#ch: black spider

[creamytinydays]

The Crush (Everlark Fanfic) - now complete!

Chapter 7 now up!

Thank you to everyone who has followed this story!

Looking for a multi-chapter (20k+ words), complete Everlark fix? How about Everlark in the Marvel universe? Check it out!

[grimini]

[penascigarette]

Smooth Operator Ch 1. A New Client

Joel Miller x f!phone sex operator

➴wc: 6.7k | summary: You unexpectedly find yourself drawn to a new client during a late-night call, who ignites a surprising wave of desire within you. As you engage in a steamy conversation, you realize this encounter is unlike any you've had before, leaving you eager for more and questioning the boundaries of your professional life.

➴warnings: mdni, phone sex, mxm phone sex, fxm phone sex, m&f masterbation lots of dirty talking, use of princess, shitty moodboard

➴an: hi! i hope you enjoy the first chapter of the first fic I have ever posted. if I have missed any warnings please let me know. feedback is super appreciated! now I will go run and hide lol. and a big tysm to @saradika-graphics for making such lovely dividers!

masterlist | series masterlist | pt. 2

You love sleeping, and just as passionately, you love your bed. Whenever you wake up in the morning, you spend at least ten minutes wrapped up in your duvet, savoring the warmth and comfort as you tease yourself with the idea of a nap.

This morning is no different. The sun shines outside, making your dark purple curtains look lighter than they actually are. If you open your eyes, you know you'll see dust particles floating through the air.

You take a deep breath through your nose and immediately wish you'd opened your windows to let in some fresh air. But you never do, even though you think about it every morning. It's too risky. Open windows are an open invitation to your worst fear—spiders.

Just the thought of their tiny, hairy bodies and long, wiggly legs sends a shiver down your spine. You pull the duvet tighter around your shoulders, practically imagining the creepy crawlies on your skin.

And of course, that's when your roommate, Elliot, decides it’s the perfect time to tickle your ear with one of his long, pink, kinky feathers—used for who-knows-what.

You scream, jump, and scramble off the bed like it’s suddenly caught fire. Your eyes—probably bloodshot with dark bags underneath—narrow at the grinning culprit, who is currently doubled over in a fit of laughter on the right side of your king-sized bed.

“What the fuck,” you huff, too tired to find any humor in this. You were so warm and cozy, and now that feeling is ruined for the next twenty-four hours. “You’re a real dick, you know that?”

 “Y-your face!” he chokes out between giggles. He looks far too fresh-faced for someone who’s just rolled out of bed. Still in his pajamas, his messy hair—short on the sides with a wave on top—looks like it hasn’t seen a brush this morning.

“It's not funny!” you argue, your voice rising over the sound of his laughter. You’re this close to stomping your foot at him. “I thought you were a spider!” Standing there in nothing but pink pajama bottoms and a black strap top, your skin prickles with goosebumps. Yet again, you curse him for ruining your warm, safe burrito.

That only makes him laugh harder. It’s hard to believe this man-child is twenty-eight years old when he acts less than half his age most of the time.

At the sound of his snort, you feel your lips twitch against your will. No, you’re pissed at him—there’s no way he’s going to make you laugh. But very quickly, you’re losing the battle. Have you ever tried not laughing with someone who has an impossibly contagious laugh? It’s damn near impossible.

“Whatever!” you say, rolling your eyes as a reluctant smile finally breaks across your face. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to look stern, but Elliot knows he’s won this round

“It’s getting late,” he says, still chuckling. His green eyes are watery from laughing, making them sparkle as he grins at you. Rolling onto his left side, he props his head up with one hand—the one holding the feather—while his other hand runs through his sandy-brown hair, slicking it back. “And you slept through your alarms again, so I thought I’d help you out.”

Damn, have you really? It wouldn’t be the first time. Waking you is like trying to wake the dead.

“Oh,” you say sheepishly. Fair enough, he had to wake you, but—“Did you have to use your kinky, sex feather...thing?��� You shiver in disgust. “Who knows where that’s been.”

He shrugs innocently, twirling the offending object between his fingers. “Nowhere gross...” His eyes flick up to yours, and he smiles once more. “Only up Danny’s ass.”

Your eyes widen, and you splutter. “What? Oh, my god—Jesus, that’s just—” You gag in the back of your throat. “You said it hadn’t been anywhere gross!”

He laughs again, sitting up. “I was telling the truth. Danny’s ass was far from gross.” A faraway look crosses his face. “It was heaven,” he muses wistfully before frowning. “God, I miss him.”

“Oh, honey,” you soften immediately, making your way to the bed and crawling toward Elliot to offer some comfort.

You know Danny and Elliot’s breakup was hard on him. He’d been completely in love with that man and was about to ask him to move in—with you both—when Danny decided to end the year-and-a-half relationship. It just wasn’t working was his excuse, but Elliot later found out the truth when Danny updated his Facebook page: he’d left Elliot for someone else.

“He didn’t deserve you,” you say, trying to make him feel better as you drape an arm around his shoulders. Sitting back on your heels, you add, “He was a dick for what he did. You shouldn’t be sad. He’s the one who lost someone who loved him. The only thing you lost was—”

“A twat-waffle who didn’t deserve me, I know,” he cuts you off, reciting your usual line before you can finish. You’ve said it enough times in the past three months since the breakup that he knows it by heart. “Thanks for trying to make me feel better, but...doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.”

“I know,” you respond quietly, your thoughts drifting to your own breakup. It’s been over a year now, but the pain still lingers. Your ex had been your first boyfriend—hell, your first everything. You’d met when you were seventeen, and you moved in with him before your next birthday. Everything happened so fast, and you didn’t see the cracks until it was too late. “But we have each other, right?” you say, giving Elliot a little shake.

He glances at you, his expression vulnerable. Big eyes, plucked thin eyebrows, a slight bump on his nose from when a bully broke it in his teens, full lips, high cheekbones, and when he smiles, dimples form on his cheeks.

“Yeah?” he replies, hopeful. “Even if I wake you up with a feather that’s been up my ex’s ass?”

You roll your eyes, pulling away to thump him on the arm. “Fucker,” you mutter as he starts giggling all over again. “Remind me why I love you?”

Grinning, he reaches into the pocket of his pajama shorts and pulls out his phone. "Because I'm adorable," he answers distractedly as he stares at the screen. "Oh, my first caller of the day! And it's Simon," he whispers the last part to you as if Simon could hear. "He sounds like a whale when he comes, but boy, does he have a gorgeous sex voice," he informs you. You snort as he accepts the call. "Why hello there, lover."

While Elliot makes himself comfortable against your pillows, you climb off the bed and head toward your wardrobe. You already have your outfit in mind—a pair of leggings and a plain white shirt.

"Mmm, that sounds so sexy, baby," you hear Elliot purr in the background, and you smile, shaking your head. You can’t imagine what people would think about you being in the same room as your guy roommate while he talks dirty to one of your clients, meanwhile, you're getting changed in the corner.

It’s a strange situation, to say the least.

As you remove your shirt with your back turned to Elliot, you can’t help but listen in to the conversation.

"I'd love to touch your nipples," Elliot hums behind you, getting into character. You know how much he loves talking dirty to guys. It’s a turn-on for him. Unlike you, who only really enjoys sex if it’s with someone you love. Elliot is way more adventurous and has had more one-night stands than you can count. "I'd love to stroke them, caress them, lick them. . .”

"Suck them," you add when you hear Elliot hesitate. You pull the straps of your bra up your arms and hook it at the back. 

“Oh, and suck them," Elliot says as you pull your top on.

Since Elliot is still fairly new to this, he needs help sometimes. His situation had been very similar to yours—a broken-up relationship, no job, and forced to move back in with his mum until someone came along and gave him hope. For Elliot, that person was you. For you, that person was your boss, Jane.

Elliot's voice lowers as he talks to his client. "Your body is so pretty, honey. I can't wait to trace my tongue up and down your belly, and then start going lower and lower until I reach your—”

You cough quietly to yourself, trying to hide your smile as you change into your leggings and slip on a pair of fluffy pink socks. You’ve heard Elliot talk dirty loads of times, and he’s heard you talk dirty just as many. Part of training him was him having to listen in on your conversations, and then you monitoring his. Neither of you gets embarrassed around it anymore. It’s more amusing, to be completely honest.

Deciding to leave Elliot to it, you grab your phone off your bedside cabinet and quietly tiptoe to the door. Before you leave, you look over to Elliot and mouth, Coffee?

He nods enthusiastically at you and mouths back, Yes, please!

You’re halfway down the steps when you rub your eye and feel the crumbly sensation of mascara under your fingertip. You’ve forgotten to take your makeup off the night before. You curse to yourself before heading back upstairs to fetch a makeup wipe.

When you reach your room once more, Elliot looks at you questioningly before he notices your face. His lips curl into his mouth in an attempt not to laugh. You roll your eyes and put your middle finger up at him before heading over to your dresser, which sits directly opposite your bed. You open the top drawer and feel through the ridiculous amount of makeup and beauty products you’ve collected over time. As your fingers search, your eyes stare forward at your flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. You can see Elliot's reflection.

"God, you feel so tight around me," Elliot is telling his customer, and you bite your lip in an attempt not to laugh. Finally, your fingers grip the packet of wipes, and you pull them free. "I'm gonna come inside of your ass so damn hard—," Elliot is cut off by a muffled roar, and you turn to look at him questioningly.

He is still sitting on your bed, back against the pillows with one hand holding the phone far away from his ear. He has an uncomfortable look on his face, and it’s then you realize the noise has come from the phone. Or, more accurately, the noise is the loud, animal-like groans of a man coming hard.

Oh my god," you whisper to him quietly, now understanding what Elliot had meant by Simon sounding like a whale when he came.

Elliot uses his other hand to cover the bottom half of the phone, preventing Simon from hearing you speak. "Every. Damn. Time," he replies just as quietly, looking so serious it makes you giggle. He cracks his own smile before bringing the phone back to his ear. "Oh, that sounded like a good one, baby."

You’re glad Simon isn’t one of your callers because you’re not sure you’d be able to stay professional with that sound in your ear. You take care of your makeup before finally getting started on coffee.

Your living room and kitchen are all in one room. The only thing separating the rooms is the counter you eat at. Silver stools with black padded seats sit underneath, four of them for when you have guests over.

You walk past the L-shaped sofa and the counter. Once the coffee is on, you get started on breakfast. You decide on some cheesy, ham-scrambled eggs. Just as you start mixing the ingredients, your phone vibrates where you’ve placed it on the counter. You lean over far enough to see the screen. When no name appears, only a number, you figure it must be a new client since you save existing clients in your phone book.

You accept the call and bring it to your ear. "Hey there," you purr in your sexy voice. You never thought you had one until Elliot pointed it out to you. According to him, it’s a hot one too. "Tell me, gorgeous, what’s your name?"

"Josh." He’s breathing heavily, sounding as if he’s already started the party without you. "I-I'm new to all this…phone stuff," he informs you.

"That's fine, Josh," you say with a slight smile. "My name's Angel, and I’m going to take care of you, all right?" Your name isn’t Angel, but for safety reasons, you’re Angel as far as your customers know. And yes, you’re well aware of how clichéd it is.

"Yes," he tells you, his voice rougher than before. He’s probably getting more excited. Now, all you need to do is find out what he likes.

"Tell me, honey, you like it hard or soft, hm?" you question just as Elliot’s footsteps sound on the stairs.

"God. Hard. I like it hard," Josh answers. "I like it when you take control, with a little pain. Yeah, I like that a lot." In the background, you can hear the sound of his hand working his dick. At least you know he’s enjoying himself.

"Okay, Josh," you nod to yourself, knowing exactly where to go from here. Elliot appears in front of you, his lips forming an 'o' shape when he sees you’re with a client. You nod your head toward the food you’ve been preparing, signaling him to take over as you move away from the counter and toward the living area. Elliot passes you on the way, his hand patting you on the shoulder.

You flop over the arm of the chair and onto the sofa, landing with a bounce on your back. "The first thing I want you to do is to strip for me, now," you order him, reaching toward the coffee table when you spot a magazine there. You bring it over to you and open it. "Are you naked yet?"

"Almost," he practically gasps to you. You can hear some more shuffling, and then he's telling you, "Yes, mistress, I'm naked."

Mistress? You sigh internally. You seriously can't believe how many men are into the whole dominatrix kink. In the beginning, it was kind of fun, but by now, it’s getting pretty old.

Mentally awakening your inner dom, you relax further into the sofa and flip through the magazine. "Good boy," you coo, finding a 20 Sex Tips for Women article. Huh, how fitting. "Now, here's what I want you to do, and you better listen closely, pet."

The call ends up lasting 2 minutes and 28 seconds. Not bad for a newbie.

________

“I might have a date this weekend," Elliot mentions casually, making you glance over the top of your book at him, eyebrows raised.

A few hours have passed since breakfast, and you've had at least seven phone calls since. The two of you are relaxing in the living room, you on one side of your L-shaped sofa and Elliot on the other.

"And why is this the first I'm hearing of it?" you respond, feeling rather hurt. You tell each other everything. You know the penis size of every boyfriend he's had. How can he share that information so easily yet let something like a date stay secret?

He cringes, and you just know you're not going to like what's coming next. "Because..." he hesitates, takes a deep breath, and rushes out, "BecauseitswithDanny." He says it so fast it almost doesn't register, but the name Danny sticks out like a sore thumb.

"What!?" you exclaim, book falling forgotten onto the floor as you sit up. You're completely shocked, and you imagine your expression says everything before you even open your mouth. "How can you—why would you want to after what he did?" You can't understand what's going through Elliot's head, but you seriously want to knock some sense into him.

"I tried hinting to you this morning!" Elliot tells you, sitting up. The magazine he'd been reading earlier falls onto his lap, his attention now completely on you. "I told you I missed him!"

You scoff at that. "A hint is, 'Oh, by the way, I'm thinking of going on a date with my ex.' Not, 'I'm going to tickle you with Danny's ass-feather, complain about missing him, and hope that you get the hint that I'm going out with him this weekend despite the fact he broke my heart!'" You take a deep breath, oxygen running low after that rant. "Look, I know it's none of my business—"

"Of course it's your business. You're my best friend."

"—I just don't want you to get hurt," you continue as you both stare at each other with similar expressions. You're both desperate for the other to understand how you're feeling without wanting to cause any upset. "I love you, honey...and it destroyed you when he left."

"He said he's sorry," Elliot tells you quietly, making you realize just how much they've been talking. A pang of hurt goes through your heart, knowing that Elliot felt like he couldn't talk to you about this. "He said it was a mistake, one he wouldn't make again. But I don't want to jump back into things so...I told him we'll start slow."

"Well," you nod slightly. "That's something, I guess." It comforts you to know that he isn't rushing into the relationship again. Maybe, if they start from scratch, it could work this time. Unfortunately, your gut tells you different. "I'm going to be honest with you, okay?"

Elliot gives you a lopsided smile, causing a single dimple to form on his cheek. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

You smile back for a moment before turning serious again. "I think...you're thinking with your heart and not with your head," you tell him softly. "I think you're in love with him, and you miss him, and you're not thinking rationally about this. Which I totally understand, honey. You love him; I know you can't help that. I just worry that Danny knows how you feel about him, and he's going to use it to his advantage." You watch Elliot's expression closely; he's nodding, letting you know he's listening.

You give your lip a quick nibble before continuing. "But if this is something you feel like you need to do, then I'll support you, you know that."

"Thanks, babe," he responds sincerely, but his eyes are sad. "You're right. I know you're right, but...my heart wants this so damn badly."

"What's your gut telling you to do?" you ask him curiously. You’ve always believed in following your instincts.

"Run," he answers with a painful laugh. "Run and don't look back because he's only doing this as a rebound."

You frown at the information. "Rebound?"

Elliot nods, tears filling his eyes. He crosses his legs underneath him, which surprises you given how skinny his jeans are. One arm goes to the back of the sofa while the other runs through his slick-backed hair. He pulls his lips into his mouth for a moment, a habit of his, before telling you, "Him and Voldemort broke up. Danny says he broke it off because he misses me, but I checked Voldemort's page, and it looks like he's gone and gotten himself a new guy."

You hold back a snort at his nickname for Gary. Voldemort. It suits him. From Elliot's information, you're guessing that Danny is only after a rebound, but Elliot doesn't want to admit it because he still wants to be with Danny.

"Honey..." you sigh, scooting across the sofa so you can give Elliot a cuddle. He immediately returns the gesture but stays seated, whereas you lean up on your knees, making you higher than him. You rest your head on top of his, your arms around his neck. You know you don't need to say anything. Elliot knows he's burying his head in the sand. You think he just needs to find out the hard way; otherwise, he'd always regret not trying.

"I'm here for you," you assure him. This is something he needs to do, and you can't protect him from it, no matter how much you want to.

"Thank you," he tells you tearfully. You can hear how upset he is, but he's trying to hold it back. You squeeze him tighter, wishing you could take away all his pain. "You're the best friend a guy could ask for."

Your lips curve at that. "I know," you joke because really, you're not that big-headed. "Now," you say as you pull away but keep your arms around his neck. "What do you say we turn our phones off for a while, get a Chinese, and watch some crappy chick flicks?"

His eyes are bloodshot and wet with tears, but the smile he gives you is genuine happiness. And that you completely understand because food makes you feel the same way. "I love you so much."

--

The film you end up watching is beyond cheesy, but the humor is awesome, and you find yourself giggling along. Your Chinese food is now in your overly-stuffed belly, and the only things left are the containers sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

You sit side-by-side with Elliot, shoulders touching, a leopard-print blanket draped over your laps. Both of you ordered a beer with the takeaway. It isn’t enough to get you drunk, but that wasn’t the plan since you need to turn your phones back on for work later.

By the time the film ends, Elliot seems to be in a much better mood. Hopefully, he’ll stay that way for the next few hours.

“Gosh,” Elliot starts, reaching behind the sofa to the side table where a lamp sits. He switches it on, making you both blink against the sudden brightness. “I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

“Same,” you say, squinting as your eyes adjust. Your muscles feel cramped, so you throw off the blanket and stretch. As you straighten your body, you begin to slide off the sofa but don’t bother stopping it. You let yourself slip onto the floor.

With the coffee table in the way, you have to arrange yourself so you’re lying between the sofa and the table. The wooden flooring is cold against your right arm, while the left side of your body enjoys the comfort of the fur rug.

“Weirdo,” Elliot snorts from above.

“Don’t judge,” you respond, letting out a yawn. Watching films always makes you tired. Maybe it strains your eyes. The floor is oddly tempting right now—so cozy—or maybe Elliot is right, and you’re just a weirdo.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Elliot speaks again, his foot nudging your side. “Can’t sleep now. We’ve got horny customers waiting.”

It’s only then you realize you’ve closed your eyes. “I’m up,” you mumble, forcing yourself to sit upright. The smell of Chinese food still lingers in the air. It was absolutely delicious, but your stomach protests now, begging you not to even inhale another whiff of it. You pat your belly proudly, knowing it did a good job handling the feast.

“Good,” Elliot says. “We gotta get to work.”

Neither of you moves.

“For fuck’s sake,” Elliot sighs after a moment, making you crack a smile. “It’s so much effort. I hate... effort,” he says, spitting the word as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

You tilt your head to look at him better. “Just think about all those handsome, horny men stroking their dicks, waiting for you to—”

“I’m up!” Elliot exclaims, jumping to his feet. His hands dive into his pockets as you laugh loudly. “Christ, where’s my phone? My customers need me!” He’s being overly dramatic on purpose, and it makes you giggle even harder.

“It’s not funny!” he tells you, though he’s trying his hardest not to smile. “Who’s going to give those guys their orgasms? This is a serious situation!”

You giggle again, but then you try to put on a straight face. “You’re right. There could be a riot!” you gasp dramatically. “I’ll get on the phone to the prime minister right away!”

“And the president!” Elliot chimes in, but then you make eye contact, and the two of you burst into laughter. Sure, you can act pretty silly sometimes, but it’s healthy. At this age, you feel more mature than most people your age, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be childish once in a while.

Once you both calm down, you know playtime is over. It’s really time to get to work. Sighing, you take Elliot’s hand when he offers it to you, and he easily pulls you up from the floor.

“Thanks, kid,” you tell him, standing on your tiptoes to ruffle his hair. You know he hates when you do that.

He lets out a high-pitched squeak and backs away. “You know my rules!”

“No one touches the hair,” you recite dutifully.

“Yes!” he says, rolling his eyes. “And yet you always forget. And what do you mean ‘kid’? I’m older than you!”

“Yes, well, mentally you’re the age of ten, so…”

“Bitch,” he says, lightly punching your arm, and you laugh.

“Is that all you’ve got?” you tease.

He plants his hands on his hips, cocking a hip at you and raising an eyebrow. “Honey, you can’t handle what I’ve got.”

“I’m heading upstairs. Gonna talk dirty to some dudes, grab a shower, change into my pajamas, get some more horny people off, read a book, then go to bed.”

Elliot takes the phone and nods. “Sounds like a damn good plan,” he says, holding up his hand.

You smile and give him a high-five.

--

One of the hardest parts of your job is keeping things fresh and coming up with new ideas. That’s why you love working with Elliot. He’s a guy; he knows what men like, so whenever you feel like you need something different, he’s your go-to.

New customers are always the easiest to please. No matter what you say, it’s fresh to them. Exciting. It’s your recurring customers who require more effort. There are only so many ways to describe a blowjob before it starts feeling repetitive. When you get that feeling of déjà vu, you worry your client does too.

Oh, and trying to figure out what a guy likes? That’s another challenge. Sometimes, it feels like a seriously fucked-up game of I-Spy.

“I spy with my little eye…” Imaginary-you says in a hopeful voice. “A foot fetish? No? Fuck.” You’re rocking back and forth now, losing hope. “I spy with my little—oh, I know! Voyeurism?” you practically beg, thinking about pulling your brains out with a spoon if this doesn’t work. “…Golden showers?”

Okay, maybe you’re being a bit overdramatic, but you get the point. It’s frustrating, especially when the client is shy and doesn’t know what they like themselves.

Deciding you’re getting cranky—probably because you’re tired—you decide to finish half an hour early tonight. You shouldn’t, especially after already losing a few hours of work earlier, but you’ve made enough money to cover your half of rent and bills this month. You’ve still got a week to earn more for food and anything else you need.

So yeah, you’ll finish early.

Yawning, you pull the covers out from underneath your ass before throwing them over yourself. You’re already in your pajamas—a loose pair of pink shorts and a white strap top—and your book sits next to you, waiting to be read.

But just as you pick up your phone, ready to turn it off, a new number flashes on the screen. You stare at it for a moment, wondering if it’s worth leaving. The problem is, with it being a new customer, leaving a bad impression could mean they wouldn’t come back.

“Damn,” you mutter under your breath, knowing the professional businesswoman in you can’t risk losing what might end up being a recurring customer. As far as you know, this phone call could change your career. You snort at that. Highly unlikely, but it’s going to bring in extra money, which is a good enough reason. “Just this last one, then I’m going to bed,” you tell yourself.

You place the earphones back into your ears and press the green button on your touchscreen. “Hey there, handsome.” There’s a pause, and you briefly wonder if they’ve decided to hang up when he finally speaks.

“Hey,” he responds simply, sounding kind of awkward.

“You caught me just in time,” you say naughtily.

“Oh?” he sounds intrigued, though the awkwardness remains. He’s probably just shy or clueless about what to do. “Why is that?”

For a moment, you’re taken aback by how much you’re attracted to his voice. That’s never happened to you before, and he’s barely said five words. Masculine, educated, and gruff. Swoon.

“Um...” You try to get back into character while scolding yourself. The conversation has only just started; you can’t screw it up already. Get your head in the game, girl. “Because I’m wet and needing a man to help me out.” Internally, you wince. That’s pretty weak considering how good you usually are at this.

He doesn’t seem to think so because he releases a sexy, “Shit. I—” He’s breathing heavily, and you wait for him to finish, sensing he has something else he wants to say. “I don’t know if this was a good idea,” he admits after a moment.

Fuck, you’re losing him, and you’re losing him fast. You need to think quickly if you want to keep him on the line. You don’t want to admit it, but your interest in this man goes beyond the money you’re earning from him. He’s ignited something in you. “Wait! Please,” you breathe. “I—I’m so horny. I need you. Please? Just stroke your dick for me. I need it.” There you go; you knew you could do better.

“Damn it,” he hisses, and then there’s the sound of a belt buckle, and you know you’ve got him. “What’d you need, sweetie? Tell me,” he demands, and for the first time since doing this job, you feel a wave of lust hit you.

Swallowing in an attempt to bring moisture back to your dry mouth—it all seems to have headed south, if you know what you mean—you respond truthfully, “You.” Jesus, you shouldn’t be doing this, but before you can stop yourself, your left hand is slipping underneath your strap top and finding your breasts. “I need you, please—” You pause for a second. You don’t know if it will work, but if you’re right about him, this is going to go down a treat. For both him and for you. “—sir.”

And you’re right because he lets out a loud groan, making you squeeze your thighs together in response. Jesus, you haven’t wanted someone this badly in what feels like forever.

“Fuck, you’re going to be such a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

You’re already nodding before he finishes his sentence. “Yes, god, yes.” You move your right hand so it’s also caressing your breasts. In this moment, you completely love your headset, which allows you to talk and touch at the same time.

