a repayment of some kind to all of them, millennial tree and sugar swan cookie hug for a bit, but not until everyone else joined in on it as well.

pomegranate, noticing her attempt failed after merely a week is disappointed, but vows to come back soon enough.

PLOT END

—————————————————

NEW IN-GAME MATERIALS

new cookies:

candy meteorite cookie (epic)

sugar swan cookie (legendary)

————buffs: ————

whipped cream: decreased cooldown, health freezes during mid skill, increased points for petal and bouquet jellies.

millennial tree: slight score buff (he becomes above average instead of being meta).

cookiemals: increased points, decreased health drain during skills of the cookiemals.

fig: increased points, is invincible during the entire duration of the skill (no longer does the skill end immediately after fig gets hit)

wind archer: slight score buff

————costumes:————

whipped cream’s enlightened dancer (epic):

“it’s been said that after the duel of galaxy lake, whipped cream was graced by the sugar swan’s light, and as such has become enlightened in the arts of dancing, and strives to perform better and better ever since. “

sugar swan’s communion in agony (legendary):

“as the sugar swan felt the deep and painful effects of the scarlet pomegranate syrup, it eventually succumbed to its glooming and strangely comforting darkness, never to be touched by the light of hope ever again. “

(this costume is basically remorseful sugar swan LOL also the name is taken from one of its attacks as well)

fig’s messenger of the gods (super epic):

“after the duel of galaxy lake, fig cookie has ascended far beyond anyone’s comprehension, to the point where they feel divine as the gods themselves. it is believed that whenever they sound their horns, signs of a great and powerful event will approach in a moment’s notice.“

[muwur]

Since requests were open I was wondering if I could request father headcanons for iwai + ushi + atsumu 🥺 btw your writing is vv tasty n I can’t wait to see you write more !! Keep up the good work n stay safe !!

haikyuu daddee headcanons

✧ hc’s ✧ for iwaizumi, ushijima, and atsumu

❧ gn reader

✎ 1.4k words

a/n: omg u called my writing taSTY Dx i cri tySM 💞 that is a high compliment for me AHAHAHAH ILY and ty for the request! 

also my lovelies i m back i m sry i was gone so long feojfe i miss yall <3 here u go enjoi, this was fun to write lmk if yall want more characetrs AHAHA

current listen: accidentally in love by sHREK AAHAH jkjk i mean counting crows, they cant take that away from me by ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong, love the way you lie by eminem and rihanna

requests: open!

iwaizumi

✧ prePARED daddy

✧ picked up on this parenting thing p fast, also does a lot of research so he’s ready to face any situation

✧ teaches his kids how to behave n respect others

✧ also makes sure they know not to talk to strangers and teaches them some self defense

✧ be warned these kids are packing a surprise can of whOOP ASS,, dont fuck w them,, plus u wouldnt want buff daddee iwa on ur tail

✧ honestly his kids would be ANGELS ,,, n thats cuz he treats them all so w e l l

✧ mans is ATTENTIVE. he asks his kids about their days, their interests, and encourages discussion about their fEELINGS 🥺

✧ always offers them really valuable and light-hearted advice

✧ and gives them the love and transparency we all wanted but never had--

✧ however his kids are easily (n negatively) influenced esp when uncle oikawa comes to visit--

✧ but mostly bc iwa gets annoyed and slips out a lot of curse words and a “shittykawa” and then his kids started calling oikawa that and now it’s ingrained in them forever fjoefefgfvi (*distant phlattykawa crying noises*)

✧ gives them LOTS of head pats and ruffles as signs of affection

✧ PACKS THEIR SCHOOL LUNCHES and ensures they eat a balanced meal

✧ attends all their games/events,, will get a bit rowdy hype them up

✧ def lets his kids sleep with him when they’re having a bad night or woke up scared from a nightmare (and waits for them to fall asleep before going to sleep himself fojref)

✧ when they were babies he usually succeeded to get them to stop crying by pulling funny faces, showing them their favorite cartoons, or humming a lullaby

✧ when they get older,,, u bet iwa would be suPER protective esp when their kids start being iNtErEsTeD in other people

✧ you: “iwaizumi, they seem like a really nice kid, though”

✧ iwa: *sitting with you in the car, across the street from the ice cream parlor your child said they were at, and spying from the window* “you can’t trust everyone, of course they seem ‘nice,’ they just want our approval”

✧ definitely did not interrupt his child’s potential first kiss at their house’s doorstep by slamMINg the door open “sUDDENLY” cuz he “hEard TheIR vOicEs and THougHt TO lET them In”

✧ effectively traumatized both kids

✧ tho he felt bad after n u made him go apologize so he did (and he was forgiven, only if he agreed to never spy on them again--)

✧ doesn’t stop him from scrutinizing every person yalls kid introduces to you tho

✧ overall a super supportive dad, 11/10

ushijima

✧ ok dEF does not know much about parenting ,, at first

✧ stared at his child like ???nani when you both changed their first diaper

✧ also had plenty of staring contests with his babies ,,, called it bonding

✧ was curious and tasted baby food once,,, immediately regretted it

✧ once put a volleyball next to his child, who attempted to bite it, and took it as a sign that they liked it

✧ after sum time n practice, his mind becomes split between “how to volleyball” and “how to dad”

✧ catch him in the kitchen wearing an apron and whipping up his kids’ favorite smiley face pancakes 😤😤

✧ has an amazing ability to get his kids to stop crying, does really simple things like give them their favorite toy or place a gentle hand on their hand or attend to their needs (mans can tell if they want food or needa poop) and they calm down immediately

✧ carried them on his shoulders once and now they never stop asking him for shoulder rides (not that he minds anyway)

✧ if theres two kids he can probs carry one on each shoulder cuz cmon ,,, have u seen this man

✧ always goes to every performance/game/event his child takes part in

✧ man smiles so soft™ when he goes to the 1st grade play and sees his kid’s name in the program next to their role as “townsperson b” (next year, they upgraded to “singing carrot” in a play about the food pyramid)

✧ if his kid ends up enjoying volleyball, he will teach them e v e r y t h i n g they need to know

✧ but is overall super supportive of anything else his child pursues and doesn’t push anything onto them, would rather let them choose what they want to do

✧ had n o idea what to do when his kid asked him about the birds n the bees asfghkl

✧ couldnt sleep one night thinking about it and just randomly asks you while yall laying in bed in the dARk like “so our child asked me how babies are made and I told them they came from watermelon seeds” (you: 👁️👄👁️ “come again”)

✧ you: *at the grocery store with your child*

✧ child: *hands you watermelon* “I want a little brother!”

✧ you: “haha of course honey” 👁️👄👁️ what do i do (*later to ushijima* “duhfojhguf we needa get another baby i promised our child a younger brother fohurof” ; ushi: “wat” ; you: “itS YOUR FAULT”)

✧ yall eventually tell them not every watermelon can produce babies only really special ones that are really hard to get fhuoefkfotfi theyre not ready for the truth

✧ another great daddee, we stan

atsumu

✧ knew parenting was stressful esp with bABieS but was like eh it cant be that bad right

✧ think again

✧ g o o d b y e  s l e e p

✧ develops phat bags under his eyes, responds with a weak “aha im fine just that parenting life and the kids ykNOW” whenever his teammates ask if he’s oKAY

✧ tried to tempt his kids to eat their mush baby food by trying it himself, nearly gagged but was able to say “eughh yuMM”

✧ loves to lift them high up in the air, even throws them up a little and nearly drops them (yall almost died from feAR but babie was having so much fun,,, yall agreed to be just a bit more careful)

✧ rlly bad at getting them to stop crying, gets very stressed when he’s exhausted every option he can think of then calls you over for some help/advice (you: *immediately calms them down* ; ratsumu: “how--”)

✧ calls up osamu a lot to ask him how to make food ,, then simps whenever his twin brother comes over and the kids are in love with this man and his cooking (”dad why cant you make stuff as yummy as this”)

✧ very affectionate with his kids, gives them lots of hugs and kisses on the forehead

✧ plays with them a lot! whether it’s sports, just dance, animal crossing, or UNO, yOU NAME IT WE PLAY IT

✧ also has no mercy when playing competitive video or board games,, has made them cry more than once LOL

✧ so sometimes he toned it down n let them win,, until his kids actually got better and DEMOLISH him every time

✧ is cool with his kids cursing, just as long as they don’t do it in front of their teachers LMAO

✧ plays innocent when he gets a call from school saying his kid was using ‘inappropriate language’ and is like “whaaat? my child? im not even sure where they learned that, maybe check if the other kids in class are saying those things, too--”

✧ reminisces how much nicer his kids were to him when they were younger and all the time they spent together,,, bc now that they reached their tEeNS they want alone time

✧ wants to be B) cool dad so he tries kinda hard, esp in front of their friends but his kid’s just like dad pls dofjrgjigtgro

✧ also very supportive of whatever his kids want to pursue and dedicates time to help them in whatever ways he can (whether that be to help them practice, make sure he can provide transportation, get them supplies, etc)

✧ always playfully competing with you to see who’s the “better” parent (you win by default)

✧ PROTECTIVE dad and will easily intimidate ANYONE who crosses his kids

✧ takes sum adjustment and mental resilience but daddee atsumu perseveres  😤 absolutely loves his kids and would do anything for them  

[draganasimpsforjeff]

Hunting Dogs (proxies x reader) Chapter Three

"Yes, mom. Yes, I know. I'm aware..." You repeated the same lines over and over in  a different way each time, hoping that would tell your mom "I fucking get it" but nope she went on until you nearly shouted, "Fuck! I'm gonna be late, call you later, love you bye!" you said in all one breath, pressing the end call button and tossed your phone onto your bed.

In reality, you had plenty of time; roughly 40ish mins until you had to clock in. The events that were held last night replayed in your mind as you brushed your teeth. You began to question if it was real or maybe it was the stress of life getting to you. But you didn't think you could crack that easily from pressure, especially with as dramatic has being a witness to a innocent old man getting killed or three masked men chasing you to your home.

"Damn cold weather." you groaned, noticing a small trail of blood leaving your nose and onto your pajama shirt. You leaned forward, grabbing some toilet paper and try to stop the bleeding while searching through your closet for appropriate clothing for work. The only uniform you would have to wear was a name tag and apron.

Plugging your phone in for another few minutes as you had forgotten to charge it the night before. The current battery level was at 34%. You didn't know how long you were going to be at work and if you were gonna be granted a break or not so, it was best to charge it so you didn't die of boredom.

After a few minutes your bleeding nose cleared up and you threw away the red stained tissue into the trash, fixing your appearance in the mirror before grabbing your phone and tossing the cord away. You walk through the small hallway and downstairs to where you were able to leave your apartment. Opening the door, you peaked your head out of the room trying to see if there was anyone in the hallway.

You weren't paranoid, you just didn't really like your neighbors as they were really loud or there was a few that liked to get in your business, but it wasn't necessarily a bad type of nosy, it was more so that you were new and young in a bustling city with no family members to support you if needed.

You locked your door with your keys before stuffing them into your pocket, debating whether or not to keep them out somewhat so if something happened again it would be easier access, but there was also a chance of them falling out. Sighing, you just tucked them safely deeper into your pocket, walking down the long hallway.

Rain was drizzling down onto the sidewalks as you opened the iron gate and your shoes hit the damp concrete. You didn't know whether to be relieved or slightly bugged as a rainy day meant very slow business and you could catch up on other work, but slow day also meant having nothing to absolutely fucking do and- and that meant you were gonna be somewhat wet and cold as you walk to work and possibly from.

"Ah, the only reason why I give you business Mr. Baldwin- Y/N!" Mr. Saka gave you a frantic wave and you chuckle, giving him a slight wave. "Morning, Mr. Saka. If I didn't know any better I would say you have a crush on me." Mr. Saka howled in laughter. You weren't the type to say stuff like that to older men, but you and him had a different relationship where it was just strictly playful words and nothing else. He had no feelings for you and vice versa, you both enjoyed each other's personality and company. He wasn't a creep either, so there were no red flags either. Plus, you had to admit you were kind of scared of his wife, Catherine. Though, she was rarely joined with her husband the moment you see her you don't know how to form sentences or know if you're doing your job right. She was just a customer but she definitely gave off heavy vibes of taking charge and just seemed like that even if she was in a very good mood.

He open his mouth about to speak before the door made a jingle sound and a girl with auburn hair that looked messy, but like in a fashionable way? She quickly fixes her shirt, brushing off the nonexistent fuzz on her shirt and looks around before spotting you. "Oh! You must be Y/N! Mr. Baldwin said to talk to you when I first get here-" she grabs your hand, shaking it while remaining an intense stare into your eyes. She was smaller than you but a bit scared of how someone could have energy like this it in the morning. "Did he? Well, I don't think I caught your name. " you said, not recalling your boss mentioning her name the night previous. "It's Kristine, nice to meet you." she smiles brightly and you couldn't help but return a smile as well. Damn, she's contagious.

"Right, well, let's show you the basics around here and I'm sure Mr. Baldwin will give you a uniform and start training you. " You said and excuse yourself from the conversation you and Mr. Saka were having.

It took roughly twenty minutes showing where equipment were at the store, briefly explaining their use, where to clock in, areas around the restaurant where she would most likely be, introducing her to the other workers (which honestly she mostly did herself before you could open your mouth) where the schedule was located and explaining the cut off date for paydays and such as well as the best time to request a day off if needed. "I can take it from here, Y/N. " Mr. Baldwin said, smiling softly and you nod, walking away and breathing out a sigh of relief. It wasn't much of a chore, but you were afraid of leaving out information as that was your first time having someone go to you first and having to take on a role, plus she was very bubbly for like 8:15 a.m....without coffee or some stimulant.

Reaching the front of the store, you turned on the coffee makers and look over at Mr. Saka who was looking outside as it began to rain even harder. You sigh through your nose, grabbing a mug and pour coffee into it and grab three packets of sugar, handing it over to him. "On the house." you say and he smiles slightly, nodding in 'thanks' before tilting the cup to his mouth.

The morning process was pretty tedious and you never really liked it as you had quickly caught on when your boss first trained you. Not much was expected from you, not in a bad way, just mostly people came here for the food and no one really came in during the mornings unless for coffee or light breakfast. As of right now, there was only Mr. Saka.

Yep. Today was definitely going to be slow. You walk towards the booths and tables, pulling chairs down and cleaning the tables off a bit, hearing the door open again and three men came in, wiping their faces from water droplets. They didn't look familiar at all, but one of them seem to have notice you as the man with brown hair that was long enough to cover some of his view from you if he didn't flip his bangs away from his eyes nudges the guy next to him. You had to admit, he was sort of buff looking and had great sideburns. He looks up at the other man, glaring daggers until the third man with a stubble and very short brown hair took notice of you.

You didn't like the vibe you got from them, but you just shook it off as they were just new and you didn't know what to expect from them. You look down, avoiding their eyes before they went up to the bar, sitting down on the stools across from Mr. Saka. You stopped your progress with the tables and walk over to them. "Anything I can get for you this morning?" you ask politely, eyeing the coffee pots as they finally fill up to the white line.

"Two black coffees and-"

"Caramel frappe, extra whip cream-" The two older men look at the one who ordered the frappe with a annoyed look. "Yeah, sure, coming up." you say and went over, grabbing two of the smaller mugs for nonspecial coffee and poured the coffee into it, giving it to the two men before walking over and started making the caramel frappe. "You guys new here? I didn't recognize you." you started the conversation, hoping to confirm why you felt off with them but try your best to keep your cool.

One of them had cleared their throat before speaking, "Yeah, we moved in last night." You nod, adding the whip cream onto the coffee and caramel drizzle.  Mr Saka took his chance to speak, taking in the rain and then at the men, "I hope you didn't have to go far to get here considering the type of weather we're having today." he sighs and takes another sip of his coffee.

The man with sideburns answers him, "We live just around the corner." Your body grew goosebumps and you nearly let out a gasp, replaying the scene in your head from last night. Were they aware of what happened last night? But nonetheless, you had a feeling that a question like that shouldn't be the one you need to focus on.

Three men last night had chased you from around the corner,

three men came in and said they moved in last night and live around the corner!

You swallowed thickly, grabbing the cup and hand it over to the other man who took it almost instantly and started slurping the coffee. His eyes widen at the taste and he smiles. "This is pretty good." he says and you smile a bit more at the comment. "How convenient." Mr. Saka said to the side-burn man. You snorted at what you had named him and the four men look at you and you wave it off, "It's nothing, just thinking."

Mr. Saka chuckles, nodding his head and continues to talk to the other men. You went back to the tables and make sure everything looks good before hearing your name being called. "Y/N!" you groan, walking to the back room. "Yes, Mr. Baldwin?" you peek your head in, groaning as you had seen what he wanted from you. Piles upon piles of empty boxes needed to be taken out, luckily they were already broken down, but you didn't exactly want to get wet and cold from going outside.

But either, you walk over and mutter to yourself and took as many boxes you could with one hand, using the other to push open the back door immediately your hair blocks your few and is soaked. You ran to the dumpster, quickly throwing the boxes but something caught your attention.

You walk over to it, kneeling down and grab it, minding the needle at the end. It was the syringe from last night with a purple liquid dripping out, making you drop it. You hadn't touched whatever was inside, but the thought that you probably had touched the edge of the broken pieces made you think that that was bad enough. You swallow, staring down at it for a moment and noted your foot placement. You stood in the same spot a man had died last night.

Speaking of which; Where is the body? Did someone call 911 and they took care of it?  More disturbing thoughts came in roll as your way of thinking changed, Did stray dogs or cats start get a head-start? No, there was no way. Did...did the men come back after chasing you and hide his body? "Y/N I'm not paying you to just look down at the ground, C'mon. " your boss said and you sigh, walking away from the syringe and back instead. The apron had protected most of your clothes and just seems like your hair had been the victim of the rain as you got back inside. "I'll get the boxes later, Y/N you just go back to the front. " he says and you nod, not wanting to argue with him as you were still disturbed from what you found.  When you came back, the three men were gone but a small note was left.

"What's this?" you ask out loud and Mr. Saka shrugs with a smile on his face, "Maybe one of the gentlemen's number, aye? A social life wouldn't hurt." he says and you reach from the folded note, expecting what the old man said, but what you saw on it confused you until you caught on.

402

3rd up

5th left

[guksauce]

~Mocha~

One Shot

Pairing: Knj Barista x Reader AU

Word Count: 1,398K

Rated: E

One Shot Warnings: Flirty Namjoon, Coffee Genius, Extra long descriptions for no reason DON’T COME FOR ME.

Author: @guksauce

Notes: 💜Let me first just thank Kim Namjoon for being an absolute amazing person. For being a king. For being our president. For loving us. He is and forever will be protected. 💜 And thank you to those of you who give this story and myself all the love 💖

Soundtrack: Click here!

It's a chilly mid-September tuesday night in Seoul, South Korea. You’ve had one of the toughest days you've had since you moved here about seven months ago. You hate your job. You struggle with the language. Your “friends'' still call you “the new girl who doesn't talk much”. And the boyfriend you had for just over 3 months called just in time for you to open your chicken salad sandwich you packed for lunch and hadn't realized it probably went bad about 2 days ago, to promise it wasn't you but him. So, since midnight youd been venturing around town in hopes of clearing your mind to no avail, passing closed store after closed store until you spotted a cafe across the street just as dark clouds rolled over the city and started to sprinkle drops of rain.