“Mm, you’re so obedient, baby,” he tells you, approval evident in his husky voice. “Tell me, Princess, tell me are your nipples hard?”

Your pussy clenches almost painfully, and you try to remind it to calm down because it’s only just started. “They’re hard. So hard they’re showing through my shirt.”

You’re getting so hazy with lust you’re not sure what to do with yourself, so you pinch your nipples roughly and almost cry out in frustration, knowing it would be so much better if he were doing it for you.

“Damn, that’s beautiful, sweetheart,” he tells you, and your belly does a funny flip. “You touchin’ them? Want you to roll them between your fingers. Not too hard, just enough pressure to leave you needing more.”

It’s not easy to admit, but you think he’s better at this than you are, and it crosses your mind that you should probably be paying him. “I already am,” you confess with a guilty laugh. “Your voice... it’s, uh, fucking hot.” You hesitate because you’re not sure if you can say that to him. It’s not very professional, but then you remind yourself that you’re only second-guessing it because you’re actually getting off on it.

"You that eager for me, princess?" he sounds pretty damn pleased with himself. "Tell me how it feels. You know, I'm stroking my dick to this. Getting hard over the noises you're making, and the pretty picture you're giving me."

The image of this man, who you are undoubtedly attracted to, stroking his hard cock over the thought of you pleasuring yourself drives you crazy. He seems so generous, something rare nowadays.

"It feels..." you breathe, trying to find the right words. "Like it's not enough. I need more. Christ." You throw your head back against your pillows, frustrated with yourself and the way you're acting. Completely unprofessional.

"Shh," he coos softly. "I've got you. I'm going to take care of you. Okay, princess?" He's so freaking good at this. You're practically shivering in anticipation of what he might say next. "I want you to get naked for me. And tell me, baby, you got any toys?"

"Um," you think about his question as you pull your strap top over your head. It gets caught on the earphone wire. "Wait a second." You quickly untangle yourself before placing the earphones back into your ears. Moving on to your shorts, you push them eagerly down your legs. "Yes, I have one of those little bullet vibrators."

"Good. I want you to get it for me, princess."

You bite your lip for a moment, feeling extremely dirty about what you're about to do. "Yes, sir..." you say before reaching toward your side cabinet and opening the bottom drawer. In an old, tiny, purple purse with a single zip sits the bullet. You take it out before getting comfortable on the bed once more. "I've got it."

He hums in approval. "Now, I'm more than happy to go slow, make this last, but I'm sensing that my girl wants to come hard and fast, am I right?"

You suck in an unsteady breath. Being called his girl really shouldn't make you feel as giddy as it does. Why and how does a complete stranger have such an effect on you? You're never one of those girls who fall for a man's charm easily. Yet here you are, swooning over a guy because he's good at talking dirty and has a sexy voice.

Apparently you were easier to seduce than you originally thought.

"Yes," you choke out, wondering if you'd wake up if you pinched yourself hard enough. You wouldn't try it, though, just in case you were dreaming. You really aren't ready for it to end. "God, yes."

"All right then," he chuckles, the sound warm. "I'll do what you want this time. Next time, what I say goes, okay, princess?"

Before you have a chance to respond, he's giving you more orders, and in no way are you complaining.

"I want you to spread your pretty little thighs for me, baby." His voice, and the way he's breathing, gives you the impression that he's getting just as excited as you are.

"Okay," you squeak rather embarrassingly. Cool air hits your most sensitive area as you do what he orders, your hands resting against the inside of your thighs, fingers clutching your vibrator as you wait impatiently for his instructions.

You have yet to turn the bullet on, but it already feels like your insides are vibrating.

"Now, take your hand and spread your pussy lips for me."

And there you go, once again speechless—and breathless—because of this man and his words. Seriously, he could do this job better than you. You have to admit, you're storing parts of this conversation away for both personal and professional use later on.

Your hands automatically do as he says, your body desperate for some kind of release. You feel overwhelmed and don't know where to start or what to do in order to relieve it. Thank God you have him to guide you; otherwise, you might combust. Then again, if he wasn't here, you wouldn't have this problem in the first place.

"Okay," you breathe, feeling more and more like a client than a sex line operator. But taking control is obviously something he enjoys, so who are you to put a stop to this? What’s the saying? ‘Customers are always right?’ Well, you absolutely, completely, one hundred percent agree!

"Stretch yourself out," he continues, his voice starting to strain. "Force your sexy little clit out of its hood. I don't want it hiding when you start fucking yourself. All right, princess?"

Fuckkk. Just when you think he can't possibly get any hotter, he goes and says that. Your pussy feels like it’s on fire; your clit is so swollen it hurts. You wouldn't be surprised if you came the second you put any pressure on your nub.

"Now," he continues. "Turn your bullet on and press it to your clit. You're not allowed to stop until your legs are shaking and you're calling out my name. Got it?" You can hear how hard he's pumping his dick now. For a moment, you feel guilty. Are you neglecting him? But then you remind yourself again that this is what he wants.

You know you're not going to last long. You're too excited. Not to mention, it’s been a while since you've spent some time with your right hand. You twist the top of your bullet, putting it on the highest speed. You know you're worked up enough to take it; usually, you start on low and build your way up because you're overly sensitive. Right now, you know it won’t be an issue.

The bullet starts to shake violently, but the noise is low, like a quiet buzzing. Your left hand holds yourself open, fingers forming a 'V' and spreading your lips as far as you can, just as he instructed.

You don’t need to tell him what you’re doing; the moment you press the bullet to yourself, a half-gasp, half-moan escapes your lips. You’re right—you definitely won’t last long. The vibrations are intense, and you draw small circles on yourself, pushing yourself even closer to the edge.

“Damnit,” he hisses. You’re quickly learning it’s one of his favorite words. “You sound fucking sexy. Wish I could see you. Watch you,” he inhales sharply. He’s just as close as you are.

“What’s—” you attempt to speak but end up gasping instead. Wetness gathers below, soaking your entrance and trailing toward your clit. The added lubrication lets the bullet slide more freely around your nub, the sensation unbelievable. “What’s—”

“Princess?” he chokes, likely having the same problem as you.

So close now. So fucking close. You just need a little more. The rhythm is perfect, and you can hear him breathing in your ear, letting out the occasional groan. It’s too damn much, but you can’t let yourself go—not without— “What’s your name?”

"Joel."

"Fuck - Joel!"

You see stars, as cliché as it sounds. Your whole body breaks into spasms, your left hand falling to the sheets and gripping the fabric desperately. Your right hand forces the bullet between your slippery lips, and your thighs clamp around your hand. Incoherent words tumble from your mouth: “Oh god,” “Fuck,” and Joel’s name.

As you come back down to earth, you can hear that Joel barely followed two seconds behind.

“Damn it, Princess. You’re so fucking good. Sound so pretty. Done so well,” the words spill from his mouth like sweet wine. He probably isn’t even aware of them. The sound of him fisting his dick is irregular and off-beat. “Fuck. Damn. You’re such a good girl.”

You remove the bullet from yourself—if you leave it there any longer, it’s going to become painful—and let out a giggle. Your cheeks are flushed, your body buzzing with pleasure. Lightheaded and giddy, you think to yourself that this guy must be amazing in bed. “That was fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” he laughs breathlessly. “You can say that again. I can’t believe I almost hung up.”

“That would have been bad,” you reply, wondering if your heart will slow down anytime soon. “Very, very bad.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, then pauses before adding, “Let me ask you something.”

“Go ahead.” You hesitate for only a moment. It’s unusual for clients to stick around afterward, but you’ve quickly realized this guy isn’t a normal caller.

“What’s your real name?” he asks. “No way is it ‘Angel.’” He snorts, finding your alias hilarious.

Is Angel that bad of a name? You think it’s kind of cool. The company is called Angels and Demons, with you being the Angel. Elliot’s alias is Daemon because it’s close to “demon” but sounds way better. When a customer calls, they get an automated voice instructing them to press the number for their chosen operator, complete with a brief description.

You’re losing your train of thought; you can’t give him your real name, can you? It’s against the rules. If Jane found out, she’d be pissed. She wouldn’t fire you, but her anger is almost as bad. With the image of facing her wrath in mind, you tell Joel, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” Your tone is regretful because you’d really like to tell him. “My boss would…it’s against the rules.”

“Ah,” he responds, masking the disappointment. “It’s all right. I understand.”

“Sorry,” you apologize again, hating the idea of letting him down, especially after how amazing he just made you feel.

"Seriously, Princess, it’s fine,” he reassures you, easing the guilt. “I had a really good time tonight. You can bet I’ll be expecting a repeat tomorrow.” You just know that if you could see him right now, his eyes would sparkle with mischief.

Your pussy throbs again just thinking about it. God, he makes you insatiable. “I’m really, really looking forward to it,” you tell him honestly.

“Me too.” There’s a brief pause, then, “Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, Joel.” Hanging up the phone, you place it against your lips, letting everything sink in. Alone with your thoughts, you can’t believe you just had full-blown phone sex with a client. It’s so unlike you. It’s more like something Elliot would do. Speaking of…

“Elliot, you won’t believe what just happened!” you shout at the top of your lungs.

[nevadancitizen]

-> CH. 3: OF TRUE AND FALSE MEMORIES

synopsis: you hitch a ride to the heartlands. hopefully your driver doesn't mind you leeching for just a while longer.

word count: 3.6k

ships: Arthur Morgan/Modern!Reader, Van der Linde Gang & Reader

notes: hey ummm merry christmas eve here's an early present. also zion as a concept of faith is mentioned but i am not a zionist trust it's just that joshua graham is unfortunately a mormon 🙏

TOSoA taglist: @one-green-frog , @photo1030 , @mavenhavenn , @fathermarama , @its-yummi (if you'd like to be added to the taglist, just ask <3!!)

THE OLD SOUL OF AMERICA MASTERLIST

You know the trail to Dead Horse Point well by now. Something is a bit different – but still, Joshua and Daniel and the Dead Horses and Sorrows welcome you and your mules, Rook and Bishop, all the same.

Follows-Chalk, Drumming-Storm, and a few other Dead Horses crowd the mules, offloading everything you had on them: books, kettles, blankets, guns (and accompanying black powder), tobacco, and alcohol. They mostly crowd Rook, as she’s the heavyweight of the two and carries more – Bishop’s more of a riding mule. The Dead Horses wander off soon after, arms full, taking everything to its respective place. 

Joshua approaches you, adjusting the bandages near his eyes to see you better. “You’ve got on well.”

“Yes, sir,” you say. “Happy Trails treats me well. I’m their employee, but I’m also their friend.”

“Yes, but this?” Joshua gestures at the people putting up what you’ve brought. “All this product? They must have put a lot of trust in you.”

“They put more trust in my steeds,” you say. “Both got some burro in them. And they can kick as hard as them, too – especially Bishop.”

“That, I don’t doubt,” Joshua says. 

You watch as Rook shakes her coat out, causing her carrying gear to jingle. Bishop wanders closer to Joshua, nudging at his shoulder and nipping at the bandages that cover Joshua’s arm. Joshua lifts his arm (slowly – again, he’s bandaged all over) and pats the side of Bishop’s face.

“They like it here,” you say. “Maybe it’s something about the canyon. Or maybe they just like you.”

“Zion is a godly place,” Joshua says. His voice, though deep and abrasive, carries a heavy tone of affection. “Wherever man may be, he always dreams of Zion. These creatures may share our same dreams.”

“That’d be nice,” you hum softly. You reach out and place your hand under Rook’s jaw, and she leans forward into your touch. Her big, brown eyes blink slowly as she looks at you, then around the campsite, like she’s appreciating the sight.

“We should probably get going,” you say. You look over at Joshua. “I need to load up on daturana and datura hide. That’s what Happy Trails wants in exchange, anyway.”

“Go talk to Winding-Path,” Joshua says. “She knows what you’re owed.”

When you look to your right, Follows-Chalk is hurrying over, a hand raised and a smile on his face. The painted markings on his face crease and stretch with his smile – rather than spider legs creeping up his cheeks, they look like laugh lines.

“Hoye!” He greets. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you, too,” you say. You reach out to grasp his hand, and as soon as you brush it – 

A bump in the road jolts you awake. You let out a small, confused sound, then settle. 

You’re in the back of a wagon, crammed between folded-up lodgings and kitchen supplies. Your knees are drawn to your chest, and your back is to the wooden side of the wagon. 

Before packing up and making yourself fit into the space left on the wagon, you weren’t really told much of anything. From what you’ve gathered, the men (“men” being the young-ish, able-bodied ones) robbed a train, and now you and the gang have to flee. It seems like you fit right in, because they have a penchant for pissing off the wrong people, just like you.

“Hey, you’re finally awake!” Hosea calls from the front, where he sits next to Arthur.

“Yeah.” You shift and take a quick, deep breath as you rub the sleep from your eyes. “Yeah, I’m up.”

“We’re nearly to the Heartlands,” Hosea says. He turns so that he’s facing you with his arm resting on the back of the seat. “You ever been there before?”

“No,” you say. You sway with the trail in the dirt road and the way Arthur drives. 

“We’re settling up in Horseshoe Overlook,” Hosea says. “It’s near a livestock town called Valentine – all mud and morons, if I remember right.”

“Huh,” you hum. You look away from Hosea and around you. 

It’s different from when you were up in Colter. It’s warmer, for one. The trees aren’t dredged in snow – instead, their branches are covered in leaves, each one green and upturned. Grasses and flowers sprout from the dirt ground, which is now soft and malleable instead of frozen and cold to the touch. Everything is just nicer. 

For a minute, you just listen to the sounds around you. It’s calm. Birdsong fills the air, and you can see animals bounding through the trees of the forest and grasses of the valleys (for the first time in a while, honestly – cities don’t lend themselves well to wildlife). 

What was that dream about? You wonder silently. I was… in the Dead Horses’ camp. But that place is completely fictional, even in this… timeline? Coma-fever-something dream? I don’t even know at this point.

You hear the sound of moving water and look to the front. Arthur is guiding the horses into a stream, which the rest of the caravan has cleared without a problem. 

In the middle of the water, you feel a shock and hear something break. You clutch to the side of the wagon and feel that the driving is a little… off.

“Get us out the stream,” Hosea says. “You gotta keep us moving, but calm.”

Did you just ask Arthur to be calm? You shout in your head. Arthur is the epitome of everything that isn’t calm! He barely feels things, and when he does, he’s meaner than a gas station tweaker – and he’s not even on anything!

Arthur (yes, carefully, you’ll admit) pulls the wagon out of the stream. Just as he does, you feel another shock and a shift. You scramble to hold onto a canister as it nearly falls out of the back of the wagon. 

“Ah, shit!” Arthur curses. He draws the wagon to a stop.

“Okay, let’s take a look,” Hosea says. 

You move and shift the items so that they’re pushed further up the wagon, where you were sitting just before. You hop off the back of the wagon. Sure enough, the wheel has just popped itself right off. 

“You alright back there?” Bill calls from up ahead. 

“Does everything look alright?” Arthur snaps as he hops off the driver’s seat. 

You can see Javier shift in his seat in the wagon ahead of yours, trying to get a better look. “Well, what’s going on?”

Arthur walks closer to you, accessing the damage. He throws a hand up in the air and groans. “I broke the goddamn wheel!”

“Alright!” Hosea chimes. “Let’s get it fixed.” 

“You need help?” Javier calls. 

Hosea waves him off with a hand. “I reckon we can handle it.”

You quickly step back as he and Charles make their way to the back of the wagon. Arthur hoists up the wheel so he can roll it towards the wagon. Hosea and Charles pick up the back, and Arthur forces the wheel back into place. 

You hurry over and pick up a crate, putting it in the wagon. You hop up into the bed of the wagon and take a small chest from Charles, placing it where it belongs.

“Hey, look at you.” Arthur says as he checks the back of the wagon. “You ain’t so useless after all.”

“O-oh,” you say after a second. “You’re talking to me?”

“I am.” He looks up at you. The brim of his hat casts a harsh shadow that partly obscures his eyes. “Did I… offend you, somehow?”

“No, no!” You laugh nervously and take another crate from Charles. “I just wasn’t sure. Sorry.”

“Uh-huh,” Arthur hums. 

“Hold on,” Hosea almost hisses. 

You look over at him, and he’s looking to the side. You follow his eyes and see three figures on the ridge of a cliff, each perched on a horse. You can barely make out their facial features, but they look like Native Americans.

“What you think?” Arthur says lowly. 

“If they wanted trouble, we wouldn’t have seen them,” Charles says. 

“Poor bastards…” Hosea raises his arm and waves, but doesn’t call out to them. “We really screwed them over down here.”

Yeah… You think to yourself, still looking at the figures on horseback. It’s not much better in the future, either. I’d tell you all the details, but then I’d be put in an asylum.

“Come on,” Hosea says. “Let’s not push our luck.”

You take your eyes away from the figures. Instead, you help Charles pack up the last of what’s meant to go in the back of the wagon. 

As Arthur and Hosea hop on the front of the wagon, you make yourself comfortable on top of a trunk. Charles sits across from you on a rectangular crate. 

“Not too far now. Stay on this trail,” Hosea instructs Arthur. “We’ll follow the river, then cut left inland.”

You look around as Hosea starts telling Arthur about how the poor the natives were treated in this area. “Stolen clean away from them it was, every blade of grass,” he says. Even though it’s wrong (reprehensible, even), you understand why white men wanted this country. It’s breathtakingly beautiful – or maybe it just looks that way because it’s not what you’re used to. It’s not asphalt and smog and a concrete jungle in place of real land that lives and breathes.

“I heard some of the army out here was particularly, uh…” Hosea thinks for a second. “Unpleasant about it.”

“Unpleasant?” Charles echoes. “How do you rob and kill people pleasantly?”

“You… say please?” You try to joke. “And thank you?”

“Something like that!” Hosea laughs. “That’s the perfect way to simplify something more complicated for the benefit of our blockheaded driver here.” 

You cringe a little. You don’t really want to be roped in while Hosea’s insulting Arthur so freely and carelessly. 

“Hey, don’t blame nothin’ on me,” Arthur says. “Never forget, y’all – this here’s a conman, born and bred. Just ‘cause it sounds fancy don’t mean he knows a damn thing ‘bout what he’s talkin’ ‘bout.”

A nice pseudo-quiet settles over all four of you. (Pseudo because while it’s true that none of you are talking, the noise of the forest around you fills that silence well.)

“So…” Arthur starts. “Charles. What happened to your tribe?”

“I don’t even know if I have one. Least, not that I can remember,” Charles says. “My father was a colored man. They told me he lived with our people for a while – a number of free men did – but… when we were forced to move from our lands, the three of us fled. I was too young to really remember much.” 

His expression hardens a little. “All my life I’ve been on the run.”

You feel your face twist a bit and a pang of empathy. Empathy – not sympathy. You don’t feel pity for Charles. You know a feeling familiar to his. Maybe you weren’t literally pushed from your land, but you sure as hell know how it feels – skipping from shelter to warming center to temporary housing to shelter.

Addicts, even child addicts and children of addicts, are liabilities. You were a liability.

Charles’ voice brings you from your thoughts. “A couple years later, some soldiers captured my mother. Took her somewhere. We never saw her again. We drifted around. My father was a very sad man, and the drink had a mean hold on him. Around thirteen… I just took off on my own.”

His eyes flit over to meet yours. “What’s that look for?”

“Sorry.” You duck your head and look off to the side. “It’s just… I understand.”

You leave it hanging at that. Then, you look at Charles out of the corner of your eye. He’s waiting for you to continue. You glance at Hosea and Arthur. Neither have turned around to look at you, but you can tell they’re waiting, too. 

“My dad wasn’t around. Like, at all,” you say. “And my mom liked to go to trap houses to get stoned out of her goddamn mind.”

“Trap houses?” Hosea echoes. “What d’you mean by that?”

A cold shock shoots down your spine as you remember that, yeah – this is 1899! And you’re from the future! And you can’t let slip that you’re from the 21st century!

“A trap house is a house where people go to buy and sell drugs,” you say as you think of a lie. “Sorry – it’s slang from the Frontier, I guess. Hasn’t made its way eastward yet.”

“Huh,” Hosea hums. “And what did you do before you found yourself here? If you don’t mind my asking.”

The dream! The dream! Your mind screams at you. Remember the dream!

“I worked for a company called Happy Trails Caravan,” you lie. “Had two mules – Rook and Bishop. I spent most of my time travelling alone, and delivering to the tribes in the Mojave.”

“And how was that?” Hosea asks. “I can’t imagine travelling all the time leaving a lot of room for friends.”

“Oh, yeah. It was nice, but still a little lonely,” you say. “I started doing more local runs across the north of the Mojave around six or seven years ago. Made friends with some of the tribes in Zion Canyon. I started working that job when I was maybe… fourteen? And spent around a decade going cross-country before I did more local deliveries.”

“That was about the age we found young Arthur here – maybe a little older,” Hosea says. “A wilder delinquent you never did see! But he learned fast.”

Arthur scoffs. “Not as fast as Marston, apparently.”

You and Charles exchange a look and he speaks up. “I don’t understand. What’s the problem between you two?”

“Eh…” Arthur shrugs. “It’s a long story.”

You cup a hand by your mouth and half-whisper to Charles. “Marston’s the wolf guy, right?”

He just nods in response. You drop your hand and lean back, looking around at the scenery again. Arthur leads the wagon right by the wall of a sheer cliff drop. You look up at the ridge and the trees silhouetted there. 

“We still headed the right way?” Arthur says. 

“That depends,” Hosea says. “Are we still heading west, in search of fortune and repose in virgin forests, as we planned? No. Are we heading in the correct direction on our desperate escape from the law, eastwards down the mountains? Yes, I believe so.”

You smile to yourself a little. You don’t really know him all that well, but so far, Hosea’s shaping up to be one of the people you can trust. If not, he’s a nice storyteller, at least. You guess that counts for something.

“You know this area?” Charles asks. 

“A little. I’ve been through a couple of times. There’s a livestock town not too far from here, called Valentine.” Hosea hooks his thumb over his shoulder at you. “Was telling them and Arthur about it earlier. Cowboys, outlaws, working girls. Our kinda place.”

“O’Driscolls?” Arthur asks. 

“Probably them too,” Hosea says.

“Pinkertons?”

“Let’s hope not.” 

“And this place we’re going…” Arthur shifts, giving the reins a light snap. “Wait, what’s it called again?”

You turn and watch the riverbed pass by as they continue to talk. The place is called Horseshoe Overlook, like Hosea told you earlier. They talk about the Blackwater job and about Dutch doing things that weren’t like him. (That confuses you a bit. He’s a nice guy, as far as you can tell. But everyone has their limit, and from what you can infer, the ferry was Dutch’s limit.) A few more sentences later, you get the distinct feeling you shouldn’t be listening in on this conversation. Instead, you turn to Charles. 

“Are you doing okay?” You ask. 

“I’m fine,” Charles says. “Do I… not look okay?”

You laugh awkwardly and scratch your cheek. “No, no. I’m just… asking to be polite.”

His eyebrows draw together a little and he frowns a bit. “Okay.”

You inhale deeply and draw your lips into a thin line, then nod, then look away. 1899 is such a weird year to be alive. Or… to be in a coma in? Like, you’re in a coma and your coma dream is set in 1899. This is so confusing.

Javier’s voice from up ahead breaks your thoughts (and keeps you from going into a spiral, really). 

“There you are, brother!” He points further down the trail. “Head in there and follow the track for a bit.”

“Thanks,” Arthur says. 

“Hey, slow up,” Javier calls. “I’ll jump on.”

Javier catches up as Arthur slows down. He hops up onto the tailgate step, holding onto the side of the wagon for extra support. You give him a smile and he nods in return. 

“Any trouble getting in here, Javier?” Hosea asks from up front. 

“No, it went well,” Javier says. “This is a good spot.”

“Excellent!” Hosea says. “I think this’ll work for us. For now, anyway.”

You lean to the side and watch as Horseshoe Overlook comes into view. It’s a nice spot, like Javier said. Some of the grass has already been worn down from all the recent moving around the people and the horses have been doing. A few tents have already been set up, but not all of them.

“Here we are, folks,” Hosea says. “Home, sweet home.”

“You weren’t wrong, Hosea!” Dutch calls from inside the camp. “This place… is perfect.”

Hosea climbs off, and you take that as a hint to get off and start unloading. Charles looks inside the trunk you were sitting on before and tells you that it’s bedding. You take it from him and head over to the tents. 

Most of the rest of the day passes like that. Everything needs to be unpacked and worked on. There was a small interruption when Dutch got up on his soapbox and gave a quick speech about everyone pitching in. He told the gang their fake backstory – that you and the rest of them are a group of itinerant workers whose factory got shut down up north. 

Evening comes quietly and quickly, and night follows it. The sheer drop on the outskirts of camp serves as a nice place to sit and think. 

The stars are so much more bright than they are back in your time. (Your time? Or is it real life? Waking life? Who knows? And, at this point, who cares?) They twinkle and blink and almost seem to dance. They group together and look like they’re spilling from one center source. The moon is nice and full on the horizon. You can see the craters and indents in her surface. It’s like you’re looking up at millions of silver nails driven into dark blue velvet, with the white head of a spike serving as the moon. It’s beautiful, for lack of better words. 

“Hey.”

You gasp and tense, glancing over your shoulder. It’s Arthur. 

You return to looking up at the sky. “Jesus… What do you want?”

“Charles told me to ask you if you’ve eaten,” Arthur says. “Well? Have you?”

“Uh, yeah,” you say. “I’m good.”

Even though you think the conversation is over, you can still feel Arthur behind you. It seems that these people either don’t know how to end a conversation or it’s just different in 1899. 

“The stars.” You glance over your shoulder at Arthur, then away again. “I’m… I’m looking at the stars. If you were curious.”

“Uh huh?” Arthur hums. “And what’s so fascinating about them stars?”

“It’s just that, uh… I couldn’t see them as well out west,” you say. “Where I’m from. Here, I can see them so clearly. They look so real.”

Like I could just reach out and touch them… I mean, this is a coma or something like that. Maybe I could. Maybe I can. 

“I mean, I know they’re real,” you say, your voice laced with laughter. “I’m not – I’m not stupid. They’re just pretty. That’s all.”

“Whatever you say,” Arthur says. 

He steps forward into your peripheral vision. You glance at him, then away, like a child after they’ve been scolded for staring. You push down the instinct to shrink away and look at him.

He takes out a hand-rolled cigarette and puts it between his lips. He strikes a match with the bottom of his boot and lights it. The cherry of the cigarette lights up his face, casting warm light and soft shadows. 

“You want one?” Arthur asks. 

“Huh?” You blink, then look away. “No. No, thank you. I don’t smoke.”

“If you say so,” he says. 

You can see Arthur look up at the stars out of the corner of your eye. He takes a deep drag from his cigarette, then exhales the smoke through his nose. The cherry of the cigarette flickers, then resumes glowing softly. 

You join him in looking up. Sure enough, the stars are still there, and the stars are still real. All seem to spill from a single source. The moon is a little higher above the horizon – no longer touching it, but hovering in the sky. 

 Usually, you’d never get moments like this. You’d usually work from sunrise until sunset and pick up extra shifts and overtime where you could. It’s nice to see the world like this. Natural. Raw. Even if you have to ignore Arthur’s presence extra-hard, you still manage to enjoy the moment. 

Everything’s just so slow back… then? Back now? Back now. Everything’s so slow back now. It’s like a break. A break from the jackrabbit-style, too-quick, so-fast-it’ll-give-you-a-heart-attack type of living you’re used to. A forced break, but a break nonetheless.

Breaks are nice. You watch a star flicker, twinkle, then blink into darkness. 

Maybe you should take breaks more often. 

[lacedinweb22]

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧ 🕸 ୨୧⋆｡˚⋆

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Vampire Next Door- (Miguel O'Hara x fem reader) Your neighbor is strange, to say the least. Miguel O’Hara: Alchemax’s newest scientist, genius, most sought-after bachelor … and according to your wildest suspicions … a vampire?

Chapter 1: New Girl *✩ Chapter 2: Night Terror ✮༻ Chapter 3: and I remember her... ˚○◦˚. Chapter 4: Just a Dream °✥ Chapter 5: watching her sleep ❦︎ Chapter 6: Noise Complaints *ੈ‧ Chapter 7: Seven Minutes in Heaven ♱☽🦇☾♱ Chapter 8: About Last Night °✧*:･ Chapter 9: Beginnings of Someone Else ⋆｡𖦹 Chapter 10: Once Bitten, Twice Shy °❆˚₊⋆ Chapter 11: New Year, New Me ❅˚⋆୧ Chapter 12: ⊱From the Outside⊰ Chapter 13: A… vampire ♱❦︎₊°

Headcanons -

On Your Period nsfw 18+

Pudge and Cuddles nsfw 18+

Desperate to Breed, Desperate for Your Scent nsfw 18+

your neighbor, stoner Miguel nsfw 18+ ✥°o｡

Miguel babies you when you’re sick ⁺‧₊˚ nsfw 18+

Blurbs-

dirty, drunk blurb nsfw 18+

dirty, drunk blurb part two nsfw 18+

morning sex blurb ⋆:°* nsfw 18+

One-Shots -

Miguel talks you through it nsfw 18+

Miguel knows how to… nsfw 18+

Valentine’s Day ❦︎⋆˙ nsfw 18+

good kitty - Spidey catches Kitty. Miguel x Black Cat (reader) nsfw 18+

good girl - nsfw 18+ You're trying to study but Miguel has other plans. face r*iding included >:)

just a quick study break... - nsfw 18+ You've been studying for hours and decide it's time to rest your eyes and take a quick break. You're awaken to an even better study break.

daddy's coworker - nsfw 18+ Your father leaves you at home with his coworker (your little crush). He works in your father's office, and you... distract him.

clean me up - After your first time together, you and Miguel take a bath.

feeling guilty - pt.2 of ⬆️ Miguel feels guilty and cleans up your wounds.

rough night - nsfw 18+ Miguel comes home from work roughed up. You offer your care, but he really only needs one thing.

Entangled (university AU)- After years of friendship, Miguel's recent changes become increasingly noticeable and suspicious to Y/N, causing them to stumble upon the truth of Miguel's secret identity and the revealing of their feelings for each other.

Ch. 1 "are you... jealous?"

Ch. 2 "Drunk and Crushing" pt.1

Ch. 3 "New Ride" flashback

Ch. 4 "Knight in Glitching Armor" flashback

Ch. 5 "Drunk and Crushing" pt.2

Ch. 6 "Stung by Jealousy" flashback

Ch. 7 "Web of Lies"

Ch. 8 "You're... Spider-Man"

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch.33

Sukuna x Reader

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 33 - Whispers and Whistles

“We need to discuss something, girl.”

Instinctively, your feet shuffled back, and your hands shot up between you in a rather unconvincing attempt to claim your space.

Your racing pulse betrayed you, oh so easily, in the subtle quiver of your fingertips: a scared animal, trying to bluff its way out.

Despite your earlier—and clearly misguided—assumption that he was the most, how would you put it... agreeable of Sukuna’s accomplices, Kenjaku's polite mask was fracturing before your eyes.

For the first time, his face truly matched the dangerous aura you’d always sensed beneath the facade.

When his gaze caught your trembling hands, his lips curled higher. His eyebrows smoothed, eyes widening just enough to let the menace bleed through. Those empty, dark pupils locked onto yours with piercing focus, leaving no room for misinterpretation: he wasn’t backing down.

He took a step forward, bumping his body into your outstretched palms, completely unbothered by your poor attempt to protect your space.

Cocky bastard.

Before you knew it, you’d jumped back. A big leap to get as far away from him as possible in a single motion.

Kenjaku laughed it off, closing the gap straight away, mirroring each of your steps until your back met the unyielding brick wall of the apartment complex.

With his robes practically smothering your face, you were desperate to gain even an inch of extra space. So, you let your backpack slip from your shoulders, pressing yourself against—no, into—the surface behind you.

Despite Sukuna's assurance that Kenjaku wouldn't dare harm you, his shift in demeanor—and, his pale hand now reaching for your chin—told a different story.

“Just take a step back, and I'll talk with you, okay?” Your voice wavered in a last-ditch effort to defuse the situation.

As expected, his feet stayed firmly in place. His thumb and index finger pinched your jaw, fingers tightening as he dragged your head from side to side, studying you like a specimen under glass.

From this close, you could see every gruesome detail of the crude stitches crisscrossing his forehead. It was disgusting, and you hated that you couldn't look away, trapped by his grip, forced to endure the silent inspection.

His thumb drifted to your lower lip, pulling it down before the pad of his finger ran over the tender flesh inside. For a second, when he leaned in even closer, the disturbing thought of him putting his filthy lips on yours seemed to become less of a creepy notion and more of an inescapable reality.

Your hand twitched toward the knife in your boot, mind already calculating the exact angle and force needed to drive it into his side if he dared to cross that line.

But just then, he shifted his focus away from your lips. His fingers drifted lower, hooking around the edge of your collar, tugging lightly as he tilted his head, eyes drifting over the curve of your neck.

A black strand of hair fell across his face as he examined your neck up close. It brushed your skin, and the tickle made you tense up. It was the revolting kind of tickle. The kind you feel when a spider creeps up your leg, the kind that makes your skin crawl and your stomach churn.

You could feel his eyes traveling down your cleavage before his pupils darted up to meet yours for just a second, a knowing chuckle spilling from his lips.

The audacity.

It quickly snapped you from fear to fury.... Your hands found his shoulders, ready to shove him away. But before you could, Kenjaku stepped back of his own accord.

There was an instantaneous change in his demeanor, as if a switch had flipped. His eyes narrowed to polite crescents and that unsettling grin morphed into a courteous smile that somehow managed to be even more disturbing.

What the hell had just happened?

“Just as I thought,” he murmured, as another chuckle escaped him. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, but you forced yourself to steady.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you demanded.

Kenjaku's gaze flicked to your neck with subtle implication. Confused, you followed his line of sight. Your collar was still wrinkled, jutting forward slightly, and as you peered down to fix it, Kenjaku's thorough inspection suddenly made a lot more sense.

The scratches, the red marks...

Though his mask of civility remained firmly in place, it couldn’t entirely conceal the glint of sick amusement woven through his words.

“So,” he drawled, “you and Sukuna are involved in that way, hmm?”

He reached out a hand toward your shoulder, but you swatted it away with a sharp flick. A wounded expression crossed his face as he pulled back, softly brushing over the red sting—drama queen—before letting out a deep sigh.

“Girl, you do realize Sukuna is just using you, don’t you? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I wouldn’t want to see a young thing like you get hurt.”

His worry was so blatantly fake it almost made you laugh. Kenjaku didn’t care about your well-being any more than Sukuna cared about subtlety when he'd ravaged your skin.

You met his gaze, steady now, your confidence slowly returning.

“Thanks for the advice, Frankenstein—” The freshly improvised nickname slid off your tongue with biting sarcasm.

“—but I think I’ll be just fine. So, if that’s all...”

You crouched to grab your backpack, slinging it over your shoulder, but from the corner of your eye, you saw Kenjaku's expression flicker—a tiny twitch, yet enough to make you pause.

Oh.

It seemed Kenjaku didn't take kindly to being called names.

Your fingers tightened around the straps, and you braced yourself, wondering if your little jab would cost you dearly now.

But his mask effortlessly slid back into place—another fake smile.

He was good at this.

“You’ve got spirit,” he murmured through gritted teeth—the only way he could suppress his mounting irritation with a certain impudent brat.

“I can see why Sukuna likes to play with you.”

You rolled your eyes and were about to walk away when his next words made you pause.

“But that’s all you are to him; a toy. That’s all you’ll ever be.”

A toy...

As much as you wanted them not to, his words got to you. You couldn’t help it—you couldn’t help but wince at the sharp pang that struck your heart...

Kenjaku let his gaze drift to some distant point, his hands curling into loose fists to still the twitching of his fingers.

“When you break, or when he tires of you, he’ll dispose of you. You know that, don’t you?”

You hissed through gritted teeth, crossing your arms to shield yourself from the truth in his words.

The idea of being used, of all the warnings you'd so stubbornly ignored being proven right—that was the one fear you dreaded to acknowledge.

And hearing it said aloud made it so much harder to deny, leaving you with nothing but fragile, circumstantial proof that Sukuna wasn't the monster that everyone claimed he was.

Maybe you really were just a foolish girl lost in her own delusions... But even then, you didn’t intend to just admit that to this freak.

“Why does it matter to you?” you snapped, shifting your weight onto your right leg and cocking your hip in a weak attempt at nonchalance to hide your hurt.

But luck had it that Kenjaku didn’t even bother to look at you. His sandal scuffed against the tiles, grinding tiny rocks into dust—the sound gnawing at your already tight-wound nerves—before he finally answered you.

“What does it matter to me...?”

He let out a sigh. “If you’re dead—if Sukuna loses interest and cuts you up into little pieces... well, that sets us back in our plans.”

His pupils slid to the side, narrowing in on your neck with a certain disgust.

“The more he indulges his toys, the sooner they’ll bore him,” he continued, his disgust morphing into mock pity. “Nothing more than a ragged, used puppet.”

His fingers traced the scar running through his temple, and his lips twisted into a smirk.

“Now, I’ve got a knack for using broken puppets,” he added with a soft, unsettling laugh. You didn’t even want to imagine what that meant, and you couldn’t, for Kenjaku didn’t give you any time to dwell on it, continuing his lecture without pause.

“Sukuna, however? He barely tolerates new, shiny puppets. Let alone used ones.”

Kenjaku straightened his robes, the sharp sound of fabric snapping against itself breaking the tension as he turned to depart.

“I’d like to keep you around for a little while. So I’d advise you to take a step back. Don’t let him use you like some cheap—”

He paused mid-sentence, turning his head to glance over his shoulder—a taunting grin on his face as he let his mask fall away one last time.

“You know what I mean, don’t you?”

---------------------------------------------------------

The entire way to Jujutsu High, your emotions swung between seething rage at that sanctimonious, insufferable monk—and the nauseating anxiety his words had left behind.

The latter doubled by the dreadful anticipation of having to explain your sudden disappearance to everyone at the school. God. You could only hope they'd forgive you for ignoring all their calls and texts.

At least Gojo had forgiven you—though you weren’t naive. You knew his interest wasn’t just about you. It was as much about your entanglement with the deadliest being in existence—and, most inconveniently, also the object of your desire: Sukuna.

You stopped just in front of the school gates, drawing in a deep breath of courage.

Despite your unsettling run-in with Kenjaku, you'd somehow managed to arrive early—a small mercy, considering you still hadn't figured out how to explain your apparent resurrection to your classmates. Ideally, you wanted to do it in a way that wouldn’t completely throw everyone off—but how?

With your head lowered, you slipped into the building, trying to blend into the background. You passed by countless unfamiliar faces, each one seeming to scrutinize you. Maybe it was just paranoia, but it felt like everyone knew. Like Sukuna’s scent was all over you, and they could smell it.

A flash of white caught your attention as you passed the teachers' lounge—Gojo's spiky hair jutting up over the back of a leather couch. You paused, fingers curling around the strap of your bag, considering whether Gojo might be able to offer some advice on handling your unexpected comeback without causing a major scene.

In retrospect, asking Gojo Satoru for counseling on subtlety was probably the dumbest thing you could ever have done.

Which was precisely how you found yourself crammed into the classroom's supply closet, surrounded by towers of dusty files and the sharp, chalky smell of accumulated academia. The musty air tickled your nose as you tried not to sneeze.

All because Gojo thought it would be hilarious to turn your return into 'his best prank to date'.

Before long, you could hear the shuffle of feet and the scrape of chairs as your classmates filed in, completely oblivious to your current... predicament.

Right on the other side of the flimsy wooden door of the closet, you heard the heavy thud of a backpack hitting the floor. Yuji, most likely—he always sat in that same seat in the back.

“Oi, Megumi, you seen Gojo-sensei today?”

His voice carried through the thin wood, lighthearted but tinged with some concern.

“He’s acting stranger than usual.”

Megumi’s response from the desk to his side was as immediate as it was flat. “I don’t question anything that man does anymore.”

There was a brief pause, as if he were quietly processing something, before he added, “But yeah… he’s been acting weird. Keeps snickering to himself like a lunatic.”

From the desk in front of them, Nobara—the queen of gossip—swiveled around in her seat and chimed in.

“Oh my god, yes! I caught him having a full-on conversation with that closet in the back earlier. Like, dramatic hand gestures and everything. I swear he's finally cracked.”

Yuji snorted, barely containing his laughter.

“No way.”

Before they could spiral into further speculations, Gojo’s obnoxiously loud voice rang out, cutting through the conversation and officially kicking off the class.

“Alright, kiddos!” He sang out, way too cheerful, even for him—seriously, could he be any more obvious about being up to something?

“Today’s class is gonna be legendary. Prepare to be amazed, awestruck, and have your jaws hit the floor!”

Nobara groaned, slumping over her desk with a suffering sigh.

“That’s what you said last time, and then you spent an hour showing off your stupid Pokémon cards.”

The gasp of horror that followed was so extravagant, you could hear it all the way from the front of the class.

Yeah, that's how dramatic it was.

“They were Digimon cards, you uncultured soul! DI-GI-MON!”

You could hear his footsteps next, the soft tap of his shoes growing louder as he moved toward Yuji’s desk.

“Yuji, my favorite student who actually knows the difference between Pokémon and Digimon...”

You just knew Megumi rolled his eyes at that.

“Could you be a dear and grab me… uh, a cursed tool from the supply closet over there?”

A chill ran down your spine, and your breath hitched. Oh no.

You pressed your ear to the door, nerves tightening as every possible outcome flashed through your mind. Would they hate you? Yell at you? Storm out? Or worse—would they ignore you, just like you had them?

Your thoughts snapped back to the present when Yuji, on the other side, started to question if Gojo had really lost it.

“Uh… you sure there’s cursed tools in there?”

“That’s what I said,” Gojo chirped, his voice dripping with glee that was now borderline frightening.

After an uncomfortable silence, you heard Yuji hesitantly push his chair back and stand up. “Okay, if you say so…”

His cursed energy drew closer, and though you could feel it, the sound his footsteps barely registered—drowned out by the rush of blood in your ears, thumping to the rhythm of your anxious heart.

You were definitely going to kill Gojo after this.

The wood rattled as Yuji’s hand landed on the handle of the sliding door, and with a protesting creak, he pulled it open, flooding your hideout with light.

You blinked up at him, frozen—like a deer caught in headlights.

And Yuji blinked back, his expression cycling through confusion, disbelief, and dawning recognition faster than a slot machine. “...Huh?”

Then, the class fell silent.

“Hey, guys...” you managed, stepping out of the closet with an awkward shuffle, brushing the dust from your uniform as you did.

Megumi, who had been determinedly ignoring the whole situation, snapped his attention over. His eyes widened fractionally—which, for him, meant he was more than a little surprised.

“You've got to be kidding me,” he muttered, though the relief in his voice betrayed him.

Nobara's shriek of delight shattered any remaining tension as she launched herself at you, nearly taking you down.

“Finally! Finally, I'm not stuck alone with these loser idiots anymore. They have zero gossip, no sense of fashion, or hygiene for that matter. It’s been torture, seriously. You have no idea!”

Yuji's indignant “Hey!” barely registered before he wrapped both you and Nobara in a bear hug that threatened to crack ribs. His voice softened, warm breath stirring your hair as he spoke.

“We were really worried, you know? I must've called a hundred times, checked every restaurant, café, and park in town—Megumi too...”

Megumi's cheeks flushed as he glanced away, suddenly finding the window incredibly fascinating. And the tension that had been suffocating you finally loosened as you allowed yourself to relax into the impromptu group hug.

Gojo's triumphant “Ta-da!” was completely unnecessary at this point, but when did that ever stop him? He spread his arms wide, beaming. “Didn't I promise today's class would be spectacular?”

Nobara wriggled free from Yuji’s embrace, and as soon as he let go, her gaze sharpened, and she raised a brow at you.

“So Gojo-sensei convinced you to hide in this nasty closet?”

“More like coerced," you muttered defensively, crossing your arms.

Gojo gasped, “Coerced? Me? I merely provided some gentle encouragement!”

“Gentle encouragement?” Megumi's voice dripped with skepticism as he mirrored your crossed arms, eyes narrowing at his teacher. “And what exactly did that entail?”

Gojo's blindfold shifted ever so slightly, a glint of mischief hiding behind it as his grin widened.

“Oh, you know, just mentioned that if she didn't play along, I might accidentally let slip something about her situation with Su—”

Your hand shot out with the speed of a striking snake, clamping over his mouth mid-word as you mouthed a,“Don’t. You. Dare,” in his direction.

Nobara's eyes lit up, and her grin turned positively feral. “Oh? Oh. This is going to be good.” She leaned forward, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Spill it, sensei.”

“Nope. Not happening.” You fixed Gojo with a glare that could have melted steel, your hand still firmly pressed against his mouth. “Right, sensei?”

If he valued his life, he'd keep his mouth shut about a certain crimson-eyed complication in your life.

Gojo nodded, peeling your hand from his mouth.

“Sorry kiddo, my lips are sealed.”

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The rest of the day passed in moderate normalcy—well, as normal as things could be at Jujutsu High—and, apart from the constant bombardment of questions about where you'd disappeared to, why you couldn't reply, and why you had such a knack for vanishing in the first place.

All that practice in lying these past weeks suddenly seemed lost on you as you wove together one pathetic excuse after another. You couldn't fathom how they still tolerated you.

The afternoon's training session was particularly brutal—though you couldn't shake the suspicion that your friends had coordinated their attacks as subtle punishment for your radio silence. By the time you finished washing up and preparing to leave, your muscles ached with a strain that felt more like penance than practice.

And the thought of returning home—to him—added an equally painful strain on top of it.

Your tired goodbye in the corridor was interrupted by Nobara's firm grip on your arm. “Listen here, missy. You better show up tomorrow, or I swear we'll kidnap you back to the dorms ourselves.” Her words were stern, but her eyes soft.

“24/7 surveillance. Don't test me.”

Yuji punctuated her threat with a quick flick to your forehead. “Yeah, you idiot.”

Even Megumi contributed a curt nod and his signature “Hmph”—which, felt like a paragraph of worried lectures compressed into a single sound.

You bowed slightly before offering a salute, forcing lightness into your voice.

“Yes sir, yes ma'am!”

As you zipped up your coat and turned to leave, waving one final time with a genuine smile on your face, the normalcy of the moment felt comforting and light.

The crisp afternoon air hit your face as you stepped outside, and for a moment, you reveled in that strange weightlessness that came with pretending everything was fine.

Yet there was that familiar pull too—that inexplicable gravity drawing you back to the tension, the danger, and the intoxicating feeling of Sukuna's cursed energy, draping over you like a blanket. The pull usually grew heavier the farther you walked from the school premises.

But this time, when you reached the gates, you realized you still felt unusually light—so light, in fact, that something felt off... and a quick pat-down of your chest confirmed your suspicions: you'd forgotten your backpack, with your phone inside.

If you lost your phone now and were forced to ghost your friends all over again, you weren't sure if they'd forgive you so easily.

Your shoes squeaked against the polished floors as you hurried back inside. But just before rounding the corner to retrieve your bag, Nobara's voice, pitched high with frustration, stopped you cold.

“Okay, but seriously—am I the only one who thinks something's like, seriously wrong here?”

You froze mid-step, pressing yourself against the wall. Your heart clenched at the genuine concern in her voice.

“No.” Megumi's response lacked its usual detachment, instead replaced by brimming frustration. “The excuses don't add up. Phone troubles? Family emergencies? And now suddenly everything's fine?”

“Yeah...” Yuji agreed—the gravity of his voice was enough to make you want to sink into the ground.

“Did you see how she kept touching her neck? Like she was hiding something?”

“And flinching whenever anyone got too close,” Nobara added, anger bleeding into her words. “I know we're all pretending everything's normal, but—” A frustrated groan escaped her. “God, it pisses me off! We're supposed to be friends, aren't we? What's the point if she can't trust us?”

The sound of Nobara's shoe scuffing against the floor filled the heavy pause that followed.

“Maybe...” Yuji started, “maybe she's in some kind of trouble? Like, the kind she can't talk about?”

“All the more reason she should tell us,” Megumi cut in, “We're not exactly helpless. Whatever it is, we could—”

“Help?” Nobara's snort was bitter—nothing like her usual bright laugh. “How can we help if she won't even tell us what's wrong? I mean, I get it. I do. But it still...”

Her voice cracked. “It still hurts, you know?”

You let yourself slide down the wall.

Sure, they'd welcomed you back with open arms, but underneath that warmth lay real pain, real worry. These people—your friends—had spent weeks wondering if you were dead in a ditch somewhere, and here you were, feeding them cheap excuses.

“Should we tell Gojo-sensei?” Yuji asked.

“He already knows something,” Megumi replied with a certainty that suggested he'd been watching, analyzing, for far longer than you'd realized. “Haven't you noticed? He watches her like a hawk.”

“Yeah, well, fat lot of good that does us,” Nobara muttered. “He's probably in on whatever this is. You saw how he was acting this morning.”

After another weighted pause, Yuji spoke again, stripped of nearly all his drive. “So what do we do?”

“We wait,” Megumi said firmly. “Keep watching. And when whatever this is inevitably blows up—because it will—we'll be ready.”

You heard Nobara's sharp intake of breath, like she was about to say more, but instead, her footsteps stormed off toward the dorms, followed by the others' more silent retreat.

After giving yourself a moment to compose yourself, to wipe away the tears threatening to spill from your eyes, you retrieved your abandoned backpack from the empty hallway.

The walk home felt hollow, each step through the bustling city streets seemed to echo into the distance.

You'd convinced yourself you were protecting them by keeping them in the dark, but maybe you were just protecting yourself from having to face the reality of your choices.

The worst part? You couldn't even promise you'd tell them the truth tomorrow. Not with Sukuna's binding vow hanging over your head like a guillotine, and not if it meant admitting you were becoming a monster by falling for one.

So you'd keep lying. Keep hurting them. Keep pretending everything was—

“Watch it, brat.”

The growl came a second after you slammed into what felt like a brick wall. A bit of déjà vu—was this the third time? Fourth time you'd bumped into him like this? You stumbled back, already knowing who you'd find towering over you.

And it was exactly the crimson eyes you'd expected.