The shop emitted a golden glow, the sweet scent of roasted coffee beans and cinnamon rolls, the earthy smell of flowers that had long since closed their buds on the patio, and a small white neon sign that reads “Open 24 Hours”. Inside the walls were painted half natural forest green and half italian cream, accented only by the oddly shaped and dimly lit lanterns hung from high ceilings. The floor is all original wood, magazines and comics lean in every direction in wire baskets nailed to the wall. In the back, a few drunk friends laugh at each other's jokes and share a bottle of Soju. In the corner a string of fairy lights illuminates 2 musicians. One of them sits at an electric piano. The other stands with a golden saxophone pouring from his puckered lips. Together they play a gentle jazz tune that sets and perfects a warm ambiance.

The bar has been intricately carved with designs you associate with 1920’s Gatsby. Rows of jars with rich chocolate colored coffee grounds line the counter and it's easy to see with a glance out the large front window that the steaming espresso machine has done a wonderful job of fogging the glass. But behind the bar is a man teetering on a stool with a book in one hand and a spoon that stirs idly in his mug in the other, the silver lightly tapping the ceramic. His eyebrows are slightly furrowed and features thoughtful and pensive, so obviously enchanted by whatever world he had transported himself to to even realize anyone had entered. You didn't mind. It gave you a moment to stare without it being too awkward. Silver hair fell lazily over the crown of his head. Sharp eyes held soft onyx irises. His sleeves were rolled up on his white knitted sweater revealing a warm butterscotch tan on his arms. The rips in the knees of his black jeans showcased his toned thighs but casually complimented his modern black Oxfords. He looked clean and comfy in a way that made you want to crawl onto his lap and cuddle him. God knows you needed it after the day you’d had.

With careful steps, you approach the counter and climb onto one of the stools, pulling off your layers until you are left in your favorite sage green hoodie. “I admire your ability to get lost and enjoy it.” You say and peak over the bind of his book. You catch a glimpse of the gold name-tag attached to his sweater and read the name Namjoon in your head. In a rush he drops the book and scoots his mug to the side, steam and a fresh herbal smell lifting and wafting in your direction.

“And miss all this exciting stuff going on in here right now?” He motions to the relaxed atmosphere around the two of you and you smile.

“Are you a smartass to all of your clients?” You follow his teasing demeanor. Namjoon leans his elbows on the counter and you count to three to keep from staring at how the strands of hair fall from where they had been tucked behind his ear.

“Only when they look like they need to smile.” This time you dont stop yourself from staring, the dimples deepening in his almost childlike cheeks making you all but melt and giggle. Slipping off of his stool, Namjoon readys’ a mug under the machine and distorts his features into something out of a TV show and very awkwardly questions you.

“May I interest my lady in one of many forms of coffee this evening?” The voice and accent he's chosen is awkwardly broken british and makes your entire body cringe, but it's ridiculously endearing and impossible to say no to. You nod and perk up in your seat to get a good look at the process of coffee making as he begins to turn knobs and scoop ingredients into different cups and spoons. You don't bother telling him that the extra pump of hazelnut he put in smells too nutty, or that the roast is too dark, or that you've never had whipped cream on your coffee before, because the concoction he sets in front of you looks like a dream.

You're not sure how much time passes or how much of your life you've explained to him by the end of your third coffee together. What you know is that you never want to leave his presence. Forever, it seems, he expresses to you how much of a philosophy buff he is. Gets teary eyed talking about the many ways he's done his best to live his life through the wise words of men and women he admires. He teaches you words in Korean you'd never had the opportunity to use, as well as words he was starting to call you when the sky started to lighten up and the rain poured a little heavier.

“Yeppuda. Pretty.” He would say softly. “Aleumdaun. Like you.” He’d been shameless in his use of them. You had no idea what he was saying but you were enamored by how pretty they sounded coming from his mouth. If you scoot any closer to the edge of your stool, you were going to fall off, but the more you sat in front of him, the more that feeling of wanting to cuddle him itched at your insides. Especially when the blue haze of a new day was shading his face in different ways, casting new light here and there.

“What does that mean? Aleumdaun.” You repeated and he laughed at the way it came out a jumbled mess as though you’d swallowed a mouth full of water. He adjusted in his seat, and leaned close enough to you that, had you leaned forward just half an inch, your noses would have touched. Maybe even your lips. You give yourself a second to imagine how he might taste. Lips like cocoa. Tongue like whipped cream. White mocha and peppermint candy cane breath warming your cheeks.

“Beautiful...like you.” Just as the words slithered out between those perfect cocoa lips, the blush firing up your cheeks induced a dark, melted chuckle to rumble deeply in his chest just as the bell hanging above the entrance rang out, bursting the all consuming bubble of the rainy romantic ambiance you both had created for yourselves. Blinking rapidly, you clear your throat and suck your bottom lip between your teeth, chewing nervously as the woman enters awkwardly, tying her apron around her waist. The stool under Namjoon creaks softly as he greets her and wraps a scarf around his neck, shrugs his denim jacket over his shoulders and helps you into your coat.

The sun breaks between the clouds just long enough to cast a warm ray of light through the window, a sparkling mix of dust and brown sugar particles swirl in the air. Silver strands of hair catch the reflection and glow like moonlight and you suddenly absolutely cannot stand the thought of having to part ways with this enchanting man.

“Lets have breakfast.” Maybe it's too forward of you but the longer you stand here with Namjoon, the better you imagine the future of your life and you were not about to deny yourself the magical connection you shared with him. He almost looks surprised but his features soften and his dimples beg to swallow you whole as he takes your hand and answers with a voice made of honey. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[dearophelia]

gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 9

chapter 09: the house don’t fall when the bones are good

operational security [read on AO3]

it’s been a hot minute with this one, whoops. eternal and forever thanks to @tarysande and @nightingaleseeking for their cheerleading through this.

“Olivia?” Garrus calls. The audible panic in his subvocals makes him wince.

“Bedroom!” comes the answer.

Garrus takes a moment to breathe. The Normandy won’t be here for hours yet and packing won’t take long. He can spend these thirty seconds to breathe now, before walking upstairs and seeing Olivia. He might not have them later.

Good air in, bad air out.

He allows himself to take a full minute in the silence of their home for a moment of calm and quiet. The hour since Olivia called him has been pure chaos: reschedule his week, call the Primarch, don’t forget the dinner party tonight for the new quarian economic delegation or tomorrow's breakfast with the forensic auditors from Irune Galactic, find suitably-important people to replace him at both events (and everything else this week), have someone pick up his gear, avoid looking panicked while doing any of this.

The silence is overwhelming and welcome. He closes his eyes and takes another breath before going upstairs.

He finds Olivia kneeling on the floor of their bedroom, packing.

Thirty years ago, chasing Saren across the galaxy, he’d watched in awe as his commanding officer stood firm and stoic in the face of utter mayhem. Nothing rattled her, nothing shook her steady posture. He’d never had a CO before who was that calm.

He knows her better now. The calm is how she gets through things. The calm is how she’s made through to the other side of trauma and crisis in one piece over and over again. Her voice doesn’t shake and neither does her resolve, but there’s a certain fragile steel in her spine that betrays the façade.

She may look calm to anyone else, but Garrus knows that Olivia is fucking terrified.

She’s thrown a sheet on the floor and laid her armor out on top of it. Shiny black and purple, with a scratch she never bothered to buff out on the left thigh. Her Black Widow and Avenger lay next to it.

“Vega’s letting you on the ground team?” It’s not the first thing he anticipated saying to her. He’d planned to say something idiotic, like are you okay. Of course she isn’t. He’s so far from okay that it doesn’t sound like a real word. Olivia can’t be closer.

She pauses, hand on her visor. “I’d like to see him try to stop me,” she says, slow and low and even.

Garrus would too, but Vega’s not that stupid. Olivia may not have seen any action outside the Arena in twenty years, but she has standing platinum matches three times a week; if he’s available or any of their friends are on the station and willing, she’ll pull them into it – otherwise, she goes solo. Last he checked, her stats were 7:1 extracting.

His are 6:1 and his assistant picked up his armor this afternoon.  “He’ll have to go through both of us.”

She finally looks up at him.

He swallows. The expression on her face is identical to the one she wore while staring down a reaper. “I’m going.” Olivia isn't the only unstoppable force in their family. There are a million reasons he shouldn’t even be on the ship, let alone groundside, but not one of them stands up against Cerberus having control of his daughter. This mission is too important to leave solely in the hands of other people.

Olivia sits back on her heels and sighs. “Wasn’t gonna stop you, Garrus,” she says softly. “Vega's meeting us at Soyuz-Janiri tomorrow with whatever resources he can scrounge up.”

Garrus steps around her, letting his hand briefly brush against her shoulder. He ducks into the closet to change out of his robes. “Good.” That was the last part of the plan, the only piece she didn't have locked into stone when she called. He exchanges his council robes for a pair of comfortable loose pants and a tunic. “When does the Normandy arrive?” he asks, stepping out of the closet. She told him the rest of the specifics this afternoon, but everything is a dull roar after Cerberus has Nora, Garrus: they activated the chip. Some part of him thinks he should be upset that she waited to tell him last. Another part of him knows that he'd call her last, too.

“4:45 in the morning.” She closes and locks her armor trunk and then stands, gathering the sheet. She balls it up and drops it in their laundry basket. “So we have,” she checks the clock, “ten hours to kill.”

Garrus takes a step forward and draws Olivia close into the hug he’s needed to give her – and needed to get from her – since she called. He wraps his arms tight around her, flattening his hands across her back as she tucks herself against him. He feels her breath shake and her arms circle around him just as tight.

After a few moments, he bows his head and kisses the top of her head. “We’ll get her back,” he whispers into her hair. They have to. They’ll rescue Nora and her team from that facility. And then they’ll turn the chip off again, this time for good. There is no alternative.

“I know,” she says quietly.

Tugging her closer, Garrus hums softly, a low, gentle, calming rumble he knows she likes. He ghosts his hands over her, slowly rubbing her back in soothing circles.

After a few moments, Olivia briefly tightens her hug and then takes half a step back. Garrus looks at his wife, keeping his arms still loosely wrapped around her. His heart twists in his chest. The lines on Olivia’s face, earned from decades of smiles and laughter, now look hollow and haunted.

He remembers the night in their quarters after Thessia, when the light hit just right and he thought for the briefest of moments that she was becoming a ghost before his eyes. She’d shattered in his arms, wild and feral and desperate, in a way he’s so grateful he hasn’t seen since. But as Olivia looks up at him tonight, twenty-five years of motherhood in her spine, Garrus knows that the night after Thessia fell will pale in comparison to how both of them will shatter if this doesn’t work.

So it's going to work.

Leaning down to bump his forehead against hers, he lets his subvocals shift a little deeper into a tone that will settle them both. “Let’s get some food.” Ten hours is a long time to have nothing to do. Neither of them will spend any of it sleeping.

As if on cue, her stomach growls. She laughs softly at herself and steps away.

“Have you eaten since breakfast?” Garrus asks as they walk downstairs to the kitchen. Food is the first thing Olivia always forgets during a crisis, followed very quickly by sleep. He can’t change that about her, but he can encourage her to get both.

“I had coffee?” she says, half a question, as if the whipped cream on her afternoon frozen coffee might qualify as food.

“Coffee hasn’t counted as food in the thirty years I’ve known you, Liv,” he gently chides. “It’s not suddenly going to start counting now.”

Olivia ignores him and opens the refrigerator, only to stare blankly at the levo side. "Takeout," she decides. Neither of them are in the right headspace to make anything. She sits down on the middle stool at the counter and opens the delivery app on her omnitool. He sits beside her and does the same.

“Oh,” she says after a moment. “You should order for two.”

Garrus raises a brow plate.

“Nico’s coming.”

The plate rises higher. Nico’s been working at the bakery for the past eight years. He officially took over from Hannah two years ago when she and Zaeed moved to Earth. Out of their two sons, he is not who Garrus would guess if asked who was coming on this mission.

She sends her order off. “We need a decryption specialist and he’s the best one I know.”

Garrus can’t fault that logic; Nico’s knee kept him from an active combat position and his entire deployment was spent in intelligence programs so classified Garrus didn’t even know they existed until he became councilor. He quickly orders for himself and his youngest son and then looks back at Olivia. “He’s staying on the ship though, right?” While their other two children took to combat like it was in their blood, Nico counted down the days until basic was over and he could get away from gunfire.

Olivia nods with a smile. “That’s the first thing he asked me, too. Yes.”

“Good.” Worrying about one kid is enough; he’d rather not have to worry about two. Or three. He wonders if Quentus has somehow found out and is currently badgering Solana to divert their current mission to Zorya.

***

James blinks as the airlock door opens to reveal not only Liara, Miranda, and Wrex, but also Deck and her entire team. “Thought you were on the other side of the galaxy,” he says, stepping aside to let everyone past him.

“I cashed in a favor,” Deck says. “Incidentally, the Blue Suns have some pretty wicked experimental quantum drives.”

He holds up his hand before she can continue. “I don’t want to know,” he says. “Find a bunk downstairs. Briefing’s in thirty. We’ll debrief on your thing once this is over.”

“Roger,” she says and gestures for the other three to follow her through the CIC to the elevator.

Wrex nods as he passes, revealing Jack and Tali standing in the space behind him. James looks over at his wife. Liara shrugs and gives him a small smile. He’s not sure whether the extra reinforcements are a good thing, but he’ll never turn down help. Tali hugs him, Jack gives a curt nod, and then he’s finally alone with Liara.

“Hi,” he says, drawing her into a hug. He wraps his strong arms around her shoulders and kisses her forehead. Nora’s family to him, but so are the other five trapped in that base. He’s had to mount rescues before, but this keeps getting worse the more he learns about it.

Liara hugs him back, just as tight. “Hello,” she says, giving him a gentle squeeze before pulling away. “I thought you might need the extra backup; I did not realize you’d have Anubis back.”

“Neither did I,” he says, walking side-by-side with her through the CIC to the war room. “The more the merrier.” He nods at the crew they pass. Everyone looks so young. He supposes he’s gotten old.

James feels the Normandy shudder as the docking clamps release, followed by a brief wobbly moment before the inertial dampeners kick in. He gestures for Liara to go through the war room security checkpoint first. Three days. He takes a deep breath. He needs his guys to hang on for three more days.

“You’re the reason I have children,” Wrex is saying when James enters the room. “You think I’m not gonna come help you get your kid back?”

Shepard looks like she’s about to cry.

Jack crosses her arms and shifts her weight; the red holographic display casts angry shadows across her face. “Cerberus doesn’t get to fuck with kids as long as I’m alive.”

“You’re my friend,” Tali says. And then she shrugs. “Plus, I was already on the station.”

At that, Shepard laughs. “I’m glad you’re all here, thank you.” And then her eyes settle on Liara.

James doesn’t know what it is that Liara sees, but she lets out a soft, sad sigh before making her way down the stairs and over to Shepard.

Liara hugs Shepard tightly and doesn’t let go. Everyone talks around them, letting the two of them fade into the background and share their quiet little hug in the corner alone.

Out of the corner of his eye, James sees Garrus step into the room and stand beside him. He turns. Garrus is watching Shepard and Liara in much the same way he was.

“How’s she doing?” James asks. He wishes he could just ask as her friend. But Shepard's on the ground team and he needs to know.

“Not good,” Garrus says.

The understatement in Garrus’ voice is crystal clear and James looks up at him. “How are you doing?”

Garrus slowly turns and looks at him. “Not good,” he repeats, with the same clipped tone.

Exhaling, James nods. If their positions were reversed, not good would be an understatement for him, too.

***

“Why do I always have to be the one to do this?” Rachel asks with a sigh. It’s almost time for them to come collect the empty lunch trays. She’d actually enjoyed lunch today; there was an apple.

“Always?” Micah asks. “You mean this is not the first time you’ve done this?”

She shakes her head.

“It always has to be you because you look the least intimidating,” Jonah says.

“People underestimating me is largely how I've gotten this far,” Rachel says cheerily. The door opens and a single guard enters while another stands at the door. “I hate this part,” she murmurs to herself.

Rachel waits until he’s deactivating her forceshield and then bends over, her hair hiding her face from them. She dry heaves a few times and then makes herself throw up the remnants of lunch. She stands up straight, stumbles a little and pushes her hair back out of her face. “I don’t feel good,” she tells the guard.

“Sorry,” he says.

She gags again, making sure to aim in his direction. She wipes the back of her hand over her mouth when he looks up at her in disgust. “Told you.”

The other guard sighs. “We should take her in to medical. Turner says we need these guys alive for the time being.”

“Fine,” he says, gesturing for her to come out of the cell.

Keeping her hands up, showing that she has no intentions, Rachel follows the guards out.

“Hey!” Carlos shouts after them. “Send someone to clean this up! It’s gonna smell!”

Rachel counts guards and doorways and turns, making a mental map of the immediate area around the cells. They pass a stairway marked roof access, and there’s noise coming from the closet next to the stairs. It’s quiet, but definitely music. She listens as hard as she can without revealing herself.

Love beyond moons, love beyond stars!

They walk past the closet and take another turn to the left, but Rachel bites back a smile as the song fades. She’s found their gear.

***

Her caffeine load inevitably crashes and Olivia stumbles into bed beside Garrus. Though she’s exhausted, and even took a sleeping pill, sleep eludes her. Olivia rolls onto her side, then her stomach, then her back. She waits twenty minutes and then tries the whole cycle again. After three attempts, she gives up and stares at the ceiling while Garrus snores softly beside her. He's always been able to sleep anywhere, anytime, as long as he knows someone's keeping watch.

She could lie here in bed and get increasingly more annoyed about being awake, or she could do something useful. She brushes a kiss to Garrus’ forehead and then noiselessly slips out of bed.

Tugging a blue Alliance-branded sweatshirt over her head, Olivia stuffs her feet into her boots. Her black pajama pants get stuck in the cuffs and she pulls them out, wishing she’d had the foresight to bring sneakers. She really ought to change into BDUs since she’s going to be out of quarters, but she’s a civilian now and it’s the middle of the night.

She and Garrus are in a two-bunk officer’s quarters, sharing only with James and Liara. It’s small, but it isn’t sleeper pods and it isn’t the barracks-like atmosphere downstairs: with fifteen extra passengers, there aren't enough bunks for everyone and they've thrown every spare couch and chair and pillow into the lounges for impromptu sleeping space. Olivia tiptoes around the other bed, noting that James is the only one in it, and grabs her tablet before slipping out.

Yawning, Olivia steps onto the elevator and presses the control panel for Deck Four. If she’s not going to sleep, she’s going to need coffee. They still have two days; she’ll properly crash later. She runs her fingers through her hair and yawns again before the elevator doors open. The Normandy’s nighttime lights are dim and soft, and she’s in the galley with her hand on the coffeemaker before she notices the figure sitting at the table, hunched over a glowing tablet.

She starts a fresh pot and then walks over to him. “What are you still doing up?” she asks quietly, softly rubbing her son’s back.

Nico sighs and looks up at her. “Trying to break this. I think I’m close to the second decryption level.” He blinks. “Didn’t you and Dad go to bed?”

Olivia slides into a chair opposite him. “He did,” she sighs. “I gave up.”

He looks at her, then over at the coffeemaker burbling happily as it drips into a mug. “Going the Nora route of staying up until your body can’t take it anymore?” He lifts a browplate.

She shrugs and curls a little into her sweatshirt; she’s not proud to say Nora didn’t develop that habit in a vacuum. “Works every time." She reaches across the table and clasps his hand. “I’m sorry I pulled you away for this.” Nico chose a non-military life and it was for a reason. Desperately needing his decryption skills doesn’t change that she feels guilty pulling him away from his own life and back into one he left.

He smiles as she stands to get her coffee. “She’s my sister,” he says simply. “I have people who can handle the bakery for a few days and Lucien can feed my fish.”

Smiling, Olivia returns to her seat, steaming mug in hand. She takes a sip; Alliance coffee hasn't gotten much better in the years since she left, but it’s still tolerable. “Have you two found a place yet?”

“We have a few in mind,” Nico says. “But trying to find something that’s close to the bakery and his precinct and in our price range is harder than we thought.”

Olivia nods. “Apartment hunting sucks,” she commiserates. She does not miss it; designing their home from scratch was one of the best decisions she and Garrus ever made. “What are you going to do with the one above the bakery?”

His tablet beeps with a sad noise and he sighs. He types a few thing and then looks up at her. “I’m thinking about keeping it for when my brother needs to drink himself silly again.”

Olivia winces. “How’s he doing?” She’s had a few emails from Quentus since he left the Citadel. He’s excited about his new assignment, but rejection has always stung strong for her eldest.

Nico shrugs and pushes his tablet aside while the program runs. “He’s upset. But the new assignment’s helping. Solana has him leading a ground team and they have some crazy new tech he can’t tell me about.”

“It’s stealth,” Liara says around a wide yawn. She drops into the chair next to Olivia. “The Hierarchy’s working on no-discharge zero-emission stealth drives.” She picks up Olivia’s mug and takes a sip.

“Get your own,” Olivia says, sliding the mug out of Liara’s reach once she’s set it down. “What are you doing up?”

Liara yawns again. “Talking to vorcha.”

Olivia silently slides her mug back toward Liara. She gets up to pour herself another. “Anything useful?”

“Updated topographical maps, a weather report, and a headache.”

Nico’s tablet beeps, happy and successful this time. “Finally.” He looks up to find both his mother and Liara looking at him expectantly. “Updated base schematics, guard rotations, rolling door codes.”

“Nicely done,” Olivia says, leaning against the counter.

"The base is definitely central ops for Project Damocles, but I'm also finding something about a Project Gemini. No assets on base, just some bio metadata in cached email."

Olivia glances at Liara. "What are the chances that's not what I think it is?" Under normal circumstances, hearing about a Cerberus Project Gemini would cause her stomach to drop all the way through the ship and out into space. As it is, she's not sure her stomach has been inside her body since she got the call from Vega.

"Slim," her friend confirms.

Sighing, Olivia shakes her head at Nico's raised browplate. "Way above your clearance level," she tells him. "Forward all of it to Alliance Central Intelligence." Leave it to Cerberus to keep that particular project going. She never thought she'd label her clone a Tomorrow Problem, but a lot of things she never thought would happen have happened in the last 48 hours.

"And me," Liara says.

"And her."

The observation bay door opens, and loud, excitable indistinct conversation filters out before being silenced again as the door closes. Ashley walks into the mess and straight for the coffee. “We’ve officially given up on stealth,” she says, pouring herself some coffee and setting it to brew more. “Just rush the gates.”

“Blowing the door down has always worked well for us,” Olivia muses.

“That’s what I thought,” Ashley says, sitting down beside Liara. “They’re still working on a way past the AA guns that doesn’t involve a two-day hike through the jungle, though.” She looks at the clock and then back in the direction of the observation bay. “Were we ever that young?"

"No," Olivia says.

“Speak for yourselves, please,” Liara says with a grin.

Laughing, Ashley lightly shoves Liara’s shoulder.

“Uh, Captain?” Joker’s voice crackles over the comm.

Ashley sighs with a distinct tone of I don’t want to hear it. "Yeah?"

“We’ve got a ship on intercept course. Unknown configuration.”

“Keep us quiet,” she says. “I’m on my way.” She gestures for Olivia to follow her.

Olivia stands and takes one last sip of coffee. "Keep working on the AA guns," she tells Nico before following Ashley.

“What’s the likelihood this is just a coincidence?” Ashley asks once they’re both in the elevator and rising.

There’s math she could do to figure out the exact probability, but Olivia knows a rhetorical question when she hears it. “First time for everything,” she says.

“They’re hailing us,” Joker says when they walk into the cockpit. “Unknown frequency.” He turns in his seat and looks at Ashley. “What do you want me to do?”

"They shouldn't even be able to see us," Ashley says.

"And yet." Joker gestures to the communication panel and its blinking light.

Ashley waits a moment, shares a long look with Olivia, and then shrugs. “Here’s hoping no one’s dumb enough to fire on us,” she says. “And here’s hoping today isn’t the day that logic runs out. Answer it.”

The viewscreen flickers on. Olivia smiles.

“Heard you were on a rescue mission,” Solana says, Quentus standing behind her. “Anything we can do to help?”

[chantealalune]

Love Like Yours Fest @lovelikeyoursfest

Day 1 Catch-Up: Start of Something New

“Fool in the Rain”-An Asra x F!mc Laura short story

Asra hums and drums, slouching over the top of the counter with a sleepy Faust around his shoulders. Eyes closed and face smushed in his hand he groans, “My love, is anyone really going to come in today with this hurricane going?” As if on cue, a loud clap of thunder roars outside. “Danger Air!” Faust squeaks.

I smile to myself as I continue tidying up the shelves and displays along the walls, “It is raining harder than usual that’s for sure,” picking up one of the moonstone orbs, a carefully buff a smudge from its surface “But we still have a few charms and ritual kits ready for pick-up. I would hate to keep anyone waiting out there if we were to be away.” Satisfied with the presentation of the items I turn to face him.

“You’re welcome to go rest upstairs though. I don’t mind at all.” I saunter towards him and gently rest my forehead against his. He closes his eyes and pecks the tip of my nose making a thoughtful sound. I flush a bit and laugh softly.

“I know,” he sighs happily pulling away to look at me “but I always loved waiting out storms with you by my side. It reminds me of the first time we met.” he gently squeezes my hand.

First time we met?

“I thought you told Nadi and her sisters that we met when she first came to Vesuvia and I was pushed into your booth.” 

“Well technically that’s the first time I saw you, but we actually didn’t talk or ‘formally’ introduce ourselves then.” he clarifies looking up at the ceiling. 

“Yeah, you were probably too starstruck. And here I thought Muriel was the shy one.” I smirk coyly as he blushes.

“What?! No! I mean- how was I supposed to say anything when the famed goddess next door was suddenly on my table.” 

“I only kid. Anyways if we didn’t ‘meet’ then, when and how did our first meeting go?”

Asra looks to the side while using his free hand to scritch Faust’s chin, “Hehe..yeah, it’s kinda a funny story. Er, a bit of a long one-” “Crimes with Asra!” Faust perks up, dodging Asra’s hand.  “Faust!” he feigns betrayal.

“Haha, what? What does she mean? Oh gosh Asra, what did we do?” I give a loving, skeptical look and squeeze his hand. 

“Oh no no! You didn’t do anything at all I swear it was all- well.. like I said it’s a bit of a funny story.” He smiles sheepishly looking at Faust for some grain of mercy.

“All right then,” I let go of his hand, “how about I get us some tea and you can tell me at the table” I smile as I walk through the warm yellow glow of the kitchen entrance next to the opening of the counter. 

“Yes please!” He all but sprints after me. Immediately pulling out the wooden chairs for us to sit in. Faust slithers down his arm and into an empty Prakran fruit bowl for a nap. 

I gently rouse the stove salamander and place our copper kettle over the ignited flame. As the water heats up, I pour my favorite Chai tea blend into two mismatched clay cups. Taking out the last of the week’s cream and some ground hazelnut for fix-ins. A few minutes later our tea is brewed and ready. I hand Asra his cup before placing mine and sitting down, rubbing the top of Faust’s head. 

“This is really nice, thank you.” He takes a sip, giving a satisfied ‘mmm’ of approval “Oh, but before I start- please let me know if you’re feeling any headaches or pains. I know, I know you are ‘infinitely stronger’ now and you haven’t had a spell like that since the night at the fountain but you know I’ll always worry.” he warns somberly.

“Of course, thank you.” I reassure and pat the top of his hand before comfortably leaning back into my chair and taking the first sip of my drink. It’s nice and spicy, perferct for the cooler weather.

Asra takes another quiet sip before going into the story, “When we first met it had been about a year since Muriel left the arena and him and I moved to the woods. We lived off the land okay but going to the markets for things was inevitable. So I had been selling charms, masks, readings, y’know the usual crowd drawers. Like I mentioned to Nadi I had set up my booth behind the shop once and that’s how I met you,” We smile cheekily at the last bit.

“After that first time I saw you, I just- I couldn’t get you out of my head. I had to see you once more at the very least just to know it wasn’t a dream. So from then I would constantly hang around the back or within the streets just hoping to catch another glimpse of you. Maybe even work up the nerve to talk to you. It worked eventually, we would see each other as you would come and go to the markets. Sometimes you would come and look at the wares I had that day” he smirks mischeviously, “Really I think you were scoping out the competition and got distracted by my charm. I certainly did with you, at least.” I giggle

“Oh shush, you... You said the shop was originally my aunt’s, didn’t she see you at all? Did I ever say anything?”

“You didn’t of course, you have always been the same friendly flirt. Honestly, I think we were both excited to find another student of magic around our age. Even your aunt didn’t say much. She never did.” he looks to his tea with a sad smile. 

“Why? What was wrong with her?” I say through a slow sip.

“I don’t think you ever told me the full story, but there was certainly talk around town. When you came to Vesuvia, it was to take care of your aunt. She was becoming increasingly sickly and could barely manage the shop anymore. In exchange she promised she would teach you everything she knew about magic, when she was up to it of course. You didn’t mind though, you always said you were excited just to live here. You guys were very close, but I digress. She saw me enough from the bedroom window, always with a stern look and intense gaze just like yours. I always thought it was intimidation or that she was sizing me up. Now that I think about it though, she was just waiting.”

“For what?”

“One of us to make the first move, I guess” he laughs. 

“I guess I can relate, I’m waiting to hear how our first meeting went. All this build-up and you’re starting to sound like Julian.” 

Asra playfully rolls his eyes smearing a hand over his face “Oh please, that’s the last thing I want. Don’t worry, though, I’m almost there.”

“Okay..”

“So anyways, your aunt did scare me off just a bit. I thought she was going to tell you something- she didn’t of course. But I still made it a point to rotate my selling grounds, going to different markets every other day. On top of that I even sort of demoted myself to something like a ‘door to door snake venom salesman’. What a sight I must’ve been, huh? A disheveled, gaunt, 17 year old kid and his snake selling crude twig charms and sigils for some coins to buy the morning’s bread- or sometimes yesterday’s. It was rotton work to put on that ‘mysterious vagabond’ act for hours everyday but it brought food to the hut so it didn’t matter. 

“One fall it was incredibly stormy, just like this kind of weather except it wasn’t even letting up. I mean, it went on for days. Of course no one wanted to stick around the markets long enough to buy whatever I was selling. And I couldn’t go back empty handed so I just wandered around the city all day, going up and pitching to anyone who bothered to answer. Still, no one bought anything. I was tired, hungry, cold, soggy, wet, hurting, you name it! I felt so defeated and I knew Faust wasn’t exactly comfortable at the time. It was already too dark and still pouring buckets to try and make it back to the forrest on my own so I knew I was going to stay the night on the streets again. I was starting to walk back to the borders of the city, that way I wouldn’t be too far from the forrest. But I stopped in my tracks when I saw the shop. I though ‘maybe this one, maybe they’ll be willing to buy something, or at least maybe I can stall enough to get out of the damn rain for a while’ but when I tried the door, it was locked. Even after I knocked, too. That did me in, I felt so silly and alone. At one point I even slumped to the ground against the door. Knees to my chest and arms encircled tight as I tried to keep me and Faust warm. I probably looked pretty pathetic but I didn’t know what else to do.” His voice begins to quicken pace as he remebers the desperation of the situation. I put my cup down and take his hand in both of mine.

“Oh, my love, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it gets better. After a few minutes of moping while watching the rain. Faust noticed the window we were sitting under was open and-”

“Asra Alnazar! You broke into my shop!?!” I cry accusingly.

“No! It was Faust! Yes, you Faust! As soon as she saw the window was open she cried ‘warm for Asra!’ and slithered in too fast before I could catch her” Faust hisses at the snitching before recoiling herself tighter to face the wall.

I start to giggle and pet her gently.”Oh Fausty, that is absolutely something you would think of. No wonder you and julian got along so well.” She slithers out of the bowl and closer to me to spite Asra, who can’t help but smile and chuckle.

“I tried to stop her, Laura, I really did. But she had already made her way to the ground and was drying or warming herself up on one of the rugs. I called and called for her in an intense whisper but to no avail. You know how she gets. I even tried to levitate her back but she was too determined and I was too weak to focus. So I- I did go through the window. BUT ONLY TO GET FAUST! I swear.

“And I mean, you’ve seen me. I’m not like Muriel or Ilya but when I was younger I was pretty lanky so getting in was actually really hard.” 

“You fell on your face didn’t you?” I prompt dryly

“Hahaha, yeah I actually did and it hurt too. I fell on a bag of sharp twigs and wood floor for magician’s sake!” He woundedly admits.

“Of course as soon as all this happend, We heard footsteps running down the stairs. I jumped up and grabbed Faust as we tried to unlock the door but I was panicking too much to undo the spell. That’s when we whipped our heads around and saw you glaring wided-eyed from across the room with a ball of glowing energy in each hand. I swear I have never been more scared in my entire life. I don’t think I’ve seen you more scared or surprised in both of your lives. As soon as you saw Faust though, you relaxed a bit and you remembered us from the market.”

“Did I say anything?”

“Yeah, the first things you said were ‘Who the hell are you?!’ and then when you saw Faust slither out of my arms again and to your feet you picked her up and said ‘Oh, hello! it’s just you guys’ And well from there the rest is history.”

“What do you mean ‘the rest is history’ ? What else happened?! What kind of a story teller are you?” I tease.

“I mean you asked what I was doing and I explained the whole situation, we laughed and I offered to leave but before I did you grabbed my sleeve and stopped me. You told me that I was not allowed to go back out there until I was full dry, I had some tea and rest, or the rain stopped. You gave me, fresh shirts to wear that you said belonged to your aunt, but they fit decent. Then you made us some tea and let faust warm up by the stove. We ended up talking practically all night, about ourselves, magic, Vesuvia. and-”

I lean over the kitchen table, to kiss him. Slowly and lovingly with one hand supporting his chin. The warmth and spiciness of the tea lingering between us as we pull away. “And the rest is history.” I smile before we lean into each other again.

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Fortune and Soulmates {Headcanon}

Warning: Slight Angst, Tease Burn (It’s a thing), Snippet/Tease, Way Too many words

Words: 2.2k

Note: This one had me a tiny bit scared. As you guys know I’ve never done Bucky and have no idea where to begin. 😬 I also, cannot resist a challenge (one of my fatal flaws🤷🏽‍♀️). So, I had a little fun here. Hope you guys like it. Please be gentle on my Bucky attempt.

Note #2: Majority of this is from the story I began and promised @sonjashuterbugjohnson​ and @disneysdarlingdiva​ about Bucky x Reader x Steve. So seeing this headcanon request felt kismet and I decided to bring it out. So, enjoy the sneak peek—kinda. Also, I’ve spun some of the fortune aspects to fit my agenda. They do not really mean that. (I am aware of what they really mean, don’t worry) 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Since the day they met it’s always been Bucky and Steve. Where you saw Steve, Bucky was close behind. When you were telling a story or hearing a story about Bucky, Steve was in it too. They were inseparable. They shared toys as kids, adventures as boys, trouble as teens and even combat for their country.  

After years of fighting, and their lengthy separation because of Bucky’s capture and brainwash, and all the struggle and grief they’d been through the two war heroes were finally able to take a breath without having to look over their shoulders. They still did though because old habits die hard. 

A year after Bucky’s successful rehabilitation and reintroduction into society when things were calm the two of them met you. In true Steve and Bucky form it was a competition on who could get you to offer them a seat at your table.  

They both took turns coming over with treats trying to flirt. Steve was first, he brought over a vanilla milkshake topped with whipped cream and two cherries. The first thing you noticed was the clearness of his blue eyes and the hard chiseled lines of his masculine jaw. Then he proceeded to flirt in the politest way ever. It was the twenty-first century and when a man gave a line it never began with “ma’am” and included words like “delighted”, or “spellbinding”. It was a polite flirtatious effort and it intrigued you especially as you noticed how buff he appeared to be in his leather jacket, but he didn’t get the offer. 

Bucky came over with a slice of chocolate cake and a sweet but cocky smile. The first thing you noticed was his metal hand. It definitely made you want to know more. His flirting style was direct and filled with innuendoes, but still strangely polite. It was clear these two were not from around here or even from this era.  

Nevertheless, neither of them got the invitation. They left you be and returned to their table and teased each other that they’d both struck out. After fifteen minutes you joined them at their table with your treats and a smile. Both men quickly offered you the seat. 

From that day you Bucky and Steve were inseparable. You did everything together. You told them everything and when they got comfortable with you, they told you everything about who they were and all they’d seen. You were fascinated by all they’d been through but also sad that they’d gone through so much pain. You wanted to show them happiness, that life shouldn’t be about struggle or fighting or pain, but that it can be about peace, harmony and joy.  

You took it upon yourself to acclimate them to the twenty first century the best you could without compromising their morals, and core values. You loved them just the way they were so you didn’t want to change them, you just wanted them to feel like they belonged in this time.  

You took them to staple restaurants, fast food chains like Wendy’s and Shake Shack, Bucky appreciated the menu but Steve on the other hand said it could have been healthier. You took them on road trips and they always fought over who would drive. You took them to theme parks and they shocked you with how adventurous they were wanting to ride Kingda Ka six times, it would have been more because they skipped the lines, when everyone saw it was Captain America and thee Winter Solider/Bucky Barnes they happily moved aside to let them jump the line. You were not impressed, you valued your life and sat out the five extra rides. 

You took them to their first topless/nude beach but as soon as they stepped to the edge of the pavement where the sand began their jaws dropped as they took in all the skin. When you stepped between them and looked out over where they were you didn’t think it was a big deal. They looked to you and saw you were topless and immediately turned their backs to you sandwiching you between their backs. Their protests were loud, Steve was the one to throw you over his shoulder and hightail it back to the car, signaling this idea was a fail. 

You took them to a club, for the most part it was successful, they’d expected it to be similar to a speakeasy from the nineteen hundreds but handled it well when it turned out to be a hell of a lot different. That was the first night you’d noticed the way they looked at you. You tried to coax them to dance with you and figured showing them how easy it was to match the beat of songs these days was the best way. Steve and Bucky sat there watching your every move, the roll of your hips, the bounce of your ass, jiggle of your breasts and shake of your head. You'd gotten lost in the song and when you looked back to them the look on their face was clear to understand. 

It tripped you up, especially when you took note of the way your belly did backflips and your heart sped but you did your best to shake it off and ignore it, choking it up to elevated heart rate from dancing and the alcohol you’d drank. Finally, you managed to get them out there with you and without much instructing they were dancing and grinding with you like every other man in the club. 

After a few songs Bucky’s was the first body you felt press against your back. His metal arm rested at the top of your thigh, you could smell his sandalwood aftershave and though you’d smelled it several hundred times over the last two years since you’d met him it was like the first and it made your belly flip more violently.  

As if silently communicating with Bucky, Steve came close to you. His eyes locked on yours and unlike how his face usually hid his thoughts and emotions, they said so much, so much that your heart pounded even faster. Steve dropped his hand to your waist and rested it just atop where the swell of your ass began. 