“Can you move, Sukuna?” you snapped. He hadn't done anything particularly egregious today—well, besides nearly making you come undone under his fingers this morning. But perhaps, subconsciously, you blamed him for the hurt your friends were feeling right now... how typically pathetic of you to once again push the blame onto someone else.

You stood in the middle of the street, people flowing around you like water around stones, oblivious to the predator in their midst.

And when that predator bared his teeth at you and his angry glare didn't seem to waver, you gave in,

“Ugh... I'm sorry, okay? I'm just not in a good mood today.”

He let out a low growl and grabbed your shoulder, shoving you forward. “Walk.”

It wasn't a suggestion, and so you let him steer you through the crowd, his grip tight enough to remind you exactly who you'd been addressing so casually. At the first empty alley, he yanked you in and planted himself against the wall, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Is this about the conversation with Kenjaku this morning? I'll just forget about it so—” you started, trying to head off his wrath, but his sharp laugh cut through your words.

“Oh? Were you eavesdropping on our conversation all the way from the bathroom, woman? How sly...” His eyes narrowed dangerously.

“Perhaps I should chain you up the next time I have guests.”

The threat barely registered as you realized—the conversation he was referring to was the one he had with Kenjaku by the door during your shower, not the one-on-one you had with Kenjaku outside.

And thank god for that, it was better he remained entirely unaware of that particular encounter.

“No, I just—nevermind. Why did you drag me here?”

He reached deeper into his pocket, pulling out what appeared to be an ordinary silver whistle. It caught the dying sunlight as it dangled from his fingers.

“Tomorrow at Jujutsu High. Three o'clock. Blow this and it will summon a curse.”

“Why would I—”

“Because,” he cut in, clearly savoring the moment, “Jujutsu High will be receiving some unexpected visitors tomorrow.” His lips curled into that cruel smile that reminded you he was no ally—he was an enemy, fighting from the opposite side of a chasm you kept trying to bridge.

“And you, brat, are going to create a distraction for them.”

Your stomach dropped. “You're kidding, right?”

“Do I look like I'm joking, woman?” He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you until barely inches remained.

“There’s something inside Jujutsu High that we need. Jogo and Mahito will retrieve it tomorrow, but they can’t unless all eyes are elsewhere. You’ll blow this whistle, summon a curse, and create enough chaos to make those pathetic fools scatter and scurry, leaving their precious artifacts unguarded.”

“No.” The word came out stronger than you expected, fueled by the memory of your friends' hurt voices. “I won't help you with a plan that puts my friends at risk.”

His jaw clenched. “Don't forget your place.”

“My place? What place? My place as the toy you play with in the morning and discard in the afternoon? The girl you can’t decide if you want to kiss or kill?” A bitter laugh escaped you.

His hand twitched, and you recognized the tell—he was about to strike, either grab your throat or slap your face. But you knew his mannerisms so well by now that you caught his wrist before he could complete the motion.

And he... he let you.

He was stronger, you both knew that, and yet he allowed your delicate fingers to wrap around his wrist and halt his fury.

“They're my friends,” you said quietly, not with fight but with earnestness in your voice. “And you're asking me to help hurt them. Do you realize how fucked up that is?”

You could feel his entire body trembling with rage beneath your fingertips, fighting against his baser instincts.

“The binding vow—” he started—

but you weren't finished yet.

“Yeah, I know about the stupid vow! I'm reminded of it every minute of every day, but I won't obey you if it means people die—people I care about...”

A long silence followed, and you could see the battle raging behind his eyes. His wrist occasionally twisted in your grip, the fire behind his pupils fluctuating between a small flame and an inferno before settling somewhere in between.

He yanked his hand free and took a step back, running his fingers through his hair in a simple human gesture of frustration.

When he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its earlier edge.

“Even those frail teachers at Jujutsu High won't break a sweat against a curse like this—it's barely a grade one. Hell, even your little group of friends could exorcise it if they used their brains. It won't kill anyone.”

But it wasn't the curse that worried you—it was Patch-face and Volcano-head.

“That's not good enough. Do you remember how Mahito maimed me before? I want your word that they won’t kill anyone, that I won’t stumble upon a pile of deformed corpses or the smell of burned flesh.”

He stared at you for a long moment, irritated, because he couldn't quite comprehend how this had transformed from an undisputable command into a negotiation.

But he saw that wet gleam in your eyes, and—

“Tch. Fine,” he growled finally.

“I'll tell that fool Mahito to keep his victims breathing, and refrain from altering them... permanently.” He pressed the whistle into your palm, his fingers lingering a second longer than necessary.

“As for Jogo, he won't cause any unnecessary casualties, but I'll give him the same warning if that's what it takes for you to blow the damn whistle, woman.”

Sukuna grabbed your chin, tilting your face up to his, hovering mere inches away.

“And you will blow that whistle. That is a command.”

You met his gaze, and there it was again—that magnetic pull, that force that made you silently nod in agreement. That power Sukuna had over you not just because he'd enforced it, but because some part of you allowed him to have it.

And if you could have read his thoughts in that moment, you would have known he felt exactly the same way.

Though... he probably would have worded it differently: like a curse you'd put on him, like a festering wound steadily working its way deeper, cracking open his skin so his carefully buried humanity started to slowly ooze out.

And just like you, he was allowing it to happen—allowing you to touch that bare skin and peel it open just a little further each time.

When you couldn't hold his gaze anymore, you took a small step back, fidgeting with the whistle before tucking it into your pocket.

“Hey, Sukuna?”

He raised an eyebrow, staring down at you.

If he agreed to your conditions then...

“Thank you.” The words came out soft, and before you could second-guess yourself, you rose on your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

Your first kiss that was, just a kiss. Not a battle, not a lust-fueled dance. Just a simple, ordinary touch of lips.

You pulled away quickly, not daring to see his reaction as you turned and dashed toward the apartment, leaving Sukuna frozen in place.

He stood there, motionless, as the city moved around him in an endless blur of faceless ants. His fingers drifted up to his lips, brushing over them.

For the first time in centuries, the King of Curses found himself utterly still, utterly silent. The inferno of his cursed energy had quieted to barely a whisper, like even it was holding its breath.

As the last rays of sunlight bled from the sky, casting long shadows across the empty alley, Sukuna finally lowered his hand from his lips. A low, confused growl rumbled in his chest as he turned to make his way to the apartment—home to you.

---------------------------------------------------------

Okay, first off, I want to apologize for the hiatus. Life hit me with a lot—health issues, writer’s block, the holidays—and some other personal challenges in my private life. It’s been overwhelming, and honestly, I kind of lost my spark for a while.

Ao3 curse? Maybe. Or maybe it’s just good ol' bad karma for releasing smut on the internet—who knows?

That said, when I finally started writing again, it felt really good, so I’m going to do my best to stick to a bi-weekly update schedule from now on. Some chapters might be a bit shorter because of it, but when I’m in the flow, they might end up being longer too. We’ll see how it goes!

For everyone still here reading—thank you from the bottom of my heart. Your support means the absolute world to me, and I genuinely appreciate each and every one of you. Truly, I love you all. 💕

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn , @chanaaaannel , @nessca153 , @technicallysublimedemon

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

[jjungkookislife]

Envolver Ch. 3

ღ pairing: vmin x reader

ღ genre: poly am!au, fwb, f2l, smut 18+

ღ summary: Halloween is a busy night at the bar. However, you still find time to sneak away for a private night with Jimin and Taehyung.

ღ wc: 3.2k

ღ warnings: alcohol use/mention, oral sex, making out, fingering (f. receiving), unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, degradation, praise, threesome in a workplace, cum swallowing, creampie, interrupted aftercare :(

ღ date: October 31, 2024

Music pounded in your ears as you swirled your drink with your straw just to hear the soft clink of the ice against the glass. Your efforts for the evening had been rewarded as the patrons around you gushed about the Halloween decor. 

Your almost boyfriends were busy behind the bar as they served drinks and sent flirty smiles to their customers to earn tips. 

Psy was at another table, laughing at something his companion said. He wore a bright pink western outfit, just as extravagant as the sets he wore for Western Night. 

“Hey!” Psy grins when he spots you, eagerly waving you over to his table. You hug him tightly, giggling when he squeezes you before he releases you. “I’m so glad you’re here! This place looks fantastic.”

“And I didn’t go over budget,” you grin. Psy laughs and hugs you again, kissing your temple.

“And that’s why I love you! She’s great,” Psy says to his companion. “The best!”

You smile bashfully, accepting his praise before he waves over a server to get you a drink. He pats the chair beside him, and you take the seat.

Spiderwebs hang overhead, and a flash of light turns the ceiling purple, green, and dark blue. Spiders linger overhead, skeletons set on corners enjoy their fake drinks, and the bar has fake blood dripping off the sides.

Namjoon is the first to spot you as he climbs onto the bar. His long black cape is tied around his neck, the collar pulled up high. His fangs glint when the spotlight hits him. Hoseok joins him in his Fae costume, his purple hair makes your heart flip. They both look so good.

Your thoughts wander to the last time it was just the three of you in the bar. How easily they bent you over it, taking turns fucking you until you left with shaking legs.

Hoseok looks at the crowd as he rips his blazer open, buttons flying into the crowd as his sculpted torso appears, shimmering under the spotlight. The crowd’s cheers are raucous. You plug your ears until it dies down, but you cheer along with them.

Hoseok turns around, his blazer sliding off his broad shoulders. He moves his hips seductively. Namjoon moves forward, grips the back of Hoseok’s neck, and brings him in. He makes a show of showing his fangs to the crowd before he sinks into Hoseok’s neck, earning cheers that rattle the building. Tips go flying in the air as Namjoon brings Hoseok’s thigh between his, moving back and forth until they separate, going to opposite ends of the stage.

Seokjin joins them in the middle. His Sea Captain uniform makes you drool, and you hope he’ll keep it intact until you can rip it off him with your teeth later on. You press your thighs together as Seokjin motions for Namjoon and Hoseok to join him in the middle.

“Welcome to tonight’s Halloween Extravaganza! Our Poison Apple drink is to die for!” Seokjin laughs as the crowd cheers. “We have a lot in store for you tonight! Games, cash prizes, a costume contest, and a dance on the bar where the winner gets a partner for the rest of the night!” Seokjin pauses for the crowd to cheer.

Namjoon and Hoseok clap on the bar, while the rest of your friends, boyfriends? Clap behind them.

Jungkook has taken his Scream mask off, which he will do in between intervals to rack up some tips, though they have been stacking when he puts the mask on. His plastic knife is bedazzled and is strapped to his arm for photo ops. Tonight’s event is ticketholder only, with a few lucky regulars in the crowd.

The tables are filled with patrons, some lingering near the bar, and some on the makeshift dancefloor. You sip your drink as the music starts up again as Seokjin, Namjoon, and Hoseok step off the bar.

“Glad you could make it, baby,” Yoongi startled you as he appeared beside you. He chuckles at your reaction. You cup his face, your fingers lightly tracing the fake scar over his eye. It had come out a lot better than you thought. You had erased and redrawn that bitch so many times, almost rubbing his poor face raw.

“Hey, my little mobster,” you tease, giggling when he rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Admit it, I look hot,” he grips the lapels of his suit, and you nod mindlessly. If you had him at home, you would have dropped to your knees in front of him, begging him to fuck your pretty face until you cried. That is why they had left home early to get ready at the bar.

“You a'ight,” you shrug as you down your drink.

Yoongi cackles as he drapes his arm over your shoulders. “So easy to fluster.”

“Shut up!” you whine as you wave down a server. Yoongi pauses his teasing long enough to order you a drink before he rests his head on your shoulder.

“You look amazing,” he compliments you. “The Queen of Hearts suits you.”

You know he means no ill intent but your heart still cracks. You know you’ve been stalling on defining the relationship but it’s only because you’re afraid of how things will change between you.

“Where’s your weapon?” you ask, changing the subject.

“In my pants,” Yoongi wiggles his brows, and you playfully smack his chest.

Yoongi throws his head back as he laughs. He reaches into his pants pocket and pulls out a pair of chopsticks.

“That’s it?”

“You haven’t seen what I can do with them yet,” Yoongi shrugs as he tucks them back in his pants pocket. “But I can show you.”

You gulp as you stare at him. Your drink arrives, and the server sets it in front of you. Yoongi reaches for it, downing half before gripping your chin and opening your mouth. You welcome the drink, swallowing it down before Yoongi sets the glass on the table.

“Show me,” you respond after you swallow.

“So eager,” he smirks as he kisses you, passing you the ice cube in his mouth. The coolness surprises you as you crunch down on the cube. “But there’s no time.”

Yoongi leaves you panting, thighs pressed together and cunt clenching around nothing. He easily walks to the bar, taking his spot beside Seokjin as the night's first game begins. You wave down a server, ordering a cup of ice to cool yourself.

~

Bobbing for dildoes instead of apples wasn’t on your list of games for tonight, but catching Yoongi’s reaction to catching the biggest one may have been worth it. 

“You just have to rile me up,” Yoongi sighs as he presses your back to the wall of the locker room. You grunt, moaning when his lips meet yours before you can answer him.

Yoongi lifts your leg to his waist, his lips pressed to yours. He grinds against you, moaning your name as you rub against him. He desperately wishes to bury himself inside you

 and make you cream his cock but it’s only a few minutes before Jimin is calling his name to get on stage.

“To be continued?” Yoongi asks with one last kiss.

You nod. “To be continued.”

Yoongi kisses your cheek before he leaves you in the locker room to catch your breath. Your cheeks flush with heat as you slip back into the crowd. You join Psy at his table, grateful he’s saved your seat as you watch Yoongi and Jungkook climb onto the bar.

You fan yourself with your hand as you watch them dance.

Bills get thrown at the two of them as you sit back and watch. The music pounds against the walls, as you leave your seat long enough to join the crowd, huddled at the bar. Yoongi spots you immediately and smiles. He shakes his butt harder, his smile glowing brighter.

Yoongi and Jungkook finish their dance, Jungkook stripping down to nearly his boxers. You shake your head, you’ll have the elder men wrangle him back in.

 You sip on your drink as Jimin and Taehyung are introduced to the crowd. You clap loudly beside Psy. He chuckles at your enthusiasm.

“Jimin! Tae!” you scream as loud as you can.

Both men turn to you, hearing you above the crowd. 

Taehyung is clad in his red outfit and mask. An outfit worn on a popular show. Jimin dazzles in his leather outfit. His mask rests behind the bar as he dances to his heart’s content.

Jimin waits for the song's apex before he drops to his knees in front of Taehyung. 

The younger man smirks as he unzips his suit, just low enough to tease the patrons and Jimin.

The crowd goes wild as Taehyung grabs a handful of Jimin’s black hair, tugging his head back before he kisses him. Bills fly toward them, the thundering crowd growing insane as the kiss ends.

You fanned yourself as you tried to cool yourself down.

The song ends too soon before they both step off the bar.

Seokjin takes over as MC. He leads the crowd to the next game, laughing as the patrons stumble over themselves to get in a line.

You excuse yourself, heading to the locker room as quickly as possible. You type the code in quickly, shutting the door after you before you head to the familiar couch. You fix your makeup in a mirror, knowing your lipstick will smear before you head back to your table.

Minutes later the door opens. Taehyung and Jimin walk through, both laughing at something before they spot you on the couch.

“Well, if it isn’t our favorite girl,” Taehyung smirks.

“You look great, babe,” Jimin states as he sits on your left side.

“That you do, boo,” Taehyung smirks as he sits on your right.

“Queen of Hearts? More like Queen of my heart, am I right?” Jimin wiggles his eyebrows.

“Do you have an off button?” you ask him feigning annoyance.

“Only when I cum,” Jimin cackles when you shove him.

“You’re insufferable,” you complain as Tae pulls you onto his lap, straddling him.

“I’m not,” Tae smirks, his hand tangled in your hair. He pulls you toward him, his lips meeting yours. A moan escapes you, heart flipping in your chest.

Taehyung holds your hips, his lips melding with yours perfectly. Your hands rest on his shoulders for a moment. They soon move down to his zipper, pulling it down until it bunches at his waist.

“Don’t ignore me,” Jimin huffs with a petulant frown. He inches closer in his leather pants. His rabbit mask sits off to the side. He pats his lap, and you crawl toward him. He moves you so your back is pressed to his chest.

Your legs splay open on his lap as Taehyung moves off the couch to the floor. He drops to his knees, licking his lips when he spots your panties. You moan as you kiss Jimin, melting into him as Taehyung spreads your legs further apart.

Jimin tugs your dress down to expose your breasts. His hands cup each tit, his fingers rub your hard nipples. You sigh, moaning his name as you try to close your legs to press them together but Tae stops you as he helps you out of your wet panties, tossing them over his shoulder.

Jimin kisses your neck as he rubs your clit in tight circles, moaning your name into the column of your throat.

“That’s it, princess. Moan for me,” Jimin encourages you as he continues his ministrations. “That’s it, baby. What a good fucking girl.”

Jimin’s fingers slip inside you easily. You welcome them by spreading your legs on his taut thighs. You’d love to ride his thigh any day of the week but you’re distracted by his fingers fucking you open for his thick cock. You moan, falling apart as he lifts you just enough to have your cunt swallow his cock whole.

You dig your nails into his forearm, moaning at the delectable stretch. 

“Fuck, Jimin,” you curse, nearly drooling over yourself. He chuckles, fucking up into you. 

“You like that, baby? Like getting passed around like the fucking whore you are?” he asks with a toothy grin. Your eyes roll back as you nod in answer. He chuckles darkly, sliding his arms under the back of your knees to spread you further.

“Show Taehyungie how much you like it, slut. Let him see how you cream my fucking cock,” Jimin smirks at Taehyung as you whine. You rest your head on Jimin’s shoulder, whining as his fingers rub your clit until your thighs tremble, orgasm building deep inside you until it bursts.

“Jimin!” you cry out, swearing at him until you calm down.

“Fuck, yes!” Taehyung exclaims as he watches you soak Jimin’s lap. “What a cockhungry, whore for Jiminie.”

“Tae!” you whine, covering your face in embarrassment. Jimin laughs as he pulls your hands off your face. “No hiding for us, princess. You might be the queen of our hearts, but that doesn’t mean we don’t own yours.”

Jimin continues to fuck your creamy, warm cunt. He curses as you tighten around him as Taehyung places his hands on Jimin’s knees, and his tongue meets your clit. Jimin groans when he feels Tae’s fiery tongue on his balls when he licks you.

“That’s it, love. Keep licking her cunt just like that,” Jimin encourages his twin flame. Tae does as he’s told. His tongue fucked the both of you, making your body tingle. Jimin’s strokes are long and slow, his cock filling the deepest parts of you.

Taehyung is jealous, he’s eager for his turn, eager for a taste of your tight cunt wrapped around his fat fucking cock.

“Wanna feel?” Jimin asks Taehyung.

“Please,” The younger man pleads. “Fuck, please.”

Jimin helps you to your hands and knees. You nearly swallow his cock when you get settled. He grabs a handful of your hair, gently thrusting it into your mouth while Tae gets behind you. He fingers you, curling his fingers to make you cum. You cry out around Jimin’s cock, begging for Tae’s cock.

The stretch is delectable. He fills you whole. His large hands grip your hips, his thrusts deep and hard as you choke on Jimin’s cock. You gag, tears rolling down your cheeks as you take both of them with a hearty grin.

“That’s it, baby. What a good slut for us,” Taehyung praises you. You moan in response as you’re fucked within an inch of your life by both men.

Jimin hits the back of your throat, groaning as you swallow around him. Taehyung feels you clench around his length, his nails dig into your hips as he fucks you onto his dick. Both of them moan, looking at each other for a moment before they’re both cumming inside you.

You swallow as much as you can, while Taehyung fills your cunt with him. He makes you cum soon after, thighs shaking as you feel Jimin pull his cock out of your mouth.

Jimin grins. “Well, that was hot as fuck.”

Taehyung agrees as he fucks his cum back into you with his fingers, drawing a second orgasm from you.

“Should we get Yoongi to clean you up?” Taehyung smirks, noting how you tighten around his fingers.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Taehyung giggles as he gets dressed. Jimin sucks his fingers clean before he kisses you. They spend a few minutes at your side, holding you close and kissing your body. They wish they could draw a bath for you, but it’s not long before they’re being called back on stage.

“We’ll send someone in,” Taehyung assures you, frowning as he goes with Jimin on his heels. “We’ll take care of you tonight, love.”

You lay on the couch, fucked out of your mind, expecting Yoongi to join you soon, but instead, Jungkook pops his head into the room.

“Hey,” he greets you with a shy wave.

“Hi!” you chirp as you wave him over. “How are things on stage?”

“They’re going,” he informs you as he sits beside you. “Yoongi and Seokjin are doing body shots for tips.”

You laugh as you relax on the couch. Jungkook sits by your feet but you sit up to let him get closer.

“What about you?”

“What about me?” Jungkook asks with a raised brow.

“Wouldn’t you rather be out there doing body shots?” You ask him directly.

“No,” he answers honestly. “I’d rather be here with you.”

“Jungkook,” you start but he presses his finger to your lips.

“Don’t. I know what you’re going to say and I don’t want to hear it. Let’s just enjoy this brief time we have together. Just you and I, all alone. That’s a hard thing to come by in our situation.”

“Kook,” you breathe but he hushes you with his lips instead.

“Let us have this moment,” Jungkook whispers before he kisses you again. You thread your fingers in his long hair, moaning when he sucks on your neck.

“There’s not much time,” he whispers as he kisses his way down your body.

“We have all the time we need,” you respond as he grabs your hips to tug you closer to his face. He chuckles, “Nope. Gotta get on stage. Gotta make rent.”

“I’ll keep you home right here,” you’re not sure what you’re babbling about at this point as he kisses up one thigh and then the other.

“Mhhm,” he hums as he licks a stripe up your cunt, teasing your clit for a moment before he moves lower.

“Fuck, I can still taste him. So warm,” Jungkook moans as he drinks you in, his tongue makes you lose yourself shortly after. He wishes he could cum with you, but he simply licks his lips and helps you get dressed.

“We need to go back out there,” he says as he leads you out of the locker room on shaky legs. Instead of depositing you with Psy, he takes you to Namjoon and Hoseok.

“Poor baby,” They coo at you. Namjoon drapes himself around you protectively. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“Wanna cuddle,” you pout as he holds you closer. 

“I know, love. We will. The night is ending,” he states as he holds you while Hoseok rests his head on your shoulder.

Music still fills the bar as Jungkook does his dance, shaking his ass for the crowd. He goes to one end of the bar before he runs forward and drops to his knees to slide the rest of the way. He rips his costume at his chest, showing off his impressive abs to the crowd.

Cheers deafen you as you watch the money flow and the liquor run down his abs from a bottle Jimin has handed Jungkook.

Yoongi spots you from behind the bar. He mouths something to Namjoon, but you’re too tired to respond.

An hour later, the night comes to an end.

You’re left with Yoongi, who is closing up with Hoseok and Seokjin. They busy themselves, eager to head home but you’re sat on the bar with Yoongi between your thighs.

“How are you feeling?” He asks as he places his hands on your thigh.

“Exhausted,” you answer him.

Yoongi hums as he helps you off the bar.

“Let’s get you home, Queen of Our Hearts.”

<< previous

[luxlightly]

Fragile ch 6

@personostient Moved this chapter to new post because the other one was getting really long. 1-5 are [here] --- Ch.6

Morning light filtered in through the living room window and Webb cracked open an eyelid.

He chuckled softly at what he saw.

“Well isn't this a familiar sight?” he said, voice rough with sleep.

The spider creature’s eyes flew open and it got to its many feet with a startled hiss.

Webb laughed.

“Sorry. Sorry. Didn't mean to spook you,” he said.

He raised a slowly raised a hand, making sure his movements were clearly visible, and reached towards the spider, pausing when it leaned away from him.

“It's alright,” he assured.

The spider tentatively relaxed again, allowing Webb to touch it.

He ran his hand along what served as its back, marveling at the strange sensation. A shifting jumble of smooth chitin and bushy setae, firm like the bristles of a toothbrush.

He smiled as the spider leaned into his touch, rubbing its body against his hand in what he hoped was intended as an affectionate gesture.

He glanced at his watch.

6am.

Later than he usually got up, but not by much. Even without an alarm, he was hard wired to be an early riser after years of getting up at the crack of dawn for work.

He yawned.

The motion seemed to startle the spider creature and it bolted off of his chest and back up the wall to the corner of the ceiling.

“Jeez, you, uh, work fast, huh?” Webb noted, looking at the woven structure that now took up a large portion of his ceiling.

He tilted his head. The shape seemed familiar to him in some way.

Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he typed “tunnel spider web”.

His search results filled with images of similar webs and the name “funnel web spiders”. Scrolling through, he saw a number of different types of spiders, but mostly a black tarantula looking spider with a reddish underbelly.

The spider, seeming to have decided his yawn was not any kind of threat display, had crawled back down the wall and up onto the couch, staring at him.

“Is this you? A funnel web spider?” Webb asked, holding up his phone screen to the creature. “One that fell in radioactive waste or something? Because I gotta tell you, with my last name, I'd never live down being Spider-Man.”

The creature stared at the phone for a long time and Webb began to wonder if, perhaps, its eyes couldn't make out the screen.

Then its form rippled, legs curling in on each other, eyes melting together, the formless mass condensing and solidifying until the shape of the same spider on the screen formed out of the shifting darkness.

Uh. More or less.