“Like riding a bike.” Bucky’s voice was deep and you dangerous and it made you shiver. Unconsciously you leaned back against him allowing his body to fully press against you. He felt good. With your head perched back on Bucky’s shoulder you got a better view of Steve's face. His eyes were glued to your lips. Steve stepped closer to you and gripped your waist. A moan escaped you. It was like that was all either of them needed to hear before you were completely sandwiched between them. There was no way of telling where you began and either of them ended. You just stood there and enjoyed the press of them against you. By the end of the song you were having feelings you’d never had a day in your life, and it wasn’t for one of them—it was for both of them. 

You quickly pulled free from them and pretended like nothing had happened. What else were you gonna do, go back to their shared place and let them have their way with you?  

After that night they had Avengers duties and you were relieved. It would give you time away from them, time that you rarely had. It gave you time to think about the night in the club and about other times you’d been together. Part of you wondered if you’d seen looks like that before, or felt that way before. You easily pinpointed several other occasions. 

After a week you missed them. They were way past being able to contact you, it was always like this when they had missions. You always worried and this time was no different. 

Two weeks later you were at work, at your store checking in on inventory when there they were in the flesh. You'd never been happier to see two people and you quickly ran to them jumping into the air with your legs spread. One leg wrapped around Bucky’s back and the other Steve’s while they both hugged you.  

They took you to a carnival in Jersey that night and it was the best unwind that the three of you could have asked. You ate carnival food, played the games, of course Steve and Bucky spent several minutes competing with the hammer strength game, you happily stood there with the two oversized stuffed animals they’d won you and let them bicker. After a little while the final result was they now shared the title—another thing for them to share. 

You ducked into a fortune teller’s tent and perused the items on shelves. You'd always loved things like this. After everything Avenger related you didn’t doubt that it was possible for people to have abilities that were unconventional and hard to fathom. You weren’t narrowminded enough to think human beings were that monomorphic.  

“Come, sit down my children. I will read your fortune.” 

Bucky and Steve gave you a doubting look, you smiled and fanned them off. “Come on, it’s all for fun.” 

You were the first to sit then your two bulky protectors on either side of you. The middle aged woman before the three of you silently looked at you spending a few moments on each of you. It looked as if she were looking through you rather than at you.  

“Before we being, you—draw a card.” 

You looked down and saw a deck of neatly piled cards. The woman before you moved her hand over them and spread them evenly before you in a slight arch. You took your time and moved your hand over each card trying to see which one called to you. After a few seconds you felt your palm itch, you then took the card that was directly underneath it. 

The elderly woman was smiling as she watched you hand her the card. When she looked at it her smile widened then she looked at the three of you again. She then placed it down before her and quickly gathered the cards to put them in a basket beside her. She placed a fresh deck down and did the same spread. 

“Now you, pick a card.” She was looking at Steve. Steve mirrored your actions and after a short time took a card up to hand to the intriguing woman. She looked at the card without an expression and looked to Steve. You were curious now. The woman put the card before her to join yours and spread another fresh deck and spoke to Bucky. “And you, pick a card.” 

Bucky quickly picked his card and handed it to her. She didn’t look at this one, she put it down and cleared the table leaving the cards the three of you picked.  

“Are you ready to see what your futures hold? What is meant for you?” 

A strange feeling settled in your stomach but you couldn’t place what it felt like or what it meant. It was similar to anxious energy, the feeling you get before something is revealed or found. You nodded. The woman flipped your card over first revealing a sun. Then she flipped over Steve’s card to reveal an image of two nude beings standing facing each other with the sun just above in the sky. Finally, she turned over Bucky’s to show the same identical card as Steve’s. 

The three of you looked at each other then to the fortune teller before you who was smiling widely. “It seems you are the center for both of these men. There cannot be a them without a you, there cannot be a you without them.” Your heartbeat sped again and your mouth ran dry. You didn’t dare look at either of them. 

“The cards do not lie, they do not grasp for a truth out of their reach either, they simply shine light on the simple truth. The truth the cards are showing is the three of you are destined for each other. One is no more important than the other. Order has to be found, a balance, without it; implosion is imminent. With balance, your love is nurtured to grow to a magnitude that is stronger than life, death, space and time itself. It begins with three and ends with three. Congratulations boys, you’ve done what not many can—you've found your soulmate.” 

You were the first to get up, it’s quick and unexpected. You couldn’t explain it looking at her gave you a feeling of dread, but overwhelming hope, it was almost like she was giving you good news but also bad news. You walked around the table but the woman grabbed your wrist. You were frozen, unable to speak or move. The woman touched your cheek with her other hand. 

“When you are the center of a world many will come to destroy it. Hold tight to them and your love, never give them up, because they will move heaven and raise hell for you.” 

You pulled your hand from her and hurried out the tent and ran with no particular destination in mind.

[shardminds]

I would stop the world for you

Pairing: Emma Swan/Killian Jones Rating: E for smut  WC: 6975 ABO!AU

Scratching an itch is what she’d called it, over breakfast with a barely-there smile and a smear of whipped cream from her hot chocolate on her bottom lip. It. This. Them.

He’d known that it would be easy to fall for her. He’s been trying not to ever since.

Here it is! The ABO you’ve all been waiting for... maybe? 

I want to give a BIG thank you to Salem (@artistic-writer) who is not only the reason for this works conception but also the brave soul that beta'd the living shit out of it, helped me muddle together a summary after I killed my brain while writing and put up with my whiny arse throughout. The bitch is fantastic. Show her, her writing and her art some love!

I also want to thank Sara (@darkcolinodonorgasm) for giving this a once over at the 4k mark and screaming at/with me when I thought my muse had run out. You're wonderful!

Also on AO3

Tagging a few who showed interest early on! @thisonesatellite​, @kmomof4​, @hollyethecurious​, @winterbaby89​, @gingerchangeling​, @resident-of-storybrooke​, @tiganasummertree​

It started with a text. Usually, Killian would have let it be and left the message unread until his break for fear of Liam catching him slouched over the battered oak workbench in the corner of their somehow impeccably kept workshop, eyes glued to his phone rather than the carburettor of the ‘76 Impala he should be working on. It would have earned him a lecture on professionalism and appearance and the same ‘this business is important’ shpiel Liam came out with every time he caught any member of their small team in a moment of distraction. As CEO of Jones & Jones Auto Refurbishments, he tended to let his ruling Alpha traits come through as a business owner - assertive, confident, loyal and a little bit of an arse if he didn’t get his own way. Killian, similarly Alpha in his nature, knows they’re unfortunately similar in their personalities, although he likes to pride himself on not being an arse all the time and being the more likeable Jones sibling. Hopefully, many people would back him up on that. They’d butted heads throughout their lives but, at the end of the day, Liam is all he’s got and a simple text message is usually not worth losing his brother’s favour over.

Liam wasn’t there today though, choosing instead to meet up with some of their more high profile customers to discuss refurb schedules in the spring quarter. His absence bumps Killian up from CEO’s younger-not-little brother and head mechanic to CEO’s younger-not-little brother, head mechanic and acting CEO until Liam gets back from his weekend away talking shop with a bunch of ponces who buy classic cars but have no clue about the maintenance or upkeep. It’s a lengthy title. They’re working on it. The biggest take away from his temporary promotion is that he can check his phone whenever he damn well pleases. Will and Robin are working away on the rust bucket of a Mini Cooper that had been dropped off yesterday by a disgruntled Graham on the other side of the workshop. They’re bickering, as usual, over if the vehicle will need a respray or not. Killian lets himself zone out of their squabbling as he pulls his phone from the pocket of his jeans.

What’s waiting there for him has a thrum of arousal awakening before he can even compose himself to read it fully. Emma. His best friend, confidant and the occasional recipient of his knot whenever her heat gets the better of her.

It’d been less than 48 hours since he’d seen her last to fuck out the residual energy his rut had left coursing through him. It was needy and raw and, when his knot hit, he’d had to stop himself from clamping down on the gland in the juncture of her neck. There was no way he’d have been able to resist sinking his teeth into the supple skin there if his rut was in full swing but that’s exactly the reason they’re careful about the scheduling of their trysts – avoiding his rut and indulging her heat whenever possible. They have apps to log it and everything.

With spring coming in, most Alphas were taking time off to handle their season. Killian had felt his coming a mile off and immediately locked himself away and started prepping high-protein meals, sterilizing his toys and cancelling all his plans – including the ones involving a certain willing Omega. He likes her a lot more than he probably should, but he doesn’t want to force the obligation of his mark onto her. A lot of other Alphas would’ve already. He’s been told as much and knocked half as many out for trying. Always coming to Emma afterwards, battered and bloody. She welcomes him with open arms, cleans his wounds and thanks him in her own way. He knows she doesn’t want that whole marked, barefoot and pregnant life and he respects that. There’s no way he’s ready to bring kids into the world. His one-bedroom apartment above the workshop is no place to raise a child, for god’s sake. He knows Emma feels the same. Her reliance on the contraceptives Dr Whale supplies her with is concrete proof of that. She even keeps a box in Killian’s bedside table, just in case.

As much as he’d love a repeat performance of the other night, they’d already discussed their clashing calendars. Liam was away on business and Emma was covering for David at the station while he rode out his rut. Well… his wife rode it out. They’d be fine for a couple of weeks. Killian has a reminder in his phone for when Emma’s next heat is due to hit so he knows when to stock up on carby foods, ice cream and good coffee. He’s freed up that week for her, knowing how needy she can get through her heat.

Regardless, she doesn’t usually text him while he’s at work. She knows how Liam gets. It must be something important. He swipes open his phone, taking a second to smile at his lock screen. It’s a picture of the two of them, curled up with matching cups of hot chocolate and a shared blanket that he’d taken at some point to prove to Ruby that they occasionally do things other than fucking. Sometimes ‘Netflix and Chill’ means just that. Emma’s hair is a mess and so is his but their smiles are genuine and it makes his heart warm every time. He flicks up her messages with another swipe of his thumb and his smile falls.

Swan: I’m early. Need you now. Please.

She means her heat. He’s not stupid. Had it been a month already? A quick check to his calendar shows that she’s not due for another week at least. They meticulously planned these things. Killian Jones, a self-professed neat freak, and Emma Swan, the proud owner of a ‘floordrobe’, disagree on a lot of things when it comes to personal organisation. The one thing they do agree on, however, is keeping track of their cycles.

The last time she’d been early, they ended up fucking in the back of her Yellow VW Bug on the way home from a beach trip with the Nolans. She’d been wearing the smallest bikini he’d ever seen, the two black triangles only just covering her breasts before being secured by a thin strap at her nape and a second behind her back. Instead of matching bottoms, she’d gone with a pair of frayed denim shorts that brushed the tops of her thighs and hugged her behind so deliciously that he could barely keep a hold of the growl brewing in his throat. Sand clung to her arse and the back of her legs and he wanted nothing more than to brush it off and pull her into his lap. He could smell her arousal creeping up on her before she could, approaching as inevitably as the tide, and he knew they would not make it back to her apartment before it hit. For the sake of David, Mary Margaret and the rest of the families trying to enjoy themselves on a rare sunny beach day, Killian bundled Emma into the cramped back seat of her car and began the two-hour drive back to Storybrooke.

She had him pull over after half an hour to give her a hand, so to speak.

The upholstery stains had been a bitch to get out.

Before thinking of the consequences, he fumbles out a text back to her.

K. Jones: Be there in 5.

“Rob! Will!” He calls out across the shop, knowing he’s been heard when the incessant bickering turns to silence. The two Betas would be able to handle things on their own for the day. They’d get no work done, sure, but he could afford that. Work had been slow all morning and there was no sign of it picking up any time soon. As long as they finish the Mini by the week’s end, Liam will be none the wiser. Pulling on his leather jacket, Killian headed over their way. “Something’s come up. Can you cover for me?”

“What is it this time, lover boy?” Will chimes in, appearing from under the hood of Graham’s Mini, his white vest smeared with oil despite him not remotely touching the engine today. One eyebrow raised in a questioning glare. “Missus need you to lick her boots again?”

Rob issues him with a slap, sending his friend’s head straight into the hood of the car with a metallic thud and a groan. They’d have to buff that one out later. Well…Will would.

“That’s no way to talk to your superior, William. Show some respect.”

Rob laughs at the snarl he gets in return, reaching across to ruffle his friend’s buzzcut. Will clenches his teeth, biting out his response. “Call me William one more time and I’ll show you some respect.”

Killian had always found their relationship a little odd. Will is always ready for a fight, a punch first ask questions later kind of bloke and Robin is the one that drags him back to reality with a gentle hand…and maybe occasionally a firm shove. They’re two sides of the same coin and Liam would be lost without them in the shop. Hell, Killian would be lost without them in his life.

Especially now.

“Lads, I’m trusting you to not burn the place down. Lock up when you’re done, will you?” He launches his keys at Rob who plucks them out of the air and tucks them into the breast pocket of his pristine overalls, patting them for good measure. Rob, he could trust. Will, on the other hand…It’s a good job Liam had gone all out on their liability insurance.

They bid him farewell with a sarcastic “Aye aye, Captain!” before Killian can protest. He doesn’t have the time to bollock them for being insolent. Plus, they’re doing him a favour by watching over the shop, both automatically aware of the nature of his absence. He flips them off, jumping into his Jeep and slamming it into gear before speeding across town with little regard for the speed limit. It’s okay. He’s got connections in the sheriff’s office.

Well… one connection. The same connection he’s about to fuck the living daylights out of.

Scratching an itch is what she’d called it, over breakfast with a barely-there smile and a smear of whipped cream from her hot chocolate on her bottom lip. It. This. Them.

He’d known that it would be easy to fall for her. He’s been trying not to ever since.

Emma’s apartment building is tucked away on the other side of Storybrooke. Past main street and the town hall, almost on the edge of the town boundary. The whole apartment block is a sanctuary for unclaimed Omegas; tucked far enough away that they’re able to endure their heats in peace, but close enough that you can still get lunch delivered from Granny’s if needed. Alphas, upon entry, have to provide ID, evidence of their previous rut and what their intentions are while visiting. Luckily, Ruby was on duty today – pillar-box red nails offering him a little wave as he passes by the entrance checkpoint. Killian didn’t even have to slow his Jeep. She had the barriers open for him already. Emma must’ve called ahead.

Rolling his truck into the nearest parking bay, Killian almost forgets to check if he’s locked it before he’s vaulting over the fence and sprinting into the sterile building, taking the linoleum stairs two at a time to get to Emma’s third-floor apartment faster. The building smells of bleach and fresh laundry but, underneath it all, he can taste something distinctly her. Earthy yet fresh, sweet and almost spicy. It swells around him like a warm embrace when she throws open her door.

He hadn’t even knocked.

She’s a sight for sore eyes dressed in one of his old band t-shirts, logo far too faded to be legible anymore, and a pair of boy shorts that do nothing to hide how slick she is, wetness seeping through the material with every second spent stood in the doorway. She’s gorgeous and glowing, a thin sheen of sweat causing her to glisten under the fluorescence of the hallway lights, flecks of gold catching in her lust-darkened eyes. Her hair hangs in matted curls over her left shoulder and he knows she must have been too impatient to blow dry it that morning, instead opting to let it air dry while she took care of herself in other ways. Fuck. He can’t think about that right now. The tang of her heat in the air makes him want enough as it is. He does not need filthy images of Emma trying to get herself off with the knot toy he’d bought for her last year when her heat and his rut had clashed. He does not need to think of how she was probably whining for him, aching to be filled by something real, way before she texted him to come over.

She wants him, needs him, and he can smell it rolling off her in waves.

It’d be rude not to oblige.

She must’ve had the same thought because she pounces on him the second he moves to step forward, arms surrounding his neck and legs circling his waist. He can’t help but reach down to her arse, giving it a light pinch which has her letting out an indecent moan before she’s crashing their lips together. He shouldn’t miss her. It’d not been two days since he last had her, hard and fast against the tiled walls of his shower and yet, when she’s like this, desperate and begging in his arms, he damns every second they were apart. The door slams shut behind them and Killian promptly shoves her up against it, swallowing down the noise it earns him.

Emma kisses are urgent and powerful, overwhelming in their ferocity. Omegas aren’t usually celebrated for their power but she’s different. Her heat brings out a side to her that drowns out his comprehensive thought with fiery kisses and insistent touches. She tears down his resolve so completely. Is there any way he can deny her when she’s like this, hands impatiently tearing at the buttons of his shirt?

Omegas are commonly seen as the weaker class, apparently only superior in their fertility, and abused by the archaic roots of their world. Killian had never understood the prejudice held against them, even as a boy. He’d been born into privilege and he accepted that. As the son of an Alpha father, sibling to an Alpha brother and an Alpha himself, he will never be able to comprehend the struggle that comes with being born with a target on your back. He will never know the pain of suffering through twelve heats a year or the immense risk that other Alphas pose on a regular basis when you’re unclaimed. He will never know the sheer unadulterated bliss that Emma feels when he fills her so full of his come that it leaks around his pulsing knot, mixed with her sheer slick on its path down her thighs. He will never know just how much trust she puts in him when his teeth graze over the patch of skin along her neck that calls for his bite. But, for her, he tries.

“Stop thinking.” She growls, tugging on his bottom lip with her teeth, utilising probably more force than intended. Her hands make their way under his shirt in an attempt to push it off his shoulders but it doesn’t budge far, the buttons she’d missed in her haste straining to accommodate. Her eyes, emerald and dangerous, flutter shut as he lets the hand that is not supporting the small of her back slip beneath her sodden underwear. The scent of her hits him stronger now and all he can do is bite back the groan in his chest. She’s soft and silken and he can see how absolutely consumed she is by her pleasure in the way she relaxes into his touch. Her lips part against his mouth in a gasp. He wants.

“I came all this way and that’s all you have to say?”

“Killian, please.” Her thighs clench his hips as he dips one finger into her centre. He’ll never tire of this. Feeling her twitch and whine as his deft fingers work their magic. She unravels beneath his touch and it’s maddening. Teasing her, caressing her core and revelling in the slick that spills beneath his ministrations, builds his own arousal in an agonising burn. Her lips take his again in a breathless kiss, a mess of mouths and tongues and teeth. Fire rushes through his veins as he fights the urge to fuck her senseless right there. As much as he wants to slam her against the white varnished wood and take her so deep she can’t help but cry out, he doesn’t fancy a repeat of the last time they’d been so impatient. He’d awoken on the floor, half-hard, after literally fucking the door off its hinges and knocking himself out on the frame on the way down. Emma had laughed about it for weeks after and the apartment block billed him for the repairs.

Beds are easier to replace and Killian has fucked her in his fair share of them.

He smells her orgasm approaching before it hits. He always does. The heady scent of her sex becoming richer, sweeter, thicker before he dips a second finger inside her cunt, pushing deeper to massage the rough spot that sends her over the edge every single time.

Emma can’t help but run her mouth as she comes. Shaking in his hold, fists balled in his hair, cursing his name between kisses until she’s spent and boneless. Each expletive sending a throb to his cock, straining against his jeans. Such foul language doesn’t come to her naturally but Killian drags it out of her with each circle of his index finger against her clit.

“Such a filthy mouth, Swan.” He smirks, breaking away to press a kiss to her neck. The resulting shiver that creeps down her spine has her clench around him once more, a wave of slick coating his hand. Her shorts are ruined, completely soaked through. It makes it all the easier to tear them off as he removes his hand from her folds, seams protesting as the fabric splits, revealing her in her entirety to him. Pink and wet and fucking delectable.

He’s wearing too many clothes.

“I can’t help it.” She shrugs, still breathless, fingers returning to the buttons on his shirt that she’d missed in her insistence to run her hands through the thick hair there. “Blame it on my heat, or your fingers, or both.”

Killian chuckles. His chest jostling her ever so slightly where they’re still stood. With practised ease, he begins the short distance to the bedroom.

“I’d love to take all the credit but you were already halfway gone by the time I got here.” Together they shrug the shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall to the hardwood floor as they make their way. Emma leans into him then, letting her head rest against his chest, just over his heart. He knows she’s got more in her and the next wave will take them both in its wake, but for now, he’s content to just hold her as she recovers, her breathing falling into sync with his own heartbeat, avoiding the cluttered glass coffee table as he walks her through the living room.

“I’ve come four times today.” Her breath is hot against his nipple, which hardens with the combined weight of her confession almost as if commanded to do so. He stops short of her bedroom, adjusting her weight in his arms so he can open the door without disturbing her further from her rest. “I was hoping I’d be able to get it out of my system without you. I know you’ve been busy.”

“Emma, love, don’t be stupid. That’s why you keep me around.” Pressing a kiss to her crown, inhaling the soft vanilla of the shampoo that she loves so much, he steps inside the room she calls her own. It’s messy, not as much as it used to be but more than he’d allow his own space to get, and he has to tiptoe between abandoned outfits she’d probably tried on that morning before deciding that work was just off the cards today. It’s never advisable for Omegas to be in public for their heat, claimed or otherwise. He can imagine her pouting in the mirror, hair wet, arousal rearing its head between her thighs, unsatisfied and wanting. “I can make you feel good. I want to.”

“Ah yes, my own personal fuck toy. How chivalrous of you.” He dips her onto the bed, ignoring her sarcasm, and pushes aside the toys she’d clearly been using, still sticky with her essence – a couple of small vibrators, a string of anal beads and the knot toy he’d supplied her with over a year ago. She’d admitted to him that it didn’t get much use. She’s come to rely on him for satisfaction, these days. Why would she need a toy? Killian adds washing them to his mental to-do list because she will definitely forget once he’s done with her. Emma unfurls her legs from around his waist and lets her back slump against the mattress with a soft thud. In the soft light from her bedroom window, he gets a good full look at her core, fresh slick coating her outer lips in a delicious glaze. Maybe later he’ll get the chance to feast upon it, eating like a man starved in that way that makes her toes curl and her voice hoarse from screaming.

“If that’s what the lady wishes?” He hums, dragging his eyes from her cunt to her tits. When had she removed her–his shirt? The swell of them is enough to drive him wild, their pert buds the same soft dusky rose as her mouth. He leans down to take one into his mouth, not missing the relaxed sigh it earns him. Looking up at her from this angle makes his cock stir, her head thrown back, long pale neck exposed in a subconscious invitation. He squeezes at her neglected nipple with slick coated fingers, trailing patterns into the quickly pebbled flesh there.

Fuck, he wants to mark her. Take her as his over and over again. He wants to fuck her through his rut and show her how deep under his skin she has managed to crawl. Every inch of him yearns for her. Every second they’re not like this, together, entwined, is agony. He can’t let himself think that way, not like this. Emma is not an object, not a thing to be possessed and claimed. She’s headstrong and stubborn as any Alpha. She belongs to no one.

Her moans sear into his mind, a permanent brand, a reminder of everything he cannot have.

Tonight, like many other nights, he pretends she belongs to him.

“This lady definitely wishes.” She sighs, bringing him back to reality. Somehow she always seems to ground him, despite being the root of all his desire. A smile, a laugh, a cry. It always brings him right back. Back to her. She squeezes at his shoulders, pulling him up so she can kiss him again. It’s languid and warm, passion simmering beneath her tongue as it finds its way into his mouth. These are his favourite. The kind of kisses that burn slowly, growing deeper and deeper until they’re both left gasping for air. He could kiss like this forever. Suffocation be damned. Her hands slide down his chest, through the hair she loves to toy with so much, down across his firm stomach. The muscles there flutter under her touch and Killian’s cock aches to be released from its denim prison. She seems to notice just as he does. Her hand makes the final stretch to where he wants her most, cupping him roughly and giving a hard grasp. He snarls, animalistic desire shooting through him. It’s inevitable, the call of her heat claiming him fully. She loves it this way the most. Rough and hard. Alpha.

One eyebrow quirks up, behind a mop of messy blonde hair, with kiss bruised lips and eyes so dark they’re almost black. A challenge. He loves a challenge.

“Why are you still wearing clothes?”

Their fingers clash while trying to unbuckle his belt, caught between the dark thatch of hair there and the soft leather. Emma retreats first, choosing instead to utilise the belt loops and tug him to his knees between her spread thighs. Laced with urgency, their kisses grow sloppy, insistent and chaotic. Killian struggles to shove his jeans low enough to let his cock spring free. They don’t have time for anything else. She needs him now. Slick glistens as it trails down her thighs, the sheets below soaked with it and every hitch of her breath drives him wild with hunger. Everything smells of it, the inescapable musk of her sex drowning his last rational thought.

His Omega needs him.

“Killian.”

Pushing into her is better than anything he could have ever prepared for. Years ago, the first time she’d invited him to bed, he’d popped his knot embarrassingly fast from just the sheath of her alone. The feeling tight and foreign. He’d never had an Omega before. He hadn’t been prepared for the intensity of her heat. It hit him like a train. It still does. They’d laughed it off, her face pressed into his neck, and he’d vowed to make up for it in other ways, ensuring she was thoroughly satisfied by the time the swelling in his cock had dispersed half an hour later.

He’s had more than enough practice now, though. She’s hot and wet and still so impossibly tight. Slick gathers on the tip of his length as he slides true. All of him. Emma doesn’t even flinch, taking it all in her stride and demanding more with small cants of her hips, breathy moans falling from her lips with every inch. Killian was fucked from the get-go. With shallow pants, she writhes against him, legs winding their way around his hips again, only wanting him to move deeper, faster, harder as he tortures her with devilishly slow thrusts. The drag of his thick cock against her insides draws out the most sinful sounds and Killian can’t help but slow to take it all in, hands gripping her hips.

“You’re desperate for me, aren’t you?” Arousal coats his voice, deep and gravelly. An entirely different man to who he was five minutes ago. Not a man at all. An Alpha. Killian the Mechanic didn’t have the balls to so brazenly ask that question. Killian the Alpha definitely did. Emma’s resulting moan at his speech makes him throb, his cock dragging deliciously against that spot inside her that makes her only cry out for more. It’s intoxicating to watch himself disappear completely inside her sopping heat, folds moving to accommodate his size. “You fucked yourself over and over wishing it was me. Wishing I was here to fill your greedy wet cunt. Am I right?”

She can’t even form words; head thrown back, hair splayed out in a crown of gold against soft white sheets, eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open as she allows herself to sink into bliss. Like this, a slave to her desire, she’s otherworldly. This is his power.

He takes her chin in his hand, forcing her to look him in the eyes while his hips snap with a little more force. Not as rough as she really wants it but rich with the promise of more. Always more. “Answer me, Omega.”

“Y-yes,” Hearing the words break through a deep moan only fuels him further. Knowing he’s responsible for every ounce of her pleasure proving to be a greater turn-on than anything else ever could be, flames of his impending orgasm teasing at his base. He might be the Alpha but she holds all the power here. “But it wasn’t enough.” She sighs, teeth catching her bottom lip as his cock drags almost fully out, taking a second to nudge her clit and the slick gathered there before plunging straight back in, deeper, drawing a sob from her in return. “Fuck, Killian! It’s never enough.”

“And why’s that, love?” His voice is calmer than he feels. He leans down to press a kiss between her breasts, letting his tongue drag in the valley between them. Salt blooms on his tongue along with the unmistakable tang of her. All five of his senses are under siege by the very presence of the Omega – his Omega – in his arms; her sharp taste, her rich scent, her needy touch, her fucked voice and the sight of her completely at his mercy all adding to the sensory overload that has his own release building low in his gut. It tears at whatever shred of control he has left, leaving only raw impulse behind.

“Because it’s not you, Alpha.”

With that, Killian breaks.

He pulls out completely, cool air hitting his length, barely noticing Emma’s cry of protest. She clenches around the open air, slick leaking from the space left in his wake. Seeing her like this, open and wanting, has electricity fizzing beneath his skin. The primal urge to take her over and over clawing deep in his belly. Her thighs tremble, still clinging to his hips despite the distance he tries to put between them, resisting his attempts to untangle her crossed ankles from behind his back. He wants to slide in, take her until she’s filled with nothing but him, and ride it out that way until they’re both spent and softening in the glow. He wants to tell her he loves her while they’re tied together. He wants to sink his teeth into the juncture of her neck and be hers until his last breath. He wants to be her Alpha. Wholly. But he can’t.

He can fuck her but he can’t love her and, in some ways, that’s worse.

She drags her nails through the carpet of hair at his chest, noticing his hesitation and striving to bring him back from the edge of madness. Back to her. With one touch, she’s expressing more than she ever could with words, not that she could even form words at this point, her breath coming in gasps. Totally ravished. It says Are you okay? and I’m here and, atop slick soiled sheets and freely given moans, Mine.

It does nothing to ground him now. Nothing can.

One word pulses through Killian’s mind. Instinctual. Carnal. Feral. Slamming her ankles to the bed and flipping her onto her stomach with abundant force, it rips from him with no hesitation.

“Present.”

In another life, maybe it’d be different. Maybe he’d be a gentle lover, revelling in every inch of her skin, tasting wherever his tongue could reach. Maybe he’d be able to worship her in the way he wants, with prayers dying on his lips, finding god in her thighs and the devil in her curses.

In another life, he would not have to hide the fact that Emma holds his heart in her palm, deft fingers holding the ability to destroy him entirely. But that’s what he does. He hides, always, behind filthy words and hungry kisses, giving her everything she wants in the form of his thick cock coaxing her to completion again and again. She loves it, informing him in screams when pleasure hits. He loves her, irrevocably. It’s too easy to forget that they’re nothing more than friends when she’s like this.

Pushing to her hands and knees, Emma slides her hips up from the bed with a hiss of yes alpha. Slick, viscous and rich, leaks further down her legs. She flips her hair over one shoulder as she looks to him, revealing the curve of her spine from her arse to her nape and the scars of their previous encounters. They litter the pale expanse of her back, evidence of where he’d clawed too hard at her flesh and drawn blood. Regret tinges the memories a little, but not enough to stop him. Killian lets his eyes drag over her, ready and willing and calling out for him. Half lidded eyes, lust glazed and begging, find his as his gaze reaches her face. She’s beautiful, ethereal in a way he can’t quite describe with words, and like this, submissive and yet still fully in control, he falls just a little bit more.

“Please, just fuck me.”

Did he ever stand a chance?

He sheathes himself in seconds with no resistance, a snarl pulled from his throat by the overbearing heat of her dripping cunt. It’s almost too much and his fingers grip at her hips; the stark slap of skin on skin, broken moans, and laboured creak of the bed an overwhelming cacophony of sound that stokes the flame in his belly. The telltale signs of his release tug at his periphery but he staves it off. What kind of Alpha would he be if he didn’t ensure his Omega was satisfied first?

No. Not his.

Bypassing the thought completely, he slides a hand from her hip to her core, gliding over the engorged nub he finds there. One pinch. That’s all it takes for Emma to collapse face-first into the bed with a scream caught by her pillows, arse still proudly presented because she’s nothing if not obedient. Her orgasm hasn’t claimed her just yet, but it’s close; insides gripping him impossibly tighter.

“You're naughty, Omega, presenting like this, arse up and suffocating me with the scent of you,” Killian tries his best to enunciate, channelling every modicum of control he has left into keeping his voice deep and authoritative. The Alpha. Her Alpha. It calls to her basest nature, making her writhe with want. It must work. Along with the caresses of his fingers against where they’re joined, it has her insides fluttering. Any noises she makes are caught in the sheets below and he’s glad for that. Anything more would be a death sentence. “But you know how your Alpha likes to fuck you, don't you?"

No. Not hers.

Emma turns her head to the side, sweeping blonde waves shifting just enough that he can see her face as he fucks her with renewed vigour. The broken please cuts like ice down his spine, before it breaks off in a whine. It’s too much for her, being filled and stroked and brought to the edge. And yet, she wouldn’t have it any other way; always urging him on when Killian ever dared to fuck her slowly. She delights in the aches and bruises he leaves behind.

He could fuck her for hours like this, pounding into her with reckless abandon and not a care in the world but, perhaps selfishly, he wants more. He wants and wants and wants. He wants an Omega to call his own, to fill up and care for, he wants to nest together through her heat and shower her in gifts and make her breakfast every day. Instead of some faceless Omega in the fleeting moments he lets himself think this way, it’s her. It’s always her.

He snaps hips in time with Emma’s hurried heartbeat. Staccato thrusts hitting her just right as his fingers match the pace.

“Alpha!” She sobs with her eyes clenched shut, balled fists clutched in sheets. He can feel her teetering on the edge. The precipice of her orgasm stirs his own and, when she screams at the fervent attention to her clit, her whole body shudders. He’s close, so close, fucking her through her climax as she convulses around him. The scent of her release permeates his skin and fogs his mind in a way that nothing else can. It’s heady and seductive and her.

“Emma.”

His knot comes, to no surprise, as quickly as she did. Swelling out from the base of his cock and dragging a moan from her spent form at the familiar stretch of it. His thrusts slow, movement stilted by the knot that secures him, emptying himself within her centre without a second thought. She hums as he fills her with warmth, eyes fluttering open just a little. Her smile is dangerous and his breath catches in his throat. Generally speaking, she’s fucked; hair even more of a mess than when he arrived, lips bruised from kisses and bites, sweat beading at her temples and in the dip of her collarbones. She’s fucked and when she looks at him like that, a smile teasing at the corners of her mouth, he can’t help but groan as his cock stirs. How does she even have this effect on him? Even now, with his knot still solid inside her. With laboured breaths, he gently manoeuvers them onto their sides so they’re curled together on the bed. His jeans, still shoved just below his hips, making it slightly more difficult than it should be.

Emma relaxes against him for a while, resting against his arm tucked up under her head with that same secret smile. Only the sound of their own breathing breaking the silence between them. She’d be sated for a couple of hours after that, residual energy from her orgasm would see her through until the early evening. With a little help from his friend, double shot espresso, he’d be ready to go another round by then. If she asks him to stay, that is. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t. He doesn’t force it. She can handle herself. It’s one of the things he likes so much about her.

Time passes agonisingly slowly and, as much as Killian could stay here forever with Emma Swan pulled close against him, he’s lost feeling in one of his arms and both of his legs.

“My Alpha?” The smirk is audible in her tone. Killian freezes, his whole body tensing beneath the weight of her words. She snuggles back against him, dragging his other arm over her waist, entwining their fingers together.

“What?” He can feel her chuckle against him and it jostles his softening cock, knot still full but well on its way to receding.

“You know how your Alpha likes to fuck you.” She grunts in a terrible impersonation of his dirty talk. Heat spreads from his chest to his face, a blanket of shame at his own outbursts. Now sated, his primarily Alpha urges were all in check, leaving Killian alone to deal with the consequences. Leaving Killian to explain why, in not as many words, he’d told his best friend that he was hers.

“Got caught up in the heat of the moment, is all.” He feebly tries to brush it off, but she turns in his arms to look him in the eyes. With hair splayed out in a halo of gold, there’s no fear or anger or shame on her face. Only the same smile. Any other protests turn to ash on his tongue. He wants to tell her the truth but he couldn’t bear the rejection. Having part of something was better than having none of it at all. Right? “You know how it is.”

“Maybe.” She pouts.

They lie together in silence for a little while longer, her fingertips tracing idle patterns on his wrist. He doesn’t know how much time goes by but he’s holding his breath for most of it. Cautious. He doesn’t want to fuck this up. If this is the only way he can have Emma, in friendship and in heat relief, he will take it. His knot is almost fully receded when she next speaks, turning and pressing a kiss to the column of his throat as he fully slips from her, soft and wet.

“Maybe next time my Alpha can let me ride him senseless?” She purrs, fingers tangling in the hair coating his chest. Killian doesn’t know how he has any strength left in him but, somehow, with Emma’s lips at his throat and her voice in his head, he does. Rolling her onto her back just as they were joined earlier, he hovers above her. She’s still smiling and it’s beautiful, one eyebrow raised as if to challenge him on it.

“Yours?” He almost chokes on the word, knowing that this step would be one they will never return from. She nods, shuffling so she can lean up to kiss him softly. It’s barely a press of lips, Killian too busy processing her words to be able to respond. “Really? Not just...?”

“I’m not ready to be marked yet, Killian, but It’d be nice to keep you around for more than… well… this. What do you say?” His forehead falls against hers, noses pressed together in a sweetness Killian never thought he’d be able to witness. She cups his cheek with her palm and he meets her halfway for another kiss, firmer but no less sweet. They come together, over and over again, taking their pleasure all over her apartment until he’s not sure where Emma ends and he begins. He would never have it any other way.

Killian doesn’t make it home that night.

He doesn’t make it home all week, actually. Rob and Will do not burn down the workshop but they also don’t finish the refurb work on Graham’s Mini and the suspicious head-shaped dent on the bonnet had yet to be buffed out.

Liam is going to kill him.

[caffeineivore]

The Taylor Swift Concert Hijinks

This is dedicated to the lovely @mygeekycorner and @minakosaino and follows the last thing I posted. M/K and a Taylor Swift Concert. Please don’t kill me, Swifties! Rated PG/PG13. Romance/humour.

The corporate office of Ainsley-Hart Holdings, LLC is not exactly her favourite hang-out spot, ever, but Romina Catherine Ainsley-Hart, “Mina” to everyone but her parents, still breezes in as though she has nowhere better to be at half-past four on a Thursday afternoon, carrying a cup-holder from Starbucks bearing no less than four drinks in one hand, a stylish oversized Gucci handbag in buttery red leather in the other. She plops the first one down at the desk of Janet, the formidable office receptionist, with a winning smile. “Grande soy flat white?” 

“Your father is off-site until five.” Wise to Mina’s wiles, Janet accepts the drink, but looks askance at the tray. “I was under the impression that you had a prior engagement-- drinks with some of your sorority sisters this evening? Shouldn’t you be uptown by now if you want to make it on time?”

“Well, Una has the flu, and Cassie bailed on me at the last minute because she has a hot date with Miguel Rivera-- you know, the buff Pro soccer player she hooked up with the last time she went to Cabo for vacation. He looked her up because he’s in town. So no drinks for me, no ma’am, so here I am! I’m just going to go on back, but I promise not to bother anyone or break anything!”

Janet humphs as though she doesn’t quite trust Mina’s word, and Mina pouts for a moment even as she sails off towards the elevator in the back. She’d jammed the copy machine one time, all of ten years ago, and the old battle axe still held a grudge! But no matter. She had more important fish to fry, so to speak. Her father’s office is empty, as per Janet’s report, but she sets down the espresso macchiato in the middle of the desk, with a post-it note scribbled “Mina was here!” with a smiley face tacked on as an afterthought. The four drinks now down to two remaining ones, she makes her way down the hall to the last door on the right. It’s open only a sliver, bearing a plain placard with the name “Kenneth Knightley, CFO” engraved on it. The quiet sounds of keyboard tapping alerted that her target is indeed inside, though from the looks of it, has his back turned to the door as he crunched numbers in a spreadsheet on the computer. Mina raps her knuckles on the door frame for a split second before she invites herself in. 