It was significantly larger than the real thing, and extra limbs still branched out in every direction, surrounding the now far more spider-like spider, as if it was surrounded by a web of its own body.

“…wow,” Webb said, amazed.

He pulled back his phone and hastily typed in another query.

“What about this? Could you look like one of these?”

He held up a page full of images of black widows.

Again the spider studied the images. This time, it was easier to tell what it was looking at, given the more defined shape.

Again its body writhed and twisted before settling on a familiar shape of a black widow, though, again, not all of it was contained in the neat package.

“That's incredible…” Webb breathed. “Is it just spiders, then? Or could you look like anything?”

The spider just stared at him for a long time.

Webb was about to accept he was getting no answer when, once more, the shape of the spider began to change.

Features stretched and interwove, its entire form coming together to try to form something clearly larger than the two arachnids it had copied.

Legs tangled into smooth, shiny limbs, two -clawed feet split into five thin, pointed digits. The head grew rounder, the mouth disappearing and the eyes bunching together until something was almost recognizable about the shape in a way that made Webb's heart skip a beat.

Then, all at once, the form collapsed in a heap.

The spider let out hiss like a huff of exhaustion as it slowly drew itself back together like a sponge absorbing a puddle.

“Ah, takes a little too much energy for all that, huh?” Webb noted. “Sorry. That's quite the parlor trick, though.”

He took a deep breath and stretched, causing the spider the flinch back, but not flee completely.

“Speaking of energy. I'm going to start a pot of coffee and see if I have any food that isn't expired. Probably not…”

Webb got to his feet and headed to the kitchen section of the apartment.

The spider scurried along to follow him, climbing up on the counter and tapping, insistently, on the counter top.

Webb looked to where it was tapping and saw two bundles of silk that clearly contained some kind of insectoid corpses.

“Ah, for me? That's sweet, but uh, I think I'll stick to coffee,” he said.

The spider hastily ate its attempted offerings, no offense seeming to have been taken at the rejection.

Webb rooted through the cabinets in search of unspoiled food stuffs with a minimal ratio of ant to food.

He noted there seemed to be far fewer of his unwelcome insect roommates than the previous night, however. It seemed that his new house guest had been making itself useful already.

With a defeated sigh, Webb closed the cabinet doors.

It was very rare that he cooked at home. Take out and hospital cafeteria food formed the majority of his meals. The few he didn't replace with coffee and the occasional ibuprofen, that was.

Interestingly, he didn't really feel the need for any pain medication this morning. Odd, given the fact that, the day before, he almost died and was stitched up by what may or may not be a radioactive or otherwise unnatural spider creature. Even with his wounds sealed, he had still been bruised and battered. He should feel like he'd…well, like he'd fallen through the floor, down a story, and into a concrete basement.

Instead, he felt…fine, really.

Which was an “anomaly” at the least.

That's probably fine, Webb, a man who graduated from medical school, decided.

“I guess I should take a shower, while this is brewing,” he announced. “Don't touch the coffee pot while I'm gone. It's hot.”

The spider eyed the coffee maker, warily, jumping when it made a sudden noise.

Webb grabbed the splint cover he’d been given and made his way to the bathroom. Luckily, the hospital had had some replacement clothes for him, so he hadn’t had to wear his torn up and bloodied clothes home, but he still had blood caked to his skin in places.

He turned on the water. It took a while for the water to start warming up sometimes, thanks to the unreliable water heater, so he often turned it on before he got out of his clothes. That way, he wasn’t just sitting, naked, in his bathroom, for several minutes.

This proved to be a good thing, as a wriggling black form squeezed itself under the door, apparently uncomfortable with being left alone with the coffee maker.

“It’s polite to knock, you know,” Webb said. “I’m gonna want some privacy here, in a minute.”

The spider eyed the shower with obvious distrust, slowly skittering towards it, a few inches at a time.

“It’s safe,” Webb explained. “It’s just water, see?”

He held his hand under the shower head, letting the still chilly water run over his palm.

The spider crawled up the side of the tub, leaning over the edge to get a better look.

“Be careful, though, it might be a little slip—”

Webb’s warning came too late as, leaning just a bit too far forward, the spider’s legs lost traction on the wet ceramic and it slid down into the tub and under the spray.

With a panicked screech, it flailed its countless limbs, flinging water across the entire bathroom before managing to get enough footing to launch itself out of the tub and against the far wall.

Webb doubled over, laughing.

“Sorry. Sorry. You okay, little guy?”

The spider shook itself off, form rippling in agitation but seemingly no worse for wear. It hissed at the shower, then scrambled back down the wall and under the door.

Chuckling to himself, Webb checked the water again. Getting warm enough, now.

He whistled the tune to “itsy bitsy spider” as he pulled off his shirt.

[speedycoffeedelight]

An Animalistic Disaster

Summery: You finally realise the truth behind these animals

Masterlist

CH-10 : New forms revealed

Charlie and Vaggie both felt the weird sensation from before. Of their bodies being mashed together and remade. Once the light subsided they were shocked to feel a pair of arms and legs again. And both of them not being so small anymore. Charlie and Vaggie both looked at each other.

Charlie still had her milkish white skin with red hues on her cheeks. But they were less extreme. She now had baby blue eyes. On top of her long blond hair was a pair of horns. Her height had shrunk into normal human height as well. She had hooves instead of normal feet. She was still wearing the dress before she got turned into a sheep. But she could feel a hole behind her dress as well as a tail coming out from it.

On the other hand Vaggie's skin was much darker then Charlie's and she had long brown hair that almost looked black. She also had light brown eyes. She had two antenna's that sprouted from her hair. She did shirnk a bit but not as much as Charlie. There was a eye patch covering her lost eye.

They both looked over to their middle where you sat dumfounded. All three of you were so close you guys were practically hugging each other. You finally decided to break the silence and talk.

"W-who are you guys..?"

You were still blushing from the close proximity of them. It didn't help the fact they looked so breathtakingly gorgeous. Their faces looked really familiar to you but you just couldn't put your head around it.

Charlie took a deep breath as she decided to answer you. "I'm Charlie, Charlie Morningstar. I'm the sheep that has been staying with you all these time" Then she looked over at Vaggie. "This is Vaggie, the moth" Vaggie awkwardly smiled and waved to you.

Your jaw practically fell open from shock. Your brain finally connected the dots on why they looked so familiar. "Wait, wait...you mean like Charlie and Vaggie from Hazbin hotel?? The cartoon show?"

"Yes it seems like it. It looks like we're cartoon characters in this world " Vaggie said. "Can you explain to us why that is? It might have a way for us to go back!" She added quickly.

"Hold on now Vaggie. Let her calm down first. She still doesn't know what's going on. It must be a lot to take for her at once.." Charlie said sympatheticly looking at your still shocked expressions.

"Hold on then, if you guys are the ewe and the moth...does that mean.." you looked over to the animals that came to your room. "That deer is definitely Alastor without a doubt" Alastor nodded his head. " The cat and the snake is Husk and Pentious.." they nodded in affirmation. " Spider is Angel..the puppy...the puppy must be Niffty since she cleans so lot!" Niffty barked happily. "And lastly this squirrel should be Cheeri based on the recent nut event"

"You got them all correct! You're really smart!" Charlie said happily. "Please don't get mad or kick us out. We may be demons but we won't harm you!" Charlie said with pleading eyes.

"Speaking of demons, why do we look like this?" Vaggie said looking at her and Charlie again. "That isn't how we looked like before" she said while touching the antenna on her head. "It must be some kind of new form of ours. Some kinda...human-animal hybrid form!" Charlie answered. "At least we can now communicate with her now"

"Okay, this is great..the animals that have been invading my home for like the past week are the characters of my favourite cartoon show...wow I'm really going crazy now aren't I?" You asked looking around the room and laughing a bit. "I'm probably dreaming right? I'll wake up soon and you guys will be gone"

"It's not a dream (y/n), I can promise you that. All the days we spent together are real" Vaggie said softly before putting her hand on your shoulder.

"Fuck it, I don't care if you guys are real or not" you said finally accepting your situation with a newfound ecstatic expression "I have a lot of things I want to say to you guys" You looked at Charlie first.

"Charlie my sweet adorable demon belle, you're baby and I'll protect you at all costs" you said looking at Charlie with pure adoration, making Charlie blush and look away. "Vaggie and Cherri, you're both a bad bitch and I respect you! Keep girlbossing always"  Vaggie and Cherri both gave you a big smile.

"As for Angel.." you said looking at the spider " I love you and I'm sorry for everything you've gone through. I wish to hug you if I could. I swear if I find Valentino in front of me someday I'll fucking strangle him with my own hands" you said the last part with venom in your voice.

Angel didn't know what to say. It was to be expected that you knew a lot about them. He thought you'll say some simping shit for him as he saw before. He didn't like to admit it but hearing your pure kind words warmed a part in his heart.

"Husk, my favourite grumpy kitty cat. Man, I vibe you most of the time. I want to get a drink made by you someday and get drunk with you" Husk mewoed back.

"Husk said if he becomes 'humans' like us, he'll grant your wish" Charlie translated it for you making you smile.

"Pentious, you're the literal definition of boy failure and I love you. I can't wait to see more of your chaotic self in future" you said cooing at him. 'What'ss a boy failure? ' He was confused but happy with your compliment.

"Now for Alastor...." You said looking at the deer. Alastor smirked as he readied himself for your showers of praises and swooning.

"You're a stinky ass deer"

Cue the record screech.

"You tormented me a lot these past days!Now It finally all makes sense!"

Angel was dying laughing in the background as Alastor's eye twitched in anger.

"But even with all of these, I love your charisma and your unique personality in the show. I love your dark sense of humour and your radio voice. I'm quite captivated by it" you said smiling a little.

Alastor's grin came back. Of course you loved him, he knew that already from before. But that doesn't mean he wasn't offended by the first part.

"Thank you for your kind words (y/n), you don't know how much it means to us" Charlie said smiling widely.

"I hate to break this sweet moment..but (y/n), could you please tell us more about our show...? The 'Hazbin Hotel'? " Vaggie chimed in. All of them turned to look at you. You inhaled a deep breath in. How do you exactly explain to someone they come from a show?

"Hazbin hotel is an adult cartoon animation from its creator Vivienne. That's where you guys are from" you said awkwardly scratching your neck.

"So..is she the one who made us..?" Vaggie asked.

"Yes, you, your backstory, the world, everything. There's only one episode out for now but season 1 is dropping very soon" you paused, letting them take the information in.

"Have I been just a part of someone's imagination this whole time..?" Vaggie asked looking at her hands. "All the things, all the pains I felt...were they not real?" Charlie looked sadly at Vaggie and pulled her closer for a hug. Almost everyone in the room felt the same as Vaggie.

You sort of expected this existential crisis to happen. "No, it's very much real, I promise you" you said as you put your hand over Vaggie's and gave her a comforting smile.

"If it wasn't real, you guys wouldn't be here. You guys being here is the proof that it's as real as it can get"

"Hell, all of these makes me feel like I'm not real either! I feel like some kind of weird cliché protagonist of some stupid wattpad or ao3 fanfics that I read. But that's not true right?" You turned to look at everyone.

"I'm right here, I'm real and you guys are too. It goes for all your feelings and experiences as well"

"(Y/n) thank you..." Charlie said now holding your hand while sniffing a little. "You don't know how much it means to hear that" she said teary eyed.

"It's my pleasure, I should also show you the things that are released. You guys would understand more if you saw those" you said while moving up to get your laptop from the table "Also how did you guys end up here?"

"It's a long story...." Charlie started. "I'll say it this time Hun, rest for now" Vaggie said cutting her off, she knew Charlie still felt guilty for this mess. So she decided to tell it instead. She started telling you as you opened up the pilot episode on YouTube .

"Damn, I understand now. But how did you guys turn human again? Well mostly human?" You asked.

"We don't know either! Me and Vaggie were just,uh,having a totally normal conversation and then we suddenly turned into this!" Charlie said while blushing. She didn't dare reveal what they were talking about.

"Uh-huh....riggght...also here's the pilot episode!" You said finally starting to play it.

Charlie and Vaggie sat next to you on both sides, making you blush a little. Niffty sat on your lap while Angel, Husk and Cherri sat in front of you guys since they were small. And Alastor stood while resting his head on top of yours.

Firstly came Charlie's singing about heaven and crying, which she was a bit embarrassed about.

'let me know when you come back with something creative to call me you sack of poorly packaged horse shit!'

'Heh! That line still rocks' Angel said while laughing alongside Cherri.

Meanwhile Vaggie and Alastor was more keen on noticing every single detail they could find from it. Then the scene switched to Pentious.

'Look everyone, That'sss mee!! I look so sstylish in here!'

'And there's me rocking your shit old man! Hahaha!'

It was then time for the interview of Charlie. Charlie covered her face with her hands beside you, already knowing how that would turn out while you patted her back.

'oh, harder daddy~'

'son?'

This part never failed to make you laugh. Even Husk laughed at this part seeing Angel's confused face.

'Jokes are funny, I made you look sad.. like an orphan! With no arms or legs..with progeria!'

'Hah! Now that was a nice description!' Alastor said before laughing. Making Husk look at him with 'wtf is wrong with you face'

'hel-'

'-lo'

'Hey Vaggie?'

'what?'

'The radio demon...is at the door'

Now this was Alastor's turn. "Ohh, there's my creepy boy" you squealed holding Niffty. Alastor raised an eye brow at being called your 'creepy boy' but decided to just keep watching.

'Oh Vaggie, I didn't know you thought so highly of me! Why I'm flattered!' Alastor said with a shit eating grin as Vaggie was explaining Alastor's past to Angel in the show. "Shut it you pompous bastard" Vaggie grumbled beside you. You couldn't hear what Alastor said but you assumed it was one of his snarky remarks.

'And what can you do my effeminate fellow?'

'I can suck your dick'

'Hah! No!'

You practically mimiced the voices as it was being said. You heard this joke various times already. Charlie laughed looking at your expressions while mimicking. You looked quite adorable, she thought fondly.

Finally Husk and Niffty got brought in. 'Ooh!!look!!look!! It's me! I'm cleaning hehehe...' Niffty said barking from your lap. And Husk sighed remembering how he lost the winning game cause of him.

'You thought it would be some kinda big fucking ride just to pull me outta nowhere? You think I'm some kinda fucking clown??'

'maybe!'

You couldn't hide your giggle at that. "I'm really sorry Husk but it was just funny" you said while giving him a headpat. Husk just let you pet him this time while grumbling about how shitty alastor is.

"Also everyone, notice how husk is the only one without any pants in this episode" you said while giggling.

This caused Husk's eyes to widen as he looked back at his cartoon character carefully. He indeed wasn't wearing any pants. 'Ohh,husky~ I didn't know you were into stuffs like this~' Angel cooed at Husk while teasing him. Alastor's eye brows furrowed at such indecency.

"How come we never noticed this unusuality back then?" Vaggie asked looking at you. "How did we just think Husk not wearing pants was normal?"

You shrugged. "Don't ask me, I don't have a clue either " you said resuming the episode.

Alastor's song began to play, 'Inside of every demon is a lot cause'. In middle of it you looked at Alastor "I'm never going to forget the fact that you slapped Vaggie's ass canonically"

"He did what??" Charlie glared. "Slapped Vaggie's ass, look here" you went back to that time again and showed it. 'Damn smiles I never knew you had it in ya!' Angel said laughing while Vaggie groaned.

'I only did that to mess with miss Vaggie. I assure you I had no other intentions' Alastor said to a very angry looking Charlie. "You shouldn't have done it in the first place! " Charlie pouted while crossing her arms.

Finally the ending came with Sir Pentious getting extremely overpowered by Alastor.

'My egg boysss...I miss them..'

"So this was Hazbin Hotel! Next up we have 'Addict', a music video featuring Angel Dust and Cherri" you said looking at the pair.

"But I want to ask if you're ready first Angel..." You asked softly, knowing what was about to be shown.

Angel's breath hitched in his throat. Cherri gave him a sympathetic look. Angel didn't know how to feel about this.

'I....'

[somekindofsentience]

spiders, or how to fix half of omori's plot with one symbol

i think i can fix omori. well, some of it.

This will be an attempt to prove that a key symbol related to Mari is a spider/bug, and how making this more obvious to the player would have fixed half the narrative.

Mari is closely associated with bugs and spiders in several scenes, but I believe the photos in the real world and Headspace demonstrate this most explicitly.

This photo is one of few direct redraws from the real world in Headspace, and it identifies Mari as a character unafraid, even fascinated, by bugs, which is one of very few character traits she's actually given. This is repeated multiple times as we explore Headspace, where Mari comforts Sunny and Hero about their fear of spiders, takes the group bug-hunting in the real world, and previously put bugs in Hero's desk. It's notable that the reframing of this photo specifically puts a spider in Omori's hand, further linking the girl to bugs in his mind.

Within Headspace, spiders are shown to be far more present than the other two phobias present. We see it in Daddy Long Legs, the ominous nature of Pyrefly forest, the Spider Area, the references to the creatures from Hero, Mari and Basil, and much more - it's clear that the creators wanted this symbol to be present, but overwhelmed it with subtlety, making it impossible to actually understand, and leaving it in the dust in favour of following other threads. The narrative fails to distinguish the Arachnophobia boss, and loses its the relationship between Mari and spiders/bugs.

There are several benefits to making this metaphor more deliberate to the player, by enhancing the relationship through jumpscares, making it important to the Truth/Final Boss segments, or even just distinguishing Arachnophobia from the other bosses. I've decided to organise them into a list since there's so many.

Cohesive narrative interactions between the Phobias and the recital day: I'm always talking about how the juxtaposition between these two events is so subtle that people miss the point. Singling out the importance of Arachnophobia would highlight these two events and bring them to the forefront, making the Final Duet more cohesive.

The Phobia bosses become relevant: If the game is able to properly integrate Arachnophobia into the truth segment, this provides so much more purpose to the Phobia bosses, who often feel like just game mechanics to teach you how fighting against hallucinations functions.

Intriguing moral exploration: I think the idea of the subtlety of conveying Mari as a bug portrays her insignificance - Sunny was able to just kill her, as though she were just a spider to be swatted. It furthers an interesting understanding of morality in the text, talking about the prioritisation of life, leaving more of an impact on the audience. Are humans really as fickle as that?

Hero's character: Connecting Mari to a spider not only allows for more theory and AU creation, but actually mimics Hero's actions in the real world. Only two characters are afraid of spiders - and only those two characters have not visited Mari's grave since it was dug, which mirrors (but fails to highlight) Sunny and Hero's character arcs. In a similar way, Mari and Basil's love for bugs could also mirror some sort of decline.

The relevance of Daddy Long Legs and spider-related Black Space areas: Spiders are regularly referenced in Headspace and Black Space, with a whole room of Black Space surrounding them, but there's never any lucid reason why they're so prominent compared to the other phobias. Making a clear connection to the truth would clear up this confusion.

Basil's Something and Headspace Basil's dialogue: Basil's Something is deliberately abstract, but it is never defined further than its presentation. Not only would it properly link the Spider Area to the reality of the truth, but it would potentially connect Basil's Something to it, too.

Just plain easy to add: Much of Omori's story, characterisation and pacing is very difficult to improve without hours of effort. Being able to cohesively connect elements of the narrative with one symbol is much more realistic.

song i listened to while writing this:

this song is literally the reason i came to this realisation, the themes of environmental preservation were essential dskjhjdsgdjhsgjhkdg shout out to me rediscovering this after years and years

[adoreeenina]

I wanna be yours - Ch. 11

Relationships: Recom! Miles Quaritch x Sully! Reader x Recom! Lyle Wainfleet

WC: 5.3k

Series Summary: ~~~ 𝗜𝗻 𝘄𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗵 𝕋𝕨𝕠 𝕣𝕖𝕔𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕚𝕟𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕤 𝕗𝕒𝕝𝕝𝕤 𝕗𝕠𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕖𝕝𝕕𝕖𝕤𝕥 𝕕𝕒𝕦𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕁𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕊𝕦𝕝𝕝𝕪.

“You just gave back my tweng and you expect me to change back into your ugly sky people clothing?” You pinch the sweatshirt between your thumb and forefinger, holding it aloft like it was a dead animal. Sadly this one you can’t rip it to your liking since it belongs to Quaritch.

Ardmore begrudgingly allowed the recoms have 3 days off since arriving back from their trip to the Hallelujah Mountains, it took some convincing from Quaritch of course.

Since this whole ordeal, they’ve been at the forest for almost four months, trying to adjust to their Na’vi natural elements, and wanted time to relax even if it’s only for a while before they go back to work.

You’re standing in the middle of their room, Quaritch standing in front of you holding a pair of black spandex shorts out to you. Lyle is sitting on his bed with elbows on his knees, and Spider next to him, watching TV, wearing sweatpants and a shirt. You still don’t know how they convinced him to change. They most likely bribed him, you just can’t prove it.

“They’re aren’t ugly” Lyle mumbles quietly next to you, obviously took offense.

“To me they are” Lyle stands up from the bed to walk to your side.

“Watch it” Lyle reach his hand out and tickles your sides. You slap his hand away with a giggle.

“Stop it” you pout up at him, he smirks down at you.

“Listen darlin” Quaritch interrupts to catch your attention, “we’ll be here for 3 days, it gets cold in here at times. I know for sure you’ll freeze with that on” he gestures a hand to your half exposed figure.

Quaritch been trying to convince you to get dressed. It’s true what he says when it gets cold at Bridgehead but it’s only the half truth. It’s also because he caught the others from the unit undressing you with their eyes, basically eye fucking you, even the humans. And he’s no better than them, he even caught Lyle standing behind you to catch a glimpse, claiming it’s to make sure you don’t make a run for it. But Lyle forgets Quaritch knows him as much he does him.

“No, I won’t” you say defensively, almost like you jinxed it, your body shiver and you wrapped your arms around yourself, trying to obtain warmth. “Maybe.”

Quaritch smirks as he tosses the shorts and sports bra at you. “Change”

“Fine” you reluctantly agreed, “but I won’t like it and I’ll complain the entire time” you pout. The two recoms couldn’t hold back a smile, finding your reaction adorable.

“We’ll be in the gym, baby. It’s the door at the end of the hall on your left” you nod at Lyle.

“Spider, let’s go” Quaritch calls for Spider. Spider wanted to watch TV a little longer but also wanted to see the recoms train.

“I’m coming” Spider slides off the bed. Quaritch opens the door and lets Spider out first, he follows right behind him, Lyle stays behind and looks at you.

“You okay, baby?” He questions. The question took you by surprise. Lyle’s been worried about you, he hates seeing you with that damn collar around your neck, it’s just reminds him what you’re supposed to be.

“Yeah, I’m okay” you smile reassuringly at him. Lyle nods but he doesn’t seem convinced.

“Okay” he echoes with a sigh, “I’ll leave you to it” with that, he leaves the room for you to change, the the door ajar.

You sigh as you tug on the collar. You untie your loincloth and place it on Lyle’s bed along with your top. You slide the shorts on, already hating it, feeling the shirts a little tight around your thighs and hips. You groan as you aggressively grab the sports bra and put it on, also feeling a little tight around your breast but not it’s not uncomfortable, grabbing the sweatshirt from the bed, you tug it on, it’s practically drowning you in Quaritch strong scent filling up your nostrils. The sweater covers your hands and reaches to your mid thighs, hiding your shorts. Almost giving the illusion you’re not wearing any unless you reach your arms up over your head.

You untie your songcord from your loincloth, and gather your braids back and tie your songcord to tie your braids into a ponytail. The songcord drapes down your back, longer than your hair.

After changing, you leave the room and close the door behind you. You wander down the hall. It's really quiet here with everyone out, so it's not hard to trace the sounds coming from one of the rooms. You take a look in and find Quaritch and Lyle fighting with each other. Training obviously but, given the fact that they both have the same strength and agility, they are able to go hard without fear of hurting each other. You watch from the doorway as they maneuver around each other, taking swings and dodging with impressive speed. It's actually cute to watch them, because despite the fact that they are literally fighting each other, they're laughing and smiling the entire time.

The others are surrounding the makeshift ring, making bets. Spider cheering them both on.

"Baby?” Lyle says, finally noticing you leaning against the door frame.

You don't get a chance to respond before Quaritch kicks Lyle’s legs from under him and then places a hand on his chest, slamming him down onto the ground. Even you flinch at the impact.

Quaritch then turns to you with a victorious smile. "Hey sweetheart”

Half of the unit groans seeing Lyle lose as the other half cheers as they take the money that they earned.

You bring your hand up to your mouth to try and hide the smile. "Hey guys." You say as you look at Lyle still trying to recover from the hit.

Lyle looks over at Quaritch, clear annoyance on his face. "I hate you."

You laugh as you shake your head at them.

“No you don’t” Quaritch says as he reaches his hand out to him, pulls him up and gives him a clap on the shoulder, “we both know this isn’t the first time I push you on your back” Quaritch whispers into Lyle’s ear. Lyle eyes widen feeling his breath tickle his ear.

“Y/n!” Spider excitably runs up to you. “Check it out. I won this thing”

“What is it?” You look at the small blue device in his hands.

“It’s an IPod” Lopez walks next to Spider, “you could listen to music and watch movies on it”

“You hear that? I could watch movies without the computer” you smile at Spider obvious excitement.