“Hey, Kenneth! I brought you coffee.” Kenneth, never Kenny or Ken, had been working for her father since her college days, though they rarely exchanged more than the usual pleasantries. Smart, driven, serious and good-looking in the unapproachable chiseled-jaw alpha-male way, Mina had always been quite certain that he had exactly zero use for the likes of her. That she knew bits and pieces about him that he’d never exactly told her himself-- his coffee order, for example (Grande Triple Americano, one non-dairy creamer, no sugar)-- was beside the point. But there was the not-small matter of the Taylor Swift concert tickets currently burning a hole in the bottom of her handbag, which had been discreetly dropped in there at some point after the gala masquerade. Exactly in the way that her infuriating older brother, Zander, had prophesied. And if he’d been right about that, then…

Kenneth’s shoulders snap straight, and he takes a moment to turn around, but by the time that he does, he’s schooled his face into polite neutrality. “Good afternoon, Mina.”

She’d insisted on their first meeting that she would not answer to ‘Miss Ainsley-Hart’ and only her mother called her ‘Romina’, and generally when she was not behaving herself. It had still taken him a good six months before he’d started calling her ‘Mina’, and she wasn’t above feeling a thrill of gratification whenever her name was spoken in those grave, collected tones. “You busy? I can just sit here and drink my own coffee until you finish. I got a caramel frappuccino with extra whipped cream and cinnamon dolce sprinkles on top. It is delicious.”

“I will take your word for it.” He saves whatever spreadsheet he’d been working on, then closes out of it, courteously. “What brings you here today?”

“Well, I thought I’d say hi, and you know Janet almost didn’t let me back here because I think she hates me, but you’re free tomorrow night, right? For the concert? Because you are so going with me since those are your tickets and I am so thankful that you thought to give them to me but it would be wrong if you didn’t come with, seeing as to how you paid for them. So I came to set up the plans so we can go there tomorrow and have a great time and I am so going to treat you to drinks beforehand so you can be good and tipsy before dealing with legions of screaming fans, which I’m sure is completely not your scene. So, yes. Do you want to meet at my place, or yours? Five o’clock?”

“I…” Kenneth blinks, apparently caught off-guard. “You don’t have any friends who you’d want to go with you to that concert?” He doesn’t try to deny the fact that he had, indeed, bought expensive-ass Taylor Swift tickets and dropped them into her purse. But then again, she’d never known for him to be less than scrupulously honest about anything.

“That’s not the point!” Mina has a tendency to talk with her hands, and this time she has the wherewithal to set her sugary coffee concoction on his desk first before launching into her schpiel. “You do not have to give me concert tickets just to be nice! And while it’s a sweet gesture on your part, I could at least also get to enjoy your company while at this concert, you know? I insist. You’re going or I will give these tickets away to someone else. And then I would be sad, because they’re TAYLOR SWIFT TICKETS. So, where do you want to meet? We’ll have an hour before the concert begins and we can get drinks before then. My treat, of course. You do drink in moderation on social occasions, right? Oh of course you do. Glenfiddich and soda, if I remember correctly. From the last company Christmas party.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees him carefully pull a Kleenex out of the box on the desk and place it, coaster-style, underneath her frappuccino cup, and curses herself for not thinking of it, but soldiers on nonetheless. “So yes. I think we can meet at my place. It’s a bit closer. And there’s a great little bar called Dazzle right by the venue which certainly has your Glenfiddich as well as a nice wine selection, since I’m pretty sure Scotch would put me out on my ass, and you don’t need me embarrassing you on top of everything else. Please don’t stand me up? I know this is probably not your idea of a fun time, but…”

Perhaps the faintest note of uncertainty makes it into her voice, because Kenneth finally cracks the tiniest of smiles, and faint though it is, it transforms his whole face. “I wouldn’t do that.” 

Well, maybe it was a good thing he didn’t smile often, because there was no point in being turned into a babbling incoherent mess just by the random side observation that his eyelashes were a few shades darker than his hair, curly and surprisingly long, and that his eyes softened from the colour of the sky before a thunderstorm to a pleasant cashmere-charcoal. Mina meets that faint smile with a blinding megawatt one of her own and picks up her half-melted frappuccino. “So, five o’clock it is. I’ll let you get back to work and see you tomorrow, then. I’m so excited!!”

**

True to his word, Kenneth does not stand her up, and the doorman of her building calls her at 4:59 on the dot to tell her that she has a visitor. Mina spritzes on perfume and gives her hair one final once-over in the mirror before opening the door for him, and really, it’s not fair. She knows, intellectually, that he’s tall and built in such a way that no stodgy numbers-crunching finance guy has any right to be, but it’s easy to forget when he’s usually hunched over a computer at the office. Here, standing in front of her in pressed gray slacks and a white button-down, he towers over her even in her sparkly Jimmy Choos. 

“Good evening, Mina. You look… nice.” If he’s a bit disconcerted by how glittery her dress is, he doesn’t say it. He does hold out her coat for her to slip into, and offer her his arm. It’s not a date, not exactly, but that doesn’t mean that Mina’s not about to make the most of it. She may or may not be vibrating with excitement, but keeps up a steady stream of conversation as they spend an hour at the bar over his Glenfiddich and her Riesling. Kenneth doesn’t talk too much about himself, seeming content to inquire, in his grave, polite way, what she’d been up to the last week. 

“Well, there was wrapping up the stuff with the fundraiser, of course. Una bought the Dior dress, and it looks beautiful on her, and Matthew is going to swallow his tongue when he sees her in it. And I saw Zander off to the airport. He was a bit distracted after the party, which bears further investigation, but he’s in Vancouver now, so it’s hard to get all up in his business while he’s so far away. I’ll still call him later, because at least it’s Canada and not like, Madagascar or something, right?” Zander had also been the one to clue her into Kenneth’s possible intentions, and that has her staring into the pale golden surface of her wine, uncomfortably aware that she’s blushing. “Anyway, there’s the tax forms for the fundraiser to get filed, but I’m pretty sure they just got slapped on your desk by my mom the morning after. In which case, I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. I sort of get paid to handle stuff like that.” 

“You’re paid to handle the real estate company’s finances, not this nonsense, and don’t try to pass it off as no big deal, because I did minor in econ at NYU, and non-profit is a whole new breed of pain in the ass to deal with from an accounting point of view. But thanks for handling it.” Mina plays with the slim stem of her wine glass, then glances up at him through her eyelashes. “The first time I met Dr. Miller, before the fundraiser, she cut the meeting short to Face-time her hospital in San Jose to talk to one of her patients. I sort of hung around. He’s a six-year-old boy who wants to be Captain America when he grows up, which… is a one in a hundred chance. She talked Avengers with him for ten minutes, and I’m pretty sure that’s not her type of movie. I almost cried.”

“She does important work, and so do you, for helping those like her get their funding.” 

Mina beams, and when the bartender moseys on over, cheerfully orders both of them a refill before asking for the check. “I’m so glad you think so. So many people think that only ditzy rich girls work on fundraisers, and don’t have any idea how hard it can be. Do people think that Dior exclusives commissioned for A-listers just fall out of the sky or something? Anyway, we have time for another drink before we should get going. Figure I should let you get as tipsy as possible before Tay-Tay. Which… what type of music do you like, anyway?”

She had never seen him at a loss before this very moment, but this is most certainly the most deer-in-headlights look which had possibly ever crossed Kenneth Knightley’s face in the history of ever. He takes a long swallow of the Scotch and soda that has just been set down in front of him, then clears his throat. “I’m not much of a music guy.”

“Oh, surely you listen to something? It’s okay if it’s embarrassing. Opera? Trance techno? Death metal? I won’t judge, even if nothing trumps Tay-Tay.”

“No, nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” Mina blinks, her wineglass halfway to her mouth as she stares at him with not a little confusion. “Surely you listen to something. In the shower, or on the subway. Everyone does. No one actually talks to people on the subway.”

“Umm. Usually NPR, though I follow a few podcasts as well.”

He looks so glum and embarrassed at this admission, as though not being a music guy would disappoint her on a personal level, and though her mind sort of boggles at the idea of anyone who would listen to NPR while showering, she grins at him over the surprise and gives his arm a quick squeeze, noting at random that the bicep underneath her fingertips is solid and firm as a softball. 

“Well, you’re in for a real treat, then. Tay-Tay is the GOAT. Just you wait and see.”

**

An hour and a half later finds Mina with a brand new sparkly white-and-gold Taylor Swift concert tee thrown over her equally sparkly dress, jamming and singing along with “I Knew You Were Trouble When You Walked In” next to a petite dark-haired girl with a nose-ring who, in typical concert fashion, was now her new best friend. Kenneth’s face looks much like that of someone in the waiting room of the dentist’s office right before a scheduled root canal. As there is a seven-foot-tall linebacker-sized man in a top hat and a legit Taylor Swift onesie dancing with at least equal enthusiasm to Mina and her new friend on his other side, she supposed that she couldn’t blame his discomfiture too much. 

The pop star goes on to something slower a few songs later-- All Too Well, a ballad about lost love, and the dark haired girl lets out a few hiccuping sobs at Mina’s side, so Mina wraps both arms around her and they hug it out for the duration of the song. Like magic, the melancholy mood vanishes when the next song comes on, and they’re belting along with “Shake It Off” and dancing around Kenneth in a way likely designed to give him whiplash. But for all this behaviour is undoubtedly outlandish and completely incomprehensible to him, Kenneth looks as though he could be persuaded to crack a smile if he’d only let himself relax a little more, so Mina redoubles her efforts, likely yelling out “Haters Gonna Hate Hate Hate Hate Hate” loud enough to annoy everyone around them. But it does bring a tiny smile to his mouth for a second, and she finds, to her surprise, that she’s okay with him finding amusement at her ridiculousness. That had never, ever happened before with another guy. 

“Are you having fun?!” She shouts at him over the applause and cheers as the song comes to a close. “Isn’t Taylor the best ever?!”

“It’s… catchy, I suppose. The music, that is.” It seems as though he had to think hard to find the correct word, but Mina forgives him even as she links her arm through his. 

“I’m glad you’re having fun, because we still have the backstage passes and we get to MEET HER IN PERSON! I am having the best time EVER!”

Much to his credit, Kenneth doesn’t say anything, though the sigh that he lets out says it all for him. 

**

They hit up a 24 hour diner after the concert, and this time, he insists on paying for her greasy hash browns and slightly burnt coffee, and though she knows quite well that he has likely been up for close to twenty-four hours at this point, he is a consummate gentleman and doesn’t mention that fact, and lets her excitedly run through a blow-by-blow of the concert that they’d just attended as he nurses his own coffee. 

“And she is so nice isn’t she? And so so pretty! I wish I was that tall. Legs for days. Then I wouldn’t have to jog to keep up with tall people, or they wouldn’t have to slow down their stride like you’ve been doing all night, don’t think I haven’t noticed.” Mina nibbles on a hash brown and gulps coffee adulterated with a good half-cup of sugar and cream. “Did you have some fun, though? At least a little? I hope I haven’t irritated you too much.”

“No, you didn’t irritate me, and you’re fine just as you are. You don’t need to be any taller.” It’s not exactly the most poetic or flowery of compliments, and yet Mina feels the stilted words warm her from within. Now, post-adrenaline-rush, a bit tired and content, somewhat cold from gallivanting about in a tiny dress all night and letting second-rate greasy food warm her back up, she absolutely can’t think of a better way to spend her Friday night. Undoubtedly, her usual crew is out at some place a great deal fancier, and having a blast, and yet… she takes a second hash brown and smiles up at Kenneth. 

“So, should I get you a Taylor Swift album for your next birthday? I love her new one, but the old ones are where it’s really at.” 

“You don’t have to get me anything for my birthday. But I should get you home, yeah? It’s getting late, and you’re probably cold. That coat’s still bound to be drafty with that dress, and you’ve been wearing it unbuttoned half the time.” Almost as though on impulse, he buttons it up all the way, then jerks his hands back like he hadn’t meant to take such a liberty. 

The traffic is reasonable by New York City standards when they share a cab to her place, and he walks her all the way to her door, gentleman-like. Mina turns to him with a smile, and-- is he leaning towards her just a little? 

He is, one hand held out towards her, and she launches herself at him, wrapping both arms around a broad back firm with muscle underneath his black pea-coat, but he freezes, stiff as a board, and belatedly she realizes that he probably meant to shake her hand rather than give her a hug, and she’s quite certain that the heat of her cheeks is warm enough to start a fire in the hallway. But there’s nothing to do but roll with it, and she stands on tiptoe, leaving a whisper of Tom Ford Lavish against his jaw as she air-kisses him. 

“Well, good night. And have a good weekend. I’ll see you around. Probably.” Uncomfortably aware that she’s babbling, like she has been all night long, really, she unlocks her door while managing to avoid his eyes, and all but jogs in, heels and all. She leans against the door after it’s locked back up behind her, and lets out a windy sigh as she pulls up Spotify on her phone. 

Lovelorn ballads by Taylor seemed to be in order, possibly played on repeat, the neighbours be damned.

**

Mina takes four days to talk herself into visiting the office again, and even then, makes a point to shuffle her own schedule for the day, getting up at an ungodly hour of the morning to sweet-talk a contact in Milan to donate couture evening-wear for a charity fashion show-- proceeds to benefit victims of domestic violence. That phone call, which was originally slotted in for early afternoon, freed up the rest of the morning to visit the salon after a shopping trip to Bergdorf Goodman-- it was never too late, after all, to get her parents the present for their upcoming anniversary, and she went with the traditional 35th anniversary gemstone of emerald for both-- finding matching platinum-and-emerald cufflinks for her dad and earrings for her mother. She has both presents wrapped and sent off to her place, and then leaves herself at the tender mercies of her stylist, Adrianna, whose surgeon-steady hands snip off the split ends of her golden hair and refreshes the layers without taking off so much as a centimeter more than necessary. In the very least, she knows, she will be facing Kenneth looking her absolute best. Not that he was the shallow type like that, but still.

“That’s a boy-related frown, and boy-related frowns cause wrinkles.” Adrianna’s voice floats, matter-of-fact, above her head. “I’m double-booked like a mother-trucker this whole week because of the ills of holiday over-indulgence which apparently I’m supposed to wave my magic wand and handle, and don’t have time to deal with wrinkles today, sweetie, so you’re either just going to have to jump him or get over him.”

“I don’t know if jumping him is in the cards, and there’s no getting over someone who never exactly-- well. It’s weird, is all.” Mina starts to pick at her nails, a bad habit from her middle school days, but a stern look reflected in the mirror stops the fidgety movement in its tracks. “Am I so obvious?”

“Sweetie, I’m pretty sure I’ve not seen a boy-related frown on your face since I did your updo and makeup for senior prom, and had to bite my tongue so I wouldn’t tell you that any boy who told people to call him ‘Ace’ with a straight-ass face is clearly on next-level rom-com antagonist levels of douchebag. But all I can do is make you look gorgeous, not that you’re not already, and wish you luck. Please tell me he at least has a normal name.”

“His name is Kenneth, and he has an MBA from Columbia, and he works for my dad, and he has absolutely no use for me whatsoever.”

“Oh, nonsense. If he found some use for you, he’d probably have lobbied for you to be on daddy dearest’s payroll, and then where would we be? Wearing some ugly blazer and god-awful follicle-destroying chignon. My suggestion is to get a stupidly large box of chocolates, of course. The damned things are already getting put up in stores in preparation for Valentine’s Day, of course. Either the boy is not interested, and then you can self-medicate with chocolate endorphins, or he is interested, and you can share the chocolates, in bed.”

The deliberately crass suggestion brings Mina out of her funk, as it is intended to do, and she laughs helplessly even as Adrianna finishes blowing out her hair, fussing with it until it gleams like sunlit silk. Mina thanks the stylist and leaves a generous tip, and then stops at a boutique bakery en route to the office. She does buy the stupidly large box of chocolates, but also a fancy box of assorted macarons in numerous pastel shades. 

**

This time, when she arrives at the desk of the formidable Janet, she doesn’t do much more than hold out the delicate cookies as a peace offering. “I’m just going to go on back.”

“Good for you. I’m too busy to chit-chat anyway. Take your cookies and be off. Close the door behind you when you have it out with him, will you?” Janet doesn’t even look up from the computer screen, the phone receiver cradled between her shoulder and jaw as she clacks away at the keyboard. Mina looks at the solidly-built brunette with a little bit of consternation, but Janet simply waves an irritable hand in dismissal. Put squarely in her place, she makes her silent way to the elevators, and makes a beeline towards Kenneth’s office. 

It’s almost deja vu when she gets there. Door slightly ajar. The man seated at his desk, typing away at some spreadsheet. She knocks, then lets herself in. “Hi.” To her annoyance, her voice seems to have gone all breathy and low.

Kenneth still takes his time to turn around, but this time, when he does, his expression is almost soft. As with the last time, he closes the Excel spreadsheet and gives her his full attention. “Mina. What brings you here today?”

“I… cookies? That is, do you want cookies? I thought I’d come and say hi. Hopefully you’re recovered from being surrounded by Swifties. Are you busy?” Belatedly, she remembers Janet’s injunction that she close the door, and gives it a hasty shove. The slam sounds overly loud in this quiet hallway, and she blushes. “I know my dad usually schedules his meetings in the mornings, so I figured this would be a better time.”

“Yeah, he’s off-site. A late business lunch with some guy from an architectural firm. And you didn’t need to come and make sure I’m all right. I… I had a good time that evening. Really.”

“I should’ve brought you something for lunch rather than cookies, probably, but they looked so good. Not practical, though.” She, too, wasn’t the practical type. Taylor Swift and sparkly dresses as opposed to NPR and spreadsheets. What was she doing, really? Without anyone here to stop her, she sets down both cookies and candy box on his desk and picks at her cuticles. “Anyway. Glad you didn’t hate it. I should probably go. I’m sorry if I bothered you.”

For such a big man, he moves with incredible speed as he stands up and comes around the desk, blocking her way to the door before she’d registered that he’d moved. “Mina. Are you all right? You seem out of sorts, and in the… six years, seven months, two days and… an hour and a half?... that I’ve known you, you’ve never been like this.”

She blinks up at him, then crosses her arms. “Six years, seven months, two days, and three hours and fifteen minutes. I know exactly when I met you.”

“No, your dad introduced you to me before taking you out for lunch that day at eleven o’clock. It’s twelve twenty-six right now.”

Mina, if she closes her eyes, can see that day as clear as if it were yesterday, down to the navy blue tie knotted just a little too tight on the man standing across from her. He’d filled out a bit since that internship when he’d started working at the firm, and his ties were both more expensive and more expertly tied nowadays, but… She raises her chin stubbornly. “Yeah, that’s when my dad introduced us. But I actually met you before that, when I was running to make the elevator and you held it open for me, remember? I said hi, you said hi back. I remember thinking, when my dad introduced us, oh, it was nice to have a name to go with the hot guy I’d run into on the elevator. But you sort of didn’t have any use for me, and you still don’t, not really, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company, right? Maybe not at another Taylor Swift concert, if that’s truly not your thing, but I…”

“You remember that?” She’s not quite sure how he got so close, but he’s standing right in front of her now, and when she looks up, she’s eye-level to his chin. She tilts her head up, and the expression in his face is something she’s never seen before, and it gives her enough courage to finish.

“I remember a lot of things about you, Kenneth! You just don’t know, because you don’t pay much attention to me, which I guess we don’t have too much in common, not really, but just because we don’t talk that much doesn’t mean that I don’t know, just like you must have known how much I wanted to go to that concert, and being there with you was the best time I’ve had in forever, though you can’t tell Una that, because she’ll be sad and look like a kitten left out in the rain, and I was just trying to work up the nerve to see if you wanted to spend some more time together and…”

She’s cut off mid-sentence by a pair of strong arms, bare to the elbows with the sleeves rolled up, hauling her up just a little off her feet and pulling her close. She has one breathless moment to register that he smells really, really good before she’s being kissed, and there’s nothing placid about it at all as one hand fists in the glossy hair that Adrianna had just so painstakingly blown out and the other lands at the small of her back, hot and wide through the thin material of her dress. She can do nothing but clutch at his wide shoulders and hang on for dear life, but a moment later, she gives as good as she gets, lips parting under his and soothing the tiny nip that she inflicts on his lower lip with a flick of her tongue. A moan breaks the silence of the office, and she belatedly realizes that it escaped from her lips as his mouth shifts to the sensitive skin of her jaw, giving both of them the chance to catch their breaths. 

Mina slides her fingers through the silky hair at the nape of his neck and leans her head against the crook of his shoulder, where it seems to fit perfectly. “Don’t you dare start to regret kissing me.” The words come out forcefully, but with a bit of a tremble nonetheless which she tries to hide by muffling it against his neck. He’d have lipstick on his collar, but it couldn’t be helped. 

A faint, slightly breathless chuckle escapes him, rumbling through his chest underneath her ear. “No. I regret not kissing you that night, though.” That statement is delivered in a shockingly frank, matter-of-fact way even as he tilts her face back up. Her fingers, of their own volition, link together at the back of his neck, and she’s sure that her smile is both goofy and excessive. It was quite likely that she would not be eating that box of chocolate in its entirety in boy-inflicted angst, after all. 

“Well, I can invite you to dinner tonight, and we can make up for lost time afterwards. Unless you’re busy. If you’re busy, we can resche--”

His mouth stamps over hers, cutting her off mid-sentence, but the kiss is sweet and gentle this time, and she’s sighing with the romance of it all by the time he pulls back. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”

“Okay.”

The giddy thrill of it is not unlike something that would be touched upon in a Taylor Swift song, she decides, but she keeps that thought to herself for the moment. Maybe in another six years, seven months, two days and however many hours, she’d bring that up again. Surely by then, she could teach him to enjoy the finer things in life, such as jamming to pop music in the shower. 

[kurenaiwataru]

Victor Grantz Observations

I’ve been playing Victor Grantz the Postman for 4 days now, and I’ve decided to compile some observations and headcanons into a convenient post for my own benefit. If anyone else finds this interesting, that’s cool, but this will be mainly for my own personal use. Check the Read More for my humongous paragraphs filled with Victor Grantz observations and headcanons. They’ll probably show up in my fics at some point, whenever I get around to writing again. Until then, enjoy all of this nonsense.

1. Firstly, Victor is a lot quieter than the other survivors. Yes, he pants and moans and makes ghastly noises from time to time, but on the whole, he keeps his mouth shut. Quite literally. The voice recorded for him, in addition to being extremely soft and light, has mainly an array of muffled throat noises to pair with the fact that his mouth is sewn shut. Even when he gets sent off on the rocket chair, he doesn’t scream but lets out a muffled cry. It’s very cute and I do enjoy it.

2. Victor is a genuinely good boy. Despite how he seems to not enjoy people in face-to-face settings, he has a deep rooted belief in the morality and goodness of people, finding that humanity’s moral goodness is merely hidden beneath the veneer each person shows to the world. This is in contrast to how Aesop views people, where he would rather interact with a dead thing rather than a living person. In that way, Victor has a charm that reminds me of Kurenai Wataru from Kamen Rider Kiva. I mentioned this on Twitter, and I still hold to it now that I’ve had so much time with the character. Wataru was also one to think that humanity was depraved and unclean, yet he believed in the hidden goodness of mankind and fought for them as Kiva. That is also Victor’s charm, only with handwritten letters instead of vampire armor and a demonic horse motorcycle.

3. Victor’s empathy shines through via his in-game actions. One of his traits is that he is empathetic, and I feel it whenever I play as him. I’m sure it’s because I’m a weirdo, but whenever I send off a letter, I hope it arrives safely. When Wick barks to indicate the letter has been delivered, relief washes over me and I feel so much joy that it was received safely. I’ll often get thanked for the letters, which isn’t necessary but greatly appreciated. It makes me feel like I’m doing a good job, even when I’m not utilizing the benefits of the buff. And Wick the Post Dog is very cute and hardworking. I always feel bad when he can’t deliver a letter or I send him off and it’s too late.

4. Speaking of Wick, here are some observations about him. He’s a weird mix of the seer’s owl and the wildling’s boar. When you use owl sight, the observed character can’t see the owl until it’s needed, which is how Wick is sometimes. Wick isn’t seen unless he’s needed, making him invisible until you’ve decided on the letter you wish to send. Once you give Wick a letter, he will appear visibly on the field like the boar and you can crash into him if you’re not looking. I think hunters can hit Wick, too, but I’ve never seen it since I give Wick letters and don’t see him until I send another letter. The only other times I see him are if we happen to be running in the same direction or if I accidentally crash into him while we’re going opposite directions. He’s very small and hard to see if you’re wearing The Embrace, since it makes him black. I’ve been using Victor’s base skin since Friday after crashing into Wick several times during one match. He’s a lot easier to see when he’s a bright yellow dog. Darned good doggo, 13/10, would pet infinitely.

5. From here on out, it’s headcanons. While playing Victor for… 4 hours… yesterday, I started to wonder what exactly was inside the envelopes he sends out. I then envisioned him writing each letter by hand before his matches, making sure he has a surplus to send to people. Sometimes he gets so excited about how well he’s written a letter that he wishes to read it again, which is why he opens letters surreptitiously during matches, as though to remind himself of what good writing skills he has.

Anyway, after thinking about that, I decided to try my hand at writing such letters given the letter types he has available as prompts:

Urgent Letter

Farewell Letter

I am writing you this to inform you that I am leaving. The time we spent together was beautiful, but it had to end. To part ways is a normal experience, as people ebb and flow from our lives like the tide. Each new phase of the moon brings new people for us to experience and love, just as it takes people away, and I now must away with the tide.

Should we see each other again someday, I hope that you will remember the happiness we felt. There is no malice in this parting, for farewells are hope for a bright future apart. May time be gentle as the waves of change flow over you.

Victor

Tranquility Letter

I hope this letter finds you well, for now there is peace, though its tranquility I know is fleeting. Time will find us, and when it does, hardship will prevail again. The waltz of time dances around us, and we are in one upward beat of its musical rhythm. The next beat will fall upon us, and time will rage with its horrors again. Yet now we can ease ourselves into this momentary peace.

Do not think to darkness. Do not think to tragedy. If famine and war and violence befall us, we will be together in it. We will persevere and strive towards living, to find that beat of tranquility again.

Time dances on to its own beat, and we can join its dance if we are surefooted.

Be safe and at peace,

Victor

Bravery Letter

Rise up, my friend and ally, and throw yourself into the fray! You are strong and brave beyond compare; have confidence in yourself and we shall not lose. Fight on, brethren! Victory shall be in our grasp should we merely strive to obtain it. Reach out your hand and grasp victory! Hold it firm in your hand and never let go. We must survive to another day. Be like the sun, rising and setting in glory with each turning of the Earth. Do not think to failure. Do not think to the endless bitter outcomes. We can win the day.

Stay safe, my dear friend and ally.

Victor

Inspiring Letter

Have you ever looked to the sky and thought of its brilliance? On a summer day, bright and warm, we are treated to bountiful warmth and beauty. Each day sprawls before us in splendid colors, radiating their joy endlessly. Everything is verdant and rich, succulent in its glory each day. Even in rain and gloom, colors shine to warm even a dull day.

That is you. You are the summer. When you smile, birds sing of its radiance and send those songs to the wind. You are the brightest and the warmest. You are brilliant in intelligence and warm in kindness. You exude life and color to all who see you, even on days when you lack the confidence to shine. I have seen you shine, and you are stunning.

Shine for everyone. Be brilliant and bright. You are resilient and true willful. Use that willfulness to your advantage and become a beacon in the dark. The path you forge blazes only for you. Cleave the darkness before you and shine towards a brighter tomorrow.

Ever faithful under your light,

Victor

Hope Letter

Do you believe in anything? Do you believe in God? Do you believe in science? Do you believe in the morality of humanity at all? Belief is what drives us to be so resilient and adaptive. We drive ourselves toward betterment because we simply believe that we can be better. What an incredible drive we have!

Tantamount to this drive is a simple belief in hope. A hope is like a wish, but more tangible and real. A hope can be so simple. I hope that you will see me. I hope that you will smile for me. I hope that you will say my name. Such simple desires can keep us motivated for short intervals. On a day that drudges on, one can merely hope that it will be lunchtime soon. On a day when the air is cold and the sky is dark, one can hope that the clouds will part and bring the sun back to smile on us. Hope isn’t as lofty as wishing. I could wish for something unfathomable, such as a giant swimming pool filled of ice cream and chocolate pudding, but wishes rarely come true. With hope, there is a flicker of reality in them and with enough hard work that hope can be obtained.

I hope that you have belief in hope. I am sending you this in the hope that you receive it. I am sending you this in the hope that it will aid you in some way. I know not how, but if it is helpful to you in anyway, that is all I hope for.

I hope to see you again. I hope that we will share a knowing smile between us. I hope that you will say my name and that the word is filled with your gratitude that I helped you, even if my aid was so small.

Those are my sincerest hopes and I have put all of my belief into each one.

Stay safe, my friend, and return to me.

Victor

These are just quick samples that I whipped up, but I’d like to think that he is feverishly writing, knowing that his letters inspire hope in the hearts of those he sends them to. I feel like it’s a lovely sentiment that he endeavors to bring just a modicum of inspiration to his teammates, even if he fails in the match. Especially if he’s sending out the permanent buffs. That’s his last wish, essentially. He wants you to succeed where he has failed because he has faith that you can triumph.

Those screenshots are mine btw. If you want to see them all in tweet format, you can find them on my Twitter account. Feel free to RT if you think it’ll help someone.

6. Victor is quiet, meek, and a nervous wreck, but he has a heart of gold. Much like Aesop, he’s shy and not the most forthright with his emotions. He hides himself behind a mask of silence, as I enumerated in How Do You Explain Love? I wouldn’t say that he’s afraid of intimacy, but more that he worries that intimacy may shatter his worldview. I doubt that having his world be shattered in such a way would leave Victor in a poor situation. He already has belief in the goodness of humanity, as witnessed by his introductory video, yet he could be left shaken by the thought that not all people wear such reprehensible masks. To know that there are people who wear their honesty plain as the nose on their face would be a shock to him, but I think he would readily accept it. Despite how he hasn’t experienced much kindness in his life, he’s always open to giving kindness to anyone he meets.

7. And I believe that that kindness could be extended even to hunters. Though they pursue him daily for death, he likely understands that it’s merely their job and laments not being able to give them letters as he can for his allies. Perhaps if the hunters got warm, heartfelt letters like the survivors do, then they would not be so cruel and heartless. He knows that many of the hunters were human once, and he would likely want to appeal to the remainder of their humanity by offering them comfort in the form of a beautiful letter. A wonderfully crafted letter can bring even the strongest men to tears, and I’m certain that Victor would feel that the hunters are deserving of that kindness despite how terrifying and terrible they are.

…Okay, I think I’m done. Sorry this is so long. If you see me in game, I’ll try my best to be a good letter fairy, delivering hope and inspiration to all!

[theliterarywolf]

Speaking of buffs, which cookies would you personally like to get buffed in the future? I want Whipped Cream Cookie to be better so bad.

But Whipped Cream is actually good, though..! I mean, he can trip over a bug and lose a third of his health, but he gets really high point bonuses and his Pet resurects him upon fainting.

Then again, I have Max-Everything on Whipped Cream as well as his costume, so I'm talking from the point of view of someone playing with a fully-optimized Cookie.

However, back to your question: Oh, I don't know, DevSis has been so good at showing love to everyo -- Vampire Cookie.

DevSis, buff Vampire Cookie you COWARDS! Or at least give him a new extra costume besides that shitty Cowardly Lion one!

The sheer 'red-headed cousin' treatment that DevSis gives this character is all the more blatant when you take into account the BLOATED amount of attention and buffs that have been given to his little sister: the CR fandom's favorite alchemy Loli Alchemist Cookie.

Just give my poor, hedonistic son a magic candy or a new costume... Please... Oh, also, a minor buff to Pistachio Cookie would be nice too.

[monstersdownthepath]

Bonus Spotlight: Ahriman, the Shadow Across Creation

Neutral Evil Demigod of Destruction, Divs, and Nihilism

Domains: Darkness, Death, Destruction, Evil Subdomains: Catastrophe, Fear, Loss, Rage

The Complete Book of the Damned, pg. 12~13

Obedience: While praying to Ahriman, destroy something of monetary or sentimental value to another person, preferably in front of someone with a strong emotional connection to the item. Alternatively, willingly take 1 point of Constitution damage by flagellating yourself with a barbed lash as you pray to Ahriman. Benefit: Your true alignment becomes masked for 24 hours, or until you perform this Obedience again. Upon performing this Obedience, choose a particular alignment. You read as the chosen alignment to all forms of magical detection, and can fool both items and magic which respond to particular alignments.

just kidding about End of the World Month being over. It can’t be over, not until we talk about this world-ender.

Anyway THIS combo is very, very interesting! To my knowledge, Ahriman is one of the three deities in existence which allows you to mask your alignment, and unless I’m mistaken, is the only method in the game which does so for a full 24 hours without needing a spell slot. It’s not one that will give you an outright power boost like most benefits do, but it makes it much, MUCH harder for Good folk to sniff you out. Be careful, though, because your mask is so thorough and complete that you’re actually vulnerable to spells like Blasphemy and Dictum if you masquerade as alignments that those spells can hurt.

The mask can’t actually be dispelled, either, so anyone scrutinizing you can’t reveal your true alignment unless they keep you from performing your Obedience... But it also means you can’t just ‘pull off’ the mask to avoid being creamed by an alignment-reliant spell that gets hurled at you.

Speaking of the Obedience, though, this is a deceptively simple one to both perform and keep on the down-low. Flagellants are unusual--and often unwelcomed--but not unknown in many societies, and you don’t have to audibly pray to Ahriman as you beat yourself bloody. If you wanted to really push the illusion you could even do so publicly, chanting hymns to other gods as you scar yourself in “their name.” Whether you keep it secret or flaunt your status aloud, you may earn some sour looks, and perhaps you won’t be invited into polite company, but you won’t look evil. Just very, very odd.

The Constitution damage is annoying but not crippling as, say, Charon’s demand that you dull your mind every day, as 1 point of Con damage repairs itself the next time you rest.

The “primary” means of proving your devotion to Ahriman is also deceptively simple, depending on how hard you Murder Hobo your way through a given campaign. You may end up gathering a lot of possessions that mean a lot to other people, and the Obedience doesn’t indicate that they need to be sentimental to someone who’s still alive! So go ahead, shatter that bandit’s sword, which was gifted to him by his father! Destroy that sorcerer’s locket containing a memento of their one love! Desecrate and destroy that altar to Desna! Maybe even in front of the priests! Maybe not that last one if you’re among Good folk, though.

Unless you happen to be projecting a Chaotic Good aura and can convince them that the altar is somehow already desecrated and must be torn down...

It’s not a particularly hard Obedience to do, but it’s definitely finicky to keep doing. At least Ahriman gives you an out in the form of a blood sacrifice!

IMPORTANT NOTE: As Ahriman is neither a Horseman nor a Daemon Harbinger, you cannot take the Souldrinker prestige class to get Ahriman’s Boons early (without DM fiat). You must use the Evangelist, Exalted, or Sentinel prestige classes to get the Boons early, at levels 10, 13, and 16 instead of 12, 16, and 20.

----------

EVANGELIST

----------

Boon 1: Ahriman’s Word. Gain Command 3/day, Detect Thoughts 2/day, or Suggestion 1/day

Nice! Command is a decent Baby Save or Suck, and Suggestion is ALWAYS nice to see, but in my opinion the real utility star here is Detect Thoughts. Lock onto invisible foes, sniff out enemies through walls (some walls), read the minds of anyone who fails a Will save... It’s a pretty fun spell! Especially for finding out if anyone has sentimental attachment to any items in the area, so you can hoard them away for later Obediences.

Still, all three of these options are pretty good! Not particularly stellar, but useful.

Boon 2: Unassailable Conviction. 1/day, if you fail a Will save, you may immediately roll again and use the second result. If you succeed the second save, you receive a +2 morale bonus to attack and damage rolls for 1 hour.

This is actually a fairly weak Boon, all things considered... But it will absolutely, 100% save your life at some point. That morale bonus is actually you, the player, in real life breathing a sigh of relief as you wiggle out from under a Dominate, Feeblemind, or Imprisonment. Note that the ability only triggers if you already know you’ve failed the throw, so there’s no real chance of ‘wasting’ this ability preemptively.

The reroll itself is powerful enough that the morale bonus feels kind of unneeded.... But truth be told, despite its strength, when compared to other second Boons this is still pretty weak. You could have at least given it to your followers 2/day, Ahriman!

Boon 3: Force the Lie. 1/day, you may designate any point within 90ft of you to become shrouded by a 30ft mist of crackling black energy. You and other worshipers of Ahriman can see through this cloud with perfect clarity, but all others within the cloud treat it as Obscuring Mist. Creatures in the mist other than you must make a Will save (DC 10 + 1/2 your hit dice + your Charisma modifier) or have all luck, morale, or sacred bonuses they’re benefiting from twisted into a penalty so long as they remain inside the mist. This mist lingers for 1 round/hit dice you possess and cannot be dissipated by winds.

Evangelists of Ahriman just kind of get screwed, don’t they? Being able to drop cover for yourself or allies and screw up enemy ranged fighters is good, yes... But 1/day as a capstone ability? That’s really, really pathetic.

Morale bonuses are fairly common, sacred bonuses get thrown around like candy for Good-aligned folk, but both of them are less common than enhancement and alchemical bonuses, which are seen in more or less every fight with casters and martial characters using magic weapons. I won’t talk about luck bonuses, though; those are so rare I can only really think of two sources... Both of which apply to AC. Suddenly going from +2 AC to -2 AC is a pretty big deal, I’ll admit. Twisting huge benefits into penalties is more powerful than I’m giving credit for, I’ll admit, and the power to do that to everyone in a 30ft spread means that it’s likely more than one victim will suddenly be scrambled by it. I’m probably not valuing as high as I should be, despite the fact that high-level enemies often come pre-packaged with morale, luck, and sacred bonuses, or slap them on themselves if they know a battle is coming.

I probably am. It just seems pretty weak in a vacuum, and no ability operates in a vacuum. Perhaps one of the biggest benefits to this ability is the power to drop it directly onto yourself to grant yourself some impenetrable cover; you can see perfectly through it, but no one else can, and it can’t be blown away or otherwise removed. Amusingly, even against foes who aren’t running with any bonuses that Force the Lie twists around, you can still curse them by slapping your buffs onto them to have them turned to penalties. Just... pray that they fail the saving throw, or prepare to get yelled at by your team for buffing the enemy.

Alright, alright, sorry Ahriman. This ability isn’t that bad. I do like the touch that if you can convert the rest of the party to your nihilistic faith, they can see through the mist as well.

----------

EXALTED

----------

Boon 1: Hamper the Righteous. Gain Protection From Good 3/day, Touch of Idiocy 2/day, or Bestow Curse 1/day.

Oof, Bestow Curse? That’s a real nice ability to have tucked away. It IS negated by a save, but it’s a Save or Suck that keeps on sucking with penalties that last permanently until removed. Being able to eternally deny a target half of all turns they’d otherwise take is painful, and if you’re the creative type, you can even whip up curses of your own to plague someone with! Perhaps every time they tell a truth, they have to spend the next 6 seconds screaming. Or maybe they cough up a spider every time they lie. Or maybe their hands twist any weapon they wield back onto themselves.