“I’m guessing it was yours” you turn to look at Lopez. Who sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

“Yeah he bet on Lyle” Spider teases with a victorious smirk. It looks so similar to Quaritch, there’s no mistake who his father is.

“Want next match, mami?” Lopez looks down at you with the cockiest of grins.

“Kicking your ass once wasn’t enough for you” Lyle walks towards you with his hands in his shorts pockets.

“I don’t know” you shake your head. You’re not really in a mood to spar with anyone.

“C’mon darlin. Scared?” Quaritch stands next Lyle with arms crossed. He’s obviously trying to tease you to take up the challenge. And it’s working. One thing you’re known for back at High Camp is you don’t like being lookes down on.

You shrug. "Actually I think it's only fair that I go against the winner...which was Quaritch." You challenge. Quaritch licks his bottom lip with a smirk hearing his name coming from your lips.

"That's fine with me, darlin” Quaritch responds. "I could use more of a challenge." he says as he passes by Lyle and gives him a teasing smack on the arm.

What have you gotten yourself into?

"Ready?" Quaritch asks as he positions himself in the middle of the room.

"Almost." You say as you head over to a nearby bench. You tug the sweatshirt over your head. Exposing you once again half exposed but having a bit more coverage. The shorts are a little short on you, showing more than they’re supposed to, practically looks like underwear on you. The sports bra leaves nothing to the imagination, you’re breast are picked up and almost looks like it wants to spill over from the top.

Everyone’s eyes immediately gaze down at your body. Lyle sits down on a near by bench, grabs his hoodie and place it on his lap.

As soon as you get into a fighting stance Quaritch swings once and you quickly block it. He smiles, before swinging two more times and watching you block those as well. He takes one more swing with his right hand and this time you grab onto it, turn yourself around and use the momentum to throw Quaritch over your shoulder and slam him onto the ground.

“Impressive” Quaritch says recovering from the impact.

Standing back up, he makes his way back to you. He does another double punch combo, which you easily block, however that was only a distraction. Right after you block the second hit Quaritch swings his leg under you, attempting to drop you the way he did Lyle. As soon as you feel the hit you grab onto Quaritch’s neck and swing yourself up and around until you’re behind Quaritch, using that same force to push him down and press him into the mat, chest down. You put your knee on his back to keep him immobile.

“You really do love having me in the position, don’t you, mama”

While his body is pressed down, his arms are at his side. He reaches one up and pushes the leg that is on the mat, making you slightly lose balance and loosen your hold on him. He uses this momentary distraction to turn his body around and grab your arm, pulling you down on the ground onto your back. In one swift motion he throws his leg over, stradling your hips and pinning you down, as well as grabbing both your wrist and pinning them above your head.

You thought you had him and you were so ready to celebrate it, and just like that, you lost. The entire moment makes you burst out into laughter.

"Fuck! Take the 'L' Quaritch!" You tease.

Given the fact that he's keeping your wrist pinned, his body is completely pressed down on you. "Are you kidding? You want to beat me, you have to earn it”

“Alright! You win. Now get off of her” Spider grumbles making Quaritch laugh as he lets go of your wrist. With a groan he stands up and reach his arm up, intending to help you up from the ground.

You take it and he hoist you up. He turns to his unit with his hand still grasping yours. Taking his distraction to your advantage. You twist his arm then flip yourself around so you can lock your legs around his head, flipping him over and slamming him down again.

"Shit." You hear him whisper after you release him.

“I win” you chuckle out as you get up. You dust yourself off and walks to the bench that you left your sweatshirt and put it back on. Much to two recoms dismay.

Thirty minutes later the recoms, spider and you are sitting in their living room. The conversation is pretty light as Ja and Prager talks about their time in the military back on earth.

"What that string of rocks that you have on your hair?” Zdinarsk ask as she points at your tied up hair. You gently pull on your songcord from your braids, letting your braids drape over your back and shoulders. You hold your songcord between your fingers and caress at a specific stone.

“It’s a songcord” Spider says as he plays with his.

“A what?”

“Songcord. The Na’vi songcord is a symbol of our culture used for recounting information and stories. Individuals Na’vi creates a songcord that is used as a tactical representation of their own personal or clan history. The design behind each of our songcord is inspired by our personal journeys” you look down at the string in your hand, weaved with dozens of different kinds of beads.

All of the beads are made of natural materials, from stones to gems to bones to wood to nuts to shells and everything in between. The first bead is a rounded, shining blue river stone. 

“So it’s a diary,” Miles replies. You turn your head, shooting him a grin.

“Each bead and item on a Na'vi's songcord is only known by them and their closest friends and family”, Spider continues to explain, “When a Na'vi dies, their friends and family sing their songcord during their funeral in mourning and remembrance. The individual is then buried alongside their cord”

“That’s deep” Lopez whispers to Prager who sits next to him. Prager elbows Lopez to shut up, making Lopez glare at him.

“I like your necklace” Zee points at her own neck. You absentmindedly reach for the necklace that’s above the collar. You’ve forgotten all about it.

“You made it?” Question Ja.

“Isn’t that the courting gift Tarsem gave you?” Spider ask. Your eyes widen and you snap to glare at him. He blinks at you not knowing what he did wrong.

“Courting gift?” Quaritch mumbles under his breath.

“W-who’s Tarsem?” Lyle ask.

“Boyfriend?” Lopez ask, obviously seeing his two superiors irritated about the thought of you with someone else.

“He’s not-“

“They’re mates” Spidee interrupts you. You gasp at his words and glare hard at him, the look in your eye gives it away on what you really want to do to Spider.

“He’s not my mate” you say through clench teeth, Spider smirks, seeing your reaction gives him a thrill. He knows how much you hate being wedded to Tarsem.

“Not yet he isn’t” you growl, ready pounce on him when arms wraps around your waist and pulls you back.

“Okay, calm down kitty” Ja chuckles as he puts you down once you submit.

“How about we play some football to let out all the steam?” Suggest Prager.

“Yes! Just like old times! Eyy Colonel?” Lopez shouts.

So that's how you found yourself outside with the Recoms. It was refreshing - they weren't Marines or Recoms anymore. They were just a group of young adults messing around and getting pumped up on competition.

"You understand the rules, mami?”Lopez asked you, you nod your head "Here, Chiquita, tie this around your waist. Put the hanging parts at your hips. Here, like this." Lopez helps you adjust the fabric to replicate what was on Lopez waist

You’ve already been assigned into teams. You were with Lopez, Lyle, and Zee while the other team was Quaritch, Mansk, Prager, and Ja. Spider would be your referee for the day, a suggestion Quaritch made to keep the teenager involved. He couldn't use a normal whistle because of the mask, but the screeching buzzer Lopez found made up for it.

"Hey Lopez!" Zee calls a few yards away as she stretches her legs, "we playin' full tackle or what?”

“Full tackle!” Lopez shouts. Lyle eyes widen before looking down at your small stature. You’re small compared to them.

“Lopez, are you sure, man?” Lyle leans closer to Lopez, Lopez looks at him confused till Lyle points his head at you.

You frown defensively. Just cause you’re small doesn’t mean you can’t take on a simple hit.

“I want to play how you normally do. Don’t you dare change cause of me”

Zee laughs at Lyle’s astonishment, popping a bubble with her gum before spitting it out, “alright baby, let get it on. Whose shirts and skins?”

“We volunteer!” Lopez raises his hand.

“We do?” Zee raise a brow at Lopez quickness. However, It doesn’t surprise her, Lopez just wants to see you take the sweater off again and catch a glimpse.

Lyle was about to object but you were already reaching for the hem of your sweatshirt and pull it over your head. You already had your braids tied back with your songcord.

Quaritch was close by, his eyes trail down your figure, missing your bioluminescence freckles.

Lopez follows your lead and takes off his shirt, waving it above his head. He was getting a little too enthralled at today's game.

The teams lined up in the middle of the clearing, Spider placed in between them as he held an avatar-sized football in his hands. You still don’t know they even have one that size. “Everyone ready?"

Every single Recom had dangerous smirks and ravenous glints in their eyes. This was their favorite time of the day, evident in how they bounced on their feet when Spider moved to toss the ball into the air.

Right before the ball left Spiders fingers, you and Quaritch glance at each other at the same time. His facial expressions were more exaggerated than the rest of his unit, a devilish grin and gleaming eyes, "you ready?"

His eyes flicked down to your chest for one moment before looking back at you. Noticing this you smirk, “are you?” You turn the question onto him, “I hope you could handle being beaten twice by little old me, Colonel” you taunt.

Quaritch winks at you, clearly trying to distract you momentarily as Spider tossed the ball into the air, giving Quaritch a chance to grab it before throwing it towards Prager who was already running towards the water-bottle-marked end zone.

Lyle and Lopez chases after him, feet sending dirt and grass into the air as Lyle reach to grab Lopez's flags, but it was Lopez who throws himself at Prager and tackles him to the ground, hard.

“You got knocked the fuck out, man” Lopez shouts down at a dazed Prager.

“Lopez!” You shout and push him off poor Prager.

“Prager, you alright?” You look at him.

“Yeah, Sully, I’m fine” he waves you off.

“You sure, man? That was a pretty hard tackle” Lyle stands next to you.

“Please. That’s nothing” he laughs, Lyle laughs as he reach his arm out to Prager and pull him and claps his shoulder before you jog back to your teams.

“Alright! this is what we’re going to do” you all huddle in a circle, Lyle being the teams captain of course, “Lopez! You go after Mansk and Ja while Zee runs down. Baby, you’ll-“

“How about you two distract the Colonel? So we could catch the ball?” Zee cuts Lyle off.

You raise an eyebrow at the suggestion in confusion. Why would you and Lyle distract Quaritch? What could you possibly do to distract him?

“Why us?” Lyle ask next to you. Your team smirks as if they know something that you don’t.

“Trust me. I think you know why, Wainfleet!” Smirks Lopez.

“How do you expect us to do that?” You place your hands on your hips.

Zee smirks, "I'm sure you two can figure something out out. Alright, break."

As Spider pressed his ear-shattering buzzer, everyone moved instantaneously. Lyle threw the ball to Zee as planned and Quaritch moves to cut you off. He stood there, arms outstretched and ready to grab you but you dodge and move to run the opposite direction but Quaritch quickly caught on and moves his arms in rapid speed and wraps his arms around you.

In a split second, you felt his arms wrap around your waist as you twist in the air, making sure he would take the brunt of the impact.

As Quaritch rotates your bodies in the air, he managed to spin you around to face him. When he hit the ground, you landed right on his waist. Your mouth drops open in shock, not able to comprehend how Quaritch managed all that in a matter of seconds. Quaritch smirks from below, reveling in your expression before pushing up on his hands. The movement made her slip down from his waist to press against his hips. He tried to ignore the weight of her body as it pressed into his groin before reaching down and pulling on the flag around your hips.

"Flag down," he smirks. Given your current situation, you were at eye-level for once. With a snarl, you try to stand up, but Quaritch flips you over so you were pinned to the ground. Your braids spread out against the grass, braid falling over your bare shoulder.

“I think I like this position way more, sweetheart!”

Your body heats up feeling Quaritch so close to you, it was your body's natural response to having him on top of you, large hands on either side of your head. He straddles your waist as powerful thighs encased your softer body, muscles not even strained as he supported his massive body weight.

Quaritch could get used to this image of you under him like this. You felt the same, heat rushing to your core as he eyes follow a single bead of sweat travel down the expanse of your breast. You almost threw all your morals out the window right then and there when he bent over and buries his face into the crook of your neck. You squeal at the intrusion.

Your scent permeated his very soul and he found himself wanting more of it, to drown in it.

A puff of air leaves his nose as he buried his face into your shoulder. You bite back a moan as he continues to smell every inch of you, his mouth opening wide enough to allow his fangs to ghost over your shoulder.

“Miles!” You squeal your body tensing, and it's only when you do that you realize, this was the first he's ever heard you say it.

When he retracted his mouth, you relaxed your tensed spine.

Quaritch sighs as he pulled back, realizing what he just did. He doesn’t understand why he did it. It was like an instinct to claim you. He reluctantly push himself off her before jumping to his feet. You ignore his outstretched hand, brushing the dirt off your legs as yoi bent over to pick up your flag. Quaritch had to look away.

"I could've helped you, you know." He tries to banter with you, but you only shot him a playful glare before jogging off. He couldn't help the way his tail swished and his ears pushed forward to full attention as exhilaration took over.

Mansk and Ja snickers as Quaritch rejoined his team, "nice tackle, Colonel. A little much don't you think?" Teases Ja.

"Ja, mind your business." Quaritch challenges, eyes trained on you as you laugh with Lyle and Spider. Mansk and Ja hums, obviously not believing a word the Colonel said.

In the end, your team reigned victorious. The dirty tricks Lopez managed to do paid off. Lopez was slick enough to hide his tactics from Spider's watchful eye, so there was no way of getting caught. The final score was eleven-ten as Lyle managed to intercept a ball meant for Quaritch and dashed for the endzone just as the clock ran out.

The sun was beginning to set as the recoms stand next each other and chat. You sat down on the grass, watching as the sky blurred into rich reds and oranges. Spider approaches you, handing you a water bottle, "can I sit?"

“You don’t have to ask” you nod the empty space next to you. Spider sits down next to you.

“I’m sorry about mentioning Tarsem” Spider apologizes. Turning your gaze away from the sky to look down at Spider who nervously play with the label of his own water bottle.

“Don’t be. I wasn’t really mad” you say. That catches Spiders attention, “to be honest, I completely forgot about him. I know I should feel something but I don’t”

“You never wanted to be mated to him in the first place” Spider grumbles obviously irritated at your father for forcing you to mate with someone you clearly don’t want to be with.

“Yeah. I should be the one apologizing to you for the way I acted. I guess I just didn’t want them to know” you shrug as you absentmindedly tug on the grass.

“Who?”

Shit. Why did you say that? Why didn’t you want them to know of Tarsem?

“Lyle and Miles” you answer before you could shut yourself up.

“Oh my God! You’re falling for them!” Spider gasp a little to loud. You shush him and glance towards the recoms to see they haven’t looked your way, thanking the great mother.

“I am not” you shake your head as you take a sip of your water.

You deny it. But the truth is, you really are falling for them.

Warm water runs over your shoulders and down your back. You relish the feeling, but wait to actually start for several minutes, so you begin your actual shower routine.

Once done, you turn the knob off and swing the curtain aside. Toweling yourself dry, you change into a long sleeve shirt that belongs to Lyle.

Leaving the bathroom you walked down the to your room. Seeing the door ajar, you swing the door open and enter, closing the door behind you. A gasp leave your lips as you cover your mouth when you see a naked Lyle.

Oops, wrong room.

“Baby!” Lyle shouts as he quickly covers himself up by wrapping a towel around his waist.

“I’m so sorry” you let out a shaky breath. You were completely mortified on what you just walked into. “I-I’m just gonna go” you arkwardly point behind you and turn around and head for the door.

“Baby!” You hear Lyle say behind you, but you don’t turn around, you just head for the door.

"Y/n!" he calls out again, saying your name this time. But you keep going, feeling like you’re about to collapse and you’d rather not do that in his room. You’re so embarrassed.

You reach for the door knob and go to pull it open but you don't get very far when a hand presses against it, slamming it back closed.

You turn around completely startled and find Lyle’s face only inches from yours. With a gasp you try pulling back but you’re met with resistance when you hit the door behind you.

Lyle’s other hand comes up and he places it against the door as well, essentially caging you in. His body is extremely close to yours, yet you’re still not touching.your breathing is hard and ragged. Your chest is rising and falling and now so is his. You look up at him, your height difference giving you no choice. His eyes bore into you and you’d give anything to know what he's thinking at this moment.

You’re once again feel conflicted, you’ve never been in this situation before. What are you supposed to do in a situation like this? Are you supposed to push him away? Or let him be near you like this?

You should leave. You should push him away. But if you’re being honest with yourself, you know damn well that's not going to happen.

You nervously run your bottom lip through your teeth, a bad habit of yours. But it does draw Lyle’s gaze down to your lips as he lets out a raspy breath.

"Lyle” you gasp out.

"Shit." he whispers, right before bringing both of his hands to your neck, tilting your head back, and pressing his lips against yours.

And all of your thoughts go out the fucking window. Any strength you had left in your legs completely goes when he gently starts moving his lips against yours and you have to reach up and grip his arms to stop yourself from falling.

Lyle feels your struggle and he brings his hands from you neck to your hips as he pulls your body closer to his, helping you stay up.

You don't exactly know what's going on, but right now, with his lips pressed against yours, his hands gripping your hips, pulling your towards him as if he can't have you close enough, you don't care about anything else but him.

You slide your hands up from his arms to his neck and throw yourself more into him. Once he notices your enthusiasm he starts moving his lips harder against yours. He pushes himself against you and you stumble back and hit the door again, but this time Lyle’s body is pushing you against it. You can feel him growing behind his towel as he presses his hips against you and you can't help the moan that escapes your mouth. Once he hears you, Lyle gladly returns it, moaning into your mouth and it's definitely a sound you could get used to.

You don't know how far this is going to go, and honestly, you really don't care. All you know if you could stay here, being consumed by Lyle Wainfleet’s lips forever and be completely content.

*knock knock*

Fucking shit.

“Lyle, you done?” You both hear Quaritch on the other side of the door.

Immediately you push away from Lyle. And turn away from him as you wipe your lips with sleeve of your burrowed shirt.

“Wai-“ the door opens before Lyle could continue his sentence.

Quaritch walks into the room wearing only a pair of joggers and his chest bare.

Quaritch looks between Lyle’s who seems slightly out of breath to you who has your back to him.

“Everything alright?” Quaritch brow raise questionably, having an idea on what he just walked into.

“I-“

“Excuse me” without making eye contact with either of them, you quickly walk around Quaritch to the door and leave, closing the door behind you.

You immediately bend over and put your hands on your knees as you take in gulps of air, feeling like you can finally breathe now that you’re out of the room. Ideally you want to sit on the floor for a while but you know you need to get out of here.

So you speed walk into your room, hoping you could get there before anyone sees you.

What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

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Taglist: @alexandra-001 @commanderrivercc-3628 @henhouse-horrors @certainkittenpeach @multi-fandom-rando @zzedah @mrstargayen09 @loaksulluyswife

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads Ch 10 (Homelander x OC)

chapter ten: benjamin colyer's day off

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: your gentle nature is suspicious, little spider. you'll have to forgive him. he simply doesn't understand.

This wasn’t supposed to–  it’s not–  he can’t–

Why now!?

His chest heaves with breaths that serve only to drown him, hands scrambling against the terror of the unfamiliar, eyes lighting up to save himself from the darkness engulfing the room that threatens to consume him just as easily.

There’s unfamiliar sensations on his body.  Light, silky fabric– something synthetic. Fuzzy textures locked in his grip and a hand whose press makes him jerk away so harshly that he almost topples over the edge.

“Hey…” 

Not one more hand will ever lead him into that box. He’s–

“Homelander–”

Familiar.

“S’okay, hey– don’t– don’t fall off the bed, okay?”

His skin burns.  No matter how harshly he rubs at his arms, it remains hot just below the surface, blistering, painful. 

“Woah, Home– Homie, hey, look at me.”

But he can’t.

“Can I touch you?”

He can’t.

Cold softness brushes against his cheek.  It’s his only reprieve from what lingers and it feels so good that he can’t help but gasp and lean into it.  The chill of it calls to his very bones.  Reverberations of promises yet unspoken that linger and dig into the marrow of him. 

“There you go,” coos the presence beside him.  “You’re okay, yeah?  You’re safe.  Promise, okay, just– mind your high beams, y’know?”

He knows this place.  He knows that voice.

That touch.

He just barely wills away the heat and, as if by some miracle, the scorching sensation in his cheeks goes with it. But the softness remains.  It strokes back and forth, gentle against the curve of his cheekbone.  It’s only when another touch lands at the other side of his face that he realizes he’s been gripping the first’s wrist desperately.  Like a buoy in violent waters...  The only thing keeping him from drowning.

The sigh of relief doesn’t go unnoticed when he slackens his hold.  

“There you go…”

It’s only then that he realizes he’s gone and clenched his eyes tightly shut.  It’s hard to open them and harder yet to fathom he might be anywhere but there, that what lies beyond his the blackness of his closed lids isn’t just all one big lie that his mind tells to soothe him through his suffering.

But it’s not… It’s real and he hates nothing more than the pathetic, retching sob that leaves him.  He crumbles.  

“Fuck,” he gasps.  “Fuck!”  His eyes go shut again. He can’t bear to look.

“S’okay, Homelander.  Here, just– just lay back, alright?”

He does as he’s told.  The plush softness of the pillow is damp and cold against the clammy skin of his neck.  It makes him cringe and sit right back up as if he’d just been burned all over again.  The environment begins to settle in.  The hum of a desktop computer.  The weak trickling of the sun that hasn’t quite risen yet.  The heartbeat beside him.  The hand rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades…

He can still smell the popcorn.  

“What’s–” comes Ben’s voice, still deep and scratchy from however few hours of sleep he’d gotten. There’s a patting sound against the fabric.  “Oh.  Here,” shifting, sliding.  “Use mine.”

And just like that he’s being coaxed onto his back again.  Instead, he turns to bury his face against Ben’s chest.  Fingers find their way to stroking through his hair and it’s all he’s got to hold back more tears.  At least it is until he hasn’t got anything left. They spill anyway.

“D’you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” He croaks, shaking his head furiously.  Never.  He can never talk about it.   He left it all behind when he became Homelander.  The furnace.  The bad room.  It’s all in the past, right?  Telling Benjamin about it just… it makes it– 

“Shh,” comes Ben’s soft cooing while his breaths heave and shudder. The bug’s other hand rubs up and down his back. The sensation is dull, skin protected by layers and layers of fabric and padding.  Somehow the whisper of touch still reaches him, but he yearns for more.  “Whatever it was, you’re safe now, Homie.”

Homie. 

Homelander.

But it wasn’t just Homelander who was thrown in that box.  It wasn’t just Homelander who was cooked alive, who was locked in that cell under constant surveillance. It’s his skin, too, that tingles with the memory of the furnace. It wasn’t– it was–

He gasps it at first, voice no more than a mewling cry as he lets free that awful, terrible label bestowed upon a mere product in development.  He doesn’t even mean to say it, but he needs this.   He needs those gentle hands and strong arms holding him to reassure him, too.

“You’re okay, John.”

It’s John whose tears need wiped away while he bites them back in vain, choking on tight breaths to suppress sob after sob.  It’s John whose skin is clammy and it’s John who clings to Benjamin like a raft in a storm.  For once… just once, John wants to feel safe, too.

“I’ve gotcha.”  The fingers in his hair curl at the nape of his neck. “Deep breaths, pumpkin.  Was all just a bad dream.”

He wraps his arms around Ben like his life depends on it.  Perhaps it does…

“Attaboy, Johnny. Can I call you that?  It’s a good name for you, I think.”  The sweet chuckle from his little spider takes away so much of the edge. “You’re gonna be just fine, yeah?  Just try to breathe like me.”

This time, there is safe harbor beyond his own psyche.

Homelander pushes the blueberries around on the plate, letting them roll about in the sticky syrup swamping his pancakes.  Part of him wishes he’d left before the bug could wake up.  Wouldn’t have been too difficult given he couldn’t fall asleep after the visitation of his childhood memories, but he didn’t. Now he’s just here.

Ben’s in the shower.  By all means, he could leave.  He could cast off the oversized t-shirt and shorts Benjamin had let him borrow after realizing he’d sweat and dampened his suit- which he's still not sure how the bug noticed, exactly. Changing into them and shedding his perfect exterior had been... hard. Now that it was daylight and his lack was even more visible? That was even harder.  He wants to bolt.  Homelander could be gone in a second, but he can’t take his eyes away from the wall.  He didn’t even mean to peep at first.  His eyes had just gone unfocused in the direction of the shower was all.  Suppose it’s not any better that he can’t make himself stop.  Can’t even finish chewing that half mushed chunk of pancake between his molars, either.  Not at the sight he’s taking in.

Benjamin stretches beneath the spray of water, craning his neck from side to side and sighing deeply.  Homelander’s watched this a thousand times, but a thousand and one wouldn’t hurt.  His eyes track every movement, every sudsing of soap and awkward twist the bug makes to scrub his back.

Other than a dull ache between his legs, every feeling he’s got for the boy is in conflict.  More than anything, though, fear is at the forefront.  Fear of judgment, fear of mockery, fear that Ben will use this newfound weakness against him.  He could leverage it, use it to undermine his authority, dangle it over his head—  fuck, it’d only make sense.  Maybe that’s all this was.  Maybe this was the bug’s plan all along.  Sneaking along, just like his namesake, ready to pounce and dig his fangs in as soon as the opportunity arrived.  

His eyes follow Benjamin as he dresses.  They accuse him of everything, glaring daggers as if they could kill him– and they could.   Christ, Ben didn’t even eat.  Maybe the pancakes were fucking poisoned.  Here’s Homelander, the fool of the hour, with a nearly clean plate having sealed his fate by trusting some pest he’d plucked off the streets. He changed the boy’s life and this is how he’ll be repaid?  He can already see the fucking headline.  Night Terrors for America’s Hero!  Homelander, Baby or Bed Wetter? 

What am I always telling you, champ?

He nods…

And now you’ve gone and given him leverage.