There’s a lot you can do with the creative freedom Bestow Curse offers.

However, if you’re not a fan of 1/days being negated by successful saves, how about Touch of Idiocy? Sure, it’s a touch-range spell, which I--a lover and player of squishy classes--tend to shy away from, but it offers no saving throw and docks 1d6 Int, Wis, or Cha off the target for 10 minutes/level. It’s unlikely to make much of a difference past level 10 or so... Unless you use it against creatures who have extremely low mental stats anyway, such as most humanoids. It’s a Save or Suck but without the save! Unless you roll a 1. But that’s why you can use it twice!

In an Evil campaign though, the one that really shines here is Protection From Good, a lengthy spell that shields you entirely from the natural attacks of Good-aligned creatures and gives you bonuses to resist the weapons and spells of Good-aligned people. If you’re not in an Evil campaign, or are just Evil vs Evil, then the other two options are much better (I’d personally run with Touch of Idiocy for the potential shutting down of melee people breathing down my neck), but Protection From Good is always a fantastic choice for the times when you plan to launch attacks on the good folk’s towns.

Boon 2: Pierce Obfuscation. You can see perfectly through darkness of any intensity, including that created by Deeper Darkness. 1/day, you may cast True Seeing as a spell-like ability.

You get Darkvision Except Beefier, so beefy that you can see even through the otherwise impenetrable Deeper Darkness. Even if something ELSE gets in your way, you can immediately invoke True Seeing on either yourself or another. Everyone should know the utility of True Seeing by now, hopefully; the power to pierce just about any illusion or magical distortions in the game, utterly ruining the ability for Illusionist casters to do anything fancy.

Still, despite its power and usefulness, this is also an incredibly boring ability. The only real flair you can give it is dropping Deeper Darkness onto yourself and being the only one who can actually see in it, which pairs well with the power to Sneak Attack, either your own (somehow), or by slapping True Seeing onto an ally who can.

Boon 3: Call For Ruin. Once per day, you may call you may call either 1d4+1 Ghawwas, 1d3 Shira, or 1 Sepid Div to your side. You gain telepathy out to 100ft with any Div you summon. They follow your commands perfectly for 1 round per hit dice you possess, but will not perform any action that’s overtly Good, and will not follow any order to save any mortal life aside from your own, and may vanish immediately out of indignity if told to do so.

As we’ll eventually see, this is a powerful ability! No creature on this list is below CR 10, with Ghawwas being amphibious, resilient and poisonous fighters, Shira being powerful front-line brawlers capable of creating their own concealing dust clouds on a whim, and Sepid wielding extremely spooky spell-likes like Disintegrate, Enervation, Hold Monster and Baleful Polymorph. In most situations, calling a Sepid to your side is the best option, as it possesses powerful utility spells, powerful blaster spells, powerful melee abilities, and the ability to Call Debris 3/day to blast everyone in a 40ft circle with 15d6 damage... but both of the other options have their uses.

Ghawwas can all use Hallucinatory Terrain 3/day to scramble the environment (which you or an ally can see through with True Seeng), and the Shira can hurl out Waves of Fatigue 3/day in between their full-attack actions. Shira make excellent tanks as well, granting themselves concealment with their Dusty Pelts until they can close in and rip enemy souls from their body with their Consume Essence. Ghawwas can deliver Strength-damaging poison with every bite attack they make, and in an underwater battle they boil the seas around them to weed out life incapable of handling the heat.

Ahriman is pretty generous with this power, though summoning fiends tends to make your obfuscated alignment impossible to hide any further. I wish summoning the Shira was more reliable (like 1d3+1 or something), but as I said before, getting 1 Sepid is often more powerful than getting lucky rolls on any of the others.

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SENTINEL

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Boon 1: Break the Weak. Gain Inflict Light Wounds 3/day, Death Knell 2/day, or Dispel Magic 1/day.

‘Break the weak’ is right, because Inflict Light Wounds isn’t going to break anything above 3 or 4 hit dice. By the time you get it, it’s maybe useful to patch up any undead in the party or deliver a humiliating final blow to a particular enemy, but beyond that it’s likely not going to get brought out.

Death Knell I’ll forever harp on; it’s a spell with only one real, inflexible use, and it’s only a moderately good one. It deals a finishing blow and grants you a buff for doing so, but sacrificing your turn in the middle of pitched combat to use it can end with you getting walloped by the target’s allies. It is moderately more useful for the frontline Sentinel than a typical caster, though.

Dispel Magic, though, has a thousand and one uses. Getting rid of enemy buffs or glamours, shattering illusions, removing debuffs from an ally, breaking magic locks... It’s a good spell to just have available, even at 1/day.

Boon 2: Serpentine Lash. You gain Weapon Specialization (Whip) and Whip Mastery as bonus feats, even if you do not meet their prerequisites. Whips you wield take on the illusory appearance of a live serpent, and grant you a +2 on combat maneuver checks to trip opponents. If a whip you wield has a +1 enhancement bonus or higher, you may grant it the Dancing Weapon ability as a swift action. You may have your weapon animate for 6 rounds each day; they do not have to be consecutive.

This ability is deceptively useless. If you’re a whip-wielder by nature, you likely already have both Weapon Specialization and Whip Mastery by level 12, and if you don’t, what in god’s name is wrong with you? Did you just roll over and die whenever something with moderately thick skin came along?? Did you devote yourself only to disarming and tripping opponents for everyone else to deal with??? ... Alright that one sounds pretty cool, actually. But still, whips don’t deal lethal damage to their victims and don’t deal damage at all to enemies above certain armor bonuses if you don’t have Whip Mastery, and it can be taken as early as level 2. Waiting until level 12 (or 16 if you didn’t take the prestige class) to learn how to lethally wield a whip is agony.

However, if you’re NOT a whip specialist... That means that you’re unlikely to become one. Ahriman’s sacred weapon is the whip, so a Sentinel of Ahriman doesn’t have an excuse not to have one, but since you’re not specializing with a whip you’re unlikely to break it out in combat when the boring but practical swords, axes, and maces are available.

The Dancing quality is a pretty good enchantment to slap onto a weapon out of nowhere, essentially doubling the number of attacks you make each round, but whips aren’t exactly known for being devastating weapons, and the animated whip doesn’t have your Str/Dex bonus to go along with it and can’t use combat maneuvers, which is what whips are basically for. If you already have a +5 Super Duper Death Whip of Oblivion And Destruction, slapping Dancing onto it can be nice, but enchanted whips are difficult to justify creating and even harder to come by in the wild.

All in all this is a very, very disappointing Boon that more or less reads as “you get a +2 profane bonus to trip combat maneuvers when using a whip. Also, 6/day you can deal maybe 3d3+3 damage to an enemy as a swift action.”

Boon 3: Crush Opposition. 3/day, you may cause a corporeal enemy within 60ft of you to crackle with a black energy that attempts to crush them from every angle. They take 10 damage per hit die you possess, but may reduce this damage by half with a successful Fortitude save (DC 10 + 1/2 your hit die + your Charisma modifier). Creatures killed by this damage are completely obliterated, all of their belongings falling to the ground. All individual items the creature was carrying at the time become cursed for 1 hour per hit die you possess, the curse blighting any nonevil creature holding, carrying, or wearing the item with a stacking -1 penalty on saving throws versus fear and insanity effects.

My jaw dropped when I saw this. This is a significantly beefier version of Szuriel and Trelmarixian’s third Exalted Boon, which respectively allow you to cast a nerfed Implosion, and a regular Implosion.

Implosion itself is a pretty nice spell, letting you put the squeeze on any corporeal target you can see (Constructs and Undead have no get-out-of-jail free card here), but its biggest weakness is that it can only target a particular creature once per cast, and it’s completely negated with a successful save. Not only will Crush Opposition’s saving throw typically be higher than Implosion’s (10 + 1/2 HD + Cha mod vs 10 + 9 + Spellcasting mod), but it still deals half damage even if they DO make their save.

At the time you get it, that means Crush Opposition will do a flat 160 damage to any victim you designate, and 80 damage even if they succeed. 80 will shave off maybe a sixth of a CR 16~20 enemy’s health bar and will outright kill most mooks the instant you hit them with it, letting you focus on the main boss more. Though this ability can only hit, at max, three targets a day... Well, Implosion can only hit a given target once per cast, but Crush Opposition can hit the same person three times. It’s a good trade-off, if you ask me.

The whole ‘all their items get cursed if they die’ bit is more of an amusing add-on than anything that could be potentially useful. Evil folk like you don’t tend to leave survivors that can reclaim the gear of their fallen allies... But maybe you’re not among Evil folk (which is impressive, considering that Good folk tend not to wield live snakes as weapons). Maybe you can convince your party that all that gear is really and truly cursed, but you can uncurse it for them! You’ll just... Hold onto all that loot for a while.

Not very feasible, given that you’ll likely have casters that can uncurse the stuff, but it’s still a potential roleplaying opportunity.

You can read more about him here.

[iluvsexyvoltageguys]

The Betrayal ~ Part 1

Fandom: Star Crossed Myth (Love 365)

Pairing: Partheno x Reader

You knew it was him without turning around. His presence, even at a distance always gave you goosebumps. “Whatcha doin’ in here all alone?” he asked.

What were you doing? Good question. “Nothing.” You said lamely, unable to come up with something on the spot.

“Thought you might be waiting for me.” He said.

Waiting for him? Just because the small room held a desk didn’t make it a place to hang out. So why were you in here?

“Just making a phone call.” You said.

Partheno had something. It wasn’t something good – sure, he could smile a nun out of her habit – but it was always there. And it was usually aimed at you. Now he was leaning casually against the opposite wall. His head was tilted as if he were humoring your weak attempt at defense. As usual, he looked perfect. “What do you want, Partheno?”

Partheno’s mouth curled into a smirk. The more you played hard to get, the more he wanted to catch you. You were always around, heating his blood one degree at a time until it boiled beneath his skin, begging for release. “You know what I want.” He answered.

“My mindreading is a little rusty.” You put your hands on your hips, adorably exasperated. He ran his eyes over you, knowing underneath those clothes was a body worthy of a very wet dream. You looked a little tired – but then, you’d had a rough couple of days.

Partheno shifted his weight to stand up straight. He knew the tall, lanky thing worked for a lot of girls. You were no delicate flower – you never would have lasted this long if you were. Still his size could make a girl feel feminine, protected, maybe even turned on. You lifted one eyebrow as if to say ‘Is that all you’ve got?’

It hadn’t even been three months since Partheno found himself finally back from the heavens. He ran into you his first day. Every day since, you were the only thing on his mind.

“I want you,” he said, even though he knew you were Leon’s girlfriend. You knew what Partheno wanted. He looked at you like you were a build-your-own-sundae bar and he was judging just how much whipped cream was needed to cover your entire body. Still, to hear him say it out loud made your heart stop.

The situation called for a shutdown. Something more definitive than a no, one step below screaming for help and letting out a secret that had been building since Partheno’s return. Your brain was too slow, your synapses clogged by the words that had come from Partheno’s mouth. He stepped forward and all you could do was back up mutely. That wasn’t about to stop him.

“It’s gonna be awhile before he can…,” Partheno let the words trail off. He was too close now - you could smell his scent, or maybe he just always smelled intoxicating. His hand gently brushed your arm. “That’s a lot of long nights.”

It was true that Leon was back in the heavens helping the Wishes Department and you did not know when he would return back to you. You were in some kind of shock. Everything moved in slow motion. Partheno closed the last of the space between you, towering over you. You were around big guys all the time, but this was intimidating. It was meant to be. His palm grazed all the way up to your shoulder, his fingers lifted under your chin. You had no choice but to meet his eyes. “Now can you read my mind?”

If Partheno knew anything, it was how to wait for an opening. When he saw a chance, Partheno took a shot. He barely had to lean down to do it. Your eyes stayed wide open and locked on his as Partheno touched his lips to yours for the first time.

It zinged right down his spine, a lightning bolt breaking off and zapping him in the crotch on its way to his toes. The air got thick with electricity – just enough to slow the swing of your hand as it raced for Partheno’s cheek. He caught your wrist before he even broke the kiss. The current still sizzled between your skin. You tried to wrench your hand free but Partheno held tight. “Is this your way of telling me you like it rough?” He smirked.

“Get the fuck off of me,” You hissed, “What are you doing?”

It was too late for such a question. Partheno had already done enough to take down the world, one chaste kiss would be a wrecking ball through this house. There was no going back but he had to go forward. The pulse in your wrist beat hard against his fingers. “What I should have done the day we met.” He smirked.

You were shaking. You hated yourself for being afraid and even more for being turned on by Partheno’s aggressive, arrogant behavior. Your eyelids fluttered as you felt a traitorous drop of moisture soak the spot between your legs. The heat made you furious. “Let go!” This time you ripped your arm free.

“Let’s go? Okay.” He smiled.

You shook your head, “Fuck you!” Now that you had an inch you needed a mile. “Do you really want to fucking piss off Leon?” You warned.

He laughed sarcastically, like he knew he had some clout around here now. He might be overestimating himself but Partheno was definitely underestimating his opponent.

“Back off right now and we’ll forget this ever happened. For you own good.”

“Good?” Partheno spat. “You think he’s good to you when he is away? They do look like you, the goddesses he sleeps with.”

You hit him in the stomach where he wasn’t expecting it - one good punch, burying your fist in Partheno’s abs before he could tense up. Partheno woofed out a breath but the follow through carried you right off balance. He grabbed your arm hard and yanked your back to his chest. His breath was hot on your ear. “Bent over you probably all look the same.”

It would have felt the same as if Partheno punched you back. The words had weight and on contact you knew they were true. You had always wondered - or tried not to wonder. You and Leon were together; he made sure everyone around here knew it. And not one single person beyond here. Is that why? You wondered, still tangled in Partheno’s hold. It was so easy to believe what Leon said - he kept your relationship quiet to hold onto a modicum of privacy or to protect you from the other gods and goddesses. Could there be other secrets too?

“You’re lying,” You hissed as a reflex.

Partheno’s big hand scooped your hair away to expose your neck, then soft lips grazed your skin. A thousand times more softly than before, now that he had you where he wanted you. His warm breath made the skin on your neck prickle. “I know it’s true, ______. Because I only fuck girls who look like you too.”

His hands were moving. You couldn’t think and defend yourself at the same time. There was barely time to react to Partheno squeezing his fingers into the cleft between your legs before he pushed the seam of your jeans right up into your clit. Sagging in his arm, you practically moaned.

“I want you,” Partheno murmured, rubbing the raised edge of denim against your hot spot. “And I’m worth it, ______. You know what I can do to you.”

Your eyes fluttered closed. He kept saying your name, like a trigger, like he was hypnotizing you with the buff of his low voice. You were in a state of emergency, hormones and body betraying your brain. Partheno’s long, strong fingers ground the hem of your jeans against your clit again and a shudder rocked your whole body. Traitor! you wanted to scream. With a twist your tried to wrench free.

Partheno was ready for it. You were purring in his arms inside of a minute, there was no fucking way he was letting go. If you wanted to take off, you’d have to actually take it. He stroked hard, feeling the lips of your pussy part and the ridge of denim slip between them.

Holding your ass flush against his lap, Partheno rubbed his growing erection against you as he dug his lips into your neck, kissing hard all the way to your pulse point.

“Partheno,” You said weakly. It sounded like a request. His blood surged, making him harder. You felt his need throb against your backside. “Oh God,” You gasped.

Partheno was a lost cause. He could never take back what he’d already done and couldn’t stop himself from doing more. With a flick of his wrist, the button on your jeans was open. Silk panties slid over the back of his hand as he jammed it low, those long fingers finding wet, then warmth, then wow.

Your back bowed as Partheno tweaked your clit and ran two fingers right up into your pussy. Your feet almost left the floor. The shift in your weight bumped his stiff cock. “Fuck,” he groaned. He wanted to bury those fingers in your tight snatch, feel you ripple and shake until you cried his name out loud for the whole mansion to hear.

Someone would have to kick down that door and they’d just see Partheno taking this trophy right out from under Leon’s nose.

Your jeans were too tight, there was no room to handle you like he needed to.You yelped when he ripped his hand free, already shoving your jeans away with the other one. You reached for the wall to keep from collapsing as Partheno forced your clothes down around your knees. The warm flat of his palm grazed your ass just before the clink of his belt opening. You didn’t think, you didn’t even breathe. There wasn’t time.

A split second later, Partheno was screwing his dick between your legs. He was going to come like a rocket and put you right though the wall. Your bare skin was flawless, the perfect amount of give where he spread you open. He gasped as his tip parted your pink folds; it was like touching a hot stove. Partheno roughly grabbed your hips and slammed himself inside.

The noise you made wasn’t loud, it wasn’t even a word, but to Partheno it was better than that. It was the sound of surrender - you wanted this, you wanted him, you just needed to be told and taken until you learned. Your body had already relented.

Partheno pounded again, desperate to get deep enough to prove it to you. You shuddered at each impact. Partheno was longer than Leon and he was bottoming out, railing you. It hurt and you liked it. More than anything, that made you feel like a whore. You wanted to be punished for enjoying your betrayal. A glance over your shoulder showed Partheno was enjoying it too: eyes closed in concentration, lips parted as he struggled to breathe. He blinked and caught you looking.

“Partheno,” You sobbed. How could you let Partheno do this? How had you resisted so long? He - you would not allow yourself you to think Leon’s name - he would never do this. He never lost control. Well, maybe with those other goddesses in the heavens. You had the impression Partheno never gave this to a stranger - he’d been saving it all for you. “Fuck me,” You whispered, “Make me forget him.”

Partheno grabbed a handful of your hair, twisted your face to his and kissed you as hard as he was fucking you. The other hand drove down between your legs.

“Aaaaahhhhh,” Your mouth fell from his at the force of his thick fingers on your clit. He smiled, bouncing you between his thighs and his hand, hard and deep from both sides. His lips found your skin, that spot between the neck and shoulders that could drop you to your knees.

Now there was nowhere to fall. He sucked and bit at your flesh while your body rioted. Each flick of your clit twanged right through, twisting you against his penetration until you were ready to snap. Partheno felt it quickening. “Give it to me, _____. Let me feel you.” His teeth gnashed, forcing back the flood of his own orgasm. The words were a growl. “First of many, ______. All the ways you dream of being fucked.”

Your traitorous body broke, heaving, at Partheno’s command. The orgasm crashed through your system, threatening to drown you, swallowing your scream. Every nerve ending lit up like a firework. Against your ear, mouth still greedy for your skin, Partheno moaned forcefully. Somewhere around your heart, his cock pulsed load after load of desire into a place your boyfriend had never been. Partheno held you until both of you were still, then gently freed himself but didn’t let go. A feather-light brush of his mouth along your neck brought that purring voice back to your ear. “Tonight. Come over.”

“I...,” You started to protest. There were a zillion broken things to fix now, not the least of which were your girl parts. The idea of going again, of Partheno having his way with you in a proper bedroom, or bathroom, or kitchen, or....Stop! You yelled in your head. It too was still pounding.

“You can’t stay with him,” Partheno said quietly. No way after this would he allow you into another man’s arms, forget the one who’d already lost you. Leon never deserved you, never earned you and he sure as hell never did what Partheno had just done. Partheno knew he’d stolen a treasure and he intended to spend every last cent.

You quietly agreed. You couldn’t even look at Leon now. He’d never wanted you like that - enough to take a huge risk, enough to ruin everything else to get to you. The only thing Leon wanted that badly was control. In a twisted way, Partheno’s act made you feel like a prize.

“I’ll make you want to stay with me,” Partheno promised. You closed your eyes on the life you had known. You already want to stay.