The scent of citrus tickles his nose, carried on warm, humid air.  He grips a blanket so hard his knuckles crack.  The bug is standing before him but he can’t hear a word of what he’s saying.  Probably berating him.  Telling him how pathetic he is.  Kneeling down to– wait…

“You okay?”

His words sound garbled.  It’s like he’s underwater…

Maybe he’s drowning again.

“Shit. Hey, you’re– here.” Benjamin’s hands touch his and it jolts him back to reality all too quickly.  “You’ve got syrup running down your leg.”  The plate leaves his hands and a finger swipes away the trail slithering through the hair on his calf.  “Mm, sit pretty a sec.  I’ve still got a wet washcloth in the bathroom.”

Sit pretty, huh? You’ve got a tactical fucking nuke’s worth of dirt on me from just one night and I should sit pretty?

Must be mocking that spaced-out resting bitch face of yours.

The bug is back in no time at all, wiping the stickiness from his leg.  A simple harsh swipe would do, but the press of the cloth is gentle and the motion is even more so.  It’s warm, too.  Benjamin fucking warmed it up for him…

“Hey, I…” Ben begins, nervousness on the tip of his tongue tainting every note of his words.  “I-I just wanted to say, like, last night…”

Here it cooomes~

“If you ever need to talk–”

“No.”  Homelander hisses, blinking slowly.  He has to raise his guard now. Make sure Ben knows the rules, knows his place, knows–

“I– okay…”  The bug looks away for a moment, then back.  His eyes sparkle with innocence and it’s practically infuriating.  He fakes it so well.  “Well, y’know, that and I just want you to know I won’t tell anyone.”

Liar, liar… What, you think you’re gonna threaten to drop a bomb on his family and he’s just gonna be nice to you weeks later?

The urge to reach out and snatch the boy by the throat is all consuming, but he pats Homelander’s leg and is across the room in a mere moment to deposit the rag in a laundry basket.  Beside it is a cardboard box, and he watches Ben contemplate it for a second, grab it, and bring it right back over to the bed.  The scrrch of packing tape being torn free does nothing for his mood.

“What the fuck are you doing?  We’ve got a team meeting in–”

“Looking for…”  the bug trails off, nibbling his lower lip.  The box is a chaotic dump of all sorts of stupid knicknacks.  “Haven’t really had a chance to unpack this one, but I’m pretty sure it’s in here… I wanna give you something.”

Homelander rolls his eyes and sets his jaw.  “Looks like a box of junk to me.”  There’s a biting edge to every word.  

Push him away…

“I don’t want your trash.”

“Mm, okay, grumpy-Gus.”  Ben cocks his head to the side and purses his lips.  “I guess I’ll find it later.”  His weak look of disappointment fades just slightly, replaced by a resignation of sorts that whatever gesture he’d been offering was moot.  “I’m gonna go throw my suit on, I guess.  See ya at the meeting…”

Good.

And yet, it still hurts to watch him walk away.

Stillwell’s assistant had come to get him personally following the end of the team’s meeting.  Some stuttering thing named Ashley.  Urgently, she’d said, gripping tightly to the tablet in her hands.

Ben's mind is elsewhere, lingering on how on edge Homelander seemed the whole time.  The occasional creak of leather would signal his clenched fists, his eyes would dart around– always landing on Ben, his leg bounced nonstop beneath the table…

Something was wrong.

“– aware of what you’re encouraging?”

Was it because of last night?  I mean… maybe.  Did I say something wrong?

He couldn’t give a rat's ass about what she was saying.  Another beratement, clearly, by the sound of it. But what had he done wrong?  Homelander’s, well, Homelander, obviously, but there was something about him today that felt so strange and just… off.  A bite to every word, anger swirling in his eyes.  Even the tingle in his head had been humming, and it didn’t even do that when Homie had cornered him in that alley so long ago.

“Benjamin.” 

God, it was always the worst when she did that.  Something about Madelyn has always reeked of insincerity and predation, but it never smelled worse than when she called him by his first name.  It was the lilt she put on it, he decides.  Mother knows best.  She always sounds like she's about to punish him and say it’s for his own good.  Like his own mom back when she’d put him in timeout and put an icecube in each cheek and make him hold them there until they’d completely melt.  This hurts me more than it hurts you, she’d say while he cried.

Ben tongues at the ridges of scarring lining his inner cheeks. They'd go numb and he'd chew at them until feeling returned...  

He regards Stillwell with a simple, “Hm?”

Madelyn smiles big and sweet at him as she comes to lean against the front of her desk.  “Do you know why we keep dogs on a leash?”

“So they don’t shi–”

“Bite anyone, yes.”  She interrupts, crossing her arms.  The smile falls from her face all too suddenly.  “I can’t help but notice one of my pups has been chewing at his leash lately. Why might that be?”

Who the fuck is she even talking about– fuckin’ cryptic talk and that smug…  What, is it me?

“I told you last time, I actually read my contract.”  Ben leans back in his seat, miming her by crossing his own arms too.  “I’m covered.”

“Unfortunately for your ego, you’re not the dog in question.  In fact, you’re just a bug in comparison to the rottweiler you’ve been running around with.”

Wait, this is about–

“You have no idea what kind of fire you’re playing with.”  She says, eyes boring through Ben’s lenses.  If she wasn’t all but confirmed human, Ben might suspect she, too, could see through his mask.  “Encouraging rebellion… I gave you saves so that you’d get your fill, but it wasn’t enough.  I gave you districts so you could have the real deal, but it wasn’t enough.” 

“One save on the district edge isn’t–”

“You’re teaching him that his leash is fragile!  That the rules aren’t real.”   She grits, hands falling to grip the edge of her desk.  “Do you–”

“Why are you talking about him like he’s a dog!?”  He snaps, rising from his seat, rage boiling over in his gut.  What is this?  Why is she like this?  “He’s a fucking person, and you’re–”

“You’ve got no idea what you’re stirring up,” Stillwell stresses, voice shaking. “You’re making a monster.”

Does she hear herself?  Yeah, Homelander’s fucking weird. He’s got mood swings out the ass, he throws threats around like it’s nothing and he’s clearly got a penchant for violence, but what supe doesn’t?  He’s perfectly normal by Vought’s standards! 

“Look in a fuckin’ mirror,” he spits before turning on his heel, shoving so hard against her office door that it cracks clean off the hinges. For a split second, rationality kicks in and he turns to look at the damage.  Beyond the threshold, she’s afraid.  Wide eyed and all but quaking…

…Good.

“Hey, hey!  What’s got you out here, big dawg?”

Oh for fuck’s sake…

Ben would know that smell anywhere.  Hell, even with the breeze sweeping across the city, he can still smell the tell-tale aroma of unwashed ass and whatever the hell comprised the reek of his webbing.

Forever a thorn in his side it seems…

“Hi, Webweaver…” 

Ben had been out on the town blowing off steam when he opted to stop for a breather a few blocks off from Times Square.  How Webweaver even got here was a mystery since Ben still isn’t quite sure how he manages to swing from a single ass-spinneret, but…

“Duuuude… did you see Ameson’s new podcast on us?  Brutal.”

Ben looks up and finds his spidery counterpart maskless and raising a vape pen to his lips.  “Yeah… I saw.”

“Congrats on getting in though, man–”  Webweaver chokes off with a harsh cough.  Each smelly exhale reeks almost as much as he does, except much more like a skunk. “Yo, you want a hit?”

For a second, Ben’s ready to tell him absolutely the fuck not.  With the way he smells, it’d be a miracle if Webweaver ever even brushed his teeth.  But, then again, there was nothing quite like the ol’ penjamin for the Benjamin.  If nothing else, it’d take the edge off of the headache his little argument with Stillwell caused.  So he relents, wipes the tip of the pen, rolls his mask up to his nose, and takes a long rip.

“Woahhh… You never take me up on stuff.  Everything good?”

“Mhm,” Ben hums, taking one more hit before handing the pen back.  “Hard day.”

“Wasn’t ‘cuz of Homelander, was it?”  Webweaver asks, bringing the pen to his lips.  “I heard he’s a real hard ass.  He chew you out for somethin’?”

“No, no, he’s… he’s fine.”  Ben sighs.  “Just–”

“Is it ‘cuz of the podcast?  ‘Cuz like, dude… You totally deserve to be in The Seven!”

That was one thing about Webweaver…  Pain in the ass, stinky, smelly nuisance though he may be, he was always so kind.  It's probably the one thing that keeps Ben from bolting any time he comes near. 

“Man, you’re out here giving us spider supes a good look all the time.  Fuck what Ameson says!”  Webweaver hands the pen back.  “I been lookin’ up to you for a minute, no cap.  Shit, I was chillin’ with Silk Spitter the other day– you remember her?”

Ben nods.  Some poor girl whose superpower was vomiting highly corrosive acid- though she preferred to call it venom to stay on brand.  Tried to get herself on a team a couple years ago but had a PR disaster and a half after getting sick on public transit and giving a man third degree burns down his back on account of throwing up on him.  Ameson had a field day over her back then.  It was so bad, she ended up on suicide watch.

He takes another hit off the pen.

“We can’t believe how far you’ve gone, dude.  Some of us got like, TV shows and stuff, but you?  You went and did us proud.”  Webweaver pats him on the back and gives him a jostle.  “And you didn’t forget about ol’ P Dubs!  You’re a real one, dawg!”

“P Dubs?”  Ben chuckles, heart warmed beyond capacity by everything his smelly counterpart has said. Or maybe it was the weed pen.  Probably both.  “What’s–”  As if on queue, his HUD automatically brings up a detailed profile on Webweaver, or Patrick Whitehall as he’s otherwise known.  “Ohhh, right.  Heh…”

“Hey, you doin’ anything later?  We– oh shit!  Bro..… I am about to get fired soooo bad.”  Webweaver laughs and gives Benjamin one last pat on the back before standing just at the edge of the building.  “Yo, I gotta dash, but Silk and some of the others are gonna be at my place later tonight for a little spider family reunion if you’re down.  There’s gonna be like, pizza and stuff.  We'll smoke you up, too. It’ll be lit.”

“Mm, maybe.”  Ben leans back and lets free a big, loud yawn.  “Depends, y’know?  I get sleepy.  Especially after that,” he grins, gesturing to the pen.  “See ya, though.”

“Deuces!”  Webweaver says, throws up a peace sign, and then falls from the ledge.  By the time Ben thinks to catch him in the act of however the fuck he swings, he’s already gone.

After Homelander failed to show up for their final day, and with a tear or two he definitely didn’t shed, Ben decided to spend some time cleaning up his apartment.  There were a few boxes he’d failed to put away, one of which being the one he’d searched through earlier that morning to find exactly what he holds in his hands now.

“It’ll protect you, pookie.”  He recalls his Nan saying.  It seemed like a lifetime ago that she’d handed him that necklace.  It was one of her last days of genuine clarity before dementia took her.  The ‘it’ in question was a necklace on a black cord.  Some sort of blue ball in a cage of black metal loops.   God, he must have had this since he was what?  Fourteen?

She never did say what exactly it was meant to protect him from, and Ben wasn’t particularly superstitious nor religious enough to conjure up any ideas.  He rolls it around in his hand a couple times.  He’s not sure why Homelander’s nightmare made him remember it, let alone want to give it away.  

Part of him still wants to, but he’d rather not find it in the trash.  After all, Homelander deemed everything in the box ‘junk.’  And sure, Ben just dumped an entire drawer’s worth of writing utensils, trinkets, and spare cables into it when he was packing for the move, but it wasn’t junk just because it looked a little messy!  Sheesh, he makes the guy pancakes and he gets put down for no reason… 

He loops the necklace over his head.  It might stick out under the costume a little, but… Ben could use some love to carry around with him.  His morning with Homie left him tender enough, and then that fucking meeting with Stillwell… 

What was her deal, anyway?  Talking about Homie like that, calling him a fucking dog.  Who does she think she is?  Is that how Vought’s higher ups see them?  Like wild animals on a rope eager to snap at anything, ready to tear from their restraints at any moment.  God knows it felt good to chew his own leash the handful of times he’s kicked back against authority.  Does Homelander know she sees him like that?  Does anyone el–

BuzzBuzzBuzzBuzz

With a huff, Ben snatches his phone from across the room with a web.  

“Hey, Mom.” 

Super hearing or not, it was hard to find the bug in a city of millions.  Between every honking car, each screaming squeal of brakes well past their lifespan, shitty coffee date, and late night argument was the occasional little thwip. 

Homelander had gone back to Ben's apartment not long ago only to find a haphazard mess of unpacked boxes and a guitar resting face down on the bed.  He needed to seal the deal and make sure Benjamin wasn’t going to run his little mouth about what he saw earlier that morning.  So he barrels through the city not quite fast enough to shatter every window he passes, but damn near.  He tries to tune into any sound the bug may possibly make, getting closer and closer until he finally spots Benjamin sitting atop an apartment complex in Brooklyn.  His feet dangle over the ledge and he seems focused on the building across the street.  A sniffle catches his attention most of all, followed by the smell of salt…

Oh great, he’s crying again.  Well, you know what to do.

So he dives in.  Snatches Ben by the neckline of his suit and yanks him back hard, dragging him kicking and yelping to pin against a neighboring brick wall.

“What the f– Homie?”

“Shut the fuck up!”  Homelander hisses, hand coming up to press tight against Ben’s mouth.  “You fucking listen me, and you listen good.” 

He can hear the bug’s heart pounding, thumpthump, thumpthump, thumpthump– 

“You tell a single fucking soul, you even breathe a word about this morning and I’ll fucking–”

Benjamin shakes his head rapidly from side to side, eyes big and wide.  The bug’s hands shake as they rise to grip the vambrace of his glove, right hand tapping as if to signal a desire to speak or, better yet, offer his surrender.

“–rip you limb from god damn limb.”  Homelander leans in close, heaving rageful breaths that just barely make their chests graze one another.  “Thought you’d get the upper hand on me, didn’t you?  Spill it to everyone, tell ‘em all I’m just some pathetic little–”

“Mmm!!”  The bug writhes in his grasp, head shaking harder and harder to free that mouth of his that never fucking stops running.

“Benjamin,” he growls.  “Stop squirming!”

But he doesn’t, and that’s…

“I said fucking stop!” Primed and ready to blow, his eyes burn like two white hot suns.  “I’m gonna take my hand off your mouth.  You’re going to explain why you’ve been trying to get dirt on me.”  He leans in close, pressing his nose to the bug’s neck and taking a long, loud sniff.  “You smell like pot.  Who the fuck were you with!?”  He slides his glove harshly across Ben’s face.  He hates the way his stomach sinks at the red mark he leaves behind. He shouldn't feel bad. He shouldn't feel anything. 

“I-I was– Jesus, what the hell?”  Ben pants, eyes frantically bouncing around to take in the situation.

Homelander’s upper lip twitches, nose scrunching.  He drops his hand to Ben’s neck, not necessarily to squeeze but certainly to keep him in check.  The other snags those pesky hands of his away. 

“Just– just, okay, I was– I went out! I took a breather on a roof!”  Ben’s eyes are spilling with tears, wetting the nearly dried stains left behind from whatever he’d been blubbering about earlier.  “Web– Webweaver showed up!”

“Why the fuck would you be hanging around with someone like that, huh?”  Why indeed would his little spider consort with such a bottom feeder?  Webweaver was barely filth at the bottom of the barrel, constantly in and out of rehab for drug abuse, shitting webs everywhere.

“He’s– Web stops for chats sometimes.  Likes me more than I like him, but he’s nice so I let him hang around.”  

Homelander can feel the bob of the bug’s throat when he gulps.  He’s listening closely.  Heartbeat, breathing.  Sniffing for adrenaline that’s just a little too high for the stress of the situation.  The way his eyes move… 

C’mon, give me a reason…

And yet, part of him prays Ben doesn’t.  He fucking hopes beyond hope Benjamin keeps telling the truth… He can’t take it.  He can’t bear the alternative.

“H-He had a weed pen and offered me some, okay?  That’s it, I promise…  It helped me feel better and I��”

“Feel better?  Really?”   He relaxes his hold the slightest bit with every admission that doesn’t reek of deception.  “About what?”

Ben clenches his eyes shut, face scrunching.  His chest rises and falls with shaky breaths, each one pressing against the cushioning of Homelander’s suit.  Part of him wishes he could fucking feel it…

“Y-You…”  comes his confession, barely more than a squeak. 

Huh…?

Oh please, you’re gonna get hung up on that?

“I-I was–” Ben sputters, eyes cracking open to meet dull, dimming reds.  “You didn’t show up today and you didn’t t-text… And after this morning, I thought something was wrong because you were so snappy and I– I was scared I hurt you or s-something, okay?”

What? 

He doesn’t know what to say, but his grip goes completely limp around the bug’s neck.  He didn’t even realize that the other one had been holding Ben's wrists tight to the jut of his spandex covered hip.  

“I didn’t– I don’t want to– did you think I was gonna u-use that against you?”  Benjamin asks, voice thick with emotion.  “I told you I wouldn’t!  Wh– why would I?”

Homelander’s lips part to give a thousand and one answers, but he comes up short.  In truth… he doesn’t have a reason.  He blinks.  “Because…”  His gaze falls.  “Why wouldn’t you..?”

Ben huffs and it comes out more like a half-cocked sob, almost as if he meant to let out a nervous laugh and a sigh of relief all at once.  The boy’s heart is still hammering.  Hands rise to grasp his.  Their gloves separate their skin, but Homelander swears he can still feel the warmth of his touch.

“Because we’re friends, you big goof.”  The bug sniffles and squeezes tight to Homelander’s hands.  “This is so weird, but… you– you’ve like, made me feel so much less lonely this last week, y’know?  I lost basically everyone but Jase when I became Spidey, but he’s never really got time, so I really just… I dunno.  I feel like I've had no one for so long.  Then you came along and grew on me and-”  Benjamin tips his head  and wipes his face against his forearm, dampening the red sections.  “I ain’t gonna throw that away just to be a dick to you.  Why… why would you think that?”

Because… that’s how this world is, right?  Dog eat dog.  The strongest prevails and the weakest suffocate in the sea of their shortcomings.

“I care about you, y’know?”

What the hell is this?

He stumbles back, eyes watering like some pathetic fucking crybaby. He can’t swallow down the lump in his throat.

“Homelander?” The bug whispers, coming the slightest bit closer.

Is this– is Ben–

His chest aches like someone’s stabbing his heart over and over again.  Hell, more like the organ itself had been thrown in that fucking furnace.  Breathing hurts.  

“H-Hey, don’t cry too or I’ll start again and–”

Love.

Love.

Love.

“Homie?”

His body jolts on its own, propelling into the sky.  He’s gone in a flash, but his sensitive ears still hear it clear as day.  It tugs on his heart and ruins him from the inside out.  He weeps in the stratosphere, hugging and holding himself tight.

“Johnny, wait!”

It all echoes in his mind over and over again.  

Johnny.

I care about you.

We’re friends.

Scared I hurt you.

J̶͎͖̅̕o̶̙͌̈̒͑͝h̷͕͉̣̠͈͉͂̂̀̌n̷̜͖̰̟̪̅̔̈́͌͆̿ń̵̗͎́̑́̒̚ÿ̵̻̞̟̺̬͖́̈̓́̈̚.̴̛̯͗͆..

[hexpea]

After the tragic passing of your husband by your own hands, you're set to marry his younger brother, Naoya, to maintain the alliance between your clan and the Zenin.

Under the facade of lending your family's influence in exchange for the Zenin strength, your task set by your father, the 24th Kamo clan head, is clear. Use your technique to discreetly weaken the Zenin clan, killing the heirs one-by-one.

But will you even have to when Naoya comes down with a mysterious illness?

*smut warning in some chapter cases, non-consensual and rough in some cases* *doesn't follow the manga/anime, no spoilers* *contains themes of non-con and death, trigger warning* *unplanned pregnancy* *hanahaki disease*

Prologue - Gladioli

Ch. 1 - Black Dahlia

Ch. 2 - Wolfsbane

Ch. 3 - White Lilies

Ch. 4 - Daffodils

Ch. 5 - Hogweed

Ch. 6 - Chrysanthemums

Ch. 7 - Pink Orchids

Ch. 8 - Seedling

Ch. 9 - Red Dahlia

Ch. 10 - Yellow Carnations

Ch. 11 - The Lotus

Ch. 12 - Iris

Ch. 13 - Lavender Roses

Ch. 14 - Petunia

Ch. 15 - Cherry Blossoms

Ch. 16 - Hibiscus

Ch. 17 - Anemone

Ch. 18 - Pink Ginger

Ch. 19 - Gardenias

Ch. 20 - White Hyacinth

Ch. 21 - Geraniums

Ch. 22 - Poppy

Ch. 23 - Pink Primrose

Ch. 24 - Bells of Ireland

Ch. 25 - White Carnations

Ch. 26 - Crocus

Ch. 27 - Sea Lavender

Ch. 28 - Queen Anne's Lace

Ch. 29 - Baby's Breath

Ch. 30 - Blackthorn

Ch. 31 - Tansy

Ch. 32 - Black Rhododendron

Ch. 33 - Forget-Me-Not

Ch. 34 - Red Spider Lilies

Ch. 35 - Azalea

Epilogue - Buttercup

[king-finnigan]

Keep the Door Ajar ch. 1

Fandom: Arcane Ship: Jayvik Summary:

After the explosion in his apartment, Jayce is banished to Zaun, where he becomes a mechanic. When he meets Viktor, the apothecary across the street from his shop, he's enchanted by him, though as a newcomer in the Undercity, he tries to keep his distance. That is, until he unexpectedly finds himself caring for Powder, a child who has who recently lost her only family in a conflict caused by Jayce's very own hexcrystals. But he can't do it alone. Luckily, there's a healer across the street from him who can help him navigate his newfound home and family. And if Jayce is head over heels for this mysterious healer? Well, that's nobody's business but his own.

Also on AO3!

The facade of the shop is the same as every other he's passed since he's entered the Undercity: colourless, dilapidated and covered in a greasy layer of chemicals and soot. The only thing identifying it as belonging to Jayce's family - and to Jayce himself, now - is the characteristic golden hammer on the sign that hangs above the sturdy door.

Jayce sighs. His new home.

He still finds it hard to believe that in the past twenty-four hours, he's lost everything that he's ever known: his home, his family, his research, his very right to be in Piltover.

Banished to the Undercity. If he'd known the price of progress would be this high, he wouldn't have started his research at all. But hindsight is everything, and unfortunately, he's here now. No use in wallowing in this bitterness, he tells himself, though he still finds it hard to swallow away the bitter lump in his throat.

Banished. For a simple fucking science experiment. He never meant to do any harm to anyone - and he hadn’t. Everything he did, every rule he broke, had all been in an attempt to help people.

He sighs and drops his bag on the ground next to him. No use in dwelling on it now. What’s done is done.

The tools inside the bag clang against each other as he searches for the key in his pocket, a rusty, old thing that his mother had stowed away in the back of a long forgotten drawer somewhere. The shop had been a venture of one of his grandfathers, an attempt to expand his business into other parts of the city, bridge the divide and try to capitalize off of it at the same time. 

But the Undercity has never been kind to strangers from Topside, no matter how well meaning they are and how good their tools are, and the shop had been given up long ago. Still, it hadn't been sold, a combination of a lack of time and a lack of buyers, and it has stood abandoned here since, waiting for the moment someone desperately needed a place to stay outside of the Piltover because they were banished for a science experiment gone wrong. Lucky Jayce.

The door creaks on its metal hinges as it swings open inwards, leaving a track of cleared dust in its wake on the tile floors. It's dark - the windows guarded on the outside with metal grates to protect them from vandals - and Jayce has to slap the wall a few times to find the light switch. A lone bulb flickers to life in the middle of the ceiling, casting hesitant light on a room that has lived in darkness for years. 

The floors are made of drab, brown tiles, covered in a layer of dust while the brick walls don their own drapery of spider webs. In the far right corner, a forge opens its gaping, black maw, an abandoned anvil dozing in front of it and a wooden workbench pushed against the wall next to it. More workbenches line the left back wall, some scattered with ancient, corroded tools and disintegrated, yellow paper, others only holding nothing but possibilities. 

Looking around him a bit more, he can see that one of the barred windows isn't a window, but a large rolling door, probably to bring in machinery that is too large to fit through the front door. Convenient. That is, if the thing isn't rusted into place. He decides he'll have to find that out another time.

He picks his bag up from outside the shop, mentally cursing himself for having turned his back on it. If there's one thing he’s been told about the Undercity since he was a small child, it's that its people like to take things that aren't technically theirs. Especially if it belongs to a Piltie, as they call people from Topside – something which he’s found out over the past hour or so as he made his way to the shop. He's lucky this street isn't a well-travelled one, or his bag would’ve been long gone.

He sighs again, remembering the long walk here. It had been hard enough to leave the city he was born in, the city he loves for the very last time after saying a tearful goodbye to his mother. But crossing the bridge into unknown, enemy territory, had been another beast entirely.

And enemy territory it was, as he soon found out.

Eyes had followed him, a few at first, then more and more the deeper he went. People missing limbs, teeth, and various other body parts, leering at him, his freshly cut hair - something his mother had insisted on doing for him one last time - his clean clothes, his ten fingers and unblemished face and he’d felt their disdain.

But can he blame them? He’s a stranger, an outsider, a rich guy in their eyes, intruding upon their peace. He doesn’t belong here.

No one had attacked him, not yet, at least. But he’d heard a few hisses as he had passed. Piltie, said with such hate that he’d almost considered turning around and going back, catching a boat in the harbour and taking his chances in a different city altogether.

But there he would have nothing. Here, he at least has the shop.

He has to try.

As he turns to close the door behind him, a sound draws his eye. A soft tinkling; musical notes that clash so weirdly and wonderfully with the mechanic whirring that forms the background thrum he's been hearing ever since he's entered the Undercity. He looks across the street and spots another shop. 

Unlike most of the abandoned buildings in the street, it’s clean. Dark metal has been wrought into large arches, like waves crashing on the shore, framing massive windows made of glass slightly tinged by the constant vapours that drift through the streets of the Undercity – yet somehow whole in a place that seems to consist solely of broken glass. They’re curtained on the inside by course, dark-purple fabric, though a warm, inviting light filters through them. The door, rounded at the top and painted the same purple as the curtains, is shut firmly. The sign above is as clear as it can be: a mortar and a pestle with the word 'Apothecary' in elegant lettering beneath it. Next to it, twinkling lightly in the foul air are windchimes.

Jayce stands there for a second, enthralled by the sight of something so clean and elegant, so welcoming in a city that's been anything but so far. Then he tears himself loose from the spell and shuts his own door. Better not to stare, he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself and stay outside any longer than needs be.

He leaves tracks in the thick dust as he walks to the back of the shop towards the wooden door labelled 'Private' in rusted gilded letters. Behind it is more darkness, more dustiness and more of that odd smell that's enveloped him like a wet blanket ever since he walked further into the building. It's musty and stings in his nostrils and throat - dust and age and maybe some of the chemicals that seem to pervade the Undercity in travelling clouds. 

Another lonely lightbulb, another room that's seen better days. 

The floor is made of wood this time, though the walls are the same brick as the workshop. Mercifully, the person who was here last decided to drape sheets over the furniture to keep most of the dust at bay. He pulls them off one by one: a simple wooden table and two chairs in one corner in front of a kitchenette, a cot complete with mattress and pillows on the other side with a set of drawers at the foot. Yet another corner houses a desk. No chair, but he decides he can easily use one from the dining table. He's all alone anyways. A door in the right wall houses a small, tiled bathroom, right behind the forge. Clever, he muses to himself, an easy, cheap way to heat water.

He turns in a circle, looking at his living quarters. They're dirty, basic and cramped - his family has never been the richest of the Piltover houses, but still this is so different to what he has at home. Or what he had at home. 

Still, he tries to think optimistically, it could be worse and a little bit of cleaning will liven the place right up.

He sighs. Well, no better time to start than now, he supposes.

--

He’s found a broom leaning against one of the benches in the workshop and after a few hours and a lot of swearing and sweating, he thinks he’s managed to sweep most of the dust and the cobwebs out of all the rooms.

Some expired cleaning products have the floor, the forge and the leftover tools shining like gems, his nostrils burning and eyes watering from the harsh vapours. He stands with his hands on his hips, satisfied as he looks around. It’s still not the best, but a lot better than it was a few hours ago.

His stomach rumbles and he wonders what time it is. It was morning when he left Piltover and he wandered the streets of the Undercity for a few hours, looking for the right house, getting accosted by the locals and quickly walking away from them and getting even more lost in the process. Add to that the few hours of cleaning he’s just done and it must be right around dinnertime.

He sits down at the table in the living room, carefully unwrapping the food his mom had packed him before he left. During cleaning, his mind has been as occupied as his body and he hadn’t been able to think about his circumstances, but now that he sees the lovingly wrapped sandwiches cut in triangles as he’s liked since a child, it hits him.

He’s alone now. Truly and utterly alone in a foreign place with no one to fall back on, no one to return to. His old life is gone – the Academy, his childhood home, his mother – ripped away in an instant because of a mistake he was too stupid to realize he was making. And all that remains, a carefully wrapped meal, right in front of him.

He lets his head fall into his hands as a gaping hole opens in his chest, fear and anger and grief and longing for his old life ravaging him from the inside. And for the first time since his lab exploded, he sobs.

Once the tears fall, there’s no stopping them and he curls into himself to shield him from the outside world, his memories, his feelings, from anything, and he sobs and sobs and sobs like he hasn’t since he was a small child and his mother was dying in the snow in front of him. It feels good yet at the same time it’s like he’s drowning – in fond memories, in regret, in his own tears – and leaves him heaving for every breath of putrid, stinging air until it feels like his lungs are on fire with the chemicals.

He doesn’t know how long he sits there crying. He doesn’t care to know, really, but by the time the tears abate and the sobs grow more infrequent and less painful, everything hurts. The muscles in his chest are sore from the crying, as is his throat, his back and arms ache from the cleaning and his joint from the cold that has started to seep into the room and the rickety chair. Worst of all, his head hurts. Throbbing, nauseating pain emanating from behind his eyes and blurring the edges of his vision with every heartbeat.

He stumbles off the chair, rewraps the food his mother made him – God, the food – and manages to stagger his way to the bed before collapsing on it. The sheets and pillows are far from clean, still in need of a thorough washing, but right now he doesn’t care. All he cares about is the soft, blue blanket he pulls from his bag, a remnant of his childhood, a painful yet soothing reminder of his old bedroom.

It still smells like home.

He pushes it against his nose, the headache slowly subsiding as the familiar scent envelops him, thoughts blurring into a mass of colours and movement and slowly, quietly, gently, he drifts off to sleep.

--

He finds a market not too far from his new home with a few decent-looking shops around it. He spends the little money he and his mother managed to scrape together before he was forced to leave there on new clothes, sheets, food and scrap machine parts. 

He’s pretty sure the shop owners took one look at him, recognized him as an outsider and charged him double what the stuff is worth and his wallet is ruefully light afterwards, but it’s better than nothing. At least with the new clothes – a shirt and slacks made of rough woven fabric, both patched in several places – he could be mistaken for a Zaunite, if one doesn’t look too closely.

The rolling door in his shop and the metal shutter in front of the window are rusted at the hinges, as expected, but it’s nothing some oil, a lot of muscle work and a few muttered curses can’t solve.

And then he’s open for business.

He sits behind one of the work benches, tinkering with a few cogs and screws he got at the market. His mind strays as his hands work of their own accord, twisting metal with his tongs, soldering and cutting and screwing parts together. A familiar shape emerges - a small robot with movable limbs, its head a half-round circle that sticks up from a square chest, arms and legs gangly but able to keep it up.

He smiles softly at it. 

He’d made something like this ages ago, when he’d just started at the Academy. It’d been one of his first assignments and the thing that had finally distinguished him from the other students, drawing attention and approval from the professors.

He’d named his little creation Blitzcrank, he vaguely remembers. 

In the silence of the workshop, he can hear the sounds coming from outside: the eternal thrum of the mining equipment in the fissures and the ventilators underneath the streets and soft, melodic tinkling.

That damn tinkling. It’s… captivating, in a way. There’s no melody to it, the notes go up and down, up and down, coming quickly and then slowing down only to pick back up when another gust of foul air brings the small metal rods into motion again.

He wonders who the music belongs to, who decided to bring life to an otherwise deserted, broken street. Who took one look at this place and opened a shop with large, inviting windows and soft purple curtains and wind chimes outside the front door.

The apothecary. It’s a title Jayce has rarely ever heard in his time in Piltover. They had pharmacists, yes, and hospitals and physicians and doctors. But no apothecaries. The word invokes something within him, a vision of herbs hanging from the ceiling and incense burning on the windowsill, of esotericism and spells and amulets.

He shakes the thought away. He’s being ridiculous and he should focus on fixing this damn lamp so maybe he can sell it to the next customer.

And yet. That damn tinkling, pushing its way into his mind. 

He looks up and through his slightly dirtied window, giving him a tinged vision of the street outside – and the apothecary’s shop. The same inviting, warm light shines through the curtains and as he looks, the door opens and a customer steps outside. An old man, bent and weathered from the harsh years spent in the Undercity, clutching a clay jar against his chest, the edge of a label barely visible from the angle Jayce is looking at. But, strangest of all, is the man’s facial expression.

It's calm. Relaxed. Almost content.

Now, Jayce hasn’t spent a long time in Zaun, but every single person he’s encountered has had the same facial expression of stress, fatigue and a tinge of angry defiance. Life in the Undercity is hard and unforgiving and doesn’t lend itself to relaxing. There’s always something to worry about, always some new calamity waiting to happen – whether it’s the return of the Grey, of the enforcers, a job that gets taken away or the gangs that roam the streets – there’s always a new threat around the corner, ready to strike when you’re least expecting it.

So to see someone calm and serene, a half-smile ghosting across their lips… It’s a new experience for Jayce.

But it happens again. And again, and again.

As he sits at the same work bench every day, waiting for customers that never arrive, starting and finishing little projects, making trinkets that no one will ever buy and fixing household devices that he finds on random street corners, person after person visits the apothecary’s across the street. A constant drip-drip-drip of sick and desperate people disappearing through the purple door, their faces pinched with pain or worry or sorrow when they enter, only for the expression to disappear when they step back outside shortly after. Some leave with a brown jar in their hands, some with a small bundle of herbs, some with nothing but a bounce in their step that wasn’t there before. But without fault, without exception, each and every person leaves without their worries.

It's nothing short of miraculous.

And it leaves Jayce very, very suspicious.

He doesn’t know what goes on behind those large, curtained windows, but whatever it is, it can’t be right. Not even the best doctor in Piltover could cure every patient, make every illness or ailment go away. Before the week is over, he’s concluded that whoever runs the shop must be a quack or a con man or a healthy mix of the two.

And still, by the end of the week, he hasn’t gotten any customers. Just his luck.

---

The next Freeday, he goes to the market to pick up some new broken devices and scraps. He’s still visibly an outsider, but with his second hand clothes and his hair slowly growing out of its perfect cut, he’s sure that within no time, he might stop drawing so much attention and so many scowls. The stall owners still scam him out of more money than he can afford to spend, but some of them recognize him and greet him with neutrality or mild annoyance, which is infinitely better than the sneers and jeers he’d gotten the first time.

As he walks back to his shop with his arms filled with cardboard boxes of old broken devices he might be able to blow some life back into, he feels light on his feet. Despite the circumstances, he feels his old optimism returning to him, the dark clouds above his head parting to let some sunshine into his mind.

That is, until he finds his front door wide open.

He freezes for a second, until his instincts take over.

“Hey!” he shouts, barging inside, dumping the boxes right inside the door against the wall. “Hey! Who’s in here?”

He walks a few steps inside to see if someone is hiding behind one of the heavy work benches. Which is his first mistake.

A shadow blurs past him and out of the front door.

“Dammit!” He turns, running after it, not looking where he’s going. His second mistake.

Whoever was inside has turned over an oil canister behind them, and his foot slips in it, his shoulder slamming painfully onto the tiles of the workshop as his ankle doubles over. He shouts in surprise and pain, nearly falling again as he tries and finally manages to get up, rushing out of the door, his right side slick with oil.

He’s just in time to see a small child disappear into a side alley, a mischievous grin on his face as he makes off with a rucksack full of Jayce’s belongings.

He runs after the kid in a desperate effort to catch up, but when he gets to the mouth of the alley, it’s empty.

“Fuck!” He slams his fist against the wall, frustration and anger making him see red, heat pulsing through his veins and warming his cheeks in embarrassment. Robbed in broad daylight, by a damn child. 

He feels like an idiot .

“Am I interrupting?” A voice bounces through the narrow street, a foreign accent curling around words tinged with a hint of amusement.

Jayce feels his cheeks warm even more. Just his luck; not only has his shop been burgled by a kid less than half his age, but someone else has witnessed his idiocy. And seems amused by it.

“What the hell is your problem?” he spits, turning to the sound of the voice. 

He’s slightly taken aback at the sight that meets him: a man, about his height, though slightly hunched over and leaning some of his weight on the cane in his left hand to unburden his right leg, which is wrapped in a metal brace. Unruly, dark brown hair frames a face made entirely out of angles and dotted with a few artfully placed moles. But his eyes are what capture Jayce’s attention the most. They’re a striking amber and seem to be staring right into his soul, piercing in a way he’s never experienced before, as if the man knows his every inner thought just by looking at him.

And they are, in fact, slightly crinkled by amusement.

“Here to laugh at me?” Jayce asks, venom lacing his voice.

“No, of course not,” the man says. He hesitates. “Maybe a bit.” The corners of his mouth lift up slightly. Jayce deflates, anger leaving him in a rush as embarrassment floods him.

“Alright,” he relents, looking down at his oil-stained clothes. “I do admit I may look a bit ridiculous.”

The man’s features soften slightly, those piercing eyes looking Jayce up and down. “What happened?”

Jayce sighs, wiping his clean hand over his face. “Got robbed, I guess. By a child.”

“Robbed?”

“Yeah.” Jayce gestures to his storefront, the door still open. “Just got back from the market and found him rummaging inside. I don’t know what he took, but I don’t have a lot at the moment, so it’s a big loss either way.” He sighs.

“So you’re the mechanic that’s just moved in there?”

“Yup. That’s me.” He can’t help the tinge of despair that creeps into his voice. “Though I’m afraid I’ll have to move back out again soon. Don’t have much left.” And God, does he hate the thought of packing up his stuff and leaving the country completely. Though maybe it is better to move to a new city, somewhere he doesn’t get robbed blind by a literal kid.

The stranger cocks his head slightly. “What did he look like? The child?”

Jayce furrows his eyebrows. “Uh, I’m not sure, actually. Short?” The man snorts. “He had white hair. I saw that much.”

The man nods thoughtfully, though Jayce can see the corners of his mouth curl up. “I see,” he simply says. Then, he turns around and walks away, his slightly uneven gait punctuated by a soft clack of his cane as he goes.

“Wait!” Jayce says, but the stranger has already turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

He sighs. “Alright, nice talking to you, then,” he mutters to himself as he makes his way back to his shop. He has to change into clean clothes and take stock of what’s been taken. A great way to end his first week in Zaun.

---

Though it’s been a few hours after he’s changed into clean clothes and scrubbed at his arms and legs until the stains were gone, he can still smell a whiff of engine oil every time he shifts his weight on the uncomfortable wooden stool at his workbench.

He sighs, raking a hand through his hair for the umpteenth time, staring at the cogs and screws on the scarred tabletop with unseeing eyes. Most of his finished projects have been stolen and a few of his tools as well. It’s not much, nothing special really but it is- was most of what he had. What bothers him the most was that the culprit took Blitzcrank and the sandwich his mother made.

He shakes his head, frustrated at himself. It doesn’t matter. The robot was just a few pieces of scrap metal soldered together to form a homunculus and the sandwich- well, if he’s honest with himself, he likely wasn’t going to eat it anyways. Too many memories. Too much pain.

He startles out of his thoughts when a knock comes at the door. He frowns; he isn’t expecting anyone at the moment and a potential customer would just come in instead of knocking. Though, belatedly, he realizes he left the shutter down in front of the window this morning, since he went to the market and wasn’t planning on opening the shop anyways.

Which also means he can’t see who’s knocking.

He sighs. This day just can’t get better, he thinks to himself as he walks to the door to open it.

For a split second, as he does, he expects to be met with piercing amber eyes. He has to push away a slight pang of disappointment when he’s not.

He blinks up at the burly man outside, not used to seeing someone that matches his height. “Oh. Hello.”

“Afternoon!” the man says, eyes smiling behind his small, round glasses. “I’ve uh… Well…” He chuckles as he claps his hand on the shoulder of the boy in front of him, drawing Jayce’s attention to him. “ Someone here has something to confess.”

Jayce stares for a second before recognition dawns on him. “You,” he breathes, right as anger takes over. “You stole from me!”

The boy has the wherewithal to look ashamed, head turned away, though Jayce can still see a hint of defiance in the way his cheeks redden and his brow furrows.

“Listen.” The man sighs. “I’m sorry about what happened. I’ve tried to teach him not to steal, but the kid has a mind of his own.”

He hands a leather bag to Jayce and a quick peek inside lifts the weight from his shoulders. His stuff, all there and unharmed.

The spark he saw in the kid erupts. “But he’s a Piltie, Benzo! ”

“Ekko!” The man, Benzo, spits at him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and shaking him a little. “I’ve told you before, it doesn’t matter. He lives here now. He’s just as much at risk of facing the Grey or the enforcers or the chem barons as any of us.” The man’s grey sideburns move as he clenches his jaw before sighing, pushing the child slightly forward. “Now apologize.”

Ekko groans in frustration but faces Jayce nonetheless. “I am sorry for stealing your stuff, I promise not to break into your badly locked shop again,” he drones, refusing to meet his eyes.

“ Ekko,” Benzo hisses, but Jayce cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

“It’s alright. I accept your apology, Ekko.” He hesitates, furrowing his brow. “How is my shop badly locked?”

The corners of the boy’s lips curl up. “You’ve only got one lock, for starters,” he says, finally raising his eyes to Jayce’s face. “And it’s an old one, too. Completely rusted. I barely had to jam my pick in there and it was open.” He grins. “Honestly, if I didn’t do it, someone else would’ve sooner or later.”

Benzo sighs. “Incorrigible,” he mutters.

---

A few drinks and a lecture on proper locks from a child thief later, they’re sitting at Jayce’s usual workbench as he inspects his items laid out in front of him, checking them for damage.

“You know, Jayce,” Benzo muses, picking up Blitzcrank, luckily unharmed. “This really caught my eye earlier, as did the other toys.” He moves one of the arms, joints smoothly rolling in their sockets. “Did you make them yourself?”

Jayce shrugs, tearing his gaze away from the robot, heat rising to his cheeks. “Yeah. Just to pass the time, really. I know they’re silly, I didn’t mean for anyone to actually see them.”

“I like them,” Ekko chimes in, grabbing a spinning top from the table and setting it in motion with a flick of his wrist. It spins in place, the little notches in the edge creating a mesmerizing pattern.

Benzo nods. “They’re good. A little rough around the edges,” he concedes, making Jayce chuckle. “But I think you can do something with them. Sell them, if you want.”

Jayce furrows his brows. “Seriously? I thought people here wouldn’t really care for them. I mean, they don’t really do anything…”

Benzo looks at him over the rim of his glasses, his eyes softening. “I know you’re from Topside, so let me tell you something, Jayce. Here in the Undercity…” He sighs. “There aren’t a lot of pretty things, nice things. Things that only exist to bring joy. But people still crave it- they’re only human. We’re only human. I think, with these things,” he gently turns Blitzcrank around in his hands, “you can remind them of that joy. You can bring it back to them.”

He can only gape at Benzo. “Really? That’s…” The kindest thing anyone’s ever said to me. He swallows his words, ducking his head instead. “That’s very nice of you.”

“It’s the truth.” Benzo leans back, smiling kindly at him as he folds his tree trunks of arms in front of him. “I think you can sell quite a few of these.”

“Unfortunately I don’t get any customers, though,” Jayce admits.

Benzo waves it away. “You’re new, those things take time. Tell you what, Ekko and I have our own stall at the market every Freeday. You can display a few of these there and we’ll see if they sell.”

“Really?” His chest fills with a warmth he hasn’t felt since the trial, eyes prickling as he’s faced with unexpected kindness and brittle hope. “But I’m not able to pay you.”

“Eh, I don’t want your money. Or lack thereof,” Benzo chuckles. “It’s not easy out here, and as I told young Ekko earlier,” he ruffles his hand through the boy’s white hair, “you live here. That makes you one of us now. And we take care of our own.”

Jayce can’t help the broad grin that splits his face. “I don’t know how I could ever thank you.”

Benzo laughs. “Let’s just wait and see whether these sell or not, alright?”

[collabwithmyself]

I have had THE stupidest and campiest idea for a Warriors OC story. I learned that dams can have litters of kits that have different sires in the same litter, and I'm shocked WC never got in on that sort of drama. And so here we are.

Sparkstar of ShoreClan has had a hard year juggling her three kits and her duties to her clan. No one, not even her closest friends, deputy Tansysong and medic Rosewhisker, know who their missing sire is, but Sootpaw, Ashpaw, and Emberpaw have decided they want to find out by the time they become warriors, so they can have their sire present for their ceremonies.

The only problem is... they have three possible sires. The exiled Spider, FrondClan warrior Mothcloud, and kittypet Bug. With their assessment just a few days away, the trio has to come up with a plan to get answers- even if that means cornering poor Sparkstar with all three of her exes.

Sparkstar • she/her • orange/black/white calico • stressed-out workaholic that loves her three kids dearly, but hasn't had a day's rest since she unexpectedly became leader of ShoreClan while pregnant

Tansysong • she/xey • gold/white • sassy and a little snobby, adores gossip, fusses a lot over the kids and xyr friends

Rosewhisker • she/he • grey/red tortoiseshell • rough and tumble, fun loving and a little gruff, very proud of not wanting a mate, encourages the kids to get into trouble

Sootpaw • it/its • solid black • clumsy and kind, the "ringleader" of its siblings, curious to a fault

Ashpaw • she/he/they • white w/mismatched eyes, partially deaf • little bit of a bully and tends to raise their voice a ton, but extremely protective of their family and clan

Emberpaw • ze/hir • orange tabby w/polydactyly • quiet and easily unnerved, but trusts hir siblings and will follow them anywhere, often daydreaming

Spider • they/them • dark brown tabby • "classic villain" fakeout, got exiled for challenging tyrannical leader, rational and stern with a commanding presence but ultimately gentle and a bit of a pushover

Mothcloud • she/her • solid white, congenital deafness • graceful and proud and seemingly quiet, but actually a huge chatty dork once you figure out how to talk to her

Software Bug • he/him • orange/white w/CH • easily confused but extremely earnest and eager, if overenthusiastic and often overestimates himself

[crazycurly-77]

Who's Dracula? - Ch 1

Halloween 3-parter 🧛🦹👻

It was that time again...it was the time of year when everyone dressed up and had parties. In short: it was Halloween.

Costumes were searched for and tried on, pumpkins were carved and parties were organized...including at NCIS, of course.

While Abby and Tony were already completely beside themselves with excitement, you and Tim watched the whole thing with interest, but with moderation.

You shouldn't mention it to your team leader, though, because then his mood would suddenly get even worse than usual.

For this reason, it was also clear that he wouldn't be coming to the party, like every year.

But you didn't let it spoil your mood and met in Abby's lab to go there together.

While you girls were getting ready, Tim and Tony slowly trickled in. They talked and wondered what costumes you both were wearing, but as soon as they saw you, they stopped abruptly and their eyes widened.

Abby was dressed as Marilyn Monroe and wore a sexy white dress, high heels and a blonde wig. She looked simply stunning.

You, on the other hand, simply wore black, shiny and skin-tight leather pants with a matching corset, which showed off your hourglass figure perfectly. You left your long, curly brown hair loose so that it fell gently down your back.

But the boys were not the only ones who were amazed, because although they didn't look sexy in their costumes, they still looked really good.

Tim was so well dressed as Sherlock Holmes that you thought he had just jumped out of a novel and Tony as Don Corleone... would certainly make one or two offers at this party that his counterpart couldn't refuse.

Then you all made your way to the party. The room was really well decorated with everything that goes with it. With pumpkins, blood, skeletons, witches, spiders and much more. The drinks and food were also fitting! The organizers had really outdone themselves and Abby in particular was very enthusiastic and immediately immersed herself in the spooky, scary atmosphere.

Party animal Tony also mingled with the party crowd, while you and Tim needed a while to feel comfortable, but then you too could not be held back.

Then something strange happened.

When the party was in full swing, someone suddenly stood behind you.

You didn't even notice that someone was standing there, so you jumped in shock when he put his hand on your shoulder.

After you turned around, you took a look at the person opposite you. He was tall, muscular, had brown eyes and shoulder-length brown hair.

This colleague must have been new because you had never seen him before. But the way he moved and his smile...it seemed so familiar to you, as if you had known each other for a while and were something like confidants.

But who was that?

Dracula with a half mask, so far, so clear. He asked you to dance with a smile. He didn't say a word, just raised his hand invitingly.

You danced several dances together in silence. Dancing wasn't your favorite thing, but it was wonderful with him. If only you could figure out where you knew him from...but maybe you just knew someone who was similar to him.

After the third dance, you finally broke the silence and asked him:

"Who are you? How can I find you? I would like to see you again and get to know you."

He didn't say anything, just leaned forward and kissed you. Slowly and tenderly and it tasted like so much more.

It was a kiss full of promises. Then he smiled one last time, stroked your cheek and left.

You stood there perplexed and watched him go, even though he had long since left.

Then someone suddenly spoke to you: "Are you looking for someone?"

It was Gibbs and he wasn't even in disguise.

"Wow, do you have to sneak up on me like that? I almost had a heart attack," you greeted him.

He laughed and asked you: "Since I have to be here, let's dance."

You looked at him with wide eyes: "Who can force you to be here?"

He rolled his eyes: "Our new director."

The two of you danced and had a very pleasant conversation the whole time. You even told him about the apparently new colleague and asked him if he knew him.

To your disappointment, he shook his head. That significantly reduced your chances of seeing him again. Gibbs knew everyone, but unfortunately not him. Dracula must have been very new.

Sadly, you danced in your boss's arms for a long time, wondering if you would ever see Dracula again.

(To be continued...in Chapter 2.)

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Tags: @ilovemark1951, @hobby27

